Birgitta the Nun

Part 25 - Birgitta the Nun

The oarsmen were working in silence. One could see the surface break under their heavy oars, but no sound would follow. In no hurry whatsoever, the boat made its way across the dark lake. Birgitta, who was sitting in the bow, was also silent. Her journey had turned out to be a long one, but she had no choice. The cat was her responsibility and she had to make sure it was alright. If it were in need in any way—it was her duty to settle any kind of distress.

Birgitta took hold of the railing and raised her figure for a moment. She stretched her cold legs and waved her stiff arms. The boat swayed slightly under her movements, and would have made any other passenger nervous, were she not alone in the boat. Alone apart from the oarsmen. She leaned over the rail and saw her face mirrored in the water. The blankness of the dark lake depicted even the finest of her many wrinkles. But soon she felt a firm grip on her robe, and someone pulling her back into the boat.

"That's no place for people ma'am," a bass voice said, belonging to one of the oarsmen. "That's where fish and lost souls live. And you're no fish, are you ma'am? Nor have you lost your soul?"

Birgitta didn't answer but climbed back to her place in the bow. What kind of talk was that, really? She was only a passenger for Heaven's sake, not a sorcerer or an alchemist. She looked at her vestment and wondered if the oarsmen were perhaps afraid of her? It was possible her sacred robe made them nervous. They were probably thinking of their sins. Indeed, they rather looked like sinners to Birgitta, the whole lot of them—or trolls, at best. What did they know about souls anyway?

Birgitta imagined all of them, the whole superstitious bunch, falling into the black water, along with their oars and grumpy words. All of it—drenched by the chilling blackness. They would like that, wouldn't they—to splash about the cold lake, feeling their limbs growing cold, helpless? And finally being pulled down into the depths of the unknown? She smiled at the thought and turned her back to the rowers. She didn't have time for brutes anyway.

"So you're searching for a cat?" a second oarsman said, directing his words to Birgitta.

"I haven't been searching for years," Birgitta replied, with her back still turned to the rowers. "Searching is a rather meaningless activity—I don't believe in finding what you're looking for. I believe in being surprised and not knowing what you were looking for in the first place." She stared at the calm water and let her words skip away across the surface. Then, again there was silence, and she wondered if the oarsman had received her reply.

"Then, why don't you go back?" the same oarsman suddenly recommenced.

"Because this is not about me," Birgitta replied and turned to face the curious rower. "This is about my friend. I owe her the honor of searching for her."

The oarsman fell silent. He looked down at his oar. His eyes wandered from his working hands, out along the long wooden structure. Then, when his gaze slightly touched the surface, he again turned to Birgitta: "Is this about believing?"

"No. This is about seeing," Birgitta replied. "If I keep my mind open I might actually see what it is I'm seeing—I might realize what it is I'm looking at."

"Oh—I didn't realize that."

"No, of course you didn't," Birgitta muttered.

The boat touched land and Birgitta jumped onshore. She didn't bother with saying "thank you", or even a simple "good bye", but at once started running. Soon she was out of sight. The oarsman swore at her. Ungrateful people really brought out the worst in them—and their curses echoed all along the shore.

The day before, Birgitta had talked to some peasant or other. She informed Birgitta she had indeed seen a strange cat take the ferry over the lake. The peasant remembered it well, because normally cats were scared of water—and wouldn't bring money to buy ferry-tickets. She didn't like the look of that cat, with its shiny black fur and cunning yellow eyes, and she was sure it was a fugitive. Birgitta thanked the peasant and promised to do her best to confiscate the furry little troublemaker. And today she had crossed the lake, following the only trail she'd got to find her cheeky little friend.

The gravel-road leading away from the lake was relatively smooth, but Birgitta swayed heavily as she continued her journey on foot. The boat-trip had left her unsteady. Her feet felt uneven under her resolute steps. She wiped her hot forehead but there was no sweat. Still she felt she was boiling inside.

At first there was no traffic, leaving the nauseated nun the whole lane to wobble about, but then some commotion joined her on the road. A cart approached. It closed in on her, not with speed, but with some kind of lazy velocity. Was it tilting? Birgitta observed the strange vehicle. Indeed, it seemed to be slanting, yes even spinning around its own axis. It was the most annoying thing. The nauseated nun had to stop to close her eyes. But her head could take the whirling no more. She steered clear and disgorged in the ditch.