Monday, February 27, 2006

village sunday

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photo by sophie


I arrived at the church a little late, sat towards the back, directly, as my luck would have it, in the priest’s line of sight. “You’ve got a week,” he was saying, “before the start of Lent. You should think carefully now, and spend this time with your conscience, because the devil is always waiting. You may think 40 days is a long time to be deprived, but that’s nothing in the face of eternal hell.”

He’s a likeable guy. He must be all of twenty. And he’s not only young. He’s also a foreigner, Bulgarian. In the village, foreigners are either loved or reviled. Americans are loved, remembered fondly for the help they and they alone gave the village after the Germans left it in a ruin of ash. But Bulgarians, Albanians, these people could go either way. It’s an agricultural area, and somebody’s got to do the hard work.

The priest is tall, imposing but gangly, and still soft somehow, young. He knows the liturgy, but even I can detect a few mistakes in the language.

I’ve just finished reading Margaret Mead’s autobiography, Blackberry Winter. She must have been a force of nature, but still, she could go to remote and unheard of villages, and within three months, not only learn the language from scratch but also be so immersed in it and the culture as to explain it all in a best-selling book in a matter of months. It’s been a year since I started spending a lot of time in the village, and, loved or hated, I am still as strange to it as it is to me.

After the service, the priest, along with everyone else, came over to the hotel for coffee and cookies. After a lot of hand-shaking, which made it impossible for me to even think about eating the cookies, I made a minor faux pas, shaking the hand of the priest instead of kissing it. I felt justified, though, when I heard him say to the widow, “It’s been a year, and I know it’s difficult, but only in the church, only in the church, can you find comfort.”

There was a whole village around her, and a whole world around the village, the sea to the south and a mountainous ridge, many, to the north. There is comfort everywhere, though it may not look like much. I went up those mountains til my stomach turned inside out. On the way back down, the dirt road in a whirl of dust, I looked forward to lunch, and the people who had made it, with me in mind.

4 Comments:

Blogger efpalinos said...

Sissoula, I enjoyed reading this. I will just briefly try to explain why. I was 25 when my father passed away. He was only 58. Unfortunately his side of the family shut us out. It was a difficult time for me, my mother and my younger sister; a time when we needed comforting yet we found ourselves outcasts, drowning alone in our sorrow. I wouldn't have mentioned all this if I hadn't come across (again)your previous post/link where I had (I see now) posted a somewhat veiled comment.

All this made me realize how deeply hurt I felt and still do, actually. I guess, I am still looking for relief and I found some in your words. My minds eye connected past and present, the memories of two very different entities in one blurry montage. Only this time it felt as if someone was there to hold my hand warmly.

I don't think blending seamlessly within an existing social frame, or understanding so well its complex patterns is that important after all. I believe, what is more important is to go past the differences and the many obstacles and somehow manage to remain simply human.

7:33 PM  
Blogger Sarah Elaine said...

Just catching up with your blog...

As for the cookies, not to worry... I hear Steph makes some pretty good ones, no? ;-)

5:06 AM  
Blogger soap said...

Every comment, in some way, goes one step closer to an unveiling, but some people start with more veils than others. I linked to that old post, but I didn't reread it. I'm not sure what I was looking for by writing about all this -- comfort, relief, understanding. Maybe it was just about the priest, or the cookies.

7:48 AM  
Blogger shradha said...

I read this after a long, tiring day. And I feel refreshed by the emotion this post invokes. Is there more than knowing that comfort lies all around? Or that someone prepares lunch with you in mind? such blessings!

6:12 PM  

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