The Miracle Part 33

Presently, driving past a cl.u.s.ter of buildings she identified as the Maison Burg, Amanda realized that this had been the old Lagues farmhouse. Here, once long ago, the thirteen-year-old Bernadette had sat and daydreamed of a better life-a month before returning to Lourdes and to eternal glory. Strange, strange story, Amanda reflected. Maybe she would learn more of it very soon. Slowly, Amanda kept driving.

Even without the address, Amanda would have found Madame Gautier's abode with little difficulty. It was the newest and most splendid residence in the area. The gray stucco two-story house with freshly painted green shutters was perched near the top of a small rise, and a paved driveway circled up the rise to the front entrance. Amanda ascended the driveway and left her car at the door.

The woman who answered the bell was no more than five feet tall, and she had just come from the hairdresser's. A mound of purple-white hair sat on her head like an iron wig. The thick lenses of her spectacles magnified the pupils of her eyes. Her nose was as sharp as a hawk's beak and her mouth was pinched. She was a bony Gorgon of a woman.

She opened the door only partway, sizing up her visitor. "You are Madame Clayton from Lourdes?"

"And from the United States," Amanda added. "Madame Gau-ticr?"

"Come in."

Amanda had to ease herself past the reluctantly opened door, then waited as Madame Gautier shut it, turned the deadbolt, and led her through the dark entry into an underfumished living room bearing several imitation Louis XIV pieces. There was a stiff divan, and Madame Gautier directed Amanda to it. Then she brought a low straight-backed pull-up chair in front of Amanda, and sat down in it like an inquisitor. Briefly, she scrutinized her visitor.

"Who gave you my name?" Madame Gautier wanted to know.

"Father Ruland in Lourdes."

Madame Gautier sniffed. "That one," she said without further elaboration.

"Actually, I asked for the name of the person who sold him Bernadette's journal."

"Why?"

"I-I'd visited Bernadette's old convent in Nevers. I heard from a nun there that the church had acquired only the main part of Bernadette's last journal, the part in which Bernadette had set down her account of the eighteen apparitions. I was told that the church had not bothered to acquire the earlier part of the journal, the part in which Bernadette wrote about her upbringing in Lourdes and her stay here in Bartres with your ancestor. When I mentioned that to Father Ruland, he confirmed it. I wondered if I might see the seller, and he gave me your name."

The slits behind the thick lenses were appraising Amanda. After brief consideration, the French woman spoke. "You mentioned on the telephone that you were doing a paper about Bernadette. This is a doctoral thesis?"

"No, indeed. I already have my doctorate. This is a professional paper on the psychological state of Bernadette at the time she began seeing the apparitions. I hope to have it published soon."

"You are a Catholic?"

Amanda was uncertain if she should tell the truth or be. She could not guess what was expected. She decided that the truth was safer. "No, I am not exactly. Although-"

"You are a nonbeliever." This was said flatly, without accusation.

"Well, I am a recent convert. Sort of-"

Madame Gautier's head wagged impatiently. "No, I mean in Bernadette's visions."

Trapped once more, Amanda voted for truth. "Like any rationalist, I am uncertain about visions and miracles. But I'm interested in how some people get them, particularly how Bernadette had them. I want to know what -- what her frame of mind was at the time she first went to the grotto."

Madame Gautier's countenance appeared to relax ever so slightly. The slits had become eyes, and the mouth unpinched. "You are a nonbeliever," repeated Madame Gautier.

Amanda was still uncertain. "I am a scholar."

"Who wants to know about Bernadette's earliest years?"

"That would be vital to my investigation. After all, what Bernadette was thinking or doing before she had her visions would be of paramount importance. Obviously, it was not of importance to Father Ruland or he would have gone to greater lengths to purchase that part of the journal from you."

"He could not purchase it because I would not sell it."

Amanda frowned. "Perhaps I misunderstood him, but I had the impression you had shown him those early pages of the journal and he had read them and considered them of httle interest, except as a museum piece, and felt they were not worth pursuing further."

"He lied to you," said Madame Gautier. "I don't know why. Maybe as a historian, to prove he saw and read everything. But you have my word-he saw not a single page in which Bernadette wrote about her life in the Gaol at Lourdes and her life with the Lagues in Bartrds."

"How curious," said Amanda. "Didn't he want to buy the first part along with the second?"

"Of course, he did. But I knew that if he saw the first part, he would not buy the second. I wanted to sell the second because I needed the money for myself and for Jean." She paused. "Jean is my sixteen-year-old nephew. I consider him my son, my only child. I want the best for him."

Amanda had felt a thrill of excitement as Madame Gautier spoke. Amanda had caught something. She uncrossed her legs and came forward on the divan. "Madame, did I hear you say you wouldn't sell or even show Father Ruland the first part of Bernadette's journal because if he saw it he would not buy the second part?"

"Correct."

"But what is there in that first part, the part with Bernadette's stay in Bartres, that might have made Father Ruland not want to buy the second part about the visions? Can you tell me?"

