The Miracle (39 page)

"What was that?" Amanda wanted to know.

"Probably a supplication," said Sister Francesca. "Some pilgrim sending in the picture of a loved one who is ill, and by this, hopes for a healing, and a guide agreed to take it right to the casket to have it blessed, in a sense, by proximity to Bernadette." She glanced at Liz. "You have some questions?"

"Yes," said Liz.

"Very well. I think it best if I try to answer them outside the church. Less disruptive. Let's go back to the courtyard."

The moment that they left the church and emerged into the sun-light, and gathered together at the foot of the statue of the Virgin Mary, Amanda had a question of her own to ask, before allowing Liz to begin her promised interrogation.

"I was wondering," said Amanda, "what Bernadette did with herself in her thirteen years here at Saint-Gildard. Was it all prayer?"

"Not quite," said Sister Francesca. "True, the nuns here today— they live in the upper floors of the convent and keep to themselves— devote their time largely to prayer and various household tasks. Some few of us, of course, work with the tourists. But in Bernadette's time she had many things to do. Her main job was in the infirmary, serving as assistant infirmarian. She loved to nurse ailing patients. She never fully escaped public exposure, of course. Her fame grew steadily during her lifetime, and notable visitors came and went. Sometimes biographers sought to see her, speak with her. And don't forget, she was frequently ill and bedridden, several times on the verge of death."

Impatient to try out her own questions, Liz aggressively stepped nearer to the nun. "I've also heard that Bernadette was pretty busy in the convent fighting with her superior, the Novice Mistress Mother Marie-Therdse Vauzou. Is that true?"

"Not exactly fighting," said the unrufiled Sister Francesca. "After all, Mother Vauzou was Bernadette's superior, Bernadette would not have dared to fight with her."

"Let's not quibble," said Liz. "I've heard from good authority that the two of them were on the outs from day one."

"I would put it another way," said Sister Francesca, still not flinching. "Allow me to be strictly factual based on what we know. At first Mother Vauzou welcomed Bernadette as 'the privileged child of the Virgin Mary.' But then she had certain reservations about her new novice. For one thing, she never quite believed that Bernadette had actually seen the apparitions of the Virgin. Moreover, she did not like the whole Virgin Mary cult that was growing, since her own devotions were based on the all-importance of Jesus Christ. As to the talk that the mistress of novices treated Bernadette severely, even making her kiss the ground, that was common in those days. The task of the superior was to teach all novices humihty and make them do penance."

Liz persisted. "I heard that Bernadette was afraid of Mother Vauzou."

"Some witnesses say that is tme. But Mother Vauzou had her reasons to treat Bernadette a trifle harshly. She worried about what

some call the Bernadette legend, that the keen interest in Bernadette may have gone to her head, that she had become too vain and prideful to become a proper nun. Also, Mother Vauzou believed that Bernadette lacked frankness, once describing her novice as 'a stiff, very touchy character.' Above all, I repeat. Mother Vauzou may have had lingering doubts that Bernadette had ever seen the Virgin Mary. She could not imagine the Virgin coming before such a simple girl with so lowly a background. Mother Vauzou remarked of Bernadette, 'Oh, she was a little peasant girl. If the Holy Virgin wanted to appear somewhere on earth, why should She choose a common, illiterate peasant instead of some virtuous and well-instmcted nun?' On another occasion, Mother Vauzou said, 'I do not understand why the Holy Virgin should reveal Herself to Bernadette. There are so many other souls more lofty and dehcate! Really!' When there was talk of introducing Bernadette's cause, it was set aside in the period when Mother Vauzou was promoted to superior general of our convent. When her successor came along and mentioned the possibility of sainthood, Mother Vauzou begged her, •Wait until after I am dead.' "

"Wasn't that enough to put down the Bernadette legend?" asked Liz.

"Not really," said the nun. "Because on her death bed Mother Vauzou confessed that her doubts were created by her own weakness and not Bernadette's. Mother Vauzou's last words indicated that she had capitulated to Bernadette and to the reality of Lourdes. Her last words were, 'Our Lady of Lourdes, protect my death-agony.' "

Liz herself seemed to capitulate at this point. "All right," she said, "enough of that. But there's one more thing I must ask you. It touches on church pohtics, the desire by some to get Bernadette out of Lourdes and tucked into relative anonymity in Nevers. You know, of course, that someone of high social standing wanted to marry Bernadette before she became a nun?"

