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Gérome sits there, wide-eyed. Phone still in hand, but sliding rather carelessly onto the desk. The noise brings him back momentarily, and he hangs it up.
His father is dead. He's not seen him in two years, and now he's dead.
"He wanted to see you.", Joelle said, barely holding back tears, "He asked about you every day."
He'll be taking his vows in a week. He's been preparing for it all month. And now this.
It's not Gérome's proudest moment, that shock quickly turns into annoyance. It didn't need to happen now.
A knock on the door. He should probably let Abbot Eugene back into his own office. He was nice enough to let Gérome have some space and privacy.
"Come in.", he says shakily. Abbot Eugene opens the door and walks back to the seat behind his large, old desk. He looks at Gérome, and seems to read him immediately.
"What happened?", he asks.
None of your business, Gérome wants to say, but the abbot's tone makes him feel premature guilt for shooting him down. So he looks to the side and just mumbles "My father died this morning."
He stands up and wants to leave, when the abbot calls out his name.
"Gérome. Where are you going?"
"I've still got work to do, abbot.", Gérome answers, and doesn't turn around.
"Don't go.", the abbot says, and Gérome hates how when Abbot Eugene says things like that, they never sound like orders. They ought to, he thinks. It's his job as abbot to give orders, and it's the duty of the monks to obey without questioning. But Abbot Eugene says it like a request, almost a plea, and Gérome knows that if he just walks out, there won't be any consequences, even though there should be.
"Why not?", he says, hand hovering over the handle of the door, but not quite ready to commit to the motion just yet.
"Come here. Please.", Abbot Eugene says, "I know you're in shock, and you want to go on as if nothing happened just now. But something big happened. You can't brush it off."
Something big happened. As if Papa's death is a milestone, a big goal in his life. No, he wants to say, 'something big' is going to be taking my vows next week.
He turns around.
"It's not big, abbot.", he says, "It's just sad."
Eugene frowns.
"I'd still like it if you sat with me, just for a little bit.", he says, and Gérome has the urge to yell 'Is this something that happened to me or to you?!'
He reminds himself that part of what he wants to swear is obedience. He wants to commit himself to this world, this monastery, and Abbot Eugene as its center. Obedience is not easy to learn for someone who has it in his nature to want to control others. In his mind, Gérome is suddenly back in his father's study. Being reminded that true obedience mortifies the soul. That it's painful, that it's teaching the mind, the human ego that it's not in charge. Humans don't like being reminded that they are not in charge of themselves. Every act of obedience that hurts is an act of devotion to God.
Gérome slowly, stilted, walks to one of the cozy armchairs and sits, staring at Abbot Eugene. He smiles, kindly, seemingly no clue of what is going on in Gérome's mind.
"Do you want to tell me about him?", he asks.
"I'd rather not.", Gérome says, and because he knows that if he lets that stand on its own, the abbot will just ask him again, he adds, "I feel guilt for not being with him as he died. My sister said he wanted to see me."
Abbot Eugene nods, and Gérome hopes for a moment that he'll just take that for what it is. But of course that's not the case.
"Maybe you should ask him to forgive you.", the abbot says, "Or if you don't want to put that pressure on him you could ask God to carry the message that you're sorry for not being there, and that you wish him well."
Gérome raises an eyebrow. "Isn't that... perhaps a little silly, abbot?"
"Maybe.", Abbot Eugene shrugs, and gives a bit of a smile, "I'm sure the Lord wouldn't mind serving as mailman for the moment, though."
Gérome huffs. That's very undignifying. That's not how you're meant to treat God. But the abbot seems to get more and more into his own idea. Or maybe he just likes to challenge the reluctance he sees painted very clearly on Gérome's face.
"Try it.", he says, "It's just a few words, and no conversation is ever perfect, so don't bother making them polished and fancy."
Gérome looks at Abbot Eugene, who's looking back expectantly and with an encouraging smile.
"...I don't want to.", he says and that makes him feel incredibly small and childish, "I don't think it'll do anything and, uh, I would not want to presume what our Lord sees fit to do with the dead."
Abbot Eugene actually laughs, and despite it being a warm, kind laugh, it makes Gérome feel like he'd rather rip out his insides than hear it again.
"Just try it anyway.", he says, "They're just words, Gérome. Faith can move mountains, but faith happens mostly in silence. And to be silent, you need to say what you need to say first."