"You must tell me something first. You are a professor in an American university, this university in Chicago, you said on the phone. Is that right?"

"You asked if I was a real professor, and I said I was, indeed. I am a professor."

"This Chicago University, it has students who study science?"

The digression made no sense to Amanda, but she humored Madame Gautier. "We have a real strong department of biology, and-"

"Biochemistry?"

"Absolutely. The department of biochemistry is widely known. There are undergraduate courses in everything from nucleic acids to protein synthesis to bacterial viruses to genetics. A graduate student can also gain a Master of Science degree or work for a Ph.D."

"This is so?"

"I'm not sure what your interest is, but I can have the latest school catalogue sent to you."

"Never mind." Madame Gautier studied her guest. "For now, I must know something else. You are influential?"

"I'm not sure what you mean. Am I influential at the school?"

"At this Chicago University."

Puzzled, Amanda said, "I am on the faculty. I know everyone in the administration. I'm on good terms with all of them. Why do you want to know?"

"You will see," said Madame Gautier enigmatically. "Now we return to your question. Why I would not show Father Ruland the first part of Bernadette's journal."

"Why wouldn't you?" asked Amanda eagerly.

"I told Father Ruland that the first part was not for sale, so there was no point in showing it. I told him it was not for sale because it dealt with Bernadette's stay with my family ancestors in Bartress, and I wanted to retain it for sentimental reasons, to preserve it and allow Jean -the last of our line-to inherit it. Father Ruland accepted that reason. But the reason I gave for holding back the first part of the journal was not the real reason I did so, not the truth."

"You said if he saw the first part, he might not have bought the second part."

'That is the truth."

"Madame Gautier, I must know, it is imperative that I know, what there is in the first part of the journal that would have made the second part unsaleable."

"I will tell you."

Amanda waited.

Madame Gautier adjusted her gla.s.ses, and focused squarely on Amanda's inquiring face. "Because in the first part, what Bernadette wrote makes it clear-if she knew it or not-that she was a little faker."

"A what?"

"What would you call someone who sees things that do not exist- sees them all the time?"

"A hysteric," said Amanda quickly. "A person who has hallucinations -- in psychology we sometimes relate it to eidetic imagery-a vivid perception of something as though it were really there."

"Bernadette," said Madame Gautier.

"My G.o.d, what are you saying?"

"In writing in her journal of her experiences in Bartrds, Bernadette claims that in her seven months here while tending the sheep she saw Jesus three times and the Virgin Mary six times -saw the Virgin six times before she saw her eighteen times a month later in Lourdes. Bernadette was afraid to tell anyone in Bartrds. The Lagues were not people who would stand for such nonsense. They would have thrown her out. But luckily Bernadette soon found the people of Lourdes more gullible."

"She was seeing the Virgin over and over again-before going to the grotto? And seeing Jesus as well? Unbelievable!"

"You can believe she said that-in her own words. I will show you."

Madame Gautier almost bolted from the chair, went to the wall behind Amanda, and removed the framed color print of Versailles from the wall. In the wall, there was a metal safe, similar to the one Ruland had used. Madame Gautier quickly spun the dial, and the door sprang open. She reached inside and pulled out a cheap blue-covered school-type notebook. She began turning the pages as she came back to the divan. "The journal was two notebooks. This one about her early years. The other notebook about what happened at the grotto. Here, see for yourself. Can you read French?"

"Yes."

"Read pages twelve and thirteen, where I have it open." She handed the notebook to Amanda. "Read it."

The slanted handwriting of Bernadette covered the two pages of lined paper. Amanda found it difficult holding the notebook still as her eyes traveled across the pages.

It was there, all there, Jesus seen three times and the Virgin Mary seen six times among the sheep by a lonely rejected little girl, evidence of an absolutely unstable emotional neurotic.

"I must have it," said Amanda, looking up as Madame Grautier took the journal from her. "I want to buy it. Fll pay you any reasonable sum I can afford."

"No," said Madame Gautier.

"Are you afraid of Father Ruland and the Church, what they would say?"

"They can say nothing. Certainly not have their money back. They paid for an authentic part of Bernadette's journal and they got it. If Bernadette made a fool of them earlier, it is not my concern."

*Then what is it? Why do you refuse to sell?"

"I don't say I refuse to sell. I say I refuse to sell merely for a sum of money. While I am not as rich as they say, I don't need more money for myself. What I want is to secure my nephew's future. Fbr that, I need an adequate sum for Jean's tuition at a good school. But it is more than that. Jean wants to study biochemistry in a modern American university. It is his dream. Perhaps he could apply and get in by normal means, but I am told it is sometimes difficult. I want to ensure his future. I want to know that he can go to an American university, like your Chicago University. If you can-"

"Of course, I can," said Amanda. "If Jean's grades are acceptable-"

"The best," Madame Gautier interrupted. "He is brilliant. I will show you."

