I got into the POV of the female protagonist, who is a modern woman so doesn't have the poetic stream of consciousness of the gargoyle. So a change of tone.
I like how the two chapters fit together, and how they line up a third chapter.
So those of you who are Catholic are probably going to find things wrong here, so point them out if you will. I will be doing research on gothic cathedrals to get the details right, but for now I'm just getting the story down.
Chapter 2
Mary lit a
candle, asking herself why. Bartholomew was an asshole, living the high life
with his baby bride. She’d supported him all the way through law school, and
when it was over, he was earning a high income and she was left with pretty
much nothing.
Why should
she pray for his soul? Why should she
even care?
I don’t care, she thought. Yet
here I am.
The
cathedral was comforting. The gargoyles that decorated its walls didn’t scare
her. It was as if it was filled with
ghosts of the past, who were watching her. She walked through those tall doors
and it was as if she was home. These ghosts were on her side. The first time
she had walked by, she’d been drawn in.
Later, she’d brought Bartholomew, who was a lapsed Catholic. After that, whenever they had a fight, she
would retreat here – until that last time, when he followed her up to the roof.
When he’d
struck her, it had felt as if the ghosts of the cathedral had rallied around
her in the spectral support, and she had heard herself telling him to
leave, “I never want to see you again.”
He’d just
grunted, “Gladly,” and left.
She’d sat on
the edge of the roof for a long time, crying, and it had felt as if the
gargoyles around her had watched her in sympathy.
Why are they on my side? If they only knew what I do at
work. Why don’t they haunt me instead?
Because I’m a good person, she answered herself. Because I do my best. Because…
She had to
believe that much, at least. She’d lost faith and hope along with everything
else, but she had to try to still believe that being a good person was reward
enough, if not in this life, then in the next.
You don’t believe there is a next life.
Mary shook
her head. She’d given up trying to understand herself, her feelings toward her
ex-husband were probably some of the least confusing. She didn’t like him, but she had loved him
once and thought there was still a chance he might pull his head out of his ass
someday.
By lighting a candle?
She laughed,
and it echoed in the nearly empty vastness of the chamber. Lighting a candle to him was really just an
excuse to visit the cathedral. An old woman sitting on a bench a few yards away
frowned at her, and Mary gave her an embarrassed look.
“Where are
you visiting from, Sister?” The question came from behind her, and she rose and
faced the young priest smiling down at her.
She realized
immediately his mistake. She’d worn old clothes, sensible shoes, no makeup, her
hair was under a scarf. But she couldn’t
figure out a way to tell him the truth without embarrassing him. Could she pull it off?
“I’m…from
here,” she said.
“Funny, I
thought I knew everyone in the city.” He
spoke with a slight Scottish brogue. He stared at her with the fixed smile,
then a red glow began in his cheeks and spread over his round face. He was a little on the heavy side, his hair
was a little long, the way it looked when someone neglected his usual
haircut. He had stylish sideburns and
bright green eyes. “Oh, my gosh. Don’t tell me…you’re not a nun, are you,” he
finished his question with a statement.
Something
about his innocent embarrassment made her giggle. When was the last time she’d seen a man
blush? “Far from it, Father. I’m not even Catholic.”
She could
feel him examining her, and she turned away.
She always dressed down, though maybe not as much as today. She hid herself in as plain an appearance as possible,
because when she dressed up and when she wore makeup she looked like a
model. A true blonde, with bright blue
eyes, high cheekbones, a long nose to keep her face from looking perfect. Looking like a model caused more
complications than it was worth.
“Well, the
offer still stands,” the priest said.
“I’d be happy to give you a tour of the cathedral, places most people
don’t see. I’m Father Caffrey, by the
way.”
“Mary
Patronis.”
He
laughed. “A good Latin name, at least.”
“Where are
you from, Father Caffrey?” she asked, as he motioned her to follow him to one side
of the church.
“I came here
from Edinburgh when I was a student,” he said, while descending some wide
marble stairs. “I never went back. And you, Mary? What do you do for a living?”
She felt a
chill go through her. She came here
because she wanted to forget what her job was. If she thought too much about
that, it would spoil this place.
“I’m a
secretary,” was all she said.