That makes no sense, but Gérome is used to the abbot's strange and esoteric beliefs by now. It always infuriates him that in the moment, he's never able to come up with any convincing counter-arguments. He's sure what Abbot Eugene said has very little basis in theology, and there are definitely many works on the importance of the spoken word in prayer and worship. But even if he had those quotes readily at his fingertips, Abbot Eugene would not take him seriously. He keeps glancing back, but the abbot's gaze on him is endlessly patient and somewhat amused.
What makes him so untouchable is that
Abbot Eugene doesn't really care about being wrong.
And so, very haltingly, Gérome folds his hands and closes his eyes.
It feels humiliating. In his mind he is five or six years old, and kneeling in his Papa's study. The difference between him and Maman is that Maman always blows up about any mess or any broken rule. Papa doesn't, and Maman always accuses him of being too lax with the kids. She blames Celine's running away, Benoite and Valerie's rebellions on his lack of teaching discipline.
Gérome has barely ever seen Papa angry. Papa is only ever concerned. Sometimes it's comforting, the reassurance that something was a mistake and can be remedied. Showing him how to sew patches into the jeans he ripped open on the playground, letting him work for hours, but at the end it was all good, and Gérome was proud of fixing the mistake himself.
But sometimes he prefers the screaming of his mother to the quietness of his father. Maman has her hands full with the older kids, the ones who don't ever listen to Papa, so she sends Gérome to Papa's study most days he's done something wrong.
Maman made her children afraid of her. She commanded obedience by sheer power and authority. But there is nothing more terrifying to a child than that which scares their parents. To have the hierarchy they know extended, for there to be something more powerful than parents, whose disapproval they wanted to desperately avoid. Papa always said that as much as he wants to, he can't protect them from God.
"Lord Almighty, keeper of departed souls.", Gérome says quietly, "If my father stands in Your presence, if You've granted him grace... please tell him I'm sorry I couldn't- uh, I'm sorry I didn't come to his deathbed."
"Why didn't you?", Abbot Eugene asks, softly, not asking the question to know the answer himself, but to guide. It's the kind of tone Gérome knows too well.
He takes a deep breath, he is seven years old in a giant cathedral, holding Papa's hand. It's scary, he says, and Papa agrees. God is scary, he says, so if you build Him a house you need to make it a little scary, too.
"I didn't come because I thought preparing for my vows was more important.", he doesn't put a lot of emotion into the statement, "Forgive my pride. Ask him to forgive my stupidity. I never thought he would actually die."
"That's not stupid.", Abbot Eugene interjects, "It's normal to feel that way about your parents, Gérome."
Gérome opens one eye a little, to catch a glimpse of the abbot. He seems invested in the prayer. It sends a chill down his spine.
"I hope he rests at Your side. I hope he is at peace with Your choices."
Gérome knows his father. If Heaven really involves coming face to face with God, he knows Papa will fall to whatever ground there is and beg Him to show mercy to his children. It's what he always said he would do, at least. Perhaps the reality of meeting God allows for it, or perhaps it doesn't. But Gérome hopes that if Papa can hear him, he isn't too scared for him. He doesn't deserve that.
Another deep breath. Gérome puts as much focus as he can into his closing words.
"Lord, I submit wholly to Your will, whether You punish me or show me mercy, I accept Your judgement. If Papa is begging You to reconsider, please tell him I accept whatever it is I deserve, and that a blow that comes from Your hand is only proof of Your love. Don't let him suffer for the way I have wronged him, and let him be where there is no sorrow. Christ Almighty, have mercy on us. Amen."
Gérome opens his eyes again, to find Abbot Eugene looking a little pained. It's only for a moment, though, then he regains that calm, positive demeanor.
"Would you say that helped?", he asks.
Gérome thinks about it. "...A little.", he admits, and the abbot smiles.
"I'm glad.", he says warmly, "I hope in the silence tonight you can think about more fond memories."
Gérome looks away, and Abbot Eugene apparently gets the hint that he doesn't want to continue talking about this.
"I've read the suggestions for your new name.", he says and it makes Gérome look up again. Of course. That's meant to be today. The news threw him off the track completely, but that's right. In a week he'll be a different person.
"I like Jeremiah for a name.", the abbot says casually, "If that's alright with you?"
"Of course it's alright.", Gérome says, slightly too fast. He chose that name, it was his first choice. Why would he not be alright with it?
"Great.", Abbot Eugene smiles, "But if you need another week to think about it, you can tell me."
Gérome tilts his head. "I've thought about it for a year."
"I'm just saying. If you need a bit of time because of this news, we can postpone your vows a little, that's no big deal."
Oh. Gérome looks away again.
"No, I think I'll be alright. Thank you, abbot. I'd like to take my vows as planned."
Abbot Eugene shrugs. "If you say so."
They leave it at that.