Chapter 6

It had been a mistake

I had no energy left to be furious. Had anybody who knew me seen me that moment, they would have been really worried about me. I was known to rail like a fishwife whenever a problem did appear or something irksome happened. (What had been my biggest problem when I asked to be accepted as a canoness.) To sit somewhere downhearted was not my way.

Finally I dragged myself up. The problem was not only that the boy was gone. That was a pity, exasperating and a waste of money for the clothes.

The problem was that he had taken my bunch of keys for the monastery, the church and the parish hall.

My decision was to have a look around first, so that I could maybe find the keys - that was, if he had left them somewhere after he had no longer any use for them. Why had he taken them at all I wondered while I slowly made my way down the stairs. I had not locked him in when I went out, he could simply have left. Perhaps he had not noticed that there were many other open ways to leave the area except the one through the cloister and the church?

Now I wished one of the other canonesses to be here. I was deeply in need to talk to someone. And, though I did not want to admit it, I was worrying about the boy. If only nothing happened to him now, on his flight through the bright daylight!

When I found the door to the small chapel between cloister and church to be not locked, my heart rose a bit. If he had taken this way, would he perhaps have left the keys inside the church, as soon as he needed them no longer? But then again, was not the possession of these keys like an invitation to come again and try to rob something? We had some art treasures in here, and even a child could recognise their worth, even if it needed help to take them out . . . had I been trapped by some perfidious thiefes, who had sent the boy as a vanguard?

The door to the church was unlocked as well. However, there was no need to hurry. As happily and as energetically as I normally jumped into the church, slowly and ponderous did I move in today. At least, he had not left a door wide open, as far as I could see. Had he bunked off through the sacristy? Had he perhaps broken into the desk there and finally tried to steal the collect? I hurried through the choir to the door that led from there into the sacristy.

The door that lead out of the sacristy into the church square was locked, and the desk was untouched.

The relief I felt made my knees feel weak. I let out a four letter word, which nearly emerged as a sob, and hardly managing to walk the few steps that brought me into the nave let myself sink onto the first steps to the pulpit. I was too affected by that damned events. Why could I not keep my self control, as I could at school or at anything that happened with my parish or friends or family? Had I not always been the one to keep cool as cucumber come what may?

I got up to make the few steps to the main entrance, willing to take up my patrol again.

The main entrance was locked as well. He surely would not have taken the time to lock it from outside, would he? That would force me to walk all around the monastery to check it . . .

Exhausted by the thought I turned around.

He stood there shyly, at one of the galleries columns, watching me with guarded regard, the keys in his hand.

I was too puzzled to even show any reaction. For a while we just looked at one another, and then he was the first to move. Lifting the heavy bunch in his hand a bit he took a few steps towards me and quietly said: "I did not think you would come back so soon, Ms. Lubov." And, with dread in his voice: "I hope you are not too angry that I took your keys and came here. It was just because I did like it here so much and wanted to look around a while."

I was so happy he had not run away! I could have grabbed him and squeezed him tight! But that, of course, would have been the last time I ever saw him . . . So I simply - and acting with slow caution - closed the steps between us and took the keys from him, taking care not to touch him.

Then I eyed him and asked: "You like that church? But it is cold and damp and dark, and it needs a painting and has saltpetre at the walls - and hardly any paintings or so."

Maybe I had been too snappy, for he took a few steps back and looked uncomfortably down at the floor. When I just wanted to start to apologise for my rudeness, I heard him, in half a whisper: "But it is beautiful in its simplicity! And the altar is so fascinating!" I listened with rising wonder when he went on: "I would really like to have some more time to look around. Do you perhaps have a book or something about the church?"

Now, if that wasn't the straw that breaks the camel's back! Was that the child that had thrown himself into a corner when I had dared to touch him? Was that the boy, who had needed a whole meal to finally form two pressed sentences? It took all my might not to grin like a Cheshire cat. "Well, if that is what you think and want, you are lucky. We canonesses all have had a short introduction how to be a church guide. And of course do we have several books on our church. So, if you want, I can give you a tour, and afterwards we can search through the books for all the answers I could not give. How do you like that?"

He considered that for a moment, carefully watching me, and then, looking directly into my eyes, he slowly, hesitantly replied: "That would be great!"

We started our tour through the church at one in the afternoon, and while I led him through the main building, showing him all the little and big marvels I loved so dearly and rejoicing on every discovery he made, on every joy he found, I observed him closely, but secretly.

It had been obvious before that the boy was not only afraid because I had caught him as a thief and that I might handle him to the police or some other instance for that crime. He was afraid of men. Whenever a sound from outside echoed loudly in the nave, or whenever it seemed that somebody was about to enter the church (what was unlikely, for the doors were locked), he would wince, cast a hasty glance around and dive between the pews or behind a column or wherever he hoped to find a hiding place.

The child also carefully avoided any chance to be touched, even by chance. He kept the space between the two of us as wide as possible. Though he tried to hide how much he enjoyed the expedition, he was very alert and hat a quick apprehension. At first he was afraid to answer my numerous requests on the things he saw or did not see - I had not been trained on guide for children for nothing! But when he finally accepted that I meant him no harm, he willingly responded - though he always kept his hushed voice and shy behaviour.

By the way he spoke and behaved I concluded that he must be much older than six or seven, what would be his age according to his small and thin growth. But though he acted very grown, I dared to doubt that he was older than ten!

When he asked me if some special detail could be seen from the organ's gallery as well, I simply said: "Go up and have a look, boy!"

When I saw his figure lean on the balustrade of the gallery, I called up: "And, do you like the view from there, young man?" And went on, advising him on what he should have a special interest from up there.

He finally came down slowly, and made his way to my side deep in thought, dragging his feet and looking to the ground. But when he reached me, he looked up at my face and offered gently: "Ms. Lubov, if you want, you may call me Erik."