“And you,” he said, “why do you think you’re leaving?”
“I don’t know,” she replied simply.
“People who leave a place without reason are either running away, or seeking something. Which is it for you?”
She contemplated her answer for a long time. When she spoke, she saw that the old man had closed his eyes.
“Both, I think,” she said quietly, afraid that he might be asleep. “Perhaps that’s what I need to find out.”
He gradually opened his eyes and stared at the snow-covered vegetable garden.
“Can I ask you something?” he said, as if he hadn’t heard his visitor’s last words. “How do you close doors? Do you leave them ajar, pull them to gently, or slam them shut?”
Miss Prim’s eyes widened in surprise, but seconds later she recovered her composure. Now she was sure: the old man was senile.
“I think I leave them ajar, or close them gently. I definitely never slam them.”
“As novices, Carthusians are taught to turn around and close doors without pushing them or letting them swing shut. Do you know why?”
Miss Prim replied that she had no idea.
“So that they learn not to rush, to do one thing after another. So as to train them in restraint, patience, silence, and mindfulness in every gesture.” He paused. “You must be wondering why I’m telling you this. It’s because this is the spirit in which to set out on a journey—any journey. If you travel in a hurry, without pausing or resting, you’ll return without having found what you’re looking for.”
“The problem is,” she replied, having pondered his words, “I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”
He looked at her with compassion.
“Then perhaps the journey will enable you to find out.”
Miss Prim sighed. She’d been afraid that the old monk would try to discern the black holes in her life, that his eyes would bore into her and see her darkest secrets. But he wasn’t the intimidating visionary with a foot in each world whom she’d so feared meeting. He was just a kindly, tired little old man.
“I was told you could read minds. I was warned you’d tell me things that would surprise and upset me,” she blurted.
He shivered in his worn habit before responding very gently.
“Many years ago, when I was a young man, I had a teacher. He taught that a priest, any priest, must always be a gentleman.”
She blinked, confused.
“You came here worried that I would tell you something that would frighten, disturb, or trouble you. What kind of courtesy would I have shown if I’d behaved like that the first time you came to see me, without your even having asked for guidance? Don’t be afraid of me, Miss Prim. I’ll be here. I’ll be here waiting for you to find what you’re looking for and to return to tell me all about it. And you can be sure that I’ll be with you, without leaving my cell, even as you search.”
“You can go to the ends of the earth without leaving your room,” whispered the librarian.
“I’ve been told that you value delicacy and yearn for beauty,” the old man went on. “So seek beauty, Miss Prim. Seek it in silence, in tranquillity; seek it in the middle of the night and at dawn. Pause to close doors while you seek it, and don’t be surprised if it doesn’t reside in museums or in palaces. Don’t be surprised if, in the end, you find beauty to be not Something but Someone.”
She looked into the venerable Benedictine’s eyes and wondered what he could have taught her if she’d agreed to come to him sooner, as her friend Horacio had suggested. Then the intense chill made her glance at her watch. It was getting late and she had a train to catch.
“I’m afraid I have to go,” she said. “Thank you for your thoughts, but it’s getting late and I have to get to the station.”
“Go,” he said, “don’t miss your train. That would be no way to start a journey as important as this.”
Miss Prim rose, taking her leave warmly and politely, and started walking back toward the abbey. But before she had quite crossed the kitchen garden, she stopped and retraced her steps to where the old man was still sitting on the bench.
“Father, I’d like to ask you something. These past few months I’ve heard people say many things about love and marriage. They’ve given me plenty of advice, and expounded many theories. I’d like to know what you think is the secret of a happy marriage.”
His eyes widened as if this was the first time anyone had ever asked him such a question. Smiling, he struggled to his feet and slowly approached.
“As you’ll appreciate, I don’t know much about it. No man could who has devoted himself to God from his earliest youth, as I have. No doubt the people who gave you advice have experience of marriage and therefore can say much more on the subject than I can. And yet...”
