The driver dropped Dree off on a street corner near theÉglise Saint-Sulpicechurch at ten-twenty.
He gestured for her to go past the white tents set up for a street carnival and the entrance was just down the block, but he couldn’t stop the car on the street over there.
Dree dragged her brand-new roller bag over the wide Parisian sidewalk, through the crowd, and past the white vinyl tents until she reached a wide sidewalk that cut through to the street on the other side of the block. When she looked back at the street fair, the tents encircled a wide courtyard with a central fountain that didn’t have any water running, but steps led up to a sculpture on top of four statues with columns and a dome over them. Bare trees and cement security bollards separated the fountain and courtyard from the sidewalk and church.
Her roller bag bumped over the small paving bricks in the sidewalk. Some of the pavers were set in a grid, and those thick lines formed squares. Inside the squares, the pavers produced circular patterns.
In Paris, even the sidewalks were works of art.
The tiny wheels on her roller bag careened over the bricks and mortar.
The church itself was astonishing in its height and grandeur. The front of it looked like two stories of a house, with two levels of columns forming the front. It was like somebody designed the church with a forest of Doric columns on the front and then went,Ya know? I like this so much that I’ll do it again, but this time with Ionic columns on the top row.
The two towers on the corners were slightly mismatched, and she loved them both.
Dree stood on the sidewalk and gawked at it until she realized that she was making herself late.
Black wrought-iron gates blocked off many of the church’s entrances, some decked with wide posters of upcoming concerts.
The central entrance was open though, and the entry led between the church’s massive columns to the towering structure.
She started walking up the steps, passing Parisians and tourists who had settled on the steps to rest.
A priest walked out of the cathedral. He was a short, somewhat chubby Black man who wore a traditional black cossack and perfectly shined black shoes peeking out. A tidy white square completed his ecclesiastical collar, matching his snowy puff of hair. He called out to her, “Are you Andrea Catherine Clark?”
That was Sister Annunciata for you, always referring to all her ex-students by their full first name and confirmation name. “Yes, I’m Andrea Catherine. Are you Father Moses Teklehaimanot?”
“Yes. Yes, child. I am Father Moses. I was very surprised to hear from my old friend Sister Annunciata. I have not heard from her for six months!” His voice rose, incredulous as if such an interim was an impossible occurrence. “And now I hear from her, and she has a lost sheep who needs to get away from the US. I am pleased to help you, and you must tell me how is Sister Annunciata. But first, Mass is to start in half an hour. Considering you embark on a new life today, it is fitting that you should attend Mass to start you off on your journey.”
“I’d love to attend Mass, Father Moses, but I can’t take communion unless I go to confession first.” Dree hadn’t been to confession or Mass since she and Francis had started sleeping together, eight months before. She’d been too embarrassed to go.
Father Moses looked up at the cloudy Parisian sky. “What is it with Paris and everyone has the need for confession over and over again. Come, Andrea Catherine. I will hear your confession, but I want only mortal sins, listed succinctly, and with no details. I do not need details. People tell me the details, and then I cannot un-know them. It is upsetting to an old priest like myself.”
“Yes, Father.”
“And after that, you go to Mass, and it is a joyous experience to start you off on your new life. Catholic Charities is always in desperate need of certified medical professionals, and we welcome you to our fold. Did Sister Annunciata tell you your first assignment will be in Nepal?”
Nepal was far away from the Congo.
A wave of sadness washed over her from out of nowhere.
Dree said, “No, Sister Ann didn’t mention that.” Panic set in. “That sounds cold.”
“Yes, indeed.” Father Moses laughed and nodded. “I have never been there. There is that mountain there, Everest, and the Himalayas with all the snow. It is too cold for these old African bones, especially this time of year. My bones prefer the warm weather and green meadows of Rwanda, and I look forward to returning there for my retirement. We should have time after Mass to find some cold-weather clothes for you before we have to take you to the airport. There may be some here in the diocese we can access.”
“Thank you so much, Father. I can’t believe Sister Annunciata did all this.”
“Sister Annunciata has the most beautiful soul. I could tell you stories. She and I worked together during the troubles in Rwanda. She is a strong woman, I tell you, and her faith in Christ is unmatched. Also, I should tell you this now, before I forget. In Nepal, you will be met by another friend of ours, Sister Mariam Karia. She will guide you on your way.”
Tribhuvan International Airport, just outside of Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal, looked like a large airport in every Western US state that Dree had ever seen, except for minor cosmetic differences. The building itself was made out of red bricks, and the air traffic control tower was the same gray octagonal tower that stood above every airport.
Low rows of chairs lined up near the gates, and well-dressed flight attendants primped while they waited for their planes to be ready. A second row of windows up near the high ceiling allowed passengers to watch the frequent jets take off and land on the runway outside.
At the airlines’ customer service desks, people lined up to check-in or used the self-check terminals just like every other airport Dree had ever been at.
Some of the minor differences were the scrolly writing dropping down from a line across the top on the signs, but most of the signs were also in English, and the English was in a larger font. There was one sign that advised her that the trolley between the terminals was free, along with a phone number to call if there were any complaints about the trolley. A Radisson Hotel occupied part of the first floor, and there was a little café where you could sit down for a meal or get takeout for the plane.
Dree retrieved her roller bag from the usual luggage carousel and followed the signs for the taxi stand.
