Megan Abbott.
Vinny said,
“Nice selection.”
I also picked up Carol O’Connell, I don’t care what anyone says,
Mallory was a definite influence on Stieg Larsson.
In Find Me, there’s a passage that scalds my soul.
“….he asked her
‘Why don’t you want to have kids?’
Mallory said
‘Because I don’t know what they’re for.’”
My apartment in Nun’s Island was sublet to me by a guy who decided to take a gap year in his late forties. Some gap. Reeked more of midlife crisis but better, I guess, than a red sports car. He showed no inclination to return and I wasn’t encouraging him. Nun’s Island is a small neighborhood, nestling close to the cathedral.
And, yes, there are nuns.
The Poor Clares.
An enclosed community. To simply enter their grounds was to find a rare tranquility. To tread lightly on holy ground. They were currently running a campaign to pay for the restoration of the convent. Titled:
“Buy a Brick.”
You bought a brick by buying a ticket which then went forward to a lotto. Being newly flush with cash, I went to them, offered the Mother Superior fifty euros. She protested it was too much. She noticed me staring at her neck. Nuns, like cops, see everything. I thought, if you’re staring at a nun’s neck, you need a brick.
Hard, to the side of your head.
I was entranced by a necklace she wore. It appeared to be tiny beautiful stones, threaded through a silver chain. Each stone had a letter. She noticed, was delighted, said,
“It reads, Medugorje.”
I asked,
“You’ve been?”
She shook her head at such an idea, said,
“No, my sister went, and, you know, she said, ‘The sun danced in the sky.’”
Like all nuns, she had that flawless skin. Why the cosmetic companies aren’t researching them is a mystery. Her eyes were clear blue, lit with a lovely hint of devilment. She asked,
“What do you think of that?”
I had no idea, said,
“I’ve no idea.”
She pulled out a batch of cards, asked,
“Your name, please, for the draw?”
“It’s Jack but honest to God, no need to put me on the tickets.”
She seemed surprised so I tried,
“I’ve never been lucky.”
I was about to leave when she took the piece from round her neck and slipped it over my head, I began,
“I can’t…”
She said,
“Better be blessed than lucky.”
That moved me so.
Go figure.
My last encounter with a nun had resulted in murder. Outside, the sky was darkening and the deadly ice they were predicting seemed to hang, waiting. A guy was selling DVDs outside, I guess he figured even nuns watched movies.
Newly blessed, I bought:
Orphan,
Traitor,
Passengers,
District 9, and I swear to God
Sam Raimi's
Drag Me to Hell.
There is some mega-metaphysical irony in all the above but I’m fucked if I can join the dots. As I headed off, the guy said,
“Cool chain dude; Medugorje rocks.”
Bono must have played there.