#bookoflies

Siguro nga tama nga sila na “Lahat ng lalake manloloko” 

Pero bakit ganun niloko ako ng isang babaeng minahal ko ng buong buhay ko? na para bang  ako yung nagkaroon ng kasalanan? Na sa bawat luha na pumapatak sa aking mga mata, hudyat nito ang salitang “tama na” ang hirap kumait sa hangin, na para bang jeep na puno na pero sabi ng driver “Dalawa pa!” Ulol tangina mo kuya ang sikip-sikip na nga eh!! 

Pero ako ay may tanong sa aking sarili “Bakit ka umiiyak? Hindi naman kayo ah?” *puta bebs ang saket!!!!*

“I COME TO YOU” the genderless voice echoed in her mind. A small flicker of sunlight and fire shone in the centre of the chamber “YOU HAVE FELT THE SIGN”.

“I have come and I have brought everything that was asked of me” she said, seemingly calm but inside she was fighting, fighting the urges of disobedience and praying, praying for her, for Beatrice, for the world.

“DO IT THEN. THE WORLD WILL WATCH” an intense weight has been put on Mathilt’s shoulders. She slouched slightly, her knees trembling. The voice retreated but remained in the chamber, she could feel it like one could feel a burning furnace in the same room. When Beatrice, oh so naïve and gentle, entered the room again, Mathilt was muttering prayers to Mother Mary.

“I will get to work, mother” said Beatrice, like she had not noticed the burning heat inside the chamber. Like she had an ultimate faith in what Mother Superior wanted her to do. Sister worked in silence, with Mathilt standing over her. When she finished she turned her gaze to Mother Superior.

“Forgive me mother for asking, but if that is a sacrificial pyre, then wheat we will sacrifice? We have no lamb” she asked with no hint of knowledge what was to come.

Mother Mathilt shuddered slightly, her mind fooling her she got stabbed in the abdomen.

“This innocence and this naivety is surely a punishment from God” she thought to herself and pulled out a blindfold.

“Trust in God, novice” she started to bind the blindfold over Beatrices eyes. “Have faith in God that everything will be good. This part is kept secret from sisters like you, so I need you to obey me but not look.”

Mother Mathilt kept hoping for Beatrice to scream, to run, to do anything. But she obeyed her every word. She didn’t even need to ask her twice to step onto the pyre and lie down. Beatrice was like a doll, completely under Mathilt’s control and Mother Superior despised that fact.

When Beatrice was safely bound on the altar she became very silent. The voice appeared again in Mother Superior’s mind.

“TAKE THE BLOOD AND WRITE THE WORDS OF GOD AROUND THE ALTAR” instructed the Angel. It was still not visible, even faintly, but she could feel it, sweating profusely through her habit. She knelt on the burning hot, stone floor and let herself be guided by the Angel. She dipped her finger in the blood and started writing.

She did not know the letters. As far as she was concerned they were no human letters. Intricate and spiral, they looked like Latin sounded. Every letter was joined seamlessly with another. Not one was the same as others and when Mathilt went around the pyre and joined the first letter with the last, they started glowing faintly, with fiery-red glow.

“THE WORD OF GOD IS WRITTEN” the Angel declared. Mother Mathilt felt older, wiser and yet more oblivious than before. She saw the letters and they danced around her. It was her blood there too. A man and a woman’s blood.

“What does it mean?” asked Mathilt weakly.

“LET THERE BE LIGHT” answered the Angel and the whole chamber was overflown with radiant, sourceless light.

Mathilt felt her arm become heavier and she noticed a knife in her hand. As in a haze she walked towards the pyre. She knew what needs to be done.

She raised her hand above the unmoving Beatrice and froe. She heard her breathing, calm and trusting. Even now, even in the haze of divine light, laying on a sacrificial pyre she was calm and trusting. Or was it just the Angels doing? Was it…

“DOUBT WILL LEAD YOU NOWHERE. CHILD”

The Angel appeared before her. Its many wings unfolding like pages, but there were thousands of them. The eyes gleaming on the wings, the rings, spectral and heavy spiralling around it. The single eye, starting ceaselessly at Mathilt.

“Why won’t you save her. As you did Abraham’s child” Mathilt started to cry but her tear were evaporating on her cheeks.

“YOU CLAIM TO KNOW GOD? TO KNOW HIS WAYS?”  the Angel’s voice was like a hammer, hitting her back. She flinched, but kept the knife above Beatrice.

“Why me… Why… Me… but I must…. Why I must” she half muttered, half screamed into the Angel’s eye.

“YOU CLAIM YOU LOVE GOD YET YOU WAVER IN HIS CALLING”

Mathilt whimpered.

“CHILD. EVERY TEST IS DIFERENT. DO NOT THINK. YOU WILL NOT COMPERHEND”

She was now encompassed with light, heat and screams, she was still in the burial chamber but also somewhere else. In a place of suffering.

“This is hell” she whispered.

“IT IS”

“Mother?” Beatrice’s voice was full of surprise.

