It now shocked him to read her obituary in the newspaper. He had barely realised who it was that he was reading about. Then it came together in his mind. Yes, he remembered her well. Even though he had barely met her for long a year before. Yet that brief encounter, or rather, those brief encounters, had somehow left an indelible mark on him.
He had met her quite by chance, on the flight to the mountain town of Lourdes, in the French Pyrenees. She was going there with her husband for the first time to visit this miraculous place where the Madonna had appeared so many times during the late days of the last century.
He was going there too. Yet while hers was probably more a visit of the religious kind, his was mixed with more of a dose of curiosity than the expected, inbred Catholic feeling of his upbringing.
His stance in life had never been too religious yet there was a place for religion in his heart. He had been fascinated by the stories of Lourdes, of the prophesies that had already come true, of the miraculous waters that flowed there, of the inexplicable cures that many medically incurable sick people had witnessed.
If you were of the religious kind you could say that there was still hope for him. His curiosity was the result of strict education under the priests. And this probably had also been the reason for his cooling off in the face of religion. Now in his middle age he had decided to go to Lourdes to see for himself what this was really all about.
Perhaps religion had, after all, been getting back at him for ignoring her all these years. As he read the paper today, he began realising that perhaps his too had been a pilgrimage of sorts, a search for something beyond his immediate comprehension.
Her husband though had a different idea altogether. He knew her secret, a secret she herself didn't even know. Her time was fast running out. He knew the real reason why she was feeling so tired, why she at times had slight faints or dizzy spells. She put these down to the wear and tear of old age. Instead it had been clearly diagnosed as the modern scourge, cancer.
Her husband never told her.
Now they were together in Lourdes and if he had perhaps secretly hoped for a miracle, in reality he prayed that the last remaining time she had with him would be peaceful and, yes, why not, sweet. He had been really spoiling her these years, and if she had caught on to what could be really wrong with her she never showed it, keeping up the impression.
The others in the group travelling with her had immediately taken to her friendly ways. She quickly became their darling too, more so once they'd been let in on her secret.
That was how the younger man had met her and her husband.
Every evening as they participated in the lengthy religious activities, the flambe procession and the praying at the Virgin's shrine, she had had to be wheeled around. The walking and standing was just too much for her. She was not chairbound though for the rest of the day, as long as she took things easy.
Most people in the group had somehow allowed themselves to be roped in to help wheel her around. It gave them a sense of importance, of doing something worthwhile. The right thing to do in Lourdes. Yet it also opened the door for the younger man to join in and to get a feel of also doing something worthwhile.
This simple act had even got him in among the privileged few, right up in the front of the celebrations. And he liked the resulting feelings and thoughts of what he was doing.
Yes this place was somehow getting to him albeit in a very fine and sophisticated way. True, the tranquility of the ambience and the religiosity that fell thickly all around, like a thick fog, couldn't help but envelope him and leave some sort of effect. Yet he was worried because he did not feel exceptionally prayerful as he thought a good pilgrim should. Was the curiosity element winning through, blocking any chance for the message of Lourdes to sink in?
But, in contrast, the little help he was giving the woman in the wheelchair seemed to really leave a stronger mark. It was such a simple, automatic act. Not one of compassion, nor one of deep caring for thy neighbour. It was just a simple friendly act.
In the months that followed his visit to the holy French town he had completely forgotten all about the woman in the wheelchair. He had even come to the point of practically doubting if there was any real religious accomplishment from the visit, although, admittedly, as a relaxing holiday it was just what the doctor ordered. A total, different break from the stresses of work.
Now her obituary brought these memories flooding back into his mind. They fell on him suddenly, heavily. A thunderstorm of thoughts and nagging doubts. Even though the impressions of this woman were fading in their detail he suddenly started to realise their real impact.
He remembered some words he had read in Lourdes. "Stop the machines and become quiet. Let God be God in us, through love. Sometimes we feel good, other times we remain dry: the essential is to remain faithful and open our heart".
Digging out some leaflets he had brought back with him, he read further words of comforting wisdom. "There are pilgrims who come to Lourdes and while their intention in approaching the sacrament of reconciliation is good, nevertheless they need to be aware of what they are going in order not to triviliase the sacrament. It is not a thing to do but rather a very personal moment to be lived in a relationship of love with God".
And elsewhere, "Many come in search of hope, to recharge their batteries, to experience a deep communion of fraternity and prayer with others. Despite their fatigue resulting from their stay they return home full of light..."
Then he knew. The trip was not in vain after all. The seemingly dormant seed had suddenly burst out of its musk. The obituary notice was the final spurt.
(Originally written: 1997)
