When We Were Saints Read online

  It was late in the afternoon by the time Clare came out to get him. By then Archie had moved to the grass, where he lay asleep on the ground and hidden from view by a fat bush. He had been dreaming about dragons and lions biting him on the back and about blood running from the wounds the way he had seen the blood running from the unicorn in the tapestries. He told Clare about his dream, and she said that some scholars believed that it wasn't blood but pomegranate juice on the unicorn in some of the tapestries. Archie told her it was blood in his dream, and the dream was scary. When, he wondered, would he have good dreams again?

  Clare told Archie it was time to go to the Langon Chapel to see the Virgin, and Archie cheered. "All right!" he said, brushing the dirt off his jeans. "I'm ready."

  He wanted to run to the chapel, but he didn't know which way to go, so he walked beside Clare, forcing her to keep pace by picking up his own and holding her hand. Clare laughed and seemed as excited as he was to get to the chapel. He realized it must have been just as hard for her to wait all day.

  Archie paid no attention to the great entryway they passed through, with its sculptures of two kings, one on the left, one on the right, and angels in flight above the tympanum where Christ crowns the Virgin. His mind and his aim were focused on one thing: seeing the crying Virgin. They entered the room and Clare pointed to the altar before them. It was just as she had said; a canopy of stone stood above the altar and in the center of the altar was a wooden sculpture of the Virgin with Jesus on her lap, and Jesus was missing his head.

  Archie looked at Clare, not bothering to hide his disappointment. "That's it?" he asked. "It's so small. I thought it would be much, much bigger. This—she's—it's so insignificant." He looked around the spare room and saw another Virgin and child, one with all of Jesus intact. "Ah," he said, seeing what he thought was a more pleasing sculpture. "You were kidding me. This is the sculpture, right?"

  Clare moved to the altar. "See her crown? See the crack running through her eye?"

  Archie came forward to join Clare. "She looks hunched over to me, and Jesus looks so flat, never mind that he's headless. No wonder she cries," he said.

  A man and woman walked into the room. Clare didn't notice. She was already down on her knees, praying on the bottom step of the altar.

  Archie watched the couple reading the information written beside the other sculpture. They murmured to each other but Archie couldn't hear what they were saying. Then they started toward the altar caught sight of Clare, and turned around and left.

  Archie looked again at the small sculpture. He sighed and got down on his knees and, like Clare, bowed his head and prayed, asking for forgiveness for making fun of the Virgin sculpture. Then he prayed that his grandmother would be healed and that she would live long enough for him to graduate from college. He peeked up at the Virgin, hoping to see tears, but she was the same as before: a wooden sculpture with cracks and a missing head. He closed his eyes again and listened to Clare humming beside him. He hummed, too, and waited. He didn't know how long they stayed on their knees on the stone step, but it felt like a painfully long time to Archie. His knees hurt, and again he felt hungry and irritable. Every once in a while he peered up at the statue to look for the tears, but he never saw them and he knew it wasn't going to happen for him, not then at least.

  He checked on Clare. She had remained in the same kneeling position the whole time. He had never caught her peeking to see if the Virgin was crying. She hummed along with a smile on her face, a look of expectation, her brows raised, her head lifted, and her eyes closed.

  A bell rang, and a woman's voice announced five minutes until closing time. Archie jumped to his feet, startled by the voice. Clare didn't stir at all.

  Five minutes later the same woman's voice announced that it was closing time, and Clare opened her eyes. She stood up and turned, smiling to Archie.

  "No tears," he said.

  "Patience, Francis," Clare replied, crossing herself and bowing to the statue.

  Archie bowed and crossed himself as well, not sure that he had done it correctly. Then he turned and joined Clare, who had moved toward the exit.

  "It's my fault," Archie said when he caught up to her.

  Clare raised an eyebrow. "What's your fault?"

  "That she didn't cry. I wasn't concentrating enough."

