"No, sin But I was the one who drove us here. I did whatever she told me to, like I didn't have a mind of my own."
Mn Simpson smiled wistfully. "She's a hard one to resist. She's got strong convictions. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she went after it."
Archie nodded and gazed up at Mr. Simpson. "So then, all her visions and the stigmata and stuff, is that just some mental illness? Is none of it real?"
"All of it's real to her Archibald. I don't know if they're gifts from God, if that's what you're asking. Nowadays they've got other explanations for those kinds of things. And I don't know who's right, the scientists or the religious people, but her love for God is real, and I believe God's love for her is real, too. I believe that."
"Yes, sir so do I," Archie said, "but I think maybe she sometimes confused her will with God's, because she was so desperate to get up here to the Cloisters. I think she was real unhappy, Mr. Simpson, if you don't mind my saying. I don't think she believes y'all love her." Archie looked down at his hands remembering Clare's words, "I want love, not hospitals." And "Why won't they love me?" Then he looked up and continued, "And I think she fooled herself into believing God wanted her to suffer and die like Jesus. That's how unhappy she was. I think she believed if God wanted her then she wouldn't be committing a sin, she'd just be dying for the love of the Lord. She fooled herself, you see, and she fooled me—I mean she always looked so happy, didn't she? She never let on that she was hurting."
Archie looked at Mr. Simpson and saw such pain in the man's face, he had to look away. He felt sorry for what he had just said and decided he shouldn't have said it.
Mr. Simpson bowed his head and said, "I hope God can forgive me for what I've done."
Archie thought of his grandmother and his own need for forgiveness, and he swallowed hard. Then he said, "Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us."
"Amen," Mr. Simpson said, nodding. "Amen."
Chapter 39
ARCHIE COULDN'T WAIT to get back to the mountains, but he was sorry to say good-bye to his new friends, and when everyone had gathered around the door to bid him and Clyde farewell—Irving, Lizzie, her two boys, and Albert—Archie turned to Irving and said, "Now that you've got your computer hooked up, let's stay in touch. I'll e-mail you."
Irving nodded. "Good, good. I'd like that."
Archie smiled at the old man, noticing the way he then stood up so straight and the way his eyes sparkled, and he said, "You know, I thought we were just helping you out a little—actually, Clare was—but then it turns out you helped us so much more." He looked at Lizzie and Albert and added, "All of you have. I feel like a real fool."
"Nonsense," Irving said. "That's just the way it works. Any time you give, you get. It doesn't matter if you don't want anything, you still get. It's just the way it works."
"Well, thank you," Archie said.
"Sure, sure." Irving waved the thanks away.
"Thanks to all y'all," Archie said, nodding at Lizzie and Albert.
The three of them laughed at Archie's expression, repeating it to one another and then they hugged him and shook his hand, and everyone said good-bye.
On the ride home Archie and Clyde were slowed in traffic near Front Royal, Virginia, and Archie remembered the trip up, when he had looked for a road paved in gold as they passed the Front Royal exit. That was stupid, he thought to himself, and then he thought that the whole trip had been about his looking for some golden highway to enlightenment. He had wanted visions like Clare, and to hear the voice of God. He had wanted to live in a constant state of bliss, and to believe that God had chosen him, that he was special—that he was a saint. When, he wondered, did it become more about me and what I want for myself, and less about God?
Archie looked out the window at the car beside him. The man in the driver's seat seemed impatient with the delay. A young boy sat in the backseat of the car Archie smiled and waved. The boy stuck his tongue out at him. He remembered the other little boy on the trip up, the boy who had handed him his sandwich and lifted his hand in the "I love you" sign. Archie had thought that the boy had seen saintliness in him. He had believed the boy had looked at his eyes and face and had seen them shining die way Clare's always had. But, he realized now, the boy probably just saw a starving person and had given away his sandwich as an act of kindness. He was the saint, Archie thought, not me. Maybe that's all it really takes to be a saint—those simple acts of kindness.
Chapter 40
OVER THE NEXT SEVERAL months, Archie went often to visit Mr. Simpson, who gave him updates on Clare's progress in the hospital. He had told him that Clare's mother had taken her back to North Carolina to the mental hospital there, and that she was doing very well on her new medication. He said the doctors and the staff at the hospital called her Doris.
Archie had written several letters to her still calling her Clare, but she had never answered any of them. Over Christmas break he rode to North Carolina with Mr. Simpson and got permission from him and Mrs. Simpson to visit Clare by himself.
Archie felt nervous following the nurse through the locked doors of the mental ward. She led him to a large room where tables had been placed in the center in rows, and couches and chairs sat off to one side in front of a television set. There were groupings of people all over the room, of all ages and colors. The room smelled of ammonia. Archie looked around for Clare and found her with some of the other patients, sitting at a table and listening to a man reading from Time magazine. As he approached the table, he hoped that she would recognize him and that she had forgiven him for what he had done. He could see that she had gained some weight, and he was pleased about that. It made him feel that his betrayal had done her some good at least. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a red sweater instead of the robe, and that worried him although he knew that it shouldn't. It was a sign that she was getting better wasn't it? But he wondered, Is there anything of the old Clare left anymore?
