The Miracle (15 page)

As the train ran along the river, everyone else in the compartment seemed to sense that they were nearing their destination and began to awaken.

Ken Clayton, straightening, rubbing his eyes, addressed Amanda, "Well, that was quite a snooze. Are we almost there?"

"Almost," said Amanda.

Dr. Macintosh leaned forward, eyeing Ken. "How are you feeling, young man? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

Father Woodcourt was squinting out the window at the sundrenched hills. "Yes, it won't be long," he said. He rose, stretching. "I think I'll take a walk through the train, see how everyone is doing. What about you, Mr. Clayton? Would you and your wife like to come along? You might find it interesting."

"No, thanks," said Amanda. "I'm not up to it."

"I am," said Ken, wobbling to his feet. "I'd like to have a look before we get off."

"Ken, you should rest," said Amanda.

"I said I'm okay," Ken assured her.

Dr. Macintosh was also standing. "I'll join both of you. There are a few people I want to say hello to, actually see how they are."

"Come along then," said Father Woodcourt.

He left the compartment, with Ken and Dr. Macintosh right behind him.

As they disappeared from sight, Amanda was relieved. She had wanted a short interval to herself, so that she could finish the book that she had been reading at every opportunity since they had left Chicago. Actually, in the three weeks preceding this trip, Amanda had voraciously gone through every book about Bernadette and Lourdes that she had been able to lay her hands on. She had read the one standard novel. The Song of Bernadette by Franz Werfel, an inaccurate piece of historical fiction written to show the author's gratefulness for being given refuge in Lourdes during the Nazi occupation of France. The other books had been factual stuff. The first she had reread. A sticky, religious book by Frances Parkinson Keyes, a converted Catholic, who was inspired by her visits to Lourdes in 1939 and 1952. A book by Robert Hugh Benson—the son of the Protestant archbishop of Canterbury but himself a strict Catholic—which was a rather snobbish defense of the shrine drawn from his stay in Lourdes in 1914. A biography of Bernadette in one volume, a condensation of the seven volumes that the bishop of Tarbes and Lourdes had directed Father Rene Laurentin to write to celebrate the centenary of Bernadette's visions; obviously a pro-Bernadette book but surprisingly fair and balanced.

Throughout her reading, Amanda had constantly come across mention of the book that had intrigued her the most, and she had sought it through a rare book store. It was a scandalous novel called Lourdes by Emile Zola, the anticlerical skeptic and realist who had visited Lourdes in 1892. The novel had been published in English in

1897, and no longer was easy to come by. It was a novel that many Catholics and Lourdes lovers had considered scurrilous. It was intended to debunk the Bernadette story and Lourdes completely. It was just what Amanda had needed as ammunition to bring Ken to his senses, especially since Ken the lawyer had always idolized Zola for defending Alfred Dreyfus, and his daring letter "J'accuse," which exposed the anti-Semitic frame-up arranged by the French general staff.

If Zola had attacked Lourdes, Ken would certainly have to listen.

Luckily, the rare-book dealer had obtained a copy of the novel, which had proven to be an old-fashioned double-decker, the first volume 377 pages, the second volume 400 pages, and small type at that. Cumbersome though it was, Amanda had determined to pack it in her luggage. Obtaining it on the eve of her departure, she had dipped into it steadily since, and now she had only a handful of pages left.

She had found it rather good, the story of a priest named Pierre Froment, a disillusioned clergyman who had lost his faith, accompanying a childhood friend, an incurable invahd named Marie de Guersaint, to Lourdes. After praying at the grotto, Marie would be cured by a miracle, although Pierre would always suspect that she had actually been invahded by hysteria rather than an organic illness. Throughout her reading, Amanda had marked those passages that questioned the validity of Bernadette's vision and the so-called miracle cures at the grotto.

Alone, at last, Amanda reached into her canvas tote bag for the second of Zola's two volumes, and resumed her reading. In fifteen minutes, she had finished the novel. Quickly, before Ken's return, she went back to the first volume to find the pages in which she had inserted slips, pages with marked passages that she would read to Ken as soon as it could be done. This would counteract the brainwashing that Ken had received from his mother and her priest. This would clear his head, bring him back to his senses, make him turn away from Lourdes.

