Alice Asks the Big Questions Read online

  Jeremy watched a bird as it flew along the rooftops, then disappeared behind the abbey bell tower, which stood tall, outlined against the blue sky. Or, rather, what remained of the abbey. It had been almost completely destroyed during the French Revolution and had been used as a stone quarry by the villagers. To think that it was once one of the holiest sites in Christianity, with a religious order that had ruled over twelve hundred abbeys and priories throughout Europe and ten thousand monks. The power of his abbey had been considerable, directly linked to the Holy See, and several popes had actually come from Cluny. What remained of it today? Twelve believers lost in a church built to accommodate four hundred.

  He took another deep breath of clean air. He could see, very far below, tiny people walking down the busy main street and adjacent alleyways. He watched them for a long time, thinking of all the souls he would like to help awaken, if only they would come to him. But for that to happen, their consciences would have to be jolted. They would need to sense that something existed apart from money and ordinary pleasures: shopping, video games, sex, and TV. Was that really still possible? He had the impression that he was one of the last representatives of a religion that was fading away. His motivation was flagging, and his feeling of uselessness in this respect weighed heavily on him.

  He sometimes thought about his visit to the coal mine, when he was still doing his master’s in Ecology. The director didn’t understand that he was defending a type of energy from the past. He continued as if nothing had happened, talking about his work as if he didn’t realize he had fewer and fewer customers, fewer and fewer workers, and that in the long run, his mine was condemned to disappear. Jeremy had felt sorry for him. But today, he wondered whether he was in the same situation. Except that coal was bad for people. The mine made them go down into the bowels of the earth, and when they came back in the evening, they were covered in black dust. The mine’s closing was perhaps a sign of some positive development. But spirituality elevated people, raised them toward the heavens. If spirituality disappeared, what would be left?

  Jeremy sighed. He felt powerless, discouraged, helpless. And yet, in a certain way, he accepted his depression. Somewhere, deep within him, he could sense it: it was from the darkest shadows that light shone through.

  3

  The elevator doors closed with a gust of air on the downstairs neighbor who had just gotten on. She was blond, with a very polished, ultra-sophisticated appearance. Furious, Alice held her little boy’s hand tightly and stared at the numbers that lit up as the elevator continued downward. Why had her husband smiled like that at the slut? It was easy to look beautiful when you didn’t have a child to take care of and could spend half your salary on clothes and an hour and a half every morning on your makeup. And her husband fell into the trap. Infuriating.

  The doors opened on the ground floor. The Barbie doll pivoted on her high heels and got out, her little Gucci bag slung over her shoulder. Alice dragged her son and her small, plain suitcase to the taxi stand. Paul followed, a travel bag in one hand and his cell phone in the other, reading his emails or the news as he walked.

  Two hours later, in front of her father’s house in Cluny, they parked the car they’d rented at the Mâcon train station. A large eighteenth-century residence with tall, white mullioned windows, shutters painted a light Provençal green, and a pretty facade washed in pale pink lime and covered in wisteria. Théo got excited and ran ahead to ring the bell. His grandfather opened the door, and the little boy rushed inside, darting between his legs.

  “The swings in the backyard are more interesting than me,” the old man said, laughing. “Did you have a good trip?”

  Alice kissed her father. Paul shook his hand. Every time she visited, she was happy to see her father so serene in spite of his advanced age. He had very fine white hair and a radiant face, with little wrinkles that spread out around his blue eyes.

  They found Jeremy’s mother, Madeleine, inside, holding a cup of tea. They said hello, and Paul disappeared upstairs with the bags.

  “I’m not staying,” said Madeleine, standing up. “I’ll leave you to your family get-together.”

  “No, do stay!” said Alice.

  “I don’t want to burden you with my problems. I’ve told your father how concerned I am about Jeremy. I’m quite worried about him, you know.” She started walking to the door.

  “Papa mentioned something about it to me.”

  Once she reached the doorway, the old woman turned and looked at Alice. She had a sad, dreamy smile on her face. “To think he was torn between his love for God and his love for you. But he did idolize you as if you were a goddess! If only he had chosen you, he wouldn’t be where he is today.”

  Alice, stunned, watched her walk away.

  “Are you having some tea, chérie?” her father called out from the living room.

  “Coming.”

  Everything was spinning around in her mind. She did, in fact, have a vague memory of Jeremy trying to seduce her years before, though rather awkwardly. She hadn’t played with his feelings, hadn’t led him on. Their friendship meant a great deal to her, but their relationship would remain at that. He hadn’t reacted badly, hadn’t shown any emotion in particular, and their friendship had, in fact, continued as if nothing had happened. She’d decided it was just a fleeting attraction at an age when it’s easy to believe you’re in love with people you socialize with. She found it hard to take in that he might have been so infatuated with her. When did that happen? Perhaps before he went into the seminary.

  Alice anxiously bit her lip.

  She thought back to the personal tragedy she’d lived through shortly afterward and the period when she was in mourning. Jeremy had supported her, listened to her, helped her as though nothing had happened, despite the fact that his love had been rejected.

