Rémy Rougeau

Old Brother Pius lives across the hall from me, on the second floor of the abbey. He's a person who says whatever is on his mind (whether it makes sense or not) and does whatever the Sam Hill he pleases (whether it's crazy or not). For years he's gotten away with being who he is because ... well, because a contest with Pius is just too much work.

PRINTDISCUSSE-MAILRSSRECOMMEND...SINGLE PAGE

FacebookMySpace Mixx Digg Reddit del.icio.us Furl Ma.gnolia SphereStumbleUponCLOSE

Three weeks ago, he knocked on my door demanding a copy of my book, All We Know of Heaven. I gave him one with trepidation: A character in the novel—Brother Norbert Gignoux—is actually Brother Pius, drawn straight from life. Brother Norbert wants to baptize visiting Buddhist monks, to save them from spiritual ignorance, not realizing that the Buddhists are really much more enlightened than he is.

Pius finished the book. He did not recognize himself. Perhaps that's to be expected: Most of us fail to recognize our own quirks because they're too much a part of us. The only reason I knew he had finished the book was that four days ago he entered my room without knocking. I had just come back from a shower and, thankfully, had underwear on. He barged right in. "Your book," he said. "It's interesting enough." He tossed the copy on my bed. And with that, he walked out, not even noticing my embarrassment.

That was the end of it, I thought. But the next day, he walked into my room, suggesting two words I might use in subsequent books—popinjay and quacksalver—to make my writing more interesting. Since then, he's popped in occasionally with new and exotic words.

This morning, while the other monks were at breakfast, I went out for a run. It's a lovely day. The trees are just now leafing out, and birds of all varieties are beginning to nest. I ran down old Highway 10 for 15 minutes and then turned around and ran back. After I entered my room, I was just about to pull off lycra tights when I backed into Brother Pius. He appeared out of nowhere. "So, about your book," he said. "Did any of those things actually happen? Are they real?"

I wanted to say that part of what's real in the book is standing right in front of me! But from experience I know how discussing anything with Pius is like spearing eels. And in any case, he didn't give me time to answer; he launched into a complicated story about an old farm truck he once drove that stalled at the top of a hill. From what I gathered, the truck bed was full of hay and the monks who had put it on there. Pius tried to restart the truck. The big thing eased back down the hill, going backward faster and faster, and everyone was yelling and screaming. Pius couldn't stop it. He didn't know what to do. But I never heard the end of the story because Pius was laughing so much he couldn't finish.

Then, it occurred to me: He was offering material. He wanted his truck story to appear in a novel somewhere.

Yes, well, everything is grist for a writer's mill, I suppose. But I really wish he'd knock before coming in.

PRINTE-MAILRECOMMEND...RSS

FacebookMySpace Mixx Digg Reddit del.icio.us Furl Ma.gnolia SphereStumbleUponCLOSE

SPONSORED CONTENT