Gotha's Embrace Day 02: Sophie's Session

It seemed that my lecturing had hit a nerve. Ashley looked down at her half-eaten porridge, twiddling her spoon within the clumpy muck. Her other hand instinctively went to her neck, where a silvery chain was dangling carelessly. I realized that it was the same necklace that she had so adamantly refused to surrender yesterday.

Good thing she got to keep it, I thought.

When Ashley finally spoke up again, it was no longer angry or resentful, but instead tinged with a nostalgic melancholy. "I just... I miss home."

"I know, dear. I do too. I miss my husband, and my boys, and all my friends as well. But you know what? We're here now, so let's make the best of it. It's only going to be a month or two at most, and before you know it, you'll be back home, wondering why you were even worried in the first place. I guarantee it."

Ashley let out a long sigh. "Mother Prosperine says I have to clean the toilets for waking up late."

"So, do you now? Well, that does sound unenviable, but maybe you can ask a friend to help." I looked over at Seo-Yeon. "Seo-Yeon? I know it's a lot to ask, but could you help Ashley here with her chores? You know, maybe next time when you're in a bind, she can help you. That way, we're all in this together."

Seo-Yeon, still wide eyed, nodded shyly. Her small delicate face, pale as moonlight, blushed slightly, giving her cheeks a sudden bloom of color as she snuck a glance at the blonde beside her. "I'd be happy to help, Ashley."

Ashley looked at me, then at Seo-Yeon. I could see the corners of her mouth curl slightly upwards into a rueful smile. "Thanks, Seo-Yeon. My friends call me Ash, by the way."

"I'd be happy to help, Ash." Seo-Yeon replied. Ashley barked a laugh. A good start.

Glad that I had resolved Ashley's irritation, while helping foster a friendship, I sat back contentedly to finish my breakfast. Before long, Sisters Mara and Elizabeth came to gather us up to begin our first full day. As I followed them down the corridor, I glanced back to see Ashley and Seo-Yeon talking as they strode together side by side, and a warmth spread over my heart.

***

It was early afternoon by the time I had finished my lunch and was making my way over to the library. The morning study session with Sister Mara had been interesting, although it covered things that I had mostly already known. Much of the first half had been spent on the Book of Genesis itself; the popular tales, really, such as Adam and Eve, the Garden of Eden, Noah and the Ark, and the like. The second half was spent delving into the history of the Goth'a Faith, and how it had flourished in the mountains of Romania, of all places. Here, things had gotten a little more interesting.

According to Sister Mara, the original founding of the religion dated all the way back to the Crusades. Venturing farther North than any other known expeditions, a party of returning knights had decided to settle in a nearby valley after impressing upon the locals their share of knowledge and culture from the West. From then, the Catholic Church had sent missions to this remote area in the hopes of converting the local populace, although the success of this endeavor was questionable. As the region went from Ottoman rule to Russian occupation, the sect had mostly all but disappeared, melding into the pagan stories and folklore that permeated the land, until finally the Renaissance era arrived to hasten the flourishing of Christianity once again. As the Roman Catholic faith recovered a foothold in early Romania, it came into conflict with the Orthodox Church, and the two fought for power and influence across the region. By the late 1700's, when the monastery was built, the two religions had melded into a curious blend with leftover traces from earlier pagan worship, giving rise to "Goth'a", which in that long-forgotten tongue, meant 'Holy Wonder', or God.

At this point, Sister Isabella had asked why it was that the Goth'a sect was so keen on expansion when it had lain dormant for perhaps centuries, and why it had decided to do so especially now. To this Sister Mara had patiently answered that the Faith itself was by nature introspective and inward-looking, and throughout the turmoil of the centuries, many within the order felt it would be better to weather the changing times rather than challenge the chaos. It was only after the world had settled into a more peaceful and balanced state, after the two world wars and endless regime changes, that the Goth'a Church had finally elected to look beyond its borders to see if its practice would appeal to a wider audience. Apparently, its popularity had vindicated this belief.