  “Here you are, chérie. Here’s your tea.”

  “Thanks, Papa.”

  Alice automatically brought the cup to her lips and burned her tongue. Blind, that’s what she had been. Blind to Jeremy’s past feelings and now blind to his depression. She had seen him regularly during her weekends in Cluny, without ever noticing a thing. Her professional life had pulled her away from her closest friends.

  She suddenly felt egotistical. Her heart aching, she thought back to the warmth Jeremy had shown to her husband. He was a saint, that Jeremy. She owed it to herself to help him, now that he was the one who needed her. She had to do something, anything, to make him feel better. He deserved it. And she owed him at least that much.

  * * *

  “Where are you taking me?” Jeremy asked, laughing. “I’m not in the habit of being kidnapped when I come out of the rectory!”

  The little red Peugeot she’d rented sped away from Cluny along the local roads.

  “To Chapaize. To the Saint Martin restaurant.”

  “We’re going to Chapaize just to have lunch?”

  “It’s fine, it’s only fifteen minutes away—not the other end of the world. We’ll have more privacy than in Cluny, where everyone knows you.”

  “Is your family joining us?”

  Alice shook her head. “Paul is taking it easy at the house. He’s teaching Théo to draw.”

  A few minutes later, the little car was crossing the rolling countryside, its vineyards crowned with tree-covered hills. Alice rolled down her window. The wonderfully scented air filled the car.

  They parked at the entrance to the sleepy village, which they walked through before sitting down in the sunshine at one of the small outdoor tables of the Saint Martin. They were right opposite the Romanesque church, with its magnificent square bell tower raised toward the sky. Chapaize was a very authentic historical village. Many of its old stone houses were washed with a traditional soft-toned lime, often adorned with sheltered passageways and dovecotes, and covered in wisteria and trumpet vine.

  “Do you come here a lot?” asked Jeremy.

  “Fairly often, yes. I love this restaurant!”
r />   They ordered and the waiter brought them the white burgundy they’d chosen as an aperitif.

  She raised her glass. “To the sin of gluttony we are about to commit this lunchtime!”

  They clinked glasses, and she took a sip.

  “Mmm, divine. Better than the wine at Mass, I assume?”

  Jeremy just smiled.

  They both fell silent.

  “I ran into your mother.”

  No reaction.

  “She’s…worried about you.”

  “Mothers always worry.”

  Silence.

  On the other side of the narrow street, the church bell tolled once, and the sound echoed for a long time, slowly fading until it was heard no more. A great tranquility reigned in the village and the feeling that time was standing still. It was the end of March, and there was a chill in the air, but the bright sunshine gently warmed their faces, just as it warmed the pale stones of the bell tower.

  She waited in silence for a long time, then dived in.

  “I’m also worried about you.”

  “Everything’s fine,” he replied, a little too quickly.

  Alice made a face.

  “Jeremy, you don’t have to be a shrink to see that something’s wrong.”

  At first he said nothing, but Alice knew how to get him to confide in her. He finally told her how unhappy he was, his loss of motivation due to his laughable number of parishioners, which completely undermined his mission and made him feel useless. He also confided his impression that Christ’s messages were not being heard, that his own parishioners did not truly put them into practice in their daily lives.

  Alice let him talk. All she could do was commiserate with his frustration. Would anyone be able to continue carrying out a mission whose usefulness seemed so improbable?

  When he had finished unburdening himself, silence fell once more, and nothing in the serene environment disturbed it. The church opposite seemed sleepy, even though it was bathed in bright sunlight.

  “I can help you,” said Alice. “If you give me free rein, I’ll completely overhaul your marketing strategy. That’s my profession.”

  “My marketing strategy?!!” He had nearly choked on the words.

  “Those aren’t dirty words, you know.”

  “We’re talking about a church, Alice, not a business. And I have nothing to sell.”

  “I just want to study how you talk to people and see how you might adapt to their expectations, that’s all.”

  “Their expectations?” he replied, somewhat distant.

  “Listen, there is surely a way to do something, to manage to move these people by trying something different.”

  Jeremy raised one eyebrow and smiled sadly. “I’m touched by your kindness, but how could you hope to help me in a field that you know nothing about? You’re not even a believer.”

  Alice grimaced.

  “No problem,” she lied. “I’m used to working in fields that are unfamiliar to me. That’s what my profession is all about. I just have to get a handle on it. Piece of cake.”

  Seeing him look rather dubious, she added: “Do you think I’m an expert on lasagna? Chocolate spreads? Cars? No. But that didn’t stop me from being a consultant to Findus over the scandal about using horsemeat in their lasagna, or to Ferrero about the chemicals in their Nutella, or to Volkswagen over their emissions scandal.”

  “Thanks for adding me to your list of hopeless cases.”

  Alice forced herself to smile, then picked up her glass and took a long drink as she watched Jeremy.

  “In any case,” he continued, “the examples you’ve given are all problems that resulted from the sale of products. That’s something concrete, tangible. I don’t think you’re qualified when it comes to the spirit. The spiritual has nothing to do with the material.”

