Chapter 25: Chapter 25

The beauty of Saint Luke’s Convent would interest anyone. It was a majestic place. The convent was carefully planned and built in the quietest place in Abagana, because it was believed God loves a noiseless place. When Martha first arrived at the convent, that fateful morning, with the sun gleaming on her face, she thought the convent would be a dour and lonely place. On her mind was a place with old, dull and unattractive buildings. But she was intrigued by the striking beauty of the edifices at the convent. And of course, the natural vegetation that splashed the area, adding to its charm and grandeur.

The road to the convent was smooth, straight and narrow, not for want of space but because of the message it sought to send across. It reminded everyone that narrow is the road to heaven and wide is the one to perdition. Of course that would appear as a cryptic message to an onlooker. But at the centre of the road was a monument of an angel standing with a spear in his hands and trampling the head of the defeated Satan underfoot. Underneath the vanquished Satan was the inscription: Narrow is the path to eternal life. Still the narrowness of the road did not steal its charm. The road was a cul-de-sac, with tall gmelina trees bordering on both sides. Underneath the trees were sparse lilacs and daisy flowers. These flowers and trees gave the convent a glimpse of the much-vaunted Garden of Eden.

At nighttimes when the lights are turned on, they add beauty and life to the flowers. The convent’s gate was big and shiny; it was gold-like. Many said it looked like the golden gate of heaven which they were still to see. It was clumsy and little wonder, James always gathered enough strength before he opened it for the cars that came in and out of the convent. The convent had several beautiful buildings. These buildings were painted red and white.

‘Does the painting have a meaning too?’ Martha asked Reverend Grace, few days after she arrived at the convent.

‘Of course they do,’ Reverend Grace had replied. ‘The red paint is a symbol of the blood of Jesus shed on the cross to purchase salvation for us. Gracious God! How He first loved us,’ Reverend Grace piped, shaking her head. Martha had wondered if that was also a part of the meaning of the painting. ‘The white stands for purity. It reminds us of how our hearts must look. We must remain unsullied and without blemish till we see the Lord.’ Then there was the convent’s fence. It was tall and topped with broken bottles, the sharp ends jutting out. There were lights on the wall. Underneath the fence were lawns stretching through the convent, with wilting grasses, struggling to retain their color in the face of the furious harmattan. During the rainy season, the grasses on the lawns were different; they shone in the sun in their natural greenish coloration. The grasses were always well-trimmed. Three swimming pools were by the corner. But they were more of beautification than for actual swimming. The nuns hardly swam in them. There was a grotto at the far end of the fence. It housed the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The grotto had three little children – Lucy, Francisco and Jacinta. They were the Godly children the Blessed Virgin Mary appeared to at Fatima. She had told them to pray and warn sinners that perdition and doomsday lurked at the corner and all sinners must repent to avoid the scourge of Satan at Armageddon. When Martha was still at the convent, she sometimes wondered if the Blessed Virgin Mary would ever find her worthy of appearing to.

The abbess’ lodge was at a respectable distance, from the other buildings. It was small but well-built. Behind it was an orchard of guavas and daisy flowers. The chapel was some distance from it. It was marvelously crafted. The chapel’s dome was decked with a cross. Beside the chapel was a narrow and tall building. It was a tower, circular in shape. It housed the big bell used to regulate the convent. Behind the convent’s fence were a lush vegetation of shrubs, hedges and grasses and a tall mango tree; the tree was the woning of the birds. Birds lived on it, their nests lined with tightly packed leaves.

Since Martha’s death, the convent had remained quiet. The nuns were devastated. No one would see Martha again. That cold truth was a bitter pill for the nuns to swallow. Reverend Grace too was still at the hospital. She had not recovered from the shock of Martha’s gruesome death. That evening after the heat of the sun softened, Reverend Joy called the nuns together and addressed them.

