The Carpenter - REALM

Spring 2023 Plip plop plip deeper and deeper into the catacombs to light a candle for the dead. The plips and plops of his black shoes upon the stone steps continued until he finally reached the bottom. He stepped into a new room only illuminated by what little light reflected in from the staircase he had just stepped off from. Father Laurence needed no light to navigate the catacombs. He’d served this congregation for long enough to be able to draw a fully accurate blueprint of the church by memory. But today he lit a candle knowing what had to be done. The flare of the flame cleaned the darkness off of the muddy walls and rotting wood floors. And finally kronch as the floor gave out and he tumbled down. The rotting wooden board holding him above the abyss had given out. Clutching his crucifix he readied himself for whatever he would land on. He slammed into a soft hissing bed. Scurrying and scuttling centipedes all around. Rotund fat balls of tangled up legs dotted with hissing mouths made up the mess. He was composed even though he was in full darkness. He felt around the writhing mass of legs and eventually felt the waxy neck of his candle. He lifted it slowly and brushed the pests off with the back of his other hand. Standing with a few of the writhing pests in his pockets, at least seven with their legs hooked to his black garments, and one scurrying around in his hair, he lit the candle with the lighter that's usually reserved for cigarettes and continued on his journey. Every step he took squashed another centipede. Very audibly, too. It sounded like hundreds of little twigs being snapped with every step he took. He continued on his crunchy path through the inner catacombs till he finally reached the room. The Carpenter | 101

Spring 2023 A body lay on a pestless and ancient carpet. The carpet was beautiful and had three distinct images on it. The first was of Satan and his demonic crew fleeing from a storm of God's lightning bolts. The second was of a snake perched on a tree branch hanging over an apple bearing its teeth to a beautiful woman. The third was of the snake being held by the neck by Jesus over a pit filled with the unrepentant and Satan’s demons. Those in the pit were drowning in a fiery Ocean of centipedes. The body was laid on its face so that only the bare back and posterior were visible. “How long has it been since you've been tended to? And how do you still look so young and supple after all these years?” Laurence whispered. Then the fire of the candle crackled and flared up. Laurence knew that the time had come to clean the inner sanctum and that the job could be put off for no longer. He lit the corner of the carpet and then cast the candle into the centipedal sea that surrounded him. The pests burst into flames. Laurence wrapped the nude body of the innocent apostate in the carpet and its pest-ridden carcass squealed as the flame overtook it. The fire would overtake him soon enough. He kneeled and begged God for forgiveness. It was his fault that a good man of the order had perished and Laurence would've understood if his sin was too great for forgiveness. His body was swallowed up by the inferno, although his soul is said to have ascended. The Carpenter | 102

Spring 2023 | Tomorrow Morning | Victor Hugo, Les Contemplations (1847) Translated by John Lauer Tomorrow morning, when the country-land turns white I will leave. You see, I know that you wait for me I will wander through the mountain forest ‘til night Soon, soon, soon, my dearest, together we must be. I will walk with my eyes fixated on my thought Without seeing anything else. Without a fright Alone, unknown, my back hunched, my hands crossed Sad, will be for me, in the day, as in the night. I will not watch neither the sunset at dusk, full Nor faraway sails descending upon Harfleur The Carpenter | 103

Spring 2023 And when I come, I will put on your tomb, in all A bouquet of green holly and heather flower. * Demain, dès l’aube, à l’heure où blanchit la campagne, Je partirai, vois-tu, je sais que tu m’attends. J’irai par la forêt, j’irai par la montagne. Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps. Je marcherai, les yeux fixés sur mes pensées, Sans rien voir au-dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit, Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées, Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit. Je ne regarderai ni l’or du soir qui tombe, Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur, Et, quand j’arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur. Victor Hugo, Les Contemplations (1847) The Carpenter | 104

Spring 2023 The Carpenter | 105

Spring 2023 end: 1. the final part of something that i will never forget 2. the beginning of an unforgettable summer. The Carpenter | 106