“Child. I knew I would find you here. Are you gazing at the stars?” Mother Superior joined sister in the window. They were overlooking the courtyard from the Chapel’s tower. It wasn’t very high but the abbey was surrounded by field, making it an excellent spot for stargazing.

“Yes. Mother” Beatrice seemed spooked, with her eyes darting around and her frame slightly hunched. “Are you alright, mother?”

“Did you see any shooting star yet?” Mathilt ignored her question.

“Not yet”

“ I hate to do it” Mathilt began and fell silent.

Beatrice looked at her stern face. She couldn’t quite peer through this ace, chiselled from marble, but she understood the unspoken request. She turned to face Mother Superior and bowed slightly.

“I am at your service, mother. I have been most unproper yesterday and I would like to amend that. What can I do for you?”

Mathilt looked at her face and she screamed without making a sound. She hated herself in that moment, despised her next words, but she still said them.

“Come with me child. I need you to help me with an offering.”

“An offering?” Beatrice frowned “Whatever can you mean, mother? Is it about the letter?”

“Come” said Mathilt, leading her downstairs. “You need not ask any questions. Go to the stables and fetch from there some dry firewood, not too big, small branches, not logs.”

Beatrice nodded and went with Mathilt downstairs. They separated at the entrance to the Chapel.

“Go, and wait for me at the entry to the crypt. Do not talk to anyone. Promise me.” Mother Superior gripped Beatrices hand until she agreed to do as she asked her. Mathilt herself went back to the chapter house basement. When her key was scratching in the lock, her heart was trying not to give out. She took the blood bucket, in which still more than half of the blood was liquid, and went back. Beatrice was there, waiting, with a pack of branches on her back. When she saw Mathilt carrying a bucket with cloth on it she started to open her mouth but the silent stare was enough for her to close it again. She followed as Mother Superior led her through the Chapel, down to where the tombs were. She silently watched as Mathilt opened one of the doors, inviting her in.

The chamber was not big, but it had a high ceiling. It had four naves in which empty, lidless, stone sarcophaguses lied.

“It’s the unused burial chamber, mother.” Beatrice said, more to herself than to Mathilt.

“Put the wood in the centre, novice” Mathilt’s voice was coarse and harsh “Make sure it looks like a proper pyre.”

Beatrice obeyed but quickly ran out of wood.

“I don’t have enough wood, I will go fetch more.” She hesitated, the sentence felt more like a question.

“Be quick about it” said Mathilt, looking at one of the unadorned walls completely still.

The next day Mother Mathilt was like living in a haze. She did not sleep for the rest of the night and when the sun arose she barely had strength to walk. She barely heard anyone, barely spoke to anyone. Her daily reading and prayers all done through the power of habit – she could not remember what she had preached, what she had read. Whole day she was sitting in an empty orchard, dead and waiting for spring. She did not know if the orchard was dead, or was she.

She could not allow herself to think. Every time she would, her thoughts would go to Beatrice, her gentle face and her shy smile. She would remember all the yelling and all the hurt she had inflicted to this poor girl last night. And for what? For her to be sacrificed, like a sheep? But worse. Though it was the command of God after all, or so she understood.

“What God gives, He can take away” she murmured to herself.

She would sob, but she did not feel like she could. It would just take so much effort.

“What if I don’t do it?” she thought boldly.

Screams and hellfire.

She looked around and realised the orchard was in flames. She stood up and tried to run to the courtyard. She saw the infirmary, the chapter house and the dromitorium in flames. She heard screams and noises. A man clad in black armour appeared in the doorway of the refectorium. Second later so did that building erupt in flames. The man had no face, just a black helmet and he roared, like an animal.

Mathilt tried to run but the earth around her turned into quicksand, binding her legs and making her fall down. The man came closer, his every step vibrating through the ground. The quicksand was pulling her in. She turned. The man was right above her, preparing his axe to strike. She closed her eyes. She heard hooves, blazing fire and a swish of a blade cutting through the air.

Afterwards, there were just screams and hellfire left.

The heavy burden she had carried since their last meeting has been lifted from her shoulders. She felt herself smile slightly though she was still in the eye of the storm with unseen wind tugging at her clothes and face.

“Thank the almighty” she uttered with a sigh.

“YOUR WORK IS NOT YET DONE. SALVATION AWAITS ONLY THOSE WHO BELIEVE” The Angel’s voice changed in its tone. Instead of booming vibrations it became harsh, hostile even.

“I believe. I have dedicated my life to my belief” Mathilt tried to fill her words with devotion. She has lost her smile. She did not understand this. For her, the work was done, the request fulfilled. Questions formed in her mind but she would not dare speak them.

“A SACRIFICE MUST BE MADE”

Mathilt was painfully aware of her throat when she gulped to ask her question.

“A sacrifice?” The eyes rushed closer, the feeling of being watched increased tenfold. The voice was everywhere and she felt it. No. Heard it with every fibre of her being.

“TAKE YOUR FRIEND. THE ONLY NOVICE YOU LOVE – BEATRICE – AND GO TO THE CRYPTS OF THE CHURCH. SACRIFICE HER THERE AS A BURNT OFFERING ON AN ALTAR I WILL SHOW YOU”

Ther was a silence, and she realised the Angels waited for some sign that she had heard him, that her human mind comprehended the words.

