A Cry of Stone by O'Brien Michael

Author:O'Brien, Michael [O'Brien, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Novels
ISBN: 9780898709957
Publisher: Ignatius Press
Published: 2009-06-03T04:00:00+00:00

17

On March nineteenth, there was a festival of Masses and processions at the shrine, and Rose spent all day there, returning home in a state of great joy. She had several times tried to tell Hugo and Esther about the wonder of Mount Royal and about what was occurring in her soul because of it. This day was no exception. As usual, they could not comprehend. They listened, looked thoughtfully at each other, and murmured learned comments about “cultural reference points”, “points of departure”, and “the need for a pantheon of symbols”.

“Every religion is a prism that allows one a look into the spectrum, Rose”, Esther told her. “The prism is like a palette of solid colors. The manufacturer and the chemical components of paint will vary, but the sun strikes upon them in a similar way. In the hands of an artist who understands their qualities—and their limitations—each brand may produce a masterpiece.”

“Esther, I am confused by a thing. Did you not tell me that I must not trust the words ‘tempera paint’?”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“The labels in the art stores use the word ‘tempera’ for both the cheap poster colors and for the egg-paints that are the most brilliant and durable of all. The expensive paint and the imitation both have the same name.”

“I see your point, Rose”, Hugo chuckled, eyeing his wife mischievously. “Do you see her point, my dear? Rather a good point, don’t you think?”

“What point?” Esther gestured irritably. “All analogies are imperfect.”

“Don’t be testy, dear, don’t be testy.”

“I am not being testy!” Esther snapped.

“Let us judiciously change the subject,” Hugo coughed, humming to himself. “It’s time to get ready for the theater.”

“The theater of the absurd”, grumbled Esther. “I had hoped they would fold. I had so hoped the building would be condemned. I had hoped, insanely, that the government of the Cirque would be overthrown in a revolt and its leaders executed.”

“Nu, nu, darling. No need for extremism.” Hugo turned to Rose with a look of jolly enthusiasm. “Tonight we are going to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

Esther, despite her lack of enthusiasm, dressed herself in an emerald-green evening gown with rhinestone earrings and tiny high-heeled shoes. Over her shoulders she draped a black fur coat that smelled of moth balls, after tucking and pinning the frayed cuffs and sewing on a missing button. Hugo scraped as much speckling as possible from his hands, passively endured a stiff brushing of his hair and beard, and donned a tweed greatcoat over his blue flannel shirt and corduroy pants, none of which had really escaped the universal decoration. His shoes were scuffed, but he managed to leave the house without Esther’s noticing this detail. Rose went as she was, though she did squeeze into the green jumper that Sister Clothilde had made for her one Christmas. It split at the seams, but Rose had no time to sew it up, because the taxi had arrived and was honking its horn.

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