Sister Eve and the Blue Nun (31 page)

Feet and legs, hips and back, chest and shoulders, neck and face and head. Soon nothing ached or hurt. Her face and head were not bloody. Her eye was not swollen shut. Her shoulder and arm, the side that felt so broken, so damaged, the hip and ankle, all of the wounds had been healed.

She then felt some part of herself sit up, felt something from within her body, her spirit, her inner being, pulling slowly out of what still lay on the floor, something pulling slowly out and away, leaving the shell that she had lived in all of her life, now resting on the floor beneath, the wounds still present upon it, the blood, the swelling, the bruising, all of it still remaining there.

She felt a twinge of sorrow to leave it, this body of hers, and for a brief moment she wanted to kneel down to bless it, touch it, but in the blueness that filled the room, she was so content, so deeply happy to be out of the broken vessel that had been her body, she did not want to hover too close. No longer held within it or bound completely by it, she was not thirsty or afraid or sad or confused; she felt nothing of the things that had only seconds earlier overwhelmed her. She had been released from what had been, and there was only the blueness that moved around her and even through her, lifting her up and beyond herself.

She felt light and unattached and free, and Eve then knew a deep and abiding love, a piercing love that she recognized, had felt before, albeit fleetingly and never lasting. This love, however, this presence of such an all-consuming emotion, remained. This time the love did not leave her but rather enveloped her. And while previously in her life there had been only glimpses during such an experience, this time Eve was completely and fully immersed in this love.

Heaven
, she thought as she saw her body lying beneath her.
This must be heaven, the blue of the sky, the leaving of my body; this must be what is happening. I am dying. I am dead.
But she remained somewhat confused when she realized there were no angels or
spiritual beings leading her to another place. All she knew was this embodiment of love holding her in the vast and divine blueness.

Without direction or guidance, a part of Eve seemed to know what to do, an instinct telling her how to lean into the lightness, relax into the beauty of what carried her, what held her, and because of this deep wisdom within her, she did not question or doubt or worry about the suddenness and unexpectedness of what had come upon her. It was as if the very essence of her nature, the very basic element of how she was defined, knew where she was going, what was overcoming her, and what was being required of her, which Eve suddenly understood was nothing. Nothing was being asked or expected or pulled from her. For the very first time that she could recall, the simple creation of herself, showing up in her original form, was all there was for her to do.

She closed her eyes and a loosening of ties began, ties anchoring her to her body, to the earth beneath her. She felt ropes and ribbons fall from her, colored strings and thick yarns; and with each untying, she moved higher and higher into the blueness, into that perfect event of love. It was like shedding old skins, coming out of a cocoon, spinning and spinning out of chains and cords and strips of cloth. And with each letting go, she breathed into a higher state of awareness.

When the undoing was finished, she knew she was not completely unbound. There were still one or two, maybe more, but not many ties that wrapped around her as she moved away from her body, away from the building where she had been, away from the earth, all of it now below her. She was not completely unloosed, but the ties she still felt around and coming from within her were
not cumbersome or burdensome. It was almost as if she felt glad that they were there even as she yearned for the complete release, the whole of letting go.

“Evangeline.” The voice that spoke, the first one calling her, was so familiar, from so long ago, that immediately Eve began to cry. Just from the sound of her name, just from the way it felt to hear it spoken by that voice again.

“Evangeline, I have loved you so long.”

Eve couldn't help herself, the tears held for so many years, this moment prayed for and wanted so desperately. She could hardly call out, but the word stayed on her lips as she melted into the oneness she first remembered.

“Mama,” she said and was immediately engulfed in what seemed like the warmest and oldest embrace she had ever known. Her mother had come to her.

“I miss you,” Eve heard herself say. “I miss you so much.”

“I am always with you,” she heard the reply. “Always.”

And the love and the embrace held her, sustained her, filled her, until suddenly there was another presence with them, another presence that held them both, Eve and the spirit of her deceased mother.

Eve recognized it as the same presence that had been with her when she first pulled away from her body, the presence of the blueness. A cape, a cloud, it seemed so hard to name what it was, but the blueness came through her again, bathing her in warmth and peace.

“You are safe,” another voice spoke out, a voice other than her mother's.

Eve wanted to shout the words, sing the words, laugh the words, “I know.” She felt them so deeply. “I know, I know, I know.”

“Not here,” the voice replied.

And Eve was stunned by the revelation.

“You are safe there,” the voice added.

“But I don't want to be there,” Eve said, hearing how she sounded, so young and so fierce. “I want to be here, with you, here.”

“You will be safe there,” the voice said. “But you must go back because there are still bindings that are not ready to be loosed. There is still work to be done.”

Before she could even respond, before she could ask for more time, Eve was already starting to feel the blueness lifting from her, away from her. She could feel the memory of her mother's embrace, the feeling of such a thing, but not the embrace itself any longer.

She felt herself being called back, quietly, easily, but still back to what lay beneath her, back to the earth, back to the old shed, back to the hard wooden floor, back to her broken body. It was slow and not painful, not disturbing, just a simple return, a baby placed back into the crib after being in her mother's arms. It was gentle and done with great compassion and love.

“He needs you,” the voice called out, sounding farther and farther away. “You must go back for him.”

And suddenly, she fully realized the agony and brokenness of her body.

Eve screamed out in pain.