  They headed down the steps and left the building through the same door they had entered earlier that afternoon, pausing often to say good-bye to Clare's friends on their way out.

  It was cool outside, and the breeze coming off the Hudson River felt refreshing to Archie. He took a deep breath. "It's almost like a fall evening instead of spring," he said. "I can smell the woodsmoke of someone's stove, can't you?" Archie looked around for a house with a smoking chimney, but all he saw was the Cloisters and a stone wall and the parking lot.

  They walked to the truck, and once they'd climbed inside and Archie had started it up and backed out of the parking space, he resumed the conversation. "Clare, the truth is I can't concentrate, and when I try I just get depressed or irritable. I'm hungry all the time. I feel so lost. I knelt in front of that sculpture and I felt nothing at all. Then I looked over at you and you were so rapt. I mean, you—you really are a saint. Really, I see how you are with people, and how you are with me. I..."

  Clare patted his shoulder. "Let go of it, Francis," she said. "You're trying too hard. Just let God work in you."

  "But how? What should I do?"

  "Let go; that's all."

  "Easy for you to say," he replied.

  Archie drove down Fort Washington Avenue toward Irving's home. A minivan pulled out in front of them, and Archie honked at the car, then glanced at Clare. "Just acting like a New Yorker," he said.

  A few minutes later they arrived at Irving's apartment. They rang the outside buzzer to be let in, and a woman answered it. She told them to come right up, and she was there waiting for them at the door when they arrived. Two slender brown-haired boys were behind her sliding on the wooden floor in their socks.

  Clare greeted the woman with a hug, as if they were old friends, and then introduced her to Archie as Lizzie Alward, the woman she had met with Irving that morning. The two boys giggling behind her were her sons, Jacob and Joel. The boys said hi to Archie and Clare, and then returned to their game of pitching pretzel nuggets into each other's mouth. Every time they missed, they scooped up the fallen nuggets from the floor and called out, "Five-second rule!" before eating them.

  Archie and Clare followed Lizzie into the kitchen, where she returned to the counter to stir something in a bowl. They found Irving standing at the stove, delighted to see them. He had so many questions for them: What did they see? What did Archie think of the tapestries and the architecture and the stained-glass windows? And was it all just as Clare had remembered? His voice was animated, and he gestured every now and then with the spatula he held.

  Archie had never seen such a change in a person as he was seeing in Irving. The man who had seemed so old and frail the night before suddenly appeared spry and energetic. He moved around the kitchen, pulling spices from one cabinet and oil from another as though he were a young man. He asked one of the boys to toss him a pretzel, and he ducked and caught it like a pro. He laughed at himself and told Archie and Clare to try to do it, too. Clare tried and got hit in the face with a pretzel. Archie didn't feel like playing. He stuck his hand in the bowl and grabbed as many nuggets as his hand would hold. He stuffed the pretzels into his mouth, and the boys, watching him, decided they would see how many nuggets they could fit into their mouths at once. Their mother told them that was a bad idea, so they went back to their tossing game.

  The family stayed for dinner that night, and even Archie's mood improved when he saw how happy having company made Irving. He sat at the head of his table like a king, and told Archie and Clare all about his afternoon tutoring the children. "There are so many young boys and girls there, and they all wanted me to help them with their homework. Some
of them tried to get me to do it for them, but I didn't fall for their tricks."

  "Mrs. Willis will do it," Joel said. "I can get her to give me all the answers."

  "Then she gets smarter and you don't," Irving said. "Don't you want to grow up and be smart?"

  "I want to make a million dollars," Joel answered, stuffing a large bite of macaroni-and-cheese into his mouth.

  "Then you'll need to be smart."