"I do," said Sister Francesca.

"Well, I for one would like to know why the church did not permit the suitor to propose to Bernadette, or even tell her that someone had asked for her hand? Wasn't that because the church didn't want her to remain in the open, become as normal as any other young woman, but preferred to keep her from view in order to maintain her legend and to build the fame of the shrine at Lourdes?"

"No, that wasn't so," said the nun. "I'm afraid you have it quite wrong."

"Then tell me what's right," said Liz testily.

"What's correct is this: A young nobleman and medical student in

Nantes, Raoul de Tricqueville, wrote Monsignor Laurence, the bishop of Tarbes and Lourdes, in March, 1866, and stated that the only thing he wanted in this world was to marry Bernadette, and would the bishop intercede for him. The bishop replied somewhat tartly that any marriage for Bernadette was opposed 'to what the Holy Virgin wanted.' Shortly after Bernadette came to Nevers, the young man pressed his suit again. This time he wrote to Bishop Forcade, and asked if he could visit Bernadette and propose marriage to her in person. 'Let me at least ask her myself to marry me. If she is as you say, she will refuse me; if she accepts, you will know she is not truly suited for the vocation she has chosen.' The bishop replied that Bernadette was, indeed, perfectly suited for her vocation, and he did not intend to disturb her peace of mind. He did not bother to tell Bernadette about the young man or the proposal. There is not one shred of evidence that either of these refusals was engendered by a church plot or politics. Bernadette's superiors were merely looking after her best interests."

"If you say so," said Liz grimly.

"The facts say so," said Sister Francesca with equanimity. "Now I had better get back to my duties. You'll be driving to Lourdes?"

'To Paris to catch the last flight to Lourdes tonight," said Liz.

"Let me see you to the front gate," said the nun.

They strolled in silence to the gate, and were about to part company, when Amanda held back.

"Sister, just one last thing, if you don't mind," said Amanda.

"Please, go ahead."

"About Bernadette's private journal," said Amanda. "I've heard everyone refer to Bernadette as illiterate, unable to write. So how could she keep a journal?"

Sister Francesca nodded. "She was illiterate and unable to write at the time of the apparitions. After that, preparing for her First Communion, Bernadette went to school, studied at the Hospice in Lourdes, and learned to write very well. She then wrote a number of accounts about the apparitions. She wrote numerous letters, including one to the Pope in Rome. She wrote quite easily, not in French at first but in her regional language. Eventually, she did leam French."

"But this journal, the one that was recently found," said Amanda, "I read that it was written by her right here in Nevers, in this convent."

"So I am told," agreed Sister Francesca. "She kept this journal toward the end, setting down all she could remember of her young life before the apparitions and more detail of what she could recall of her visions at the grotto. Before her death, she sent the journal to a relative or friend as a memento."

"How was it discovered after so many years? And where?"

"I know only that it was located in Bartres, and that someone from Lourdes acquired it—or at least the latter part of it—for the church."

"Acquired it from whom in Bartress?" Amanda wondered.

"I don't know." For the first time, the nun appeared evasive. "You might ask Father Ruland when you return to Lourdes."

"I may do that," said Amanda. "Anyway, thank you for everything."

"God go with you," said Sister Francesca, and left them.

Liz glared after the nun. "Thanks for nothing. Sister," she muttered. "What a bust. The straight party line."

They started away.

"I don't know," mused Amanda. "There may have been something. I keep thinking of that journal."

"You can be sure it's authentic," Liz said grouchily. "The Pope would never have announced its contents unless he was positive it was genuine."

"Not that, that's not what I'm thinking. I'm thinking about the rest of the contents. The church announced only the part about the apparitions, especially the one apparition where the Virgin passed on her secret to Bernadette. But you heard Sister Francesca. There was more to the journal than that. There was all kinds of material Bernadette set down about her early life."

"So what? Where will that get you? Forget it. We've reached a dead end. Admit it. We've lost. I've lost with my boss, Trask. And you've lost with your boyfriend, Ken. We're through."