‘Dearest Sisters,’ she said, clearing her voice, ‘this is a hard and painful time. Nonetheless, it is not the time for us to act as though we do not have faith. It is not also the time to act as though we do not have the Holy Spirit to comfort us. Or will God not give the Holy Spirit to those that truly ask him of it? We must know that life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, but learning about how to weather the storm. We must show our faith in this difficult time and overcome our grief. We must come together and show why we are wearing this habit. Let us ask the Lord to heal our hearts. Let us pray for the speedy recovery of Reverend Grace and commit the departed soul of Martha to our Maker. We must cheer up, and find the strength to remind the devil that he’s a congenital liar!’ And making a light pause, she continued, ‘I urge you all to go to your rooms and prepare, we’re meeting in the chapel in an hour’s time. We must continue to pray without ceasing.’ After an hour’s time, the nuns gathered at the chapel; praying and singing. Moses was weeping in his room. He could hear the nuns’ voices from the distance. The song: Restore to me the joy of my salvation, was floating into his room. His life with Martha had been blissful. It was cruel of death to have snatched her away from him. He had imagined their lives together, and the beauty of their unborn child. That beautiful dream was now unrealistic. Reverend Grace had loved him so much and had raised him as her child. For all the love she showered on him, he had brought her grief. He had been ungrateful. He was the child that bit the finger that fed him. The guilt on his heart was heavy. It hung on his neck like a hangman’s noose. What was life without Reverend Grace and Martha? Martha was the center of his world. With his mind filled with a million sad thoughts, he left his room and went towards the gate. He had cried and borne enough pain.

James was sad and worried. The gloom at the convent was like a disease that spread to everyone. Martha may have sinned, but she was a beautiful and good nun. Death was the last thing he would have wished for her. He had known Reverend Grace for donkey’s years and the fact that she was feeling responsible for Martha’s death and also battling to stay alive really bothered him.

‘I want to go out,’ Moses said to James, breaking into his thought as he reached the gate. James was startled to see Moses standing beside him. ‘I need to go out. I need to take a stroll,’ Moses insisted.

‘Of course,’ James said, rising from his chair. ‘But do not stay out for too long,’ he advised him as he opened the gate. Moses came out of the convent and walked down the road. James watched him as he made a sharp turn into the bush. However, several hours soon passed and Moses did not return. The sky was gathering with dark clouds and a thunder rumbled in the distance, as light darted across the sky. Finally, the long-awaited rain had come. The leaves of dusty trees rustled in the wind as grasses swayed in the gust. The wind hurled down mangoes from the tree, as birds scampered and shrilled in protest. Then James’s face furrowed and fear gripped him. Moses had still not returned.

James opened the gate and came out. He walked down the narrow road and took the left turn just as Moses did. His mind was filled with fear as he brushed aside the tall, prickly grasses and shrubs and went farther inside the bush. The sharp, crunchy leaves crushed under his feet as he lumbered. The strong stench of birds’ droppings and the putrid smell of mango fruits filled his nose as he reached the tall tree. He stood there, looking around eerily. Then his eyes widened. He stood dead. His face was white as snow. Moses was dangling on a rope on the mango tree. His mouth was open and his tongue was sticking out like a roasted goat. A weird cold shiver descended on James’s back, as he felt his legs melting under him. James stared blearily at the body. Moses’s face wore a martyred expression. The first drop of the rain splashed on James’s face. Then the rain came, pouring down heavily in thick, slanting sheets. James bolted out of the bush, screaming at the top of his voice. The rain gathered pace, pattering on rooftops, washing dusty trees, pelting on windowpanes and slopping on walls. A dusty scent filled the air.

The rain pattered mercilessly on Moses’s lifeless body. Like a man that was fated, he had died under the same tree he was picked. Star-crossed as he was, there was no fairytale ending for him and Martha. Their love from the outset was cursed by the gods and thwarted by man, with the custodians of fate cruelly against them. As it is often said, if a tree falls and destroys a fence, it is used in mending it. If that is so, then are the deaths of Martha and Moses a comeuppance for their love or sins? If that is the case, then some would say that it is rough justice, while some would say it is fate. Yet many questions remain unanswered as they always have. If a man’s life is controlled by unseen forces, what right and freedom has he to his life and actions? What right has anyone to judge him? Fate is fate. It is what is written and it is what must happen. No matter what a man does or where he runs to, his fate always finds him. Therefore, man can only control the sail but not the tide of the sea. However, there’s no end to a true love story, and true love never dies. Martha and Moses were true lovers and their love has no end.

Even as the questions on our mind linger, there is nothing we can do but to wait. It’s only time, at its convenience, that shall provide all the answers that we seek. It’s only time that shall tell which is right and wrong; how Miriam’s actions would be judged; what Jonny would reap; if Frank will ever know the truth; how Moses and Martha will be remembered; if Reverend Grace will ever be whole again; and if the blessed calm of Saint Luke’s Convent will ever return, after the rain stops and the sun sets once again on the clear sky.