Andres Neuman - Traveller of the Century

The children filed through the entrance to St Nicholas’s Church in two columns, one of boys and one of girls. They walked down the side aisles and past the transept until they reached the apse, where Father Pigherzog, at the high altar, was waiting to bless their Easter offerings. The smallest children’s gaucheness, their mixture of nervous silence and stifled giggles, brought a sunny contrast to the gloomy interior. One by one, holding small bouquets of boxwood, they approached the altar laden with sweets, egg-shaped candies, coloured ribbons, garlands and miniature toys. Their bright faces clouded with fear as Father Pigherzog loomed over them. This was not the case for Lisa Zeit, who held out her brass ring with an absent expression, and who only appeared flustered when she thought the priest had stared at her chapped fingers before blessing the ring. Lisa had not thought seriously about God since she was nine years old, but as she curtsied and stepped back, she could not help wondering why God had given her such smooth skin only to let her hands be ruined. On the opposite side of the apse, in the boys’ column, Thomas Zeit awaited his turn with a miniature lead soldier in an oval box. Just as he reached the altar, Thomas pressed his legs together and began wriggling — he had suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to let out one of his small explosions. Don’t you dare, he ordered himself, staring hard at his offering — the diminutive soldier inside an Easter egg, musket shouldered, in uniform and campaign boots, cap tilted to one side in an attitude of weary anticipation, as though he wished he could fire or surrender once and for all.

The deacon stammered his way through the Epistle, and the choir sang the Gradual. Frau Pietzine sang along, her bosom swelling. Father Pigherzog finished blessing the incense, recited the Munda cor meum and began reading the Gospel in the calming voice Frau Pietzine loved so much — he was such a wise, simple man who was dedicated to his calling. But what might hers be? she wondered. What should it be now? How many sins would she commit not because of straying voluntarily from the path, but because she was lost? And why the devil did these new shoes of hers pinch her feet so? Oh forgive me, Hail Mary! Father Pigherzog had begun his sermon and was cautioning his flock against the dangers of the mechanical rationalism of our day that could so easily lead to a vulgar form of atheism, a life without God, turning men’s souls into mere merchandise. Life, brothers and sisters, insisted Father Pigherzog, is not a transaction or an act of convenience. Living, my brothers is to act without looking, to look only into our own conscience, honouring with sanctity the … (Why, dear God, Frau Pietzine lamented, why did I buy them, however pretty they are, when I knew they were too small? It serves you right for being avaricious, how right Father Pigherzog is!) … much less the wretched materialism that holds sway, yes, holds sway over our families, our jobs, even our newspapers. Ah, my brothers, those newspapers! Those scurrilous pamphlets! We do not say reading is sinful in itself, nor that … (Praise the Lord, Frau Pietzine thought, relieved, in that case romances are …) … But tell me now, to what kind of reading do we refer? Does the complete freedom so vigorously demanded by some necessarily mean the impunity of the word, sin in print, heresies for purchase? … (But the romances I read are loaned to me, Frau Pietzine thought, justifying herself) … than decency? Can entertainment be said to be as worthy as virtue?

Suscipe sancte Pater , they prayed, offering the bread and wine, which the deacon nearly spilt over the sides of the chalice. Offerimus tibi, Domine , Father Pigherzog intoned, glaring at the deacon out of the corner of his eye. And the incense floated up, dispersed and was gone. While the choir finished chanting the offertory, the priest washed his hands intoning the lavabo. Frau Pietzine adored watching Father Pigherzog as he washed his hands — he had the purest, most trustworthy, comforting hands of any man (well, she corrected herself, not exactly a man, or at least not in that sense, he was more than a man, or less, or both?) she had ever known (known and touched, but in the pure sense of the word). This was why her favourite parts of Mass were the Eucharist, the lavabo and above all Communion — receiving Communion from the hand of Father Pigherzog (who had just said Orate, fratres ) was like exchanging lies for truth, the taste of flesh for the crystal waters of the spirit. The priest recited the final prayer and said: Per omnia saecula saeculorum . And the choir said: Amen.

The bread came apart like cotton wool. Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum —how easily Father Pigherzog broke the bread! After the Agnus Dei, the priest kissed the deacon and the deacon hoped Father Pigherzog had forgiven him for having almost spilt the wine. When the priest wet his rough lips in the blood, Frau Pietzine’s breathless bosom shuddered as the moment of Communion approached — it was she who had asked Father Pigherzog to allow the parishioners to receive Communion. The priest took the host plate from the altar boy, holding it between his second and third fingers, holy, pure, learned fingers! Libera nos , and when it was time for the words da propitious , he crossed himself and held the plate beneath the host. The altar boy uncovered the chalice, bowed, and the priest took the host, broke it in two, obliging wafer, nimble fingers, Per eundem , and half of it fell gently onto the plate while the other broke into pieces, weightless specks, Qui tecum, per omnia . With what infinite care and grace, oh Lord, did Father Pigherzog make the sign of the cross three times with the half he was holding in his right hand, Pax Domini , above the chalice. As he dipped the morsel into the chalice, Haec commixtio , rubbing his fingers together in order to purify them, Frau Pietzine’s eyes rolled up.

Back in the sacristy, Father Pigherzog slumped into his armchair with a sigh. When he saw the sacristan standing before him as though waiting to receive his next orders, the priest waved his arm to dismiss him. If the boy were as bright as he was obedient, he thought to himself, we would be in the presence of one of the chosen. Father Pigherzog plucked the volume entitled Notes on the State of Souls from a pile of reading matter, and placed it in his lap. He opened it at the last entry, reread a few paragraphs, dipped his quill in the ink pot and wrote the date in fine Roman numerals. He raised his eyes searching for the right words.

… whose attendance at prayer has failed to lead her away from certain worldly interests. As a relatively young woman of xxxxxxxxhealthy appearance, it is to be hoped the aforementioned Frau Pietzine will change her life. In order to do this it is essential for her to devote more time to the nourishing duties of motherhood, and, above all, not to let her mind stray so much. As for her dedication to prayer, she gives herself to it with such zeal that on occasion it seems ( caeli remissione ) she is trying to convince God of something rather than praying to Him. It should be noted that, within her limitations, she is excellently disposed towards listening. Express disapproval of her attire at subsequent meetings.

… in such a way that, as far as I can gather from her account, the closer she comes to the Roman Catholic faith, the more her husband, A N Levin, abandons himself to outlandish studies of the Kabbala, Palestino-Alexandrian doctrines and God knows what else besides. Every sin finds the absolution it seeks, but complacency is a different kettle of fish. I refer briefly, as an example, to some of the many heresies with which Frau Levin’s spouse attempts to confuse his wife, clouding her understanding of the Scriptures. Taking random quotations such as “We speak the wisdom of God in a mystery” out of their doctrinal context and distorting them by relating them arbitrarily to others such as “But God has revealed them unto us by the Spirit” (1 Corinthians 2:7–10), which the foolish man reads as a mysterious conclusion, arguing that Paul understood the need to interpret the sacred principles of Christianity as a coded language inasmuch as “the letter killeth but the spirit giveth life” (2 Corinthians 3:6) and that Paul himself told the converts and initiates that divine wisdom could not be imparted (1 Corinthians 3:2). According to his deviant interpretation, this implies that biblical studies should be based upon Samosatenian treatises and Leovigildian readings, as though the Word of God were a mere introduction to other unrelated words or parables. Consider the degree of apostasy in these considerations, and take into account the known inclination of the circumcised towards the language of doubt and paradox. Strongly advise Frau Levin, for the sake of her nascent faith, to frequent other places and people at least for the time being.