Amanda shook her head slowly. "I don't know. I'm still not quitting. I'm going to follow up."

"On what?"

"On that journal. I want to know more about the journal that brought us all to Lourdes."

"Oh, that," said Liz. "Believe me, you're not going to get anywhere."

"We'll see," said Amanda.

Edith Moore had kept her second appointment of the day at the Medical Bureau in Lourdes exactly on time. She had come, and in less than a half hour she had gone, and Dr. Paul Kleinberg had barely seen her. He had thanked her for coming in again, apologized for the X-ray botch, and turned her over to Esther Levinson for another set of X rays.

Now Kleinberg paced restlessly in the examination room of the Medical Bureau waiting for Esther to hang the X-ray negatives and

turn on the view box. It was all mechanics now, routine, and he would be through with the case and in Paris again by evening.

"Ready for you," Esther said, turning on the view box.

She stepped aside as Dr. Kleinberg moved toward the X rays. "This won't take more than a minute," he said absently.

But it took more than a minute.

It was ten minutes before Kleinberg came away from the X rays and wandered over to the chair and sat down heavily. Briefly, he was lost in thought. When he looked up, he saw his nurse's worried expression.

"Didn't they come out again?" Esther wondered.

"They came out very well," Kleinberg said.

"Then you can confirm our miracle woman?"

"No, I can't," said Kleinberg flatly.

"What?" Esther came forward with surprise. "What are you saying?"

Kleinberg met his nurse's stare, and shook his head. "She's not a miracle woman. Probably never was. The sarcoma is plainly there. Either the tumor has come back—something I've never seen happen before—or it has never gone away. Whatever took place, Mrs. Moore is not cured."

The nurse's poise had evaporated entirely. "But, doctor -- that— that can't be."

"It's a fact, Esther."

'Those other X rays." She was almost pleading for Mrs. Moore. "The previous pictures, the recent ones, they don't show the sarcoma. And the negative biopsies—what about them? She must have been cured."

Kleinberg was shaking his head again. "I can't explain this. It makes no sense."

"Unless the other doctors—in their zeal, or whatever—maybe they tampered with the previous X rays? But no," she corrected herself instantly, "that wouldn't explain it either, because Mrs. Moore became well, from an invalid she became a healthy person again."

"I can't dispute that," Kleinberg agreed, "but Esther, pictures don't he. She's suffering the cancer once more—or still. Soon she won't be functioning. The condition is sure to worsen, to deteriorate. There was no miraculous cure. Our miracle woman simply isn't."

"That's terrible, doctor. You—you'll have to tell Dr. Berryer."

"I can't." Kleinberg amended his response. "Not yet." He added, "This diagnosis might not be acceptable—from a person of my persuasion. They'd all think a nonbeliever is trying to obstruct them."

Esther's fingers touched the nearest X ray. 'This pictwe is also a nonbeliever. It doesn't obstruct. It's ruthless. It tells the truth."

"Not to everyone, and not that easily," said KJeinberg. "A general physician might overlook what a specialist in sarcoma can see."

"There can be no mistake about what you see?"

"None whatsoever, Esther. Our miracle woman is in trouble."

"You just can't leave it at that."

"I won't. But I haven't the heart to break this to Edith Moore. I think her husband should do that, and then I'll follow up. If you can get Berryer's secretary to locate Mr. Moore—Reggie Moore—tell him I'd like to see him as soon as possible."

In the ten-minute period in which Esther was gone, Kleinberg stood up and studied the X rays once more. When he was through, his diagnosis had not altered. The British lady was, indeed, in trouble. He tried to think what could be done. She was doomed unless some effort was made to deal with the sarcoma. Of course, only one possibility existed. Surgery. Normal surgery would not promise much hope in this case. But what came to mind was his colleague. Dr. Maurice Duval, the other major specialist in this field who had been experimenting with a new kind of surgery involving genetic engineering. Judging from the recent scientific papers on the subject that Kleinberg had studied. Dr. Duval seemed on the verge of stepping out of experimentation on animals and moving closer to surgery on human beings.

Kleinberg's thoughts were interrupted by the return of his nurse.