genetics

The Cure: continued /3

When the old priest came out of the church after Mass, the dames were in a huddle, discussing the refurbishment of their Breton costumes. They clustered around him, eagerly remembering days long gone and the great Pardon of Saint Anne of Brittany.

M. Barnard grinned at le Père. — We have the band procession from outside the Mairie at noon on Sunday next, he said.

— It is time our Fest Noz returned to its traditions as a Pardon, said Père Benoît. He hadn't felt so alive in years. —You carried the statue of Saint Anne, François, do you remember?

— I was twelve, said M. Barnard. -- It was forty years ago!

— All the more reason to revive the traditions, said le Père, intoxicated with ideas, memories and plans.

— Père Benoît... said M Barnard. — Have your little Pardon if you must. The band can lead it. But I think you may find it difficult to bless the well. Remember, we rebuilt your fine church for you only a few years since.

— Yes, and I am very grateful, said Père Benoît. — And the diocese...

— No, no, you misunderstand me, M. Barnard said. —Do you realise that when we put in the new toilettes, they were placed over the site of the old well. It was the most obvious place for the supply of water!

There was a slight hiss. Père Benoît could feel his bubble deflating. He managed to wait until M. Barnard's car had turned the corner on the rue de Pluhoet before he ran round the corner of the church.

Forty years ago — 30 — 20 — even 10 years ago there had been a stone basin, with an antique, rusty, elaborate tap, against the wall of the old church. It was known as the well or the cistern of Saint Anne, and there were even some vague miraculous legends attached to it. Now, since the church had been renovated, there stood outside the church two sparkling new toilettes, one signed Hommes and one Femmes. "WC Publics" announced a big plaque. The village had been very pleased when they were put in. Père Benoît stared at the cubicles with their varnished wooden doors, the row of gleaming pissoirs visible within one. The stone basin had completely disappeared. There was no miraculous Saint Anne's well to bless at Saint Anne's Pardon.

How could he have forgotten about St. Anne's well and let it disappear? A musical car horn very close made him jump and le Père turned to see M. Barnard waving from his car as he drove past on his way home to a big Sunday dinner with his wife and all his family.

Père Benoît resisted the temptation to shake his fist after the blue Citroën, and turned to contemplate the toilettes, waiting for divine inspiration to enlighten him.

In le Père's bed that night his sheets bunched into lumps and bumps to torment his body as he writhed to avoid the demons that attacked his spirit. As he tumbled from one side of his bed to the other, he was beset by doubts and misgivings. He woke with a heavy head and a heart sunk lower than his loosening belly. For the first time in many years, he spent much of his morning on his knees in the church.

Seigneur Jesus, he prayed, Sainte Anne de Bretagne, give me grace and strength and fill me with your power that I may work out how to honour you in the most magnificent way possible. And help me to show these citizens — especially my good friend Barnard — what the old church can really do.

The Cure this story continued

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