Diary of a Country Priest Page #3

all I ask is justice.

Ever since that beastly

woman came to the house -

Stay calm.

I am calm.

I wish you could be as calm as I am.

I heard them last night.

I was under their window.

They don't even draw the curtains!

I know they'll get rid of me somehow.

I am to leave next Tuesday.

Mama finds it very proper

and practical.

Proper!

It's enough to make you laugh.

But she believes

anything they tell her,

like a frog swallowing flies.

Don't speak of your mother that way.

You don't love her.

You even -

- Go on. I hate her!

I've always hated her.

She's a fool and a coward.

Never could stand up

for her own happiness.

Why do you look at me like that?

Leave me alone.

If you loved your father,

you wouldn't be

in this state of revolt.

I no longer respect him.

I think I hate him.

I hate them all.

I'll get my revenge.

I'll run away.

I'll disgrace myself

and make sure he hears of it.

Then he'll suffer as I have.

It seemed I could read on her lips

other words that went unspoken.

You'll do no such thing.

I know that's not

what's really tempting you.

Give me that letter.

The letter you have in your pocket.

I said whatever came to me,

and yet, strangely enough,

I was sure I was right.

Give it to me.

She didn't try to resist

and handed me the letter.

You must be the devil!

TO MY FATHER:

I threw the letter

into the fire, unread.

Hers was a distress no priest

should approach without trembling.

I thought I read suicide in her eyes.

But perhaps it was

only a fleeting impulse

whose very fervor made it suspect.

I was nothing

but a miserable, unworthy priest.

I shouldn't have received Miss Chantal

or listened to her.

God was punishing me.

I knew my words

could not be taken back

and that I had to see it to the end.

I fear she may do something rash.

That's the last thing she'd do.

She's terribly afraid of death.

Those are the ones

who kill themselves.

Someone must have told you that.

It's outside your personal experience.

Are you yourself afraid of death?

Yes, madam.

But let me be quite frank:

To die is difficult.

Especially for the proud.

I fear my death less than yours.

My husband can keep

whomever he likes here.

Besides, the governess has no money.

Perhaps he's been too attentive,

too familiar...

but suppose I don't care?

After putting up all these years

with countless infidelities,

suffering absurd humiliations,

shall I now, as an old woman -

to which I'm well resigned -

open my eyes, put up a fight,

take chances? For what?

Shall I care more about

my daughter's pride than my own?

Let her put up with it as I have.

Madam, be careful.

Of what?

Of whom? Of you?

Let's not overdramatize.

Such thoughts don't dictate my conduct.

There's nothing in my past to blush about.

Blessed is sin if it teaches us shame.

Nothing but words!

Are you trying to worry me?

Well, you won't.

I have too much sense.

Anyway, we'll be judged by our acts.

What have I done wrong?

You're throwing a child

out of her home,

and you know it's forever.

It's my husband's wish.

If he's wrong -

He believes she'll come back.

And do you believe that?

- God will break you.

- Break me?

He has broken me already.

God took my son from me.

What more can He do to me?

I no longer fear Him.

God took him away for a time,

but your hardness -

Silence.

No, I will not be silent.

The coldness of your heart

may keep you from him forever.

That's blasphemy!

God does not take revenge!

Those are mere human words,

with no meaning except for you.

Are you saying my son might hate me?

You will no longer see

or know each other.

No sin could make

such a punishment just.

This is madness!

A sick man's dreams.

With my back against the wall

before this imperious woman,

I looked like a guilty man

trying in vain to justify himself.

Perhaps that's what I was.

Did you hear me?

Did you understand?

No, madam, I didn't hear.

Sit down. You're in no condition

to go anywhere.

I was saying that no sin on earth

could make such punishment just.

Nothing can part us

from those we have loved

more than life,

more than salvation itself.

Love is stronger than death.

Your scriptures say so.

We did not invent love.

It has its order, its law.

God is its master.

He is not the master of love.

He is love itself.

If you would love, don't place yourself

beyond love's reach.

This is insane! You speak to me

as you would to a criminal.

Do my husband's infidelities

and my daughter's indifference and

rebellion and hatred count for nothing?

You might as well

say it's all my fault!

No one knows what can come

of an evil thought in the long run.

Our hidden faults poison

the air others breathe.

You'd never get through the day

if you dwelt on such thoughts!

I believe that, madam.

I believe if God gave us a clear idea

of how closely we are bound

to each other in good and evil,

we truly could not live.

Pray tell, what is this hidden sin?

You must resign yourself.

Open your heart.

Resign myself? To what?

Am I not resigned?

If I weren't, I'd be dead.

Resigned?

I've been too much so.

I should have killed myself!.

That's not the resignation I mean.

Then what? I go to Mass.

I could have given up worship

altogether. Indeed, I thought of it.

How dare you treat God like that!

I lived in peace,

and I should have died in peace.

That is no longer possible.

God has ceased to matter to me.

What will you gain by making me

admit I hate Him, you fool?

You don't hate Him now.

Now at last you are face-to-face.

He and you.

- Do you swear-

- You can't bargain with God.

You must yield to Him

unconditionally.

But I can assure you

there isn't one kingdom for the living

and one for the dead.

There is only the kingdom of God,

and we are within it.

You know what I was

wondering a moment ago?

Perhaps I shouldn't tell you.

I was saying to myself,

''If there were, in this world or the other,

some place free from God,

if it meant suffering a death

every second, eternally,

I'd carry my son to that place,

and I'd say to God:

'Do Your worst and crush us!'''

Is that monstrous?

What do you mean, no?

Because I too...

have felt that way at times.

Dr. Delbende's image was before me.

His old, unflinching eyes

were on me.

Eyes which I feared to read.

If our God were the god

of the pagans or philosophers,

though he might take refuge

in the highest heavens,

our misery would drag him down.

But as you know,

ours did not wait.

You might shake your fist at Him,

spit in His face,

whip Him with rods,

and finally nail Him to a cross.

What would it matter?

It is already done.

- What must I say to Him?

Say:

Thy kingdom come.

Thy kingdom come.

Thy will be done.

I can't.

It's as if I were losing him

twice over.

The kingdom whose coming

you have just wished for is yours and his.

Then let that kingdom come!

I must have hated God

to insult him as I did.

I might have died

with that hatred on my heart.

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