As if to reinforce her argument, Amanda began to pick through the first volume, seeking out more narrative passages that she had marked, especially the ones about Bernadette.

At last, she found one she liked.

"As a doctor had roughly expressed it, this girl of fourteen, at a critical period of her life, already ravaged, too, by asthma, was, after all, already an exceptional victim of hysteria, afflicted with a degenerate heredity and lapsing into infancy. . . . How many shepherdesses there had been before Bernadette who had seen the Virgin in a similar way, amidst all the same childish nonsense! Was it not always the same story, the Lady clad in light, the secret confided, the spring bursting forth, the

mission which had to be fulfilled, the miracles whose enchantments would convert the masses?"

Perfect to read to Ken.

Amanda put the first volume down on the seat and opened the second one. Bernadette had been sent away from Lourdes, to Nevers, there to become a nun. Zola had met a physician, whom he called Doctor Chassaigne in his book, who had seen the nun Bernadette six years after the apparitions. "The doctor had been particularly struck by her beautiful eyes, pure, candid, and frank, like those of a child. The rest of her face, said he, had become somewhat spoilt; her complexion was losing its clearness, her features had grown less delicate, and her general appearance was that of an ordinary servant-girl, short, puny, and unobtrusive. Her piety was still keen, but she had not seemed to him to be the ecstatical, excitable creature that many might have supposed; indeed, she appeared to have a rather positive mind which did not indulge in flights of fancy."

Amanda weighed repeating these words to Ken. They might represent overkill. Amanda decided that she might best overlook this passage. She paused before more of her markings and reread the words to herself. Zola's doctor was speaking. "And if Bernadette was only hallucinated, only an idiot, would not the outcome be more astonishing, more inexplicable still? What! An idiot's dream could have sufficed to stir up nations like this! No! No! The Divine breath which alone can explain prodigies passed here." Listening, Father Pierre agreed. "It was true, a breath had passed there, the sob of sorrow, the inextinguishable yearning toward the Infinite of hope. If the dream of a suffiering child had sufficed to attract multitudes, to bring about a rain of millions and raise a new city from the soil, was it not because the dream in a measure appeased the hunger of poor mankind, its insatiable need of being deceived and consoled?"

Yes, better, Amanda told herself, that would do nicely to bring Ken back to the realistic world. Zola's was a mind that Ken could not ignore or fail to respect. And, somewhere, Zola had referred to the infallible Bernadette as "a mere imbecile." Yes, Zola might do the trick.

But then, sitting back, she felt a moment of uncertainty. She knew that already Ken's chances with surgery were far less than they had been three weeks ago. Still, clinging to the thought of Zola, she told herself that there was time enough, that every minute counted. Also, she realized that she needed passionately for her own sake to bring Ken back to her reality, the realm of science. She had to fight this her way. She had to believe Zola counted.

As Amanda sat with the book in her lap, she heard Ken's voice in

the corridor, and saw him outside the compartment with Father Wood-court.

The priest was saying, "Well, I'll leave you here, Mr. Clayton. You'll need a few moments rest before we pull into Lourdes. I'll just go on to the last few cars. I'm sorry if I tired you."

"Oh, I'll be all right," Ken said. "It was worth anything. Thanks for the tour, and thanks especially for introducing me to Mrs. Moore. That was really a thrill."

Ken watched the priest start off, and finally turned in to the compartment. As he dropped into the seat near Amanda, he tried to smile, but it was a wan smile. His once healthy features were pale, almost ghostly, and Amanda suffered a grip of fear again about his condition.

"Are you feeling all right?" Amanda asked worriedly. "You shouldn't have taken the tour."

"Wouldn't have missed it for anything," said Ken.

He seemed so plainly exhausted that Amanda could not stand it. She took his hand briefly. "Ken, let me give you something. You can use a little relief." She meant a sedative or pain-killer.

He shook his head. "No. I want my mind perfectly alert when we pull into Lourdes. That should be very soon." With effort, he sat up and suddenly his eyes brightened. "Amanda, something truly exciting happened on the train tour. I was introduced to Edith Moore. I spoke to her."

Momentarily, Amanda was bewildered. "Edith Moore?"

