The Greening (38 page)

“You know, the odd thing was – another coincidence, if you still believe in them – the odd thing was that though I chose the name Annabel Lee on the spur of the moment, because I was feeling depressed, much later, after I had come here, I saw the connection.”

“Annabel Lee, in her kingdom by the sea…”

“‘… her highborn kinsmen came and bore her away from me, to shut her up in a sepulchre in this kingdom by the sea,’” Sister Eleanor continued, quoting the poem by Edgar Allan Poe. “And here I am, in a kingdom by the sea. And this is, after all, a kind of death to the world, like Julian’s enclosure.”

“Yes, I get it now,” I said, wondering what kind of investigative journalist needed to have every last detail pointed out to her.

“Don’t blame yourself,” said Sister Eleanor. “You were seeing things in a different light. We all do that at times. We see the literal truth and miss the creative possibility. I could never have painted angels in my old life. I would not have been open to the possibility of what angels might look like. If I couldn’t imagine them, how could I paint them?”

She looked towards her canvases. One, which hung near a window that looked out onto the garden, was of an angel with outspread wings. Eleanor had infused it with what seemed almost an internal light. The angel’s expression was full of serenity, joy and
love. It was a very beautiful painting and I wanted to keep looking at it.

Sister Eleanor said, “God’s messengers are everywhere. Sometimes they come from heaven and sometimes from earth. What I missed was the point of the poem, that Annabel is loved. She is the beloved, as we all are. I missed that connection. But perhaps some part of me did not.”

“I was never quite sure how much of your story was autobiographical – ”

“Oh, all of it was.”

“Frieda Bonhart couldn’t find any trace of your plays.”

“They were performed in some very obscure theatres! A couple were done in Ireland, one in Prague, another in Miami. There are an awful lot of playwrights out there – and an awful lot of plays! And of course, you didn’t have my real name. Poor you. I’m sorry to have inadvertently put you to so much trouble,” said Sister Eleanor.

“Oh, and the Welsh song! I was so amazed to find it. Why was it with the book?”

“Oh, I wrote the song for a character in a play. A woman called Jane, who was Fool to Mary Tudor. I don’t speak Welsh myself. A friend translated it for me.”

“It felt so strange. Because I am Welsh and Welsh was my first language.”

“Well, now perhaps we know why I decided that Jane should be Welsh!”

“At the very end of your journal it seemed as though you were getting your life back to normal.”

“I hoped so, but it was an illusion. I had a long way to go… The day after I attended the literary festival I became ill with a viral infection, which turned into pneumonia. Because of the weakness of my immune system – the lupus that caused my childhood problems – the infection didn’t respond to antibiotics. My depression over Mark and the rest of my life had weakened me further and increased my vulnerability. I think attitude has a lot of influence over disease, particularly anything affecting the immune system. I was ill for three
months and was not expected to live. Then, unexpectedly, the doctors located a new antibiotic drug. I was a beneficiary of the research into Aids. That worked and I steadily got better.

“Although my health was improving, I was left with a residue of depression and unhappiness. Having been close to death, I became acutely aware that I could easily pick up an infection that could kill me. I felt vulnerable. I went to recuperate at a cottage on the coast.”

“At Cley…”

“Yes. I wrote the letter to Miss Bonhart some eighteen months after I’d met her, after I had begun to recover my strength. I wrote again but never received a reply. Several years later I learned that she had developed Alzheimer’s and I decided she had probably thrown the journal away – after all, there was no name or address on it. I thought it best to let it go, with the past.”

“But who is buried in the churchyard at Cley?”

“My friend Frances is buried there. Frances lived with me for several months, when she was going through the final stages of cancer. Sadly, she had fallen out with her family. There was something about Frances’ life that her parents could not accept and it caused great bitterness and enmity. She wanted to spend her last months in peace.

“I had mentioned that if a letter addressed to Annabel Lee came while I was out she should keep it for me. It amused her to borrow my stolen identity. She said it was an appropriate choice. She even changed her name by deed poll, so that she could not be traced. Frances made me promise not to reveal her secret to her family if they should ever come looking for her. I thought that a mistake, but I am bound by my promise. So, now, are you, Joanna.