“……. what” she whispered, surrounded not by eyes and rings anymore but by smears of colours and sounds. Her vision started to blur.

“TAKE YOUR FRIEND. THE ONLY NOVICE YOU LOVE – BEATRICE – AND GO TO THE CRYPTS OF THE CHURCH. SACRIFICE HER THERE AS A BURNT OFFERING ON AN ALTAR I WILL SHOW YOU”

“But that is… no…. It must be a mistake!”

She paused for a second. She could not believe her ears. That was so wrong, such an alien request. But then she realised it wasn’t. Her scholarly mind, one that have read the Word of God thousands of times reminded her. It was Abraham’s test. Back in the Old Testament, back in the Old Times when God was not yet Father, but Lord and when people were wild and godless. But world the moved on, hasn’t it? God was now about love, about loving your neighbour. Or was it?

“You can’t possibly expect me to kill Beatrice. She is like…” she hesitated. She never said it out load. It was unfair. Her feelings were unfair to the rest of the novices. Those sweet girls deserved better than her, a bitter old woman with too high standards for them, too high demands. But not for her.

“A DAUGHTER. AN OFFSPRING. AN OFFERING” Its voice was quitter now, a whisper in her ear, a suggestion of sound.

“But doesn’t God forbid us... from taking each other’s lives? Does He?” she asked feeling the coldness of the chapel coming back and seeing as the Angel’s form started to shrink. She was lost, utterly lost. She was not feeling well. The commandments… her whole life was about the exact opposite. It was about piety, care and nurturing souls in need. To take a life would put a everything she has ever done into question.

“GOD DOES NOT KILL. GOD CREATES LIFE. AN OFFERING IS GIVEN, NOT TAKEN.” The voice was now as load as a dying man’s breath, with a heavy smell of burnt wax and melted candles.

Some sisters would use knee pads or small pillows when kneeling for prayer. Mother Mathildh was different. The cold, stone floor dug into her knees. She believed in was connecting her to the Chapel. She felt unity with it as she prayed. She was unmoving. With her stern face and unmoving eyes shou could easily be mistaken for one of the stone statues in the vestibule, frozen in calm piety. But Mother Mathilt was far from calm. Her prayer was utterly silent and devoid of any reverie.

Wooden cross stood in front of her in a little alcove. She took a candle from a stash beneath a prayer table. She placed it on a metal tripod with other candles, that were barely burning, and ignited it with a wooden stick, transferring the flame between them. Scentless heat of burning wax filled her nostrils. She turned to look at the cross. Shadow danced on its beam.

“Why?” she wondered “Why me, Father?”

She made eye contact with a figure on the cross. The face, sad and tranquil despite the torture it was enduring.

“I am not as strong as You think. I am not as strong as I once though I was.” She trembled as if the cold has caught up with her, but it wasn’t true. She fixed her gaze on the alcove and clenched her jaw.

The cross remined silent and imposing. It was towering above the frail woman kneeling alone in the Chapel. The wind creeped inside. The wooden window shutters creaked.

“Don’t test me. I fear what I will do…”

The shadows moved when the candle started burning brightly as it melted the wax around it. The face on the cross was now illuminated with a hint of a smile.

“I fear what I will not do.”

There was strange warmth that spread on Mathilt’s shoulders. She shuddered and turned around with a concerned look. She felt as if someone had embraced her, but she was alone. There was not a soul nearby. Everybody was sleeping at this time of the night. Only Beatrice would still be keeping vigil and after the scolding she endured she would not dare abandon her post. Mathilt turned to the alcove again.

“Is that you, Father? Is that you Lord? Please, give me a sign if the Angel is your will!” she pleaded in her mind, surprised by her own sincerity, her own head filled with reverence it lacked before.

Warmth faded and chapels midnight cold seeped through to her bones again. The stone floor was almost as made of needles.

“DO NOT BE AFRAID” the disembodied, genderless voice boomed in her head “FOR ONLY THE SINNERS SHUDDER IN THE PRESENCE OF DIVINE”

“I am a sinner, for I am just a woman. I do not seek sainthood in this lifetime.” Mathilt took a deep breath. She knew what would happen next. The warm breeze, a summer wind danced around her. Slowly at first and then faster and sharper.

“SINNER’S EYES WOULD BURN AND YOURS STAY TRUE, CHILD. GOD IS GOOD”

Suddenly she felt seen. She felt as if she were surrounded by a thousand of people all staring at her, silently. There was cold heat emanating from everywhere, as if she was caught in a cage of fire that burnt pure ice. She saw rings, centric, spiralling and turning. She heard sizzling and grind of metal. The rings were both in front of her and around her. Circling slowly, inversing and spinning faster than the mind could understand.

“DO NOT TRY TO COMPERHAND. HEAR THE WORD OF GOD.” The eyes were blinking but not at once. They moved in a wave around the rings. The voice was careless and pure. It was cacophonously loud and devoid of sound at the same time.

“Please. I did what you asked. Please.” Mathilt bent her neck and hugged her hands to her chest.