  After Irving had told them more about his first afternoon with the children, he again asked Clare and Archie about their afternoon. Clare described the tapestries for the boys, going into even greater detail about their mysteries. The two boys sat still and listened wide-eyed while she told them about the magical unicorn, hunted for the long horn that grew in the middle of its forehead. Archie sat across from Clare and watched her just as entranced as the boys. To him she was beautiful, even if she had grown thinner and so pale. Her eyes still looked soft and beautiful surrounded by her dark lashes. When she spoke to the boys, her face was animated, and she used her hands to gesture and emphasize what she was saying. Her movements were so graceful, Archie thought that if they were put to music it would look like a dance. He watched her all evening as she worked her magic, first on the two boys and then on their mother.

  At first Archie had worried that Lizzie had been too curious about their pilgrimage. She had asked too many questions, wanting to know where they were from and what their parents thought of their going to New York all alone and how long they were staying or what hotel they were going to be staying in or did they need a place to stay.

  Archie had stammered out lame replies, but Clare had handled Lizzie's questions the way she did everything else, and soon enough she had put Lizzie off the subject of their pilgrimage and onto Lizzie's own story about the way her husband had walked out on her and the boys. Clare had known just what to say, just how to love the woman and her sons, and by the end of the meal, Archie could see that they loved her, too.

  After everyone except Clare had eaten the dessert of ice cream and cake, and everyone had helped wash the dishes, Lizzie cut Clare's hair: Archie had missed their conversation about hair and was surprised when they disappeared and then returned half an hour later with Clare sporting a new cut. It was a funny, bowl-like cut that looked just like Joel's and Jacob's, and Archie couldn't help but laugh at Clare. She looked like a clown, with her new thick bangs hanging low over her eyebrows. Lizzie laughed, too, and said it was the only cut she knew how to do.

  Irving said Clare would look beautiful even if she were bald, and everyone agreed, especially Archie, who thought maybe he would stay in New York after all. How could he ever desert Clare? He loved her too much. He knew he'd follow her anywhere. What did anything else matter? If she had faith that everything would work out all right, then so did he. He felt honored to be the one she had chosen for her soul mate. I must have something good in me, he thought, that she would choose me.

  After Lizzie and the boys left and the other three hugged and said good night to one another, Archie went off to the study at the end of the hallway and decided he would stay up and pray, no matter the emptiness inside or the demons that might be lurking.

  He turned off the light and sat on the sofa, staring out the window. He thought he would see the moon and stars, but it wasn't like at home up on the mountain, where the stars looked so close and clean There were too many streetlights, and cars still drove past the house in a stream as though it were daytime and not eleven at night. He watched the cars awhile, then turned away from the window to begin his prayers. He asked God to forgive him and told God that he would believe no matter what. He prayed for Clare and for their plans to stay, and he prayed for his grandmother and decided he would call home and let everyone know his plans as soon as he knew them himself. He knew if he really intended to stay with Clare, he shouldn't go home, even for a visit, or his grandmother would keep him there and he would feel obligated to stay. His mind flashed on the image of her lying in the hospital bed, with the oxygen tank and all the machines surrounding her and he felt a most uncomfortable pressure in his stomach. He hated the thought of his grandmother lying in a hospital bed. It frightened him too much to think about it, and he decided it was best if he put his grandmother completely out of his mind.

  Archie ignored his stomach and returned to his old prayer Be still and know that I am God. He stayed with it for a time, but then his mind drifted to Clare and he felt his body go warm. He loved her he realized, like no other person. She was like no other person, except Jesus. No wonder, he thought, the disciples laid down their fishing nets and followed him. He pictured her asleep in the guest bedroom. He had never seen her sleeping before. He thought she must look like an angel when she slept, and then he decided he had to go see for himself.

  He crept down the hallway to Clare's bedroom. He could hear a soft humming sound coming from the room, and he wondered if she hummed even when she slept. Her door was ajar and the lights were out. Archie crept up to the door and peered in, searching for the bed. He spotted it in the left-hand corner of the room, but Clare wasn't in it. He opened the door a little wider and found her lying face-down, arms outstretched on the floor. She stopped humming when the door opened. She said, "Come in, Francis, we'll pray together."

