“Great!”
“But it’s only something I’m saying, you see. I’ve got to go somewhere else.”
“That’s bad. Is it a guy?”
“No, it’s to do with Hilde.”
Joanna whistled softly, and Sophie looked her severely in the eye.
“I’m coming over this evening,” she said, “but at seven o’clock I’ve got to
sneak out again. You’ve got to cover for me until I get back.”
“But where are you going? What is it you have to do?”
“Sorry. My lips are sealed.”
Sleepovers were never a problem. On the contrary, almost. Sometimes Sophie
got the impression that her mother enjoyed having the house to herself.
“You’ll be home for breakfast, I suppose?” was her mother’s only remark as
Sophie left the house.
“If I’m not, you know where I am.”
What on earth made her say that? It was the one weak spot.
Sophie’s visit began like any other sleepover, with talk until late into the night.
The only difference was that when they finally settled down to sleep at about two
o’clock, Sophie set the alarm clock to a quarter to seven.
Five hours later, Joanna woke briefly as Sophie switched off the buzzer.
“Take care,” she mumbled.
Then Sophie was on her way. St. Mary’s Church lay on the outskirts of the old
part of town. It was several miles walk away, but even though she had only slept for a
few hours she felt wide awake.
It was almost eight o’clock when she stood at the entrance to the old stone
church. Sophie tried the massive door. It was unlocked!
Inside the church it was as deserted and silent as the church was old. A bluish
light filtered in through the stained-glass windows revealing a myriad of tiny particles
of dust hovering in the air. The dust seemed to gather in thick beams this way and that
inside the church. Sophie sat on one of the benches in the center of the nave, staring
toward the altar at an old crucifix painted with muted colors.
Some minutes passed. Suddenly the organ began to play. Sophie dared not look
around. It sounded like an ancient hymn, probably from the Middle Ages.
There was silence again. Then she heard footsteps approaching from behind her.
Should she look around? She chose instead to fix her eyes on the Cross.
The footsteps passed her on their way up the aisle and she saw a figure dressed
in a brown monk’s habit. Sophie could have sworn it was a monk right out of the
Middle Ages.
She was nervous, but not scared out of her wits. In front of the altar the monk
turned in a half-circle and then climbed up into the pulpit. He leaned over the edge,
looked down at Sophie, and addressed her in Latin:
“Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et
semper et in saecula saeculorum. Amen.”
“Talk sense, silly!” Sophie burst out.
Her voice resounded all around the old stone church.
Although she realized that the monk had to be Alberto Knox, she regretted her
outburst in this venerable place of worship. But she had been nervous, and when
you’re nervous its comforting to break all taboos.
“Shhh!” Alberto held up one hand as priests do when they want the
congregation to be seated.
“Middle Ages began at four,” he said.