FORTY-NINE

When Eve first heard the moans, she thought they had to be coming from her own mouth, a response to her own pain. Once conscious again, she had heard herself scream, and she imagined that the groans were what followed, a consequence to feeling once more her injuries. However, as she turned her head and felt beside her again, touching the body near her that she had discovered earlier, she understood that the other person in the room where she had been abandoned was alive and making the noises.

She tried to roll over onto her right side, the side that had not felt the full impact of the car wreck and that was facing the other person. She tried lifting first her left shoulder and then her left hip, but the pain was unbearable. She tried again, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes and concentrating as hard as she could to turn her body and move through the agony.

Slowly, she pulled and turned until she was on her right side, and as she fell on her hip, she felt ahead of her with her right hand
and realized she was indeed facing a leg, a man's leg, she thought, shoeless but still wearing socks. She moved her fingers up the leg until she felt what seemed like a gown or a long skirt, the cloth she had yanked earlier, and Eve understood she was feeling the simple cotton tunic of a monk.

She pushed with her right leg, sliding herself up to the man's face.

“Anthony,” she said, touching her friend's neck, feeling for a pulse. “Anthony, it's Eve,” she said again, no longer aware of her own pain. She felt along his face, his chin, his cheeks, his closed eyes.

Slowly, she pulled herself up so that she was sitting next to the young man. There was still little light in the room, so she was unable to see the face of her friend, but she leaned in close enough to feel him breathing even if he would not respond to her calls.

“Anthony.” She pulled his head and shoulders onto her lap, patted him on the cheek and across his forehead. “Anthony, you need to wake up.”

He moaned, winced, and moved a little, pulling himself away from her lap and back onto the floor.

Eve leaned over him and, with her good arm, tried to pull him up. “Anthony, we need to get out of here. You need to wake up.”

He responded only by pulling away and groaning again.

Eve stopped. She couldn't tell what had happened to the monk. She couldn't see any injuries on him, no blood around his body, no apparent wounds that she could feel, but it was so dark in the room she was not able to get a clear look at the man, not able to do a decent assessment of his injuries.

He was hurt or sick, that much she could tell, but whether he was not responding clearly and not able to stay awake because of a
head injury or because he was hurt elsewhere on his body or if he had ingested something or been drugged, she couldn't tell.

“Anthony,” she tried again, calling out his name and shaking him by the shoulders. “Anthony, you've got to wake up. You've been here long enough. Wake up! We have to get out of here.”

There was no reply and Eve's concern was only growing.

“I . . . I'm sick,” he said softly.

Eve moved closer to him, leaning down to hear. “Anthony, what happened? How did you get here?”

“He . . . he . . .”

Eve couldn't make out any words. He was mumbling.

“Was it John Barr?” she asked, remembering how she had followed the man out of Terrero.

“Did he poison you, Anthony?” Suddenly she thought that the man might have poisoned both the siblings and that not only had he T-boned her and brought her to this building somewhere near the road to Claunch, but that he must have brought Anthony here after killing Kelly and taking him away from the monastery. She remembered the blue cloak in his closet.

“Answer me, Anthony. Did John Barr poison you? Did he give you something?”

“Kelly . . .” He moaned the name of his sister, and Eve thought he was crying.

“I know, Anthony, I know. Kelly's dead, but you and I aren't. That's why we have to get out of here.”

The monk moved a bit. His hands reached out. “Eve,” he said, sounding a bit more alert, a bit more like himself.

“Yes, Anthony, it's me. It's Eve.”

She felt him pull away from her. “Where are we?” he asked.

Eve held her left arm across her chest and sat up. “I don't know,” she answered. “It's some building or cabin, shed, I don't know.”

“In Pecos?” he asked, looking around.

“No,” she replied. “John Barr brought you out here. We're near Mountainair.”

“I . . . I feel so . . .” And he dropped back down again.

“Anthony, you have to wake up. We need to get out of here.” She shook him. “Anthony!” She pushed and pulled on his tunic, trying to get his attention, but he had become nonresponsive once again.

Eve knew she would have to get out to find medical attention for both of them, that Anthony wasn't going to be able to help her. She also knew that if John Barr had brought them to that shed and left them there, he was more than likely coming back. What he intended to do at that point, she had no idea.

“Did he leave you anything?” she asked the monk, not really expecting an answer. “Is there any water? A phone?”

Eve slid her legs beneath her, rocked forward, and landed on her knees. She felt a sharp pain in her hip and stopped, taking a few breaths. She pushed up, getting her right foot, her ankle still tender and sore, squared beneath her, and by bracing herself with her right hand, she was able to rise to a standing position. Immediately she felt the room spin and she reached out with her right hand, touching the wall behind her. She steadied herself and waited. Getting accustomed once again to the dim light in the space, Eve took a good look around.

It was an old cabin, not unlike the one she had been in earlier,
the one where John Barr lived out beyond the little village of Pecos. It was made from rough lumber, old, hand-hewn, and held together with some kind of sap or glue, which she could feel along the wall behind her. There was no window, only the tiny bit of light she had noticed before, a bit of sunlight coming from an opening above. With it, however, she could see there was a door at the other end.

Leaning against the wall and then stepping over Anthony, Eve slowly moved over to it. Her ankle hurt, probably sprained, she thought, and she limped to a position right in front of the door. She searched for a handle but felt none. She pushed, but it wouldn't budge.