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The church is huge, dark. The ceiling soars to heaven. It smells of
generations of sinners and saints. Perfume mixes with sweat; joy mixes
with misery. The air is thick with incense and prayers.
The Virgin looks down with dark solemn eyes that have seen weddings and
baptisms and funerals. She wears a red dress. Her nose is thin, arched.
Her eyes are large, almond shaped. Her lips are full and her hair is
dark. This Mary is exotic, beautiful. Byzantine.
The church is filled with sounds; the sounds an old church makes at
night, whispers and rustlings, the sound of wings and possibly hymns. At
first glance one would think this church is empty on this cold winter
night, but no, a young woman and a small boy huddle together in one of
the back pews.
"Will we be safe here, Mama?" he asks. "Will they make us
leave?"
"No sweetheart, they won't make us leave. We're safe here. The
Blessed Virgin will watch over us. Now eat your supper, and go to sleep.
We have to leave here early in the morning. There's a 6:00 mass."
Sonja reaches into the shopping bag she carries and gives the child some
crackers in a cellophane wrapper.
"Don't drop any crumbs," she says. He eats the food and
although he must be thirsty, he doesn't ask for a drink. "Come now,
lay your head on my lap and go to sleep."
The boy kisses her cheek and says, "I'll take care of you,
Momma."
"I know you will, Davey. I know." She has taken her coat off
and placed it over the child. He tucks it close to his face, smelling
her scent. The church is cold at night and he clings to his mother for
warmth. She strokes the boy's cheek and looks at the Virgin. Mary smiles
down on her. Sonja drifts off to a deep sleep where the angels sing and
the angels provide. Forgotten is the hunger. Forgotten are the words of
hate, the black eyes, the bruised lips, the broken heart. Forgotten is
the despair.
Damien comes into the church late at night to close up. He sees the
young woman asleep with the child. "Bums," he sneers.
"They've got a nerve coming into this house of God."
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He reports to Father Mikael. "There's a homeless woman with
a kid asleep in the church. Do you want me to get rid of them? I can
send them to the shelter down the road."
Father Mikael looks at his helper, so young, so arrogant, so without
charity. You have much to learn, he thinks. "No," he says
gently, "I'll take care of it."
"They're like rats," Damien says. "Take it from me.
If you let one in, pretty soon we'll be overrun with them."
"I will take care of it," the old priest says.
He walks past the sleeping woman with her head on the shopping bag,
the child with his head on his mother's lap, and continues to the
front of the church where he lights a candle. The light flickers and
dances, over the walls, over Mary. Wings touch his cheek. He takes
the white embroidered altar cloth and covers the woman and then he
sits and watches her and the child as they sleep. She is beautiful
with almond eyes and a thin arched nose and full lips. She wears a
red dress and the candle paints a halo on her black hair in the
dark. |
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Anna Hood lives in Prince Edward Island, Canada with her husband and
two Siamese cats. You may find her flying kites in the Pownal Highlands or
wading in the tide pools on the south shore. Her ambition is to fly in a
hot air balloon over Ngorongoro Crater in Tanzania.
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