At this point, I had asked about the curious tongue that Father Gregory sometimes spoke in, the one that sounded akin to bubbling tar. Sister Mara went on to explain that in their introversion, the order had focused on a set of lost archaic teachings passed down over generations amongst the locals, and had discovered many elements similar to that of Buddhism and various other Far East religions, perhaps introduced here by the Mongols. This spurred a sort of spiritual awakening within the sect, wherein the perfection of the ancient tongue was considered the highest form of enlightenment. By all accounts, it required years of study to perfect, something that only Father Gregory and a few others had mastered after a lifetime of study. The speaking of the ancient language invoked a type of meditative state, she explained, and is said to calm the speaker and the mind of the listener, not unlike the chants used by the Western religions.

More questions had ensued regarding the use of this tongue and of translative texts, but Sister Mara was a little more guarded with her answers in this regard. This, she had said, was a question for Father Gregory, for only he and the other priests practiced mastery over the language. Seeing as how the good Abbot stayed to manage the monastery whilst the others were away on their respective missions, he was the only immediate person with knowledge on the matter. I could sense that this did not entirely please Sister Isabella, but she had kept quiet. Personally, I did not see the need for all the secretiveness, but it was possible that both the Goth'a and Catholic faiths were already at odds with one another, warring below the surface, unbeknownst to all the rest of us.

I had sat with Sister Isabella to get her perspective on the whole issue during lunch. In my opinion, I didn't trust either faith, given the Catholic Church's blemished record and Goth'a's almost cultish advancement into my neighborhood, but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Sister Isabella, bless her soul, was an astute woman, and one that was wholly devoted to her convictions. She was not an unkind person, but it seemed that the strict and austere life of a nun had chilled her otherwise somewhat placid nature.

"Hermana Sophie," she had focused on me with those keen brown eyes, her tanned face smooth and controlled of emotion, "I do not know if I am being paranoid, but this place... it is not entirely as it seems. I have sensed a certain... desasosiego... how do you call it? Unease... ever since arriving, and this... Goth'a... me preocupa. They are not telling us everything, Hermana. This mix of pagan beliefs with holy scriptures... it is troubling. Si Dios quiere, I will discover all that I can about this religion, and will bring it to the attention of la Iglesia Católica."

I had been a little surprised at her straightforwardness and willingness to confide in me, but perhaps it was because I had been a Christian all my life. Technically I still was, even if my husband was the one that had converted. Not wanting to find a reason for her to distrust me, I had offered to help her research, which she readily accepted. "Two sets of eyes are better than one. Gracias, Hermana Sophie, and may God bless you." I had mentioned that it was no problem, and promised Sister Isabella that I would meet her in the library after lunch.

All this was going through my mind as I made my way through the twisting corridors, when I almost collided into Mother Prosperine.

"Ah! Sister Sophie! I was looking for you." I averted my gaze from her penetrating blue eyes, which were as warm as ice. If Sister Isabella was somewhat aloof in her bearing, Mother Prosperine was positively glacial. "I see that you are wearing our provided robes of worship today. Very good. I'm glad that at least you have shown us this courtesy, even if the others have not." Her eyes flicked past me for an instant, then focused back onto my hair. "Although, you opted not to wear the coif. No matter. It is of little importance. Come. Father Gregory wants to have a word with you."

Before I could even reply, Mother Prosperine turned on her heels and walked away, expecting me to follow. Wondering what possibly the old man would want from me, I dutifully followed with some trepidation. By the time we arrived at a large oak door somewhere on the upper floors, I was already out of breath. Mother Prosperine knocked on the aged wooden surface three times, before I heard that familiar sonorous tone.

"Please, come in!" Father Gregory called out as we entered. "Ah! Sophie! Please, have a seat. Mother Prosperine, you have my thanks for bringing her along. You may take your leave."

The older woman bowed and left us. I nervously looked around the office. A large mahogany desk, bare save for a stack of paper and a few pens, lay between me and the Abbot, its wood marked and bruised as if it had withstood the battering of countless centuries. A similarly aged chair in high backed leather, clearly hand-crafted, burgundy and cushioned in that presidential extravagance, sat behind the desk. A wide bookcase spanning the entire wall, filled with ancient tomes, stood behind the chair, along with a set of portraits of whom I could only assume were previous abbots, stern and menacing, glared down from their perch above. In front of the desk were two smaller cushioned gray chairs with no armrests, miniscule in comparison to the authoritative grandeur facing them. I took a seat in one.

