Chapter 32
32
I could not sleep when Damienne was gone. Silence muffled me. The cave was empty, our bed cold without her warmth. My own body seemed strange without hers near, and this was because, in all my life, I had never been alone.
The Virgin gazed into my eyes, but she did not speak or chide or comfort me. Fine cracks crazed her painted face. Dim was her crown.
I walked down to the shore, and the waves were shining. The sun was bright, but I was hollow. I thought, How will I live without another soul? And then I thought, What will I live for?
All day I looked upon the sea but did not cast my line. I went to the cove and watched the birds but did not kill them. I walked the length and breadth of my small country and compassed it entirely.
I wandered, and all places were the same to me. I saw brambles and rocks and little trees. I walked along the shore until I could not remember where I had started. Then I began to hesitate and turn around. In vain, I tried to judge my position by the fading sun. I grew hungry, but I had only brought dried berries. I had nothing else to eat, and I did not know where I should go.
I shouted to the wind. Hallo! But no one heard.
At last, I came upon a charred patch—the remnants of our signal fire. Here I found the bent branches of our settlement, the granite shelf, and the crevice that we called our privy. I took the crooked path up to my cave and crept inside to eat dried fish. Then I rested under featherbed and bearskin.
Autumn ended when my nurse was gone. Days disappeared, and I had no Damienne to insist I eat and wash and dress. I ventured out in filthy clothes and saw the wind strip leaves from the small trees.
I stopped fishing and hunting and salting meat. I had done those things for her, not for myself.
Birds swept across the sky, and I thought, What shall I tell my soul?
The waves were louder now. Storms scoured the isle; my face and hands were raw with chilblains. Had I promised Auguste to keep living? Had I heard Damienne say that God was good?
When the snow came, I walked in darkness. If Auguste had lived, we would have comforted each other. If my child had lived, I would have sheltered him and kept him warm. With Damienne, I would have prayed—if not for myself, for her sake. But I was left alone, and so I did not eat, or bank the fire, or pray. No one watched me; no one noticed what I did, and I had no one left to love.
Had I been an anchoress, my own thoughts might have nourished me. Living alone, giving up earthly desires, I might have found a door into a shining world. Had I been a saint, I might have seen what was invisible to ordinary eyes. Saint Catherine glimpsed angels and, seeing Christ, wedded herself to him. Saint Cecilia sang to the Lord in her distress. But I saw nothing. My love was mortal and particular. I was not holy, and I did not sing.
Snow blew outside my cave. Drifts sealed me in. I was cut off, my body numb, my mind half-dreaming—but no angels appeared. I was base and nothing pure, neither penitent nor innocent, neither a mother nor a maid. While it stormed outside, I lay in a trance. I imagined I was frozen and my heart was ice. My hair was knotted, and my clothes were soiled. No light shone in, and I could not see the picture of the Virgin. I saw nothing, and I heard nothing but the wind.
Then, all was still.
Rousing myself, I felt ghostly, weightless.
I wondered if I had died. I rose from my bed and imagined I was floating.
No. My head hit hard against the low stone ceiling, and with a sob of pain and disappointment, I fell to my knees. I was alive, and I must hurt while I was living.
I crept to the entrance of my cave and clawed the snow blocking me. Like an animal, I dug through drifts, tunneling as though I could escape into another world. Alas, when I emerged, I found the same island I had left. All was white, and all was emptiness.
I wrapped myself in Auguste’s cloak and walked down to the shore.
The isle and sky and sea were white. The sea was ice again, and the ice was covered up with snow. I looked at that expanse, perfect and unblemished—and I longed to cleanse myself. To cross the ocean and enter that smooth whiteness.
I stepped onto the frozen sea. Wading through drifts, I sank to my knees—then to my waist—but I could not drown. I walked on solid ice as snow enveloped me. Cold bit, and then it soothed and numbed.
I was at peace now, leaving the island. Fresh snow was falling, covering my cloak and clotting my eyelashes.
I will be white, I told myself. I will be pure. I will walk and walk until I drop, and then the snow will bury me. I will fall under the falling snow. There I will rest and feel neither hurt nor sorrow. I walked more quickly then. My steps were sure because I had a purpose, even in my solitude.
But I was not alone. I saw a shadow—then a flash, fleet as candlelight. Black eyes and a narrow face. It was the fox, the white fox standing in my way.
I brushed snow from my eyes as the velvet creature stared, ears quivering. And in my loneliness, I spoke to him. “Are you the fox we saw before?”
He did not answer.
“Are you an angel?”
He did not answer.
I longed for some miracle of speech. A message. A single word. “Who sent you?” I asked.
The fox looked at me but gave me no sign.
“Alas,” I said. “I believe nothing, so you have nothing for me.”
And the fox leapt away, startled by my breaking voice. He ran, then stopped, and looked back at me.
I thought, He has not heard words before. He has never seen a woman or a man. Then I thought, He is not a miracle for me, but I am a miracle for him.