“But before then, living by the sea, I gained strength. I went for long walks and came to love the area. I had a little money left and my plays were earning me meagre royalties. I started painting again, for the first time in years. Painting was always my first love as a small child. I had lost it on the way.

“During my second year at the cottage, I began to work part-time as a volunteer at a home for young women in King’s Lynn. Someone
whose portrait I had painted arranged it. I was really only there to do a little administration, as a way of regaining my confidence. But as it turned out I received far greater blessings there.

“I was so humbled by what I saw. Young girls who had been prostituted were trying, with great courage, to piece together their broken lives. Their childhood had been stolen. They needed loving support from adults who would not exploit their vulnerability. Gradually, the girls came to trust and confide in me. Most were addicted to drugs, but determined to end their addiction. Where did they find the strength to fight for control of their lives? The home was truly a place where, just as at Calvary, hope and sorrow met.

“Once a week, a sister from St Etheldreda’s would deliver vegetables to the home. She would stop for a cup of tea before her return journey and we’d talk for five or ten minutes. I found myself looking forward to those conversations. I started to go to church again.

“Over the course of that year, my conversations with the Sister who brought the vegetables made me more and more certain that I had at last come upon the way of life that was right for me. Eventually, I plucked up courage to ask for an appointment with Mother Abbess. I think it’s fair to say that she combined a kind welcome with an unwavering insistence that I consider all the sacrifices and difficulties the life would entail. She was very generous. Each time we spoke, the stronger my conviction became that I wanted to dedicate the rest of my life to prayer and that this was the right place for me.

“Three years after I had moved to the cottage I came here as a postulant, a candidate. Then I became a novice, a trial member of the order. After that I had three years under simple vows before making my final vows.

“So… Annabel did find meaning,” I said.

“She did, most assuredly.”

“This is not the end I expected to my search for the lost lady…”

“When is anything what we expect it to be? Has it brought resolution, and acceptance?”

“In a way. Yes it has, of course. Julian has kept her promise. I still have a million questions, though – more now, perhaps.”

We sat in silence for a few moments, looking out across the marshes. I said, “Julian has certainly made me see things in a different light. She gives me a sense of acceptance and welcome. She makes me feel that I’m not some supplicant with her nose pressed against the glass – which is how I’ve always felt about religion – but someone who’s expected and wanted.”

“That’s exactly what you are – the beloved child coming home, if you so choose,” said Sister Eleanor.

“I’m still a journalist. I still need to rationalize what I’ve heard, even though I know that isn’t how it works. According to Julian, Jesus didn’t die to pay for our sins – which is what I was taught as a child.”

“That’s the orthodox view, but the idea of Jesus paying a debt doesn’t make sense to me. You’ve only got to look at what Julian says to realize that Jesus didn’t die in order to appease God’s anger. Julian tells us fourteen times that God has no anger within him. She tells us four times that this vitally important message was given in each of her sixteen revelations. It isn’t a matter of Jesus’ death enabling God to change his mind. God never needed to change his mind. His mind has always been one of inexhaustible love. It’s a question of our minds being changed and us coming to him.”

“But what about all the stuff about hellfire and damnation – and remission of sins…?”

“Julian says she didn’t see hell in any of her visions. The atonement is a great mystery. Jesus said he gave his life as ransom for many, that his blood was given in remission of sins. But you have to accept that in the context of the time. All the references to the wrath of God in the Book of Common Prayer and the Old Testament – I can’t accept any of it. It’s just not possible in the light of Julian.”

I said, “It’s strange, isn’t it, to think of her spending her life locked away from the world, and yet having such a profound and revolutionary message that she can become an abiding influence on people’s lives hundreds of years later.”