As I faced Father Gregory, I was immediately struck again by how closely he resembled my own late father. Indeed, yesterday when I had exited the bus to approach the monastery gate, the Abbot's countenance had given me a right fright, bringing to the surface past unpleasant memories I thought I had laid to rest long ago. His white wispy hair, broad face, and bushy eyebrows portrayed a kindly but serious appearance, but I could detect a hint of calculating shrewdness behind that seemingly benign exterior. His long black robes gave him an air of superiority, as if he was gliding in the air, and his tall figure constantly rose to loom over me. Reminding myself that this was not my late father, and that I should not jump to conclusions, I offered Father Gregory a weak smile to compensate.

"You asked for me, Father?" I ventured.

"Yes, I did, my child. How has your stay been so far? Nothing to complain about, I hope?"

"It has been pleasant so far, Father. Please, what is the matter that you have called upon me?" I tried to keep the nervousness out of my voice.

"Hmm... my dear. There is a serious issue that I need to discuss with you." He eyed me closely like a wolf its prey. "I do not know how to break this news to you, but... it has come to our attention, that your husband, Henry, has had a certain, checkered past. Pertaining to the Catholic Church."

"Oh! Yes! About that." I felt a wave of relief. "I'm sure you know that my husband converted to your faith recently after the incident in our town. The Catholic Church, as you know, has had many allegations filed against it lately, and after the abuse of trust between them and my husband, well, he couldn't go on with it any longer. Rest assured, my husband is a good man, and he was completely unaware of the corruption within the Church, or that it had become so pervasive and so widespread. After he discovered what had happened, he was torn with anguish, and has since labored tremendously to make amends, even though none of it... was his... fault? Father?" My voice got quieter and quieter as I went on, noticing the look that Father Gregory was giving me was not softening in the slightest. If anything, it seemed to harden, even border on pity.

"Ah child. It seems that you have been misled after all, and it breaks my heart to have to deliver this news to you. You see, our faith, the Goth'a faith, scrutinizes its members very closely upon admittance, especially those in positions of power, and your husband, well, it seems his past... transgressions, have been quite... excessive."

"I don't understand, Father." I could feel my breath catching in my throat, a flutter in my heart at what the old man was hinting at. "What are you saying?"

"Are you sure you want to hear this, my dear?"

"What is it?"

"It seems that your husband, Henry, has been... more involved in the recent scandals than we had previously believed."

"What do you mean?"

"What I'm trying to say is that your husband, Henry, knew of the abuses within the Catholic Church. And he hid it. He even partook in it."

My mind reeled at the accusation. My stomach tightened, and my heart seemed to drop off a cliff. I realized that I had stopped breathing, so in shock that I was, that I choked on my next gulp of air. My hands, I realized, were clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palm. No, it was impossible. Henry would never do that. He was a pastor. He had everyone's trust and respect.

"There has to have been a mistake." I tried to keep my voice steady.

"I am sorry, dear, but we have gone through a very thorough examination process, and, it pains me to say this, but these allegations are true. We will have to inform the authorities regarding this matter, and possibly strip your husband of his position."

"What? No! He's innocent! I swear! This has to be a mistake! He... he... he's a good man! Maybe you've got the wrong person, or... the wrong address... or..." I was bordering on hysteria. This couldn't be true. What would this do to us? How would people see us? Most of all, what about my sons, how would they ever face this if it were true?

"There was no mistake, Sophie. We have proof. Dates. Times. Receipts. Your husband actively engaged in the Church's worst practices knowingly, and he attempted to conceal his involvement."

"No! You're wrong! I'm done listening to this! This is... you have no proof! I'm going to..."

"Sophie, please calm down." His deep voice seemed to reverberate through the room, pushing me down as I stood to get up. "I have proof, if you so desire to see it. Here it is!" He handed me a list of receipts, with Henry Lancaster's name circled in red, of all the times and places he had been to within the last year. Cross-referencing those locations, were a number of other names, which I recognized immediately as the accused figures of authority caught up in the scandal. Even the name of a prominent bishop that had been sentenced of proven sex trafficking was listed.

