CHAPTER 6
The Office of Compline, Night Prayer, had a way of wrapping the monastery in a peaceful stillness at each nightfall. After that prayer service, the Grand Silence would begin and conclude after breakfast the following morning. Unlike the simple silence of the day, which could be broken out of charity or necessity, Grand Silence required a stronger reason to speak.
During the night silence the community was able to sink more deeply into the contemplative spirit, most people quietly reading or working in their rooms on a craft or personal needs, then settling into sleep.
There was an unaccounted for person lurking about during Grand Silence this evening. No one really saw her, so she could spend a quiet night at the monastery too. She would probably be gone before dawn anyway.
I’ve got to watch out for him. This little community has been in the news a lot--even though they say that they are semi-cloistered and would prefer to live simply and quietly.
He’s new here, probably won’t stay anyway. In the meanwhile I’d better protect him from the others. They seem to be a prying lot. Why do they need to know so much about the background of a person before they accept him or her?
I remember that Tibetan Abbot asking about Christian monastics. He had heard that it was a difficult and slow process to become a full-fledged monk or nun in the Christian tradition. When someone explained that this was certainly the case he just laughed and laughed, then said: “That’s probably why you Christians have so few monks and nuns!”
Maybe I’ll just check things out here on the property. Everyone seems to be asleep and I can’t sleep. Hope the floorboards don’t creak. A woman walking around in the men’s sleeping quarters, even on the lower floor, is sure to capture attention if someone spots me. Good thing I disguised myself.
Yep, everyone is asleep—a few are even snoring. Good, got downstairs and outside without a hitch. Let’s see if I can get into the main building and check out the files. It’s nice to know the background of the people I have to deal with in order to protect him.
Drat, the front door is locked. Maybe there is a spare key in the lower level of the guest house, below the men’s quarters. I’ll slip back and see.
The glow of the moon is beautiful as I walk across the property. Too bad things are not always what they appear to be.
Hmm, desk, cupboards, table with drawers, where to begin? The desk looks interesting. Not much in it except writing paper, envelopes, pens, and some post cards with photos of the monastery on them.
This old breakfront might hold some keys. It opens easily but only has extra blankets and pillows in it—also a game of Scrabble and a game of Uno—very well used.
I think that I hear a little rattle as I close the doors. Something is tapping at the back of the breakfront. Just a slip of the hand should do it. There they are! Several keys hanging on a key ring. Not marked. Bet they are for the front door of the main house in case of emergency.
Thank you Man in the Moon for lighting my way and letting everything else remain in darkness. First key doesn’t work—the second one does! Quiet now, I’m trying to protect him, not get him into trouble.
Through the foyer and into the great room. That old buffet is probably a catch all for things. There are no locks on it, however, so whatever is inside is probably not too important.
The drawers and doors are old and squeak a little. Slowly, slowly. There, the large middle drawer is open. Looks like a lot of mailing equipment—scale, stapler, blank mailing labels, padded mailing bags. Must be for the things they sell mail order.
The two slimmer drawers on top are filled with old audio-tapes and papers, nothing very personal.
Someone is stirring downstairs in the women’s quarters. I’d better get out of here. Come to think of it, anything personal about the community members is probably over in the Hermitage, the Abbot’s quarters, anyway.
She tiptoed out into the silver night and across the driveway. The second key on the ring let her into the white mobile home purchased about ten years ago to stretch the quarters of the monastery. She froze in the doorway marked “Welcome” upon hearing a single beeping sound. No other audible alarm sounded.
I pray that there is no silent alarm hooked up. Hopefully that beep is just there to let the Abbot know that someone is in his waiting room. One more beep sounded as the specter-like figure closed the door behind her.
The rest room was in front of her and the small reception area was to her right. Several framed diplomas and licenses hung on the walls and a large tonka of the Medicine Buddha, given to the Abbot by a group of dear friends while he was in Tibet and neighboring lands, gave off a dark blue aura under the bath of moonlight flowing in through the window.
There’s his office, complete with a name plate on the door, and the door is wide open. Well, well, well, what have we here? Looks like a filing cabinet to me. Drat! It’s locked. Where would the key be? Maybe in the desk at the front right of this rectangular office space. Too many odds and ends in the desk—and on it!
Where is that light coming from? Someone is outside, I’m sure of it. I’ll just lift up a slat on this mini-blind and risk it. It’s a woman and she’s walking this way. No, wait a minute, she’s heading toward the Oratory now. Must be a late night meditator. Get me out of here while the coast is relatively clear. Good, she’s inside the Oratory now and has left the lights off. Hopefully she won’t hear the beep of the door.
Out I go and if she is not looking out the window I’m safe. Made it back to the men’s guest house without incident. I’d better just hide out for a while.
Sister Scholastica, alone in the quiet of the darkened Oratory, was starting to get the creeps.