The Garden of Allah Page #4

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Let us enjoy it while we may...

because when all they have now in stock

at the monastery is exhausted...

- You, monsieur?

- No, thank you.

- There will never be any more.

- But why not?

The secret of its manufacture

belonged to one monk only.

At his death, he was to confide it to another

whom he had chosen.

- And he died suddenly without--

- No, he didn't die.

Then I don't understand.

He disappeared from the monastery.

- He left the monastery? A Trappist monk?

- Yes.

- After taking the final vows?

- Yes.

How horrible.

- How could a man do such a thing?

- Why not?

But, Boris, a man who had taken vows...

who had made the most sacred

of marriages, a marriage to the Church.

I'm not a religious man myself,

Monsieur Androvsky.

But this man has gone out into the world.

What can he possibly expect

to find there for him?

He can find happiness. He can find joy.

Not for long, monsieur.

Believe me, not for long.

There must be anguish in this man.

There must be despair in him,

such as few men have known.

No. Why should he be in despair? Why?

Why?

Because he knows inside himself

he has no right to the delights of the world.

Why shouldn't he have?

How can you judge?

He has the right to live as other men live.

The right to love. To love, I tell you!

De Trevignac thought he recognized him.

He told me the story.

I had to find out if it were true.

The truth is bitter, Domini.

If it were any other woman,

I might have remained silent.

But I know how strong your faith is,

how much it means in your life.

I knew you would prefer the truth.

Yes.

I prefer to know...

the truth.

Goodbye, Domini.

Goodbye.

Why did you do it, Boris?

How can I explain? How can I?

Were the vows too hard to keep?

No, Domini.

For years, I kept them. Gladly. Proudly.

Even as a boy, I was so devout...

that it seemed to me and all my family

that I should give up the world.

I was still very young

when I went into the monastery, and I...

When it came time to take the eternal vows,

I did not hesitate.

It never occurred to me to go out again

into the world, as many novices did.

I was at peace there. I was happy.

Happy. Boris?

It was a lonely sort of happiness, yes.

But it was happiness.

I worked in the fields and gardens.

I lived in the sun and rain.

I worked close to the earth, day after day.

And at night,

there was the long, plain chapel...

where I prayed...

where God seemed very near.

I was happy.

What could have happened

to take all that away from you?

When the old abb died...

the new abb put me in charge

of the little hotellerie...

where visitors are received.

He released me from the vow of silence.

For the first time in years...

I saw and talked with people from the world.

For the first time since I was a child,

I listened to the voices...

of women.

One day a man came to the monastery.

His face was full of bitterness and despair.

He told me of the woman

who was the cause of his agony.

Day after day, he poured out the story to me.

The story of her beauty, of his love for her.

I was horrified.

To me, it seemed unclean.

But I listened, Domini,

thinking I might be able to help him.

Then one day,

the woman came to the monastery...

seeking him out.

I saw them rush into each other's arms.

Their faces...

were the faces of angels.

At night, alone in my cell,

I began to think of what I had seen.

I was confused and troubled.

I began to realize

how much I had denied myself forever.

I'd look out over the monastery walls

toward the lights of the city and think:

"They are living there,

those people. Living!"

I fled from the monastery.

But I never lived, Domini.

I was tortured by the thought

of what I had done.

Then I met you.

Why was I given this love for you?

This crying out for the flesh,

the heart of you?

- Why did I have to do this to you, Domini?

- I don't know, Boris.

When I stood with you

at the church that day...

I felt as if I was being born again.

- And now--

- Domini, I tried to tell you.

I tried to give you up. I couldn't.

What are we going to do? What?

I don't know.

But this I do know:

No one is bad who loves.

God will not punish us...

if you...

if we...

can trust him to show us the way.

You needn't tell me.

It's in your face.

I must make reparation for what I have done.

Domini, you know what I have to do,

don't you?

Yes.

How far is it to the monastery?

A few hours.

A few hours.

A lifetime.

Madame is leaving,

but madame will return one day.

The desert calls

and its voice is always heard.

The desert is the land of forgetfulness,

the land of...

Forgive me, madame.

Batouch has no poetry today.

- Goodbye, my child.

- Goodbye.

- My son.

- Goodbye, Father.

- Goodbye, Batouch.

- Goodbye, monsieur.

Yes, monsieur?

Can you arrange for a carriage

to El-Lagarni?

The Trappist monastery?

Certainly, monsieur.

Pierre.

Would you care to wait in the private parlor?

Please don't touch me.

I'm trying so hard to be strong.

Please don't make it any harder.

How can I bear to give you up?

We are believers, Boris.

We know this isn't all.

It can't be.

Surely in that other world,

the real and lasting world...

we'll be together forever.

But in this world?

The happiness you found

in the monastery...

you will find it again.

- Perhaps if you try not to think of me...

- No.

Domini, no!

I will think of you always,

until the end of my life.

I was born, perhaps, to serve God...

but I dare to believe that I was born, too...

that I might know your beauty,

your tenderness.

Since I have been able to pray again...

I have begged God in his mercy

to forgive me for having loved you.

For in knowing your love, I have known him.

The carriage, madame and monsieur.

When we return from the monastery...

perhaps madame and monsieur

would like to see the casinos.

No? Perhaps tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

You will be with me always.

Drive back to Tunis.

Drive back!

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