Hans went straight into his study the moment the meeting ended. Standing at his desk irresolutely, he took out his conference papers, flicked through them, sat down, re-arranged his papers and generally tried to be busy, all the while knowing what a fraud he was! He was not busy. He had nothing to do, and could not do anything even if he had wanted to. All he wanted was to be with Marie and make her, his. But how could he tell her? She was so committed to what she was doing and being. A nun in a convent! No, not quite a nun yet. A novice. And he smiled, twirling a pencil in his fingers. She hadn’t taken her permanent vows. A postulant? Catholic jargon. Whatever she is, his case was not all that discouraging. But this was Asia, not the States or Europe where priests and nuns could leave their orders to get married. It was acceptable. But here? What chance did he have? Doubts seemed to weigh him down again, and he hunched over his desk, vainly seeking for a solution among his papers. She lived within the rigidity of her Catholic traditions and values. He was crazy to have fallen in love with her. Madness incarnate! Out here in Asia, cut off from friends and family and faced with this wall! He stuck his pencil into a piece of rubber eraser and angrily proceeded to dig a hole in it. The hard wall of her commitment. All these months, he could not even make a dent in it! Should he leave? After all, he had never planned to stay. He had wanted to go to Vietnam and if it had not been for the corruption there, he would have gotten his visa long ago. Now he was stuck with this girl in a nun’s habit. He should’ve gone away sooner. Now it was too late.
His face had lost its boyish expressions which used to criss-cross his face like the light and shadows of flying clouds. He had no regrets leaving his parish in the States, ministering to those who found meaning only in a financially secure future. Upper middle class. Sterile. The church matrons mothered and smothered him with their cakes and tea. The dolled-up girls sickened him. Dolls stuffed with straw! Hollow men of a decaying civilization. The East had offered hope and he had seized the opportunity to escape from the land of the living dead only to find in Singapore, a society struggling to become exactly what he had left. It was crazy! And this girl, novice, postulant or whatever, was she aware of him?
A light knock on the door made him turn around. Marie, who had stayed behind after the meeting to tidy up the manse for Rev James, had noticed Hans’s listlessness. She’d come to find out the cause of his lack of enthusiasm for the SWA project.
“Hi, how was your conference?”
“Okay, just the usual pontificators of the bishops and church bureaucrats.”
Hans had no patience for pretentious authority.
“Hmm,” nodded Marie, sharing his sentiments.
Then, silence. She, standing by the door, looking bright and cheerful, waiting for a confession she knew would come soon. And he, sitting at his desk absorbedly digging a hole in his eraser, stealing a look at her. Her slight figure in a T-shirt and pair of jeans looked lithe and alive, light and motion pulsing through her. He stopped his digging, took a deep breath and said, “I’ll be leaving for Vietnam soon.”
She remained standing by the door. Motionless. The light gone out of her eyes. Only one sound escaped her: “Oh”. Hans watched her with all the keenness of a birdwatcher careful lest the bird fly away.
“The SWA still needs your presence and skills as an organiser,” she finally said, her tone a deadpan neutral.
“Someone will take my place.”
It did not seem all that hopeless now. Still, he had to be sure. She looked small and vulnerable talking about the difficulties of getting the SWA project off the ground although a moment ago she, in her enthusiasm, had already declared it off the ground. Hans smiled at her rationalizations.
“I know the project needs me. Aren’t you going to ask me to stay?”
“I would if I could! If I had the power and means!” She did not like his teasing tone, smacking of complacency and enjoyment of this situation. She was angry with herself for feeling angry that he was leaving.
“If anyone has the power and means to make me stay, it’s you.”
“Huh? Sorry, I didn’t hear that.” But she had. It was just that she could not believe what she had heard.
Hans repeated his words again with slow deliberation, all the while his eyes on her face. She felt naked standing before his penetrating gaze.
“I said, if anyone has the power and means to make me stay, you’re the one.”
She kept her eyes on the floor. The silence in the room flowed all round it, closed in upon them and wrapped them in its cocoon. Hans got up and moved toward her. How like a quivering sparrow she looked. For the first time in his life, he felt lost and clumsy. His hands, too big and awkward as he put them round her shoulders now. So soft, warm and small as his arms encircled her and drew her to him, yielding, not resisting and for one heavenly moment resting her head on his broad chest as though she was content to remain there forever.
Then she pulled away. Rudely awakened, the spell was broken. The clouds evaporated and the hard edge of reality in the form of a desk touched him. He sat on its sharp edge perching there, waiting.
“You mustn’t do that again,” she whispered hoarsely, not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on his hands, clasped against his knees. She was vulnerable. So vulnerable. There was hope. That was all he was aware of. Hope. Help me, Lord, he whispered and moved toward her.
“No, Hans, please, no,” putting out her arms in defence. “You promised that we would be friends and remain friends. My life in the convent is messy enough without you adding to it.”
That stopped him. The wall again. But no, this time he was cruelly determined not to give in. He would strike down that wall. He would. And it was not as hard as it appeared.
Marie gave up and closing her eyes, let that warm breath carrying the whispers of “I love you, I love you,” envelop her. Such gentle hands enfolding her softness firmly. Lips touching her hair, brushing her ears before meeting hers in a kiss. She yielded, flowing down the stream of feelings dammed up so many, many months ago. He held her hand, reluctant to let her go. But she must. She had to think things over. Caught between joy and anxiety, she would only feel safe back in the convent’s chapel.
She fled from the manse and drove home in a daze, keeping her eyes fixed on the road. That continuous stream of cars droning like a bulldozer in a faraway field on a hot lazy afternoon, droning until a sudden screech of brakes woke her. She became aware of fickle pedestrians criss-crossing the road. Sounds and movements floated in and out at the edge of her mind, swimming in a dark sea of confused feelings, tangled weeds whose dark spreading roots she did not care to trace. Her soul shrank from the question. And yet it was ready to take flight. Poised like a butterfly, afraid to spread its wings, afraid of that jet of soaring happiness shooting out of that dark pool of guilt.