She darted out of the room, and returned moments later with a folder, which she opened on Amanda's lap.

"You can see for yourself," Madame Gautier said proudly.

Amanda quickly scanned the reports containing Jean's school grades, and the glowing comments by his various instructors. It was obvious that the young man was brilliant.

Smiling, Amanda handed the folder back to Madame Gautier. "I can see he is special," agreed Amanda. "No problem. I do have the contacts to get him into the University of Chicago. I can promise-"

"You must guarantee," said Madame Gautier. "For that I will sell you this journal."

"Guarantee what? My guarantee that he gains entrance to the University or another of equal standing and -- what?-I pay his tuition? What else?"

'That, no more. I want him there. I want him to have the opportunity."

Amanda was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with excitement. "Your nephew shall have his opportunity. I promise you. Give me the journal and I promise-"

Madame Gautier shoved the notebook into the safe and locked it. "A promise is not enough. This is business. I want a guarantee on paper, a signed contract between me, the seller, and you, the buyer."

"Anything!" exclaimed Amanda.

"Let me call Monsieur Abbadie."

"Who?"

"An old friend and a retired avocat -attorney. It must be legal. He will prepare the contract." She headed for another room. "You wait."

Amanda could not sit still any longer. She was on her feet, pacing about the living room, projecting what this tremendous find meant. At first, it meant only the breakthrough with Ken. She would show him the journal. He would read it, see for himself, and see that he had duped himself into wors.h.i.+pping a hallucinating child. Ken would leave and return with her for his operation immediately. If there was a chance for him to be saved, he would be saved.

As Amanda paced, the find acquired a second value. With this expose, there was another who could be saved, her new friend Liz Finch, who would have one of the stories of the decade and hold onto her job in Paris. Amanda could see the headlines around the world- and then she could see something else, and she halted in her pacing. She could see the end of Lourdes. She could see Lourdes a ghost town, a shunned hamlet. She felt a pang of sorrow and guilt for being the Attila who destroyed it, but-what the h.e.l.l, she told herself. In her world of reality, there should not be any sick and false faiths that corrupted and, in their own way, misled and destroyed people. Most likely, she told herself, if there were no Lourdes, people would invent one, another one. None of that was her affair. Her concern must be only for her loved one, Ken, and incidentally her friend, Liz Finch.

She realized that Madame Gautier had returned to the living room. "My neighbor. Monsieur Abbadie, was not at his home. He has gone to visit his grandchildren for the day. But I chased after him by phone, spoke to him in Pau. I told him what this was about. He said to me that the contract will be simple to make. He will be back in Bartres in the early morning. He will draw up the contract and come here with it and you can look it over at lunch."

'Tomorrow?" said Amanda.

"You can go back to Lourdes and return in the morning. It is not far. Or you can stay and have dinner with Jean and myself, and sleep overnight at a British children's hostel we have nearby, Hosanna House. It is not normally done, but I can make an arrangement for you."

"I'm sorry, I can't. I have to go back to Lourdes. It's my husband, you see. He's-"

"Praying for a miracle?"

For the first time, Madame Gautier's features softened. "Go to him. You will have the journal in your hands tomorrow. That I promise."

In the early evening, Edith Moore stood at the base of the statue of Father Peyramale, cure of Lourdes in Bernadette's time and the first important clergyman to accept the peasant girl's vision, and tilted her head back for a view of the belltower in the illuminated steeple of the Church of the Sacred Heart. It was comforting for Edith to remember that this church, m 1903, had finally replaced Father Peyramale's original parish church. His remains had been interred in a crypt in the bas.e.m.e.nt and his original wooden confessional box had been moved there, too.

It was also comforting to Edith to know that Father Ruland himself had scheduled her confession. Father Ruland had taken an interest in Edith's case three years ago, and he had befriended both Edith and Reggie throughout that time. Reggie, after learning of his wife's meeting with Dr. Kleinberg and after seeing Kleinberg himself, had telephoned Father Ruland to be absolutely certain that a priest would be on hand to hear her confession. Reggie had hinted that the confession was an important one for his wife. He had told Ruland, Edith's wish was to undertake the confession not in a chapel in the domain but at the Church of the Sacred Heart in the Old Town. This, for sentimental reasons. Because it had been in the Church of the Sacred Heart that Edith had gone to confession three years ago, hours before her cure. If all this prearrangement had been a bit unorthodox, it apparently had not bothered Father Ruland in the least. He had been cooperative about both of Reggie's requests. The place and time had been set, and the time was now.

Limping noticeably, Edith crossed the Rue St.-Pierre, went down the Rue de L'Eglise, climbed the steps to the church entrance, and went inside. There was a handftil of wors.h.i.+ppers in the pews, and Edith shd into an isolated pew, knelt, and offered up a prayer of contrition.

"Oh my G.o.d, I am heartily sorry for having ofifended you," she whispered, "and I detest all my sins, because of your punishments, but most of all because they offend you, my G.o.d, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of your grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen."