An Author in Church

     Here is a picture of St. Marc's that I love.  On Saturday mornings after mass they have benediction.  It's about 7:30 in the morning.  The sun is still low in the sky and the rays are catching the incense in the air.

     This morning I went to church and saw something assez rare, pretty unusual, I thought.  When I go to church I have taken to sitting in the side aisle, since I make a lot of faux pas.  For example, I forget where I was sitting when I come back from communion.  Without any coat and gloves in the pew to catch my eye, I walk right past.  Then I realize I missed it, and I'll finally notice that a couple of people are nodding and pointing back to my pew.  They don't go to communion in any order, which makes it tricky for me to remember where I was.

     This morning a grey-haired man wearing a cornflakes box on his back came up the side aisle before the service began.  It was tucked into the top of his pants right inside his belt.  He walked up to the front pew like it wasn't even there, and sat down.  I thought at first it was Maxi, the little old guy I mentioned in a previous post, the one who hangs around the church.  But I realized this guy was wearing a FIFA soccer shirt, (International Soccer Association) not a black jacket like Maxi does.  So then I decided maybe it was a back brace.  But after a couple of minutes he reached around and got it out.  From inside it he took a notebook and a pen and very industriously began writing.

     He was in the front pew and kept looking up toward the altar while he wrote.  The priests must all be away, because instead of mass a seminarian conducted a communion service.  I was not the only one intrigued by The Writer.  Halfway through the gospel the seminarian stopped reading mid-sentence.  I think he lost his place, because he didn't start again for the longest time.  The author was sitting in front of him, just a little to the right.  I guess the sight of all that industry at 6:30 in the morning caught him off guard.  

     At the end of the service he stopped writing and put everything away inside the cornflakes box.  He tucked it into his belt again, but this time he wore his shirt out over it.  

     Sister Mary Hardiwin just returned from a visit to Gonaïves.  I mentioned the cornflakes box and she knew exactly who he was.  "Fou," she said.