He walked over to the table, and several faces looked up at him, but his eyes were only on Clare. Would she recognize him?
Clare smiled at him, but the smile didn't light up her face or reach her eyes, and Archie's heart sank.
The nurse who was with Archie said to Clare, "Mr. Caswell has come to visit you, Doris. Why don't you take him to the private corner and talk?"
"Yes, ma'am," Clare said, her voice quiet and slow.
Archie felt so sad, he wanted to run away. Where was his old Clare? He walked with her to the far corner of the room, noticing the shushing sound the slipper-socks she had on her feet made. They sat down across from each other and Archie fidgeted with the torn plastic on the armrest of his chair.
"How are you, Archibald?" Clare asked without emotion.
Archie nodded. "Good. I'm real good. I'm at the public high school now, taking advanced courses. I guess my granddaddy taught me pretty well, after all." He scratched the back of his neck. Clare didn't look as if she was even listening.
"Uh—I'm doing a lot more drawing now, cartoons and other stuff, like faces," Archie continued. "You really taught me how to look at people—remember?"
Again Clare smiled, but she wasn't looking at him. She was staring at the piano.
"So—uh," Archie said, scratching his ear "the art teacher at school says I've got real talent. Maybe someday I'll create something as beautiful as. some of those paintings at the Cloisters."
"Have you ever heard me play the piano?" Clare asked, turning to face him finally.
"Oh—uh, no. So—you want to play something for me?"
Clare stood up and shuffled to the piano, and Archie followed her.
They sat down together and Clare played a waltz. She sounded good, and it made Archie feel better. Maybe she wasn't a complete zombie.
"So, how are you?" Archie said, studying Clare's profile. She wasn't looking at her hands but over the top of the piano, at the wall.
"I'm doing very well," she said. "The meds they give me are very good."
"That's
great," Archie said, his own voice sounding dull. He knew he should feel happy for her but he couldn't help it, he wanted his old Clare back.
"I'll be leaving here in a few more weeks," Clare said.
"Great," Archie said again. "Then what will you do, do you know?"
Clare sped up her waltz. "I'll live with my mother and finish up school."
"That's good." He looked around at the other patients in the room. He wanted to leave. He knew he had been there less than five minutes, but seeing Clare that way felt like torture to him.
"I—I've been praying for you, D-Doris."
Clare played louder. "Have you?"
"Yes. I've started going to church, the Catholic church, with Clyde." Archie cleared his throat and then said, "So, do you—have you prayed for me? I mean, are you allowed to pray here?"
Clare played a little faster. "Not really. It's frowned upon."
"So then that's over—all that. You don't hear voices and have visions and stuff because..."
"Of course not. Do you like my music?" Clare asked.
"Yeah, sure. It's nice."
"Listen, Francis," she said.
Archie smiled. She had called him Francis.
"Are you listening?"
He listened to the piano music and nodded, and then he heard it and his heart skipped a beat. Clare was humming. She was humming to the music.
Archie slid over closer to Clare, hope rising in his chest. "Do you play the piano a lot here—Clare?" he asked.
Clare nodded. "As often as I can. I've come to love music so much."
Archie looked over his shoulder and noticed one of the staff people looking at them. He nodded at him and turned back to Clare, who said, "Even when I'm not playing the piano, I'm humming a tune. We're allowed to hum here."
Clare glanced at Archie and smiled, and he saw, for the briefest moment, a flicker of the old light in her eyes.
* * *
Author's Note
The crying Virgin in this story is a sculpture of the enthroned Virgin and child from Autun, Burgundy, in France, dated 1130–1140. It is usually on display behind the altar in the Langon Chapel at the Cloisters; however when I visited there in October 2002, the sculpture had been removed temporarily for conservation purposes. The other sculpture mentioned in that room, the Auvergne Virgin and child, had been moved outside the entrance to the Langon Chapel and is now encased in a clear container. I believe that the Autun Virgin will return encased as well.
* * *
READER CHAT PAGE
1. It seems that Armory brings out the worst in Archie, and Clare brings out his best. Do you think Archie's attraction to Clare has anything to do with being betrayed and treated cruelly by Armory? What initially attracts Archie to Clare?
2. Why do you think people instinctively open up to Clare?
3. Clare has very clear ideas about what it takes to be a saint—discard all material possessions, pray constantly, and go on a pilgrimage. What actions would you take to get in touch with your spiritual side?
4. At several points throughout the story, Archie grows frustrated and even jealous that he is not as close to God as Clare is. What do you think is standing in Archie's way but is not a barrier for Clare?