He darted one last look and bounded off. His feet scarcely touched the ground; his tail plumed after him.
Oh, to skim the snow as he did! He seemed to me so light—untouchable—but I was a clumsy thing. I looked down, and I stood waist-deep, lost, ungainly, shivering. Seeing myself, I woke from my trance, knowing I must move or freeze.
I struggled to turn back on the path that I had broken. As I stepped into my footprints, my feet were wet within my boots. I sank under the weight of my own clothes, my sodden gown encumbering me.
More than once, I stumbled. I banged and bruised myself against rocks hidden beneath snow and sank into the gaps between them. But one small figure darted before me. Deft as a loom’s shuttle, the fox wove in and out of drifts. With a flash of his plumed tail and a glint of his dark eye, he ran up to my cave. There he waited, and I marveled that he had stopped me on the ice and led me home. I thought, The fox has saved me.
I didn’t see the bear until he moved on me. A blur of white, a flash of teeth. Lunging, he opened his great jaw to kill, and now he snapped to crush my body.
I heard him growl and saw him bite. He tore my cloak and skirts as I sprang into my cave.
Had I escaped? The bear scuffled, trying to dig through my cavern’s opening. I saw his claws, his fangs, and his black gums. The fox had lured me to this monster. I realized it now. The bear would gore and disembowel me, rip off my limbs, and eat my head—except he could not shoulder his way in.
The bear’s body blocked the light, so I could no longer see. I could only hear his snuffling breath, his snapping jaws—and, all the while, I sensed his weight, his body like a battering ram.
I shivered in torn, icy clothes. Cold bit my hands and feet. If I had been numb before, the bear’s hunger woke me. Dying was no longer an escape. Death meant teeth and claws and blood.
I stumbled to the farthest reaches of my cave. In my haste, I knocked over bottles, breaking glass as I stripped off my wet gown and hid under dry bedclothes.
Wait. Hold still, I told myself.
The bear was powerful, and I was weak. He was savage but could not break through granite walls. If my enemy was mortal, he would stop and rest. And yet, I heard him scuffling for hours.
Did he pause at last? Or did I fall asleep? Pale light leaked into my cavern, and I knew the animal had backed away.
Now I dressed and loaded my long gun. Slowly I approached my cave’s opening. New snow had fallen, and all was fresh and clean. The air was still, and when I scanned the drifts, I saw no sign of my enemy. The bear was gone. The fox had vanished too.
I crept closer to the entrance. Closer, closer—until suddenly, I saw the black of the bear’s nose. His eyes, his ears, and his great body crouching.
I started back.
He pounced, and once again he clawed and pawed the entrance of my cave.
Kneeling, I lit my fuse and charged my gun. Trapped in the tight entrance, I fired blind.
In the roar and smoke, I could not hear or see. My cave reverberated as I wiped my stinging eyes and peered outside.
My enemy was staggering, but I had only clipped his paw. In a fury, he rose stronger than before. Where my gun protruded from the cave, he clamped the muzzle in his jaws and pulled the weapon from my hands.
As he snatched the gun, I felt his force. His rage surged through me and I shuddered.
I had three arquebuses left. Quickly as I could, I loaded, even as I watched the bear. He dropped the gun he’d captured and drew closer, stalking me.
I must kill him now. To wound was to increase his power. But I did not have a clear shot as the bear paced before the cave. Wherever he stopped, he left a bloody print, but, rabid, he kept moving.
I lit my fuse as the creature raised his head. Did he smell the smoldering rope? He paused and turned toward me in my dark hiding place. His black eyes burned even as I aimed and shot him through the heart.
Frozen, he fell. On bloody snow, he lay.
With ringing ears, I waited until I knew he would not stir again. Then I crept out to view my enemy. I stood alone before him. No fox, no bird, no wolf was to be seen.
Standing with my knife, I gazed at the white bear with awe. Not hatred, or anger, or disgust, but wonder. A knight slain in battle. This was what his body seemed. No longer animal. No longer monster.
With reverence, I cut a cross into his corpse. As I had seen Damienne do, I made two long cuts and eased skin from his shoulders.
My hands burned with cold, and I was weak for lack of food. I could not think. I could scarcely understand that I had killed this bear. I knew only that I should not waste his life.
I cut through skin and pulled and ripped until, at last, I dragged the pelt inside. Then, as Damienne had done, I built up my fire to roast the bear’s flesh. Nor did I hesitate, but I ate this bear’s meat and stored more in my dark pantry. And I wished I could have shared this bounty with Auguste and Damienne. I wished I could have nourished my child as this bear did me.
Wearily, I prepared to pull the carcass to the shore lest it attract wolves or other bears—but before I dragged my enemy away, I took a token of the battle, cutting off one claw. I carried this relic to my cave, and, brushing off dried flowers and dead leaves, I placed it on the keys of my mute instrument, the Virgin’s altar.