I gulped, looking down at the papers with shaking hands. "This... this doesn't prove anything. My husband worked with these people, after all. This must have been... must have been before the allegations. Before he knew."

Father Gregory gave me a hard look. Then he placed a number of photographs on my lap. I nearly fainted from shock. The photographs, grainy as they were, showed my husband, Henry, walking with that girl in our town that had accused the elders of sexual harassment. She was wearing a long black coat, underneath which her long legs were covered by sheer black stockings, ending in a pair of red-soled three-inch heels. She looked like a prostitute. What was more, my husband's hand was on the small of her back, and in the background, I could make out the setting of a sleazy motel.

I felt like I was about to throw up. I couldn't speak. When I tried, all that escaped my throat was a croak. It felt as if my world was collapsing around me. Were these real? How had they been taken? And when?

How long I sat there, staring at those images, I didn't know, but the faces in them were unmistakable. Eventually I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up, my mind not even registering where I was. I thought I saw my father.

Swimming in my vision, Father Gregory's face came into view. It was one of practiced calm. "I am sorry you had to see this." He gathered the papers and photos from my limp hands. "But it is true. I am truly sorry."

"What am I going to do?" I asked. I wasn't really asking him as much as I was asking myself.

"Sophie... I want to help you. I feel... somewhat responsible for what has happened. To lay all of this on you so unexpectedly." He sighed wearily. "Perhaps, you can yet redeem your husband's soul. If you are pious enough. The Goth'a faith teaches that redemption is never impossible, if one is willing. Through you, perhaps, your husband can be saved."

"What? I don't understand..."

"Sophie. You and your husband's souls are joined. Goth'a has entwined your fates. If one stumbles, it is up to the other to catch the other. If you can prove to us that you are wholly devout in your faith and in your sincerity, we will forego the authorities, and keep it within the Church as a private affair."

"But that would be... wouldn't that be... just the same...?"

"That really depends upon your point of view, Sophie. I know it might sound hypocritical, but remember, it was your husband that performed these deeds, before he even came to us. We cannot let this continue, knowing what we do now. To repair this breach of trust, we need your faith in us, to help us, help you. Only then, can we come to a resolution."

"I don't know what I can do. I'm just a simple mother and wife. Please, let me talk to him..."

"I'm afraid I cannot allow that. He would only try to influence you. To blind you again. No. We must take this opportunity, while you're here and he's there, to fully gauge the deepness of your convictions. Only then can we determine if the two of you can truly be saved."

"And if not...?"

"Then we will have no other choice but to take the necessary steps."

I looked at Father Gregory incredulously. Surely, he wasn't serious. Did he really believe that somehow, me, praying every day, begging for forgiveness from God, would absolve my husband's sins? That all this could be covered up and washed away? This wasn't something that could be easily forgotten. Even if I was the only person left in the world with the knowledge, the ugly truth would always be lurking in the background, threatening everything that I held dear.

"Trust in Goth'a, Sophie. You must have faith. Let me help you. Let us say a prayer, for guidance and for assistance. So that we may see to the difficult path that lies ahead. Let us pray."

I continued to stare at Father Gregory. I didn't know if a prayer was going to help at this time, but he seemed convinced. However, the words he spoke next were not of any prayer that I had ever heard of.

"Geb ya gotha aimgr'luhh ng vulgtmm, oh r'luhhor ot n'ghft."

I recoiled instinctively. "I cannot... I can't say that..." I stammered.

"Yes, you can. Let's go slowly. Repeat after me. Geb ya gotha..." Father Gregory then led me, syllable by syllable, through the guttural phrase. I tried my best to copy his intonations, but it was difficult. Moreover, the words felt wrong, distasteful, almost repulsive. It left a bitter aftertaste and a dryness in my mouth, as if I had swallowed a bundle of ash.

As soon as I finished the prayer, I let out a long, ragged breath. Somehow, a calm descended upon me. My mind grew fuzzy, as if I was floating in a void, and there was an eerie stillness in my mind. Everything seemed so far away, and the news of Henry, my Henry, and all those allegations, seemed to blur into the background. I took another deep breath.