Letters from my Windmill Part 9

Father Martin was the Cucugnan priest.

He was as wholesome as fresh bread, as good as gold, and he had a paternal love for his Cucugnanians. For him Cucugnan would have been the nearest thing to paradise on earth, if only the people had given him a little more, shall we say, business. But, sadly, his confessional remained unused except as a larder for spiders. On Easter day, the hosts remained secure in their holy ciborium. It hurt the good priest to the very centre of his soul, and every day he prayed that he would live to see his missing flock back in the fold.

Well, as you will see, the good Lord was listening.

One Sunday after the Gospels, monsieur Martin took his place in the pulpit.

--Bretheren, he said, believe me, or believe me not, the other night, I found myself, yes me, a miserable sinner, at the very gates of paradise.

"I knocked. St. Peter himself opened the gates!

"--Well! It's you, my dear monsieur Martin, he began, which fine wind...? And what can I do for you?

"--Dear St. Peter, keeper of the key and the great book, if I may be so bold, could you tell me how many Cucugnanians are in heaven?

"--I can refuse you nothing, monsieur Martin. Sit down, we will look it up together.

"St. Peter then took up his thick book, opened it, and put on his spec's:

"--Now then, let's see: Cucugnan, you say. Cu...Cu...Cucugnan. Here we are. Cucugnan.... My dear monsieur Martin, the page is purest white.

Not a soul.... There are no more Cucugnanians than there are fish bones in a turkey.

"--What! There's no one from Cucugnan here? No one? That's impossible!

Look again, more closely....

"--n.o.body, Oh, holy man. Look for yourself, if you think I am joking.

"--My, oh my! Dear, oh dear! I stamped my feet, clenched my hands and cried,--Mercy me!--Then, St Peter continued:

"--Believe me, monsieur Martin, you mustn't take on so, you could easily have a stroke. After all, it's not your fault. You see, your Cucugnanians must, without fear of contradiction, be doing their spell in purgatory.

"--Oh! for charity's sake, great St. Peter, make it so that I can at least see them to give them solace.

"--Willingly, my friend.... Here, put on these sandals, quickly, for the rest of the way is none too smooth.... That's right.... Now, keep going straight on. Can you see a turning over there, at the far end?

You will find a silver door completely covered with black crosses....

On the right hand side.... When you knock, it will be opened unto you.... Bye-bye! Be good and, above all, stay cheerful."

"And I kept on going ... and kept on going. I was dead beat, and covered in goose flesh; there was nothing to take my mind off things. A small footpath, full of brambles, and s.h.i.+ning rubies and hissing snakes, led me to the silver door.

"I knocked twice.

"--Who is it? asked a hoa.r.s.e, deathly voice.

"--The priest of Cucugnan.

"--Of...?

"--Of Cucugnan.

"--Ah!... Come in.

"I entered. A great, beautiful angel, with wings as dark as the night, a robe as radiant as the day, and a diamond key hanging at his waist, was scratching something into a great book even thicker than St.Peter's....

"--Well, what do you want; do you have a question? said the angel.

"--Dear angel of the Lord, I would like to know, I am dying to know, in fact, if you have the Cucugnanians here?

"--The?...

"--The Cucugnanians, the people from Cucugnan.... I am their prior.

"--Ah! Abbot Martin, is it?

"--At your service, monsieur angel."

"--Cucugnan, you say....

"The angel then opened his great book and leafed through it, licking his finger to turn the page....

"--Cucugnan, he gave a long sigh.... Monsieur Martin, we have no one here in purgatory from Cucugnan.

"--Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! No one from Cucugnan! Oh, Good Lord! So, where, forgive me, in heaven's name, are they, then?

"--Well! holy man, they are in paradise. Where on earth did you expect them to be?

"--But I've just come from there.

"--You've come from there!... And?

"--And! They're not there!... Oh, dear Mother of G.o.d!

"--What can I do monsieur priest? If they're neither in paradise not purgatory, there is no half way house, they are....

"--Holy Cross of Jesus, son of David! No, no, no, can it be?... Could it be that the great St. Peter himself lied to me?... I never heard the c.o.c.k crow. Oh, we are lost! How can I possibly go to heaven if my flock aren't there?

"--Listen, my poor monsieur Martin, as you want to be sure about all this, no matter what, and to see for yourself what you have to do to turn things round, take that footpath, and run along it, if you know how to run.... You will come across a large gate on the left. There, it will all be made clear to you. And by G.o.d himself!

"And the angel closed the door."

"It was a long pathway covered in red-hot embers. I staggered as if I had been drinking; I stumbled at every single step; I was covered in sweat, a drop on every single hair of my body, and I was gasping for something to drink.... But, thanks to the sandals St. Peter lent me, I didn't burn my feet.