Here is the most important incident of her new life. In the winter of 1678-1679 another marriage project developed. Everybody, even Anastasie, wanted Catherine Tekakwitha to have her cunt opened. Here in this Christian village, or there among the heathens, it was all the same. Every community was, by its nature, ultimately secular. But she had sailed her cunt away and it did not matter who came to claim it, a Mohawk brave or a Christian hunter. There was a nice young fellow they had in mind. Not only that, but the relative who had rescued her and who provided for her sustenance hadn’t thought for a moment that misty morning that he was assuming a lifetime economic obligation.
– I won’t eat anything.
– It’s not the food, dear. It’s just unnatural.
She ran in tears to le P. Cholenec. He was a wise man who lived in the world, lived in the world, lived in the world.
– Well, my child, they have a point.
– Arrrrggghhhh!
– Think about the future. The future starves.
– I don’t care what happens to my body.
But you care about her body, don’t you, my old friend and disciple?