[Drabble]: A Possible Future
Sep. 4th, 2016 08:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
marinabeauvaisThe Convent of St. Anthony was a quiet one, making up in silence what they lacked in funds. It was a fairly old addition to the landscape, built during the kingdom days, with its Spanish-style buildings, surrounded by a low, crumbling wall of stone in the bare minimum effort to prevent a careless nun from falling into the Mediterranean, squatting precariously on the edge of a cliff about an hour away from Collioure if one used an automobile.
That relatively short travel time, however, still seemed to go by at a snail's pace for the woman behind the wheel of such a mode of transportation. Madeline Benoit, M.D.-in-training, was a modern woman, interested and captivated by progress and destruction in equal tandem, by the way stitches healed and the body degraded; out this far from the already sleepy town she had the unfortunate luck to be sent to do her internship, all there was were fields of tall grass and wildflowers, the monotony broken here and there by craters still unfilled from The Duration.
The nunnery itself, however, seemed to feign forgetfulness of those particular events as Madi drove upwards. It was definitely rundown and ramshackle, it was true, crumbling and destitute--but it was so in a timeless way, as if it and the cliff it stood on were trapped in a bubble protecting it from everything but its own age.
"Only the buildings, though," she muttered through lipstick-pink lips as she pulled over right outside the gate. Else I wouldn't even be here in this dump.
She turned the key, pulled it out, and slid out of her car, carrying a large bag in one hand as she walked over to and rapped smartly on the wooden door with the other; but a few moments later, it swung inwards, revealing a mousy-looking young woman clad in a habit.
"Good day, Miss," she said, staring straight ahead as if trying to remember what she had to say. "Welcome to the Convent of St. Anthony. Do you need anything?"
The patient, Madi wanted to say, but she held her tongue. She had never liked religion, but she had some modicum of respect for those passionate enough to 'forsake the world' or whatever they referred to it as. "I believe the Mother Superior called me here," the student replied, hoping she didn't mess up the title. "I'm the doctor."
The nun finally focused her attention on the other, eyes blank. "You are not Doctor Margot."
"I'm not," she agreed. "I'm her assistant. She was busy taking care of some other matters, and so she sent me instead. Is that alright?" Were half-truths still lies, still sins? She had been away from church for so long she couldn't quite remember. Nevertheless, she wouldn't feel guilty, not telling them; she would rather not have the door shut in her face.
(I've been sent there more than once, her mentor had said that morning as soon as she had hung up from the call. Usually it's the same nun, and it's always the same symptoms--dizziness, sores and burns, temporary blindness--and all from the sun! It is strange, yet it is something so easily preventable! She shook her head. And yet she continues to persist exposing herself; sitting by wells, apparently. Even with that habit she gets too much light. She's not right in the head, that one.)
The young woman seemed to ponder this new information for what felt like an eternity. "I think so," she finally said. "We'll see what Mother Marie thinks of it. Follow me."
Without waiting, she shuffled around and started to walk, Madeline trailing behind. If she wasn't bored by the scenery outside, she was now: from floor to low ceiling was the grey of stone and the grey of dust and the grey of age, surrounding her on all sides so closely she felt she was almost suffocating. There were no ornaments anywhere, not even the tapestries and stained glass windows of Biblical scenes she found churches were so fond of--maybe it was different for convents, or maybe they just didn't have enough money to buy any. For visual stimulation, all the inhabitants had, it seemed, were the double doors recessed into the rock, from which emanated from the room behind it the sleepy voices of the wives of God.
"Be quiet," the nun reprimanded her in a sharp whisper as they passed by; perhaps she thought Madi's footfalls echoed too much through the narrow space. "There's a prayer going on."
...qui a reçu de Dieu le pouvoir spécial de rétablir les choses perdues...dont la perte m'a affligée...permettez-moi plutôt perdre toutes les choses que l'amour de Dieu...
You're the one making noise, not me! Still, she simply nodded, which seemed to satisfy the mousy woman until they had reached the infirmary.
"You'll have to be quiet again," she informed Madeline. "The only people inside are Mother Marie and Sister--"
A loud click was heard by both from the other side of the door; a woman had appeared in the doorway. She was stout for an old woman, yet still shrunken by age; in her hand she carried a roughly carved wooden cane. To the medical student, she looked rather harmless--and yet the nun she had been following straightened her back and clasped her hands at the sight of her.
"Mother Marie, the doctor's assistant is here."
"Glad to meet you, Mother."
"And I am glad to see you, child. Come in."
She opened the door wider as she said this, revealing the inside of the room properly. The infirmary was significantly more comfortable-looking than the corridor, with the higher ceiling and whitewashed stone giving it much-needed airiness. Cots, eleven in all, lined the walls, the only one without a partner consoling itself by being just below what seemed to be the only window that Madi had seen thus far--the curtains were drawn shut so tightly it might have been but a missing brick in the wall for all it did to contribute to the fresh air.
In this cot, a woman sat, back propped up by pillows.
She was neither young nor old, though the lines on her forehead indicated that this was a woman who had worried much in her life. Her face was bony, cheekbones standing out starkly, though whether this was genetics or a result of her illnesses Madeline could not say. Where her skin was not pallid and pale, a rather rare occurrence in the South of France, where many people had at least freckles, it was marred by violent red splotches that shone sickly in the lamplight and seemed to perfume the air with the stench of burning meat.
Burns that severe from the sun? If Madi hadn't seen much worse by now, she might have gagged; with how it stood, she still was in danger of it from the smell alone. If the sick nun was beautiful once, she wasn't now: the only thing the student may have called a hallmark of beauty was the golden colour of her hair and the blue of her eyes. Yet even those things remaining to her were marred by her sickness: as the trio stepped closer, she saw that the unfashionably waist-long hair was as if washed out of something, and that one of the oceans that turned towards them was paler than the other--from cataracts, she realized. If she's like this now...