5. Clare finds her spiritual center in the Cloisters, a museum containing religious artifacts and iconography. Archie, by contrast, feels his spirit is most alive when he is on his family's mountain, communing with nature. What do these distinct ways of experiencing the spiritual world tell you about the differences between Clare and Archie?
6. When it comes to spiritual matters, do you think it is better to go on blind faith, like Clare, or to question and doubt as Archie does?
7. In what ways did Clare manipulate Archie into being an accomplice to her self-destruction?
8. Do you think that Clare's faith is real, or just a product of her anorexia and mental problems? Do you think it is a condition that can be cured in a hospital?
* * *
CHATTING WITH HAN NOLAN
QUESTION: HOW long have you been writing?
HAN NOLAN: I started writing stories as soon as I could write, or so my mother says. What I remember is reading Nancy Drew Mysteries and wanting to write some of my own mysteries. I was about nine years old at the time. Harriet the Spy also influenced me back then. I started spying and keeping a journal. I soon realized that I didn't make a very good spy (I kept getting caught), and that I wanted to write more about my own thoughts than about the people I spied on. Still, that was the beginning of keeping a journal and I've kept one ever since. I wrote my first novel-length story in the hopes of getting it published back in 1988.
Q: What is your writing process? Do you work certain hours or days?
HN: I use a computer to write, and I try to write from about five or six o'clock in the morning until about four o'clock in the afternoon. When my children were living at home, I wrote during the hours they were in school and stopped when they came home.
Q: Are your characters inspired by people you know?
HN: I guess they would have to be in some way—but not really. I never sit down to write a story based on a specific person I know. The characters evolve as I'm writing and they act and react to the situations I've created. I never know who I'm going to meet when I write.
Q: How do you come up with story ideas?
HN: I write about things I care about—those things closest to my heart or things that scare me the most. My ideas come from inside me but they are stimulated by conversations I've had, things I've read, and stories I've heard.
Q: Do personal experiences or details ever end up in your books?
HN: Yes. All the interiors of the houses in my stories come from houses I've been in before. They never come out just the way they are in real life, but in my mind's eye I am picturing a certain familiar house. Casper Alabama, in the book Send Me Down a Miracle, was based on a street in Dothan, Alabama, where many of my relatives have lived. The street is named after my great uncle. I created a small town based on that one street.
Q: Your characters often face a life without one or both parents. What do you hope readers will take away from your exploration of this situation?
HN: Every reader comes to a book with their own history and will respond to the book according to that history. I want my readers to take away from this exploration whatever they need. I don't create a story to teach a certain lesson to my readers. I create a story to explore a certain truth about life.
Q: In retrospect, the lives of saints, martyrs, messiahs, and other intensely spiritual people are admired and revered. This book seems to speak to the fact that during their lives, many of these types of people were misunderstood social outcasts, despite the good in their hearts. Were you inspired by the lives of any particular saints or other spiritual figures when you wrote this book?
HN: I think in today's world people like Clare are often misunderstood and even thought of as crazy, as Clare's mother believed Clare to be; however in medieval times, this was not necessarily the case. More people back then believed in such things as visions and miracles and the stigmata. My desire for this story was to portray someone in today's world who has the intense spirituality of the Middle Ages and see what happens. When We Were Saints is the result of that. I was of course inspired by the lives of Saints Clare and Francis of Assisi since they are who Archie and Clare emulated.
Q: You have used themes of faith, religion, and spirituality in other books you have written, such as Send Me Down a Miracle and If I Should Die Before I Wake. Why do you think it is important for young-adult readers to explore these areas?
HN: I believe that young adults naturally explore these areas, whether they call it spirituality or philosophy or even poetry; they are hungry for meaning in their lives. That is why I write about it. It is a part of their lives even if it becomes the part that they reject for a while.
Q: Clare finds her spiritual center at the Cloisters. Archie finds his spirit most alive when
on his family's mountain, communing with nature. Where do you go or what do you do to find your own spiritual center?
HN: I turn inward, through meditation and/or prayer—so it doesn't really matter too much where I am, in a basement or on a mountaintop, just as long as I can quiet my mind.
Q: This book explores the fine line between divine knowledge and mental instability. Do you think the two conditions must always be mutually exclusive?
HN: I don't know—especially since scientists and religious experts themselves have trouble defining that fine line, and on which side of the line one particular person falls. Where do we draw that line, even? Who's to judge whether or not someone like Clare might be the real thing? She believes she is. Her visions and her experiences are her reality. Her mother and the doctors believe something else. Why should they be right and Clare wrong just because their ideas fit into society better? Of course, as a parent, Clare's mother couldn't sit still and let her child waste away, and neither in the end could Archie, but that still doesn't prove anything, does it?
* * *
Han Nolan, When We Were Saints
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends