Birgitta the Nun

Part 52 - The Merchant

The next day, the abbess awoke to nothing but silence. The merchant was already up. She had started a fire and had her hands wrapped around something looking like a takeaway-coffee.

"Good morning sister," she greeted her companion. "How was your night?"

"Swell," the abbess replied. She went up to the merchant and the fire, "So—Caffè Latte, eh?"

"Yeah, latte," the merchant grinned. "You know, I'm an opportunist. And when in Rome—" She produced a second cup and handed it to the abbess.

"But we're not in Rome, are we?"

The merchant shrugged, "It's just an expression."

"Alright, just let it stay that way," the abbess pushed aside the coffee. "I don't want a cup of your imagination."

The merchant nodded, contented with not being flooded with more advanced questions. She seemed reluctant to get going.

The abbess let her companion consume her coffee in silence. Now and then the two of them looked out over the fields, summoning their energies for the walk to come. The terrain didn't look much to the eye, but after the busy night in the tent, the abbess suspected something unnerving. How far could it be, really? All that city noise—she had always believed in a world that encompassed more than meets the eye, but the expression had suddenly gained new depths.

"So, how do we do this?" the abbess stood up and indicated the fields. "No wait, don't tell me—'all roads lead to Rome'? Perhaps you suggest the cat has ended up in the Colosseum?"

"Don't be silly," the merchant replied, disposing of the empty paper cups. "They're just fields. One step at a time—one foot in front of the other will bring us there. The village will be worth the trouble, I'm sure."

They put out their fire and squeezed the tent back into its bag, making it mobile again.

"After you," the merchant motioned the abbess towards the fields.

"Why, thank you," the abbess replied in a proud voice. "I've always wanted to be a pioneer. Or a gladiator—"

As mentioned before, irony wasn't the abbess' strong side, and the comment seemed sincere, even haughty, ergo - out of place. No one was forcing her to make this trip - the merchant was even doing her a favor. Still, she felt it becoming to put on airs as she stomped out into the fields. The merchant trudged behind, carrying the tent and keeping quiet. In clear view, far away in the distance, the chimneys and their dancing smoke made their advertisement.

After a while, the abbess lowered her proud chin and paid attention to her footwork. At regular intervals, she could see young plants poke their green little heads out of the dirt. They looked as helpless as she did, to be sure, and she took care not to demolish them with her sharp clogs. Her confidence grew with every step, and she was convinced they would soon enter civilization.

However, the further they reached into the fields, the smaller and more distant the chimneys appeared. The nun lifted her head and stared in the distance. She fixed her gaze on the small civilization, especially on one grand piece of chimney, and trudged towards it with decisive steps. It did not help - the chimneys continued to shrink. She found this very strange, yes even disconcerting, and hurried her steps. As a consequence, the shrinking of the civilization also hurried. It was determined to disappear, right before her eyes, despite her every effort to reach it.

"What's this now?" the abbess cried, her voice leaning towards desperation. "Is this some kind of game?"

"Calm down," the merchant urged, but didn't look too calm herself. "We're doing alright. Never mind the mirage—we'll soon get there."

"What mirage? First we're in Rome, and now we're in a desert? It's not even a particularly warm day—"

The abbess bit her lip and focused on the horizon. They were almost gone now, the chimneys and their comforting smoke. Her heart sank. She gathered her skirts and lifted the robe off the ground - her clogs screaming yellow and green in the sun - then she made a run for it.

"No—wait," the merchant called after the fleeing nun. "That won't do any good." She clung to the straps of her enormous bag and tried to catch up, but the abbess showed unexpected agility. "Hey—would you help me with this tent," the merchant cried. "I can't run with this thing on my back." But it was no use.

Exhaustion at length beat her. She paused, supporting herself with her hands on her knees, and struggled to catch her breath. Perspiration dripped from her brow, seeking her eyes. With a swift movement she wiped her face with her sleeve. When she raised her head again, the abbess was gone - out of sight - along with the chimneys and any signs of civilization.

"Damn it," the merchant kicked the earth. "Well—I'll catch up with her sooner or later."

She turned around, and for a moment considered heading back for the woods. But no—she had to continue. She'd come too far. Also, she really wanted to take a look at this village, and its hypothetical inn, that were playing so hard to get.

The tent felt heavy on her back, but the merchant braced herself and marched on. The fields now stretched as far as the eye could see. She again turned to catch a glimpse of the left-behind forest, but this time it too was gone. It didn't matter which way she turned, she could see nothing but fields. In every point of the compass, constituting in its flatness a somewhat threatening horizon—nothing but fields, haunting her vision.

The merchant trudged on, not so careful anymore. The young plants around her feet suddenly annoyed her. After all, they were rather plain and uninteresting. They had no smell and no distinct shape—they probably weren't even edible. She gave up looking, but placed her feet wherever she felt like it, ignoring the abbess' incentive to watch out.

After some careless stomping, a thought went up to her: was she even walking in a straight line? How could she tell? Perhaps she had traced a circle, only to end up where she had started? She would be stuck in these fields forever. "No—" the merchant clenched her fists and came to a halt. She had to pick up her navigation.

Again she calculated the movement of the sun—but her confidence faltered. The sharpness of the light made her unsure. She turned left, choosing this particular course from where she was standing, and walked with determinate steps. Then she panicked and ran in the opposite direction. It was ridiculous. But she gathered her wits and again turned a distinct left. The process was repeated—once more panic, running, and confusion all over.

Some time was lost in this zig-zag manner. The merchant finally decided to abandon her left-hand-adventure, but to continue in her initial direction. She scratched her head and searched for a clue—she had no idea what was left or right, let alone east or west. The sun appeared irregular, at first to make haste, then suddenly, to hesitate and all together halt its progress. A compass would have been nice. In these disorienting fields, she barely knew what was up or down. How come she didn't have a compass? She was a traveling merchant for goodness' sake. She took an extra moment to marvel at herself and her incompetence.

Incidentally, the careless foot of the merchant hit against something hard. Three medium-sized stones lay in the middle of the field, all of a sudden offering some variation. The merchant bent down to have a look, and thrilled at the convenience. She picked them up, all three, and used them to create a triangle, each of the stones composing a corner of the geometry. According to her calculations - we won't dwell on the specifics - these markings would reveal if her march continued in a circle.

Her plan soon faltered: as soon as one stone was put in place she couldn't find it again. The same thing with the next stone. And the next. The triangle disappeared before she was even done building it. Again she felt ridiculous. What a worthless piece of navigation—and such a terrible waste of time. She cursed the fields, and got a glimpse of what the nuns must have felt, ending up in a bar-fight: cursing was a rather satisfactory thing to adopt when feeling threatened or overly confused.

Evening came before the merchant had found her course. She struggled to put up the tent, experiencing loneliness as she hadn't done before. Not even a bent old nag would offer her company, let alone a haughty abbess.

How far had the nun gone, the merchant wondered, and how would she manage the night? Well, that was not her problem anymore. They were separated now, and God bless them both, each on her own.