"Sister Marina," the Mother Superior murmured, leaning on her cane, "The doctor is here."
That relatively short travel time, however, still seemed to go by at a snail's pace for the woman behind the wheel of such a mode of transportation. Madeline Benoit, M.D.-in-training, was a modern woman, interested and captivated by progress and destruction in equal tandem, by the way stitches healed and the body degraded; out this far from the already sleepy town she had the unfortunate luck to be sent to do her internship, all there was were fields of tall grass and wildflowers, the monotony broken here and there by craters still unfilled from The Duration.
The nunnery itself, however, seemed to feign forgetfulness of those particular events as Madi drove upwards. It was definitely rundown and ramshackle, it was true, crumbling and destitute--but it was so in a timeless way, as if it and the cliff it stood on were trapped in a bubble protecting it from everything but its own age.
"Only the buildings, though," she muttered through lipstick-pink lips as she pulled over right outside the gate. Else I wouldn't even be here in this dump.
She turned the key, pulled it out, and slid out of her car, carrying a large bag in one hand as she walked over to and rapped smartly on the wooden door with the other; but a few moments later, it swung inwards, revealing a mousy-looking young woman clad in a habit.
"Good day, Miss," she said, staring straight ahead as if trying to remember what she had to say. "Welcome to the Convent of St. Anthony. Do you need anything?"
The patient, Madi wanted to say, but she held her tongue. She had never liked religion, but she had some modicum of respect for those passionate enough to 'forsake the world' or whatever they referred to it as. "I believe the Mother Superior called me here," the student replied, hoping she didn't mess up the title. "I'm the doctor."
The nun finally focused her attention on the other, eyes blank. "You are not Doctor Margot."
"I'm not," she agreed. "I'm her assistant. She was busy taking care of some other matters, and so she sent me instead. Is that alright?" Were half-truths still lies, still sins? She had been away from church for so long she couldn't quite remember. Nevertheless, she wouldn't feel guilty, not telling them; she would rather not have the door shut in her face.
(I've been sent there more than once, her mentor had said that morning as soon as she had hung up from the call. Usually it's the same nun, and it's always the same symptoms--dizziness, sores and burns, temporary blindness--and all from the sun! It is strange, yet it is something so easily preventable! She shook her head. And yet she continues to persist exposing herself; sitting by wells, apparently. Even with that habit she gets too much light. She's not right in the head, that one.)
The young woman seemed to ponder this new information for what felt like an eternity. "I think so," she finally said. "We'll see what Mother Marie thinks of it. Follow me."
Without waiting, she shuffled around and started to walk, Madeline trailing behind. If she wasn't bored by the scenery outside, she was now: from floor to low ceiling was the grey of stone and the grey of dust and the grey of age, surrounding her on all sides so closely she felt she was almost suffocating. There were no ornaments anywhere, not even the tapestries and stained glass windows of Biblical scenes she found churches were so fond of--maybe it was different for convents, or maybe they just didn't have enough money to buy any. For visual stimulation, all the inhabitants had, it seemed, were the double doors recessed into the rock, from which emanated from the room behind it the sleepy voices of the wives of God.
"Be quiet," the nun reprimanded her in a sharp whisper as they passed by; perhaps she thought Madi's footfalls echoed too much through the narrow space. "There's a prayer going on."
...qui a reçu de Dieu le pouvoir spécial de rétablir les choses perdues...dont la perte m'a affligée...permettez-moi plutôt perdre toutes les choses que l'amour de Dieu...
You're the one making noise, not me! Still, she simply nodded, which seemed to satisfy the mousy woman until they had reached the infirmary.
"You'll have to be quiet again," she informed Madeline. "The only people inside are Mother Marie and Sister--"
A loud click was heard by both from the other side of the door; a woman had appeared in the doorway. She was stout for an old woman, yet still shrunken by age; in her hand she carried a roughly carved wooden cane. To the medical student, she looked rather harmless--and yet the nun she had been following straightened her back and clasped her hands at the sight of her.
"Mother Marie, the doctor's assistant is here."
"Glad to meet you, Mother."
"And I am glad to see you, child. Come in."
She opened the door wider as she said this, revealing the inside of the room properly. The infirmary was significantly more comfortable-looking than the corridor, with the higher ceiling and whitewashed stone giving it much-needed airiness. Cots, eleven in all, lined the walls, the only one without a partner consoling itself by being just below what seemed to be the only window that Madi had seen thus far--the curtains were drawn shut so tightly it might have been but a missing brick in the wall for all it did to contribute to the fresh air.
In this cot, a woman sat, back propped up by pillows.
She was neither young nor old, though the lines on her forehead indicated that this was a woman who had worried much in her life. Her face was bony, cheekbones standing out starkly, though whether this was genetics or a result of her illnesses Madeline could not say. Where her skin was not pallid and pale, a rather rare occurrence in the South of France, where many people had at least freckles, it was marred by violent red splotches that shone sickly in the lamplight and seemed to perfume the air with the stench of burning meat.
Burns that severe from the sun? If Madi hadn't seen much worse by now, she might have gagged; with how it stood, she still was in danger of it from the smell alone. If the sick nun was beautiful once, she wasn't now: the only thing the student may have called a hallmark of beauty was the golden colour of her hair and the blue of her eyes. Yet even those things remaining to her were marred by her sickness: as the trio stepped closer, she saw that the unfashionably waist-long hair was as if washed out of something, and that one of the oceans that turned towards them was paler than the other--from cataracts, she realized. If she's like this now...
"Sister Marina," the Mother Superior murmured, leaning on her cane, "The doctor is here."