"You remember, the miracle woman we heard about in London. She's on this pilgrimage, a few cars down. You should see her. Robust and strong as an Olympic athlete. Five years ago she had the same—or a similar—degenerative bone cancer of the pelvis, very much like mine. The doctors gave her up, she was telling me, and then she made a trip, two trips, to Lourdes, and the second time, after praying at the grotto, drinking the water, taking a bath, she was instantly cured, totally cured, able to walk without a crutch, able to go back to work in London. The destroyed bone area was spontaneously regenerated. Doctors in London and Lourdes have examined her time and again, and they've now agreed that she has been miraculously healed. The official announcement will be made at Lourdes this week. Her cure will be declared a miracle." Ken Clayton sank back in his seat, life returning to his face, his smile broader. "I keep telling myself, if it could happen to her, to Mrs. Moore, it can happen to me. I'm really so happy we came here. I've never been more optimistic."

"I'm glad," said Amanda woodenly. "I'm glad you met Mrs. Moore."

"I'm sure you'll have an opportunity to meet her, too, after we arrive, and you'll feel as reassured as I feel." He glanced at Amanda. "What have you been doing while I've been going through the train?"

She dropped her hand over the title of the Zola novel in her lap. "Oh, just reading -- a book."

Hastily, she stuffed the two volumes into her tote bag. She knew that the timing was wrong. She couldn't undermine her darling's optimism with Zola's harsh reahties, not at this moment, not when Ken was so hopeful and happy after his encounter with Mrs. Moore.

Turning away from him, Amanda could see out the window that they were still running alongside the river. That would be the Gave de Pau. Gave meant a river from the mountains in this region, she had read. They were passing woods, and the outlying buildings of a town, and in the distance was the spire of what she presumed was the famous Upper Basihca, with an eighth-century castle perched high on a hill beyond it, and farther off, the jagged green Pyrenees. They were definitely approaching the city of their destination, a city circled by nine other venerable French shrine sites.

She had intended to point it out to Ken, but she saw that his eyes were closed and that he might be dozing.

Then the sweet and simple rockaby sound came drifting through the loudspeaker again. The Lourdes hymn, first sung in 1873. She listened to the lyrics:

"Immaculate Maryl Our hearts are on fire That title so wonderous Fills all our desire/ Ave. Ave, Ave Maria."

They must be in Lourdes.

Father Woodcourt, followed by Dr. Macintosh, bustled into the compartment to confirm it, and take up their bags.

Amanda started to awaken Ken Clayton, but his eyes, heavy, were open. "We're in Lourdes, my darling," she said.

For an instant his eyes brightened once more, and he made a clumsy effort to rise. She took his arm firmly, and helped him to his feet.

"Lourdes," he murmured as she reached down for her tote bag.

Assisting Ken, Amanda pushed into the crowded train aisle, oppressive and smelling of sweat, trying to stay behind Father Woodcourt. "Follow me," the priest called back several times.

They stepped down from the Wagon-Lits onto a station platform crammed with arriving members of their London pilgrimage. Father Woodcourt signaled Amanda and Ken, and some others near them. "We're on Quai Two, the main-line platform," he announced. "We'll cross the tracks and go into the station. Those three cars you see being uncoupled will be taken to the Gare des Malades, the adjoining station for invahds who'll need wheelchairs to go to their own special buses. Now, just stay with me."

They crossed over the tracks to a doorway above which was mounted a sign, accueil des pfeLERiNS.

"Means Pilgrims Welcome," said Father Woodcourt. The interior of the main hall of the train depot was no different from many others that Amanda had seen in her travels. modern brown wood benches sat in rows on black rubberized flooring. The single cheerful sight in the hall was an ordinary mural of a Pyrenees mountain landscape.

The group moved outdoors, past a taxi stand, toward a parking lot lined with buses. "Our bus is straight ahead," said Father Woodcourt. "Can you see the ones with the poles and placards beside them carrying the names of the hotels?" He pointed off. "There we are between the ALBION and CHAPELLE." He headed directly toward the pole with the sign Hotel Gallia & Londres.

In twenty minutes they had drawn up before the Hotel Gallia & Londres, and were filing off the bus to trudge after Father Woodcourt into the airy lobby. The priest eflSciently herded them together in the middle of the lobby, told them to have patience while he obtained their room assignments.