“Julian is the witness whose voice is never still. She is a woman for today, perhaps more than any other time. She sees how miserable and desperate so many of us are, and, for love, must communicate what she has learned. She would like to shout from the rooftops the truth that we are loved. But the devil continues to do his best to undermine those few who catch a glimpse of the truth about themselves. When he gives you a God you’re frightened of, he makes his job easy.”

I reflected for a few moments; then said, “We’re all searching…”

“We’re all searching for the Holy Grail of Selfhood and integration, but most of the time we’re not aware of what we’re searching for. Finding Selfhood, integration with our real selves and with God – finding the divine within ourselves – that’s our purpose here. That was the gift Jesus offered us; he opened the doors of our perception and showed how we could achieve what God had planned for us. And it’s something that can be achieved only through living a human life. That’s why the Grail contains wine that has a bitter taste. Julian really understood how hard life can be. She said, ‘This place is prison, this life is penance’ – and she wasn’t referring to her cell and her particular way of life. But she went on to say, ‘The remedy is that our Lord is with us, protecting us and leading us into the fullness of joy.’”

I said, “I suppose it’s just a question of trusting – and that’s so hard, when you’ve been let down and always counted on yourself to get through…”

“Yes, it takes a leap of faith, and faith takes courage. You know, I always think the most convincing argument for God’s love is the evidence of his work in lives changed. I have seen people transformed. They’ve become so different from their former selves – physically, even – you would hardly believe it was the same person.” I smiled. Sister Eleanor said, “Yes! That does include me. I was changed through my experiences.”

I said, “And – you’ve reconciled everything and found contentment? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend you.” I was wondering how the Sister had moved from a passionate love affair to apparently not needing a close relationship with a man.

As though reading my thoughts, she said, “The experience with Mark brought me to Calvary, so I thank him for being my teacher. I know that when you read my story it seemed as though the experience only detracted from me – but in reality it was the process of polishing one facet of a jewel. It brought me to a realization, for the first time, that there could be such depth of feeling. It was a necessary part of my journey. I realized quite a long time later than I no longer wanted an exclusive partnership with one person. But had I wanted such a partnership, I would have taken better care of myself, because I have learned to love myself – by learning to perceive myself as lovable.

“My experience with Mark showed me that that kind of attachment is an addiction. To get clear of an addiction takes time and distance. Something happens then – not just a fading of memories but, I believe, a physical change. I think perhaps the body stops producing the chemicals that feed the addiction.

“During my time at Cley I met someone and could easily have become involved. But I knew it was wrong for me, that he was wrong for me. I realized that – even if unconsciously – he was draining my energy. These things can be so subtle. And so I decided against it. I decided not to give him my attention. From the point where I nearly became involved to the moment when I decided not to, I could almost feel the shift of energy, the reclaiming of my own space and integrity. There were probably psychological reasons for my decision, but there were spiritual reasons, too.”

“Do you never feel, if you don’t mind my asking, the need of that kind of love?” I asked. I was thinking how much I still longed for Paul.

“No. Not any longer. I have no regrets. This life is not in any way an escape from failed relationships. It’s about more love, not less. It’s a freedom, not a constraint. It’s a prize, not a consolation. It’s a way of finding happiness that comes from within – which is the only place it ever comes from, in reality. It’s a blissful experience, a way of getting closer to oneself, by coming into a closer knowledge of God.”

I said, “You said that time and distance will heal an addiction. But if it’s genuine love between two people, I’ve heard that love always remains…”

“Exactly so. Sometimes, when lovers part, there is a deep spiritual fracture; some connection deep inside them is broken and that’s why it hurts so much.” She looked at me with great tenderness and compassion. “But in love there is no separation. When someone loves you, their spirit is always close by. How could it be otherwise?”

After a few minutes’ silence, I said, “I think I must learn how to pray.”

“I will show you,” said Sister Eleanor. “We shall pray together. Prayer is powerful. I believe it’s an energy that scientists will one day learn to understand and measure. And you know, this is also something Julian says. The more one looks into Julian the more one discovers. Julian perceived her own prayer to be part of something greater and more powerful than herself, part of a great flow of energy which comes from God and can carry us back to him.”