  Alice felt unbelievably annoyed. Who did he think she was? Only good enough to deal with Nutella?

  She was so proud of her title as a PR consultant, respected in her field. She was a negotiator who was about to land an enormous international contract. Every day she devised strategies that affected thousands of customers.

  “Remind me: how many people come to your church?”

  He shrugged as a sign of his hopelessness. “There’s nothing that can be done. It’s a lost cause. Forget it.”

  She felt like a little girl who thinks she can swim across a lake and is told she is just being silly.

  The last time someone had warned her that she would fail, she had just started at the company as an intern and had dared to come up with proposals while she was supposed to simply take minutes of the meetings. She had been gently put in her place: Her proposals wouldn’t work. The client wouldn’t like them. She had insisted, certain of the value of her ideas, and had fought for the right to present them. Not only had the client used them but their implementation had been a great success. Her internship had been transformed into a permanent contract.

  I don’t think you’re qualified when it comes to the spirit.

  Hard to swallow.

  “Give me two months, and I’ll find a way to double your congregation!”

  He looked up. “I don’t see how you could do that. And anyway, going from twelve to twenty-four won’t change very much, you know.”

  She looked him straight in the eye. “A hundred! You agree to follow my advice, and I’ll get a hundred people to your church!”

  He sighed sadly. “You’re crazy, Alice. It’s impossible. You are completely deluding yourself. This isn’t the world of business. What you do in your company won’t work in church.”

  The more he doubted what she said, the more she felt a furious desire to demonstrate her skills.

  “I bet you I can do it.”

  “I don’t even know where you would start, how your advice could work.”

  “It’s too soon to say. But I’ll find a way—that’s my job.”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Will you take the bet?”

  “With what I get in the collection box, what do you want me to bet?”

  She gave him her most beautiful smile. “A kiss on the cheek on New Year’s Eve!”

  He smiled nostalgically, then finally whispered, “Okay.”

  She poured him some more wine and they clinked glasses.

  She took a sip, savoring the satisfaction of having convinced him. Now she would have to roll up her sleeves and get to work. She started to wonder how she would go about it.

  It was a new field for her, and the challenge was enormous, as Jeremy had reckoned. But that wasn’t the main problem.

  How could she admit it to him?

  She took another sip of her drink.

  Not only was she an atheist, a confirmed atheist, but she was also particularly allergic to anything that had to do with religion, horrified by religious knickknacks of any kind, and very ill at ease whenever she set foot in a church.

  4

  Okay, first she had to get a handle on the book, find out exactly what it talked about. But still, she wasn’t about to leaf through it on the bus, or while waiting at the hairdresser’s or the dentist’s, even less likely at the office. Reading a client’s company brochure or press clippings, no problem. But really, pulling out the Bible, just like that, in public, would be bizarre. She’d feel a little embarrassed.

  Then she found the perfect “cover”: by scanning the actual cover of the book Paul left lying around the house every evening, then using trial and error to adjust the format, she printed a book jacket that was the ideal camouflage.

  And so it was that the following Monday evening at the office, having stayed until seven to look as though she had work to do (even though there wasn’t much going on), she took the book out of her bag. It was bright red, with the title Civil Code printed in large white letters on the front and a small extract from article 716 highlighted in one corner: “When someone finds treasure on his own land, it is his property.” Inside, as well, the illusion was perfect: the same
ultra-fine pages, the same columns of text in a small font. You had to really immerse yourself in the book to discover the scam: the Law was replacing the laws.

  An hour later, half slouched over her desk, absorbed in her reading, Alice was nervously biting her lip, on the edge of despair. If she hadn’t given herself the task of helping Jeremy, she would have laughed—that’s how grotesque she found the text. Pathetic, asinine, without a beginning or an end. Precepts that were inapplicable, when they weren’t quite simply absurd.

  How the hell was she going to be able to keep her word?

  Blessed are you when people insult you, said Jesus.

  Sure, let’s see. Getting insulted is happiness, right? We dream about it every day.

  Happy are the poor in spirit.

  Now, that one was true: what’s the point of wearing yourself out in the lecture halls at university until you’re twenty-five to open your mind when all you need to be happy is not to have one! And besides, it’s a well-known fact: without it, no one takes advantage of your credulity, no one tries to use you, no one makes fun of you…

  If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.

  Of course. Why didn’t that occur to me sooner? she thought.

  And those who exalt themselves will be humbled.

  Well, well, that sounds like the latest educational reform.

  It is hard for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of heaven.

  Another reason to get rich, Alice thought. I’m in no hurry to get to heaven! So, to sum it all up, to be happy, you have to be an idiot, get insulted, let people walk all over you, humble yourself, and become poor again. That’s quite a curriculum.

  Before Abraham was born, I am!

  Before Abraham was born…I am??? Oh boy. Grammar and verb tenses were obviously not his thing.

  One new humanity out of the two…

  Neither was math.

  That all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me, and I am in you.