He led her
through the catacombs below, which were strangely homespun. Rooms were furnished with modern equipment
and furniture, and the stone and brick was covered up as much as possible, as
if the gothic origins were smothered in a soft blanket.
The second
floor naves were ornate and aged, and again the feeling of peace came over
her. He watched her. “Are you sure you aren’t Catholic?” he asked.
“Maybe in
spirit,” she said.
“Well, that
is the point, isn’t it?” he laughed.
“Just let me know when you want to convert and I’m your priest.”
He led her
to some narrow stairs that wound spiraling toward the ceiling. “I’ve got a real treat for you,” he
said. “Something few people have seen.”
He led her
out onto the roof. The city spread out
below, bustling and noisy. They were
high enough and far enough away from the action that they were in an island of
peace. Huge gargoyles spotted the edges
of the roof, and carvings of other mythical creatures were cared into the stone
of the roof itself. It was as if they were greeting her.
“I have a
confession to make,” she said. “I’ve
been here before. I snuck up here when you were doing repairs.”
“We never stop doing repairs,” he laughed. “Well, since you used the word ‘confession’ I
guess I’ll have to absolve you.”
She looked
out over the city and a feeling of peace came over her. She must have been
Catholic in some past life. Everything
about this cathedral felt like home.
“It has a
holy spirit, doesn’t it,” Father Caffrey said quietly.
“Yes,” she
said. “It’s almost enough to make me a believer.”
He didn’t
answer, but stood companionably at her side.
Then he touched her lightly on her shoulder.
“I have to
get back to work, Mary,” he said. “But the next time you decide to light a
candle, come look me up. I always have
hot coffee in my office. I think you’re a closet Catholic, and it won’t take
much to turn you to our side.”
“If you keep
being so nice, I may have to join the church just because I’ll owe you.”
“I can think
of worse reasons,” he said. “Besides, I
think once you join, you’ll find other reasons.”
He let her
go first, and as she descended the stairs, she saw a room to one side that she
hadn’t noticed before. A horrible face
stared out at her, and gave her a fright.
“What’s
that?” she asked.
Father
Caffrey almost bumped into her. He
looked over, confused, and then smiled.
“As I said, this joint is always being repaired. That’s where they put the construction
materials.”
She walked
down the short passage to the room and went in. Along with blocks of granite
and tiles and piles of wood, there were gargoyles laying about in every nook in
cranny. They looked neglected, as if
they’d been pushed to the side, many of them toppled over, looking forlorn.
“Why are the
gargoyles here?”
Father
Caffrey grimaced. “They were taken off
during repairs. The plan was to clean
them up, perhaps even get some replacements, but there are a bunch of members
of the parish who would rather they didn’t go back at all.”
“Oh, no,”
she said. “You have to put them
back. Your cathedral isn’t a cathedral
without them.”
“Okay, now I
know you’re kidding me. Only a true Catholic would say that.”
“They really
shouldn’t be treated that way,” she found herself saying. “It’s very undignified.”
“Well,
they’re gargoyles. They don’t care.”
“Are you so
sure?” she asked. He looked at her
oddly, and she laughed as if she was making a joke.
He led her
to the front doors of the church, and she started to wave goodbye. At the last second, she sprinted up the
stairs and caught his sleeve.
“Would you
mind,” she asked. “If I cleaned up the
gargoyles? Made them ready to be put
back? I mean, if that’s what you all
decide to do?”
He looked at
her surprised. “We don’t have much
money, Mary. And when we do hire, we
tend to hire among the congregants.”
“I don’t
want to be paid. I just want to make
them look nice.”
He frowned,
looking back into the church as if there were answers there. “To tell the truth, none of the nuns want to
go near the things. And…I doubt they’ll
ever spring for a budget to repair them.
So…if you really want to do it, I’ll find a way.”
“Then I’ll
see you next week at the same time?” she asked.
“You bet,”
he said. “Be prepared to get dirty, Mary
Patronis. Those gargoyles have
generations of pigeon poop on them.”
She laughed
and waved. As she walked down the sidewalk
to the parking garage, she felt as if she was being watched. She looked up, and behind an old elm tree she
saw a small gargoyle she’d never noticed before. It was almost as if it was looking directly
at her.
She nodded
to the creature, and turned away.
