It is possible that Zuana sees her before the others. Certainly she recognizes her faster. She does not even need to make out the look on her face to know there is more to come. Oh, sweet Jesus, she thinks. What is happening to us here?
“Can someone come …please? Suora Zuana, the old sister is dead.”
The abbess closes her eyes briefly. While she may have indeed been bred for this, there are still moments when the testing seems more than she can bear. She does not have long to rest, however, as at that very moment, behind her, with no fuss or drama at all, the novice Serafina slides quietly to the floor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
FOURTEEN DAYS AND fourteen nights.
During one of them she dreams of Jacopo, his body washed up in black river water, small fishes darting like colored musical notes in and out of his mouth. The dream scares her so much— not for the violence as much as for the very thought of him— that she eats nothing at all the next day making do with only a dozen sips of water, and the fixation of her mind on food—or the lack of it—erases any further thought.
She is tired much of the time now and would sleep all day if she were allowed. There are times while she is awake when she feels so light and giddy that she wonders if she might even be lifting off the ground. The closer it comes to the day of the mass, the more she fears that if anything should pass her lips it might sully the purity of the sacrament. She listens carefully to Umiliana’s instruction leading to this moment—on her state of unworthiness, His boundless grace, and the need to approach Him in complete humility—but there are times when she finds it hard to concentrate, and more than once she finds herself crying with the effort. When this happens the good sister does not chastise or criticize but rather takes her hands and draws up her gaze to meet her own, pulling her back into alertness.
“My soul longeth, yes, even fainteth for the court of the Lord: My heart and my flesh cry out for the living God for the Lord God is sun and shield. The Lord will give grace and glory and no good thing will He withhold from them that walk uprightly.”
There are times when her words are so warm that Serafina is tempted to confess everything, but she is frightened that the depth of her sins might make Umiliana reject her. For her part, if Santa Caterina’s novice mistress is curious as to the reason why such a rigorous fasting penance has been imposed upon her young charge, she does not ask. Some of the holiest journeys begin with transgression, and she speaks of this penance only as a blessed chance. Serafina has been given a great gift, she tells her, and she must treasure it.
Some questions, however, she does permit herself. She is eager to know what happened when the old woman entered the cell as the girl lay there half dead. What had the blessed Magdalena said to her? What did she herself see? And what of the time before, that afternoon before Vespers, the incident that no one speaks of but which everyone in the convent knows about, when Magdalena experienced some form of rapture?
Serafina answers as honestly as she can. When she describes how it was for her in the cell, how as the old woman grabbed her hand and spoke to her she had experienced a terrible hollowness, as if someone had taken a scalpel to her innards and emptied her out, Umiliana’s crumpled face lights up like a lamp and she says that this in itself was a sign, that for all her unworthiness the old sister had seen in her the possibility of grace. And for this reason it is even more important that she continue her fast. Though Serafina has no idea what grace feels like, she knows she is moving toward something, for in all her life she has never felt so …so consumed, so dense and yet so full of air.
The night before mass she prays and prays until she falls asleep on her knees. In place of the gnawing hunger there is now only a dull ache and a certain tingling and numbing in her fingers and her feet. Though the weather remains quite warm, she often finds herself cold and has to add another shift and shawl under her habit. As she changes her clothes she is struck by how strange and large her body looks, as if starvation is making her grow rather than reduce. It is God’s way of telling her she must try harder. She thinks of Suora Magdalena and how the host was her only food. She knows more about her now, for in exchange for Serafina’s acquiescence Umiliana has her own convent stories to tell. She describes how Santa Caterina was once a place of miracles and marvels, nurturing its own living saint, who lit up each and every office with her goodness and even bore the marks of her own stigmata, blood dripping from her hands and feet. How there was not a single novice or young nun who was not thrilled and exalted by the experience. And her eyes shine with rising tears as she says it.
The light outside in the cloisters on the morning of the mass is almost dazzling after the dimness of the cell. As Serafina walks toward the chapel supported by Suora Eugenia, she feels a sudden cramp in her stomach. The cloisters bring back a flood of memories, and for a moment she cannot keep at bay the horror of all that has taken place in her life. She tightens her fingers on the young nun’s arm and Eugenia stops for a second. Serafina looks up at her. Whereas in the past she has seen envy, even anger in her eyes, now there is wariness, even a little awe. What is happening to me? she thinks. Panic, like a jet of water, rises, then subsides. They start to walk again.
Inside the chapel she avoids Suora Zuana, though she feels her eyes on her as soon as she comes in. She takes her place in the choir stalls and sits with her hands on the armrests to keep her sense of balance. On the other side of the pews, Perseveranza and Felicità throw curious little glances in her direction, while old Agnesina stares openly, not even pretending not to look. What do they all see? Maybe they are fasting, too, all equally hollowed out, ready to be filled with God’s grace. How long could one continue? Weeks, months? Longer? Suora Magdalena lived on the host for years. Isn’t that what Umiliana has told her?
The mass begins. When the time comes to sing the responses, the breath she takes makes her dizzy and her voice reverberates so far inside her own head that she is not sure if the sound reaches out at all. By the time they reach the blessing of the Eucharist, she feels as if her whole body is vibrating. She can barely stand in order to make the short walk from the stalls to the altar. She fixes her gaze on the bowed figure of Umiliana in front of her to keep herself steady. She kneels and in readiness tilts her head backward, opening her mouth and closing her eyes, only the sudden darkness makes everything start to spin and she has to open them again. There is a throbbing in her temples. She holds herself still, anticipating the moment, ready to hear the words—which take an age, it seems.
“Accept the body and blood of Christ.”
“Amen.”
And now at last the host is on her tongue. She waits for the explosion of sweetness. The crack is so harsh and sharp that it pulls her head farther back again, and as this happens she feels a terrible dizziness. She sees the figure of Christ tear away from the cross and start to fall, coming straight at her! He has seen through me, she thinks. He knows I am not penitent or empty enough. She tries to stand up and manages to get to her feet but the world is spinning. She hears voices, feels a rush of people around her, and then she is falling, falling…
When she comes to, on the chapel floor, Suora Umiliana’s face is close above her, the white hairs on her chin trembling like animal whiskers. “What did you see?” she whispers urgently. “Was Magdalena in the chapel with you? Did you see Him as He fell?”