  Archie took a couple of steps into the room. He wondered if he should lie down like her or sit on the floor beside her He chose to sit. He got close enough to feel her warmth beside him. He looked down at her. The lights from the street shone through the window onto her hair and Archie couldn't help but put his hand on her head and stroke it. He leaned forward to kiss the top of her head, and then realizing what he was about to do, he blushed and got to his feet. "I think I'll go pray in my room," he said. He turned and left, pulling the door all the way closed behind him.

  Chapter 27

  THE NEXT MORNING after breakfast, Archie and Clare said good-bye to Irving. He had packed them a lunch of liverwurst sandwiches and pickles, and apples and some of the cake left over from dessert the night before. He followed them to the door with sad eyes and told them he would always be happy to see them and they could stay with him anytime for as long as they wished.

  Archie shook Irving's hand and thanked him. He felt choked up leaving, partly because he was so grateful to Irving for taking them in and feeding them, and partly because he was scared. Where would their next meals come from? How would they live? He was glad to know they were welcome to return. He thought they might be back soon, and it was good to see that Irving was sincere about his offer;

  Clare hugged the man and said, "I love you, Irving. Don't forget, God is watching over you. And take good care of yourself; Sarah would want you to."

  Irving nodded. "After my tutoring this afternoon, Joel and Jacob are going to teach me how to use my computer Sarah bought it, but she got sick before we ever even hooked it up. I'm going to be a real hipster by this evening." He laughed at himself and waved good-bye.

  Archie heard the door close behind them, and he looked back at it and said, "Nice man. I'm glad we met him. Thanks."

  "I'm glad we met him, too," Clare said, squeezing Archie's arm.

  Her touch reminded him of his visit to her room the night before, and he asked her if she had stayed up and prayed all night. She never looked tired the way Archie did after a late night. She looked energetic, and her eyes were always bright.

  "Oh, I got all the sleep I needed," she said.

  They arrived at the Cloisters long before it opened, and Clare had Archie park his truck on a nearby street instead of in the parking lot, because, she said, they would not be coming back for it that night—they were staying at the Cloisters.

  Before Archie locked the truck up for the day, Clare grabbed the bundle she had brought from home out from behind the seat and then led the way toward the Cloisters, holding the bundle tucked under her arm. Archie followed her carrying the big sack of lunch Irving had packed.

  It was a gray day. A battleship-gray day, Archi
e thought. It had rained in the early morning, so there were puddles to step over and the trees they brushed past as they walked down the path beyond the parking lot, toward the river sprayed them with drops of cold water making the air feel colder to Archie. He had left the sweater he had worn on the trip in the truck, and he regretted it.

  They came to a viewing deck, with a concrete floor surrounded in stone, that overlooked the riven Clare stopped and pointed at a passing ship, its lights blinking in the fog. Archie watched the ship and wondered where it was going. It made him feel suddenly lonely and tired and lost. He wondered where he himself was going. He turned around to Clare and drew in his breath when he saw a monk standing before him. Clare was wearing a long brown robe with a hood. "Where did you get that?" he asked, looking her over.

  Clare was busy tying a rope belt around her waist. She looked up at Archie and smiled. "I made it," she said. She nodded toward the ground. "I made one for you, too."

  Archie looked down and saw the other robe, with its rope lying on top. He picked them up and examined the robe. It felt heavy in his hands. "This will feel good now, but won't this be hot when it warms up later?" he asked.

  "Put it on," Clare said. "Go ahead."

  Archie pulled the robe over his head. It smelled faintly of oil, just like his grandfather's truck. It fell all the way to his feet. He looked down at himself and smiled. "I like it," he said. "I feel—I don't know—different." He looked at Clare, who had finished tying her rope. She looked like a boy, with her haircut. She must have known she would, Archie thought. She must have asked Lizzie for the haircut just for that reason. It's the perfect cut. He shook his head. "Sometimes I don't know about you, Clare. I can't tell when you've planned and plotted something out and when it just happens that way."