61. Jerusalem, 1999 - It's time
In which Francois makes a decision.
Jerusalem is getting to Francois. Should he reopen a door he closed long ago?
Francois
“Bianca,” Francois says to his wife, his voice trembling slightly, “I think it’s time.”
She looks up from her reading, her eyes meeting his. He leans forward across the small gap between their respective armchairs and puts a hand on her knee, the warmth of her skin grounding him. Gratitude for what she has given him fills his heart.
“We’ve done everything they said we should do,” he says slowly, each word a tentative step towards a new reality. “And nothing’s changed. If anything, what—who,” Francois corrects himself, “I need to be—it’s become clearer and stronger.”
Bianca slowly places a bookmark in her book. She puts her book on the table next to her. She takes off her reading glasses, placing them carefully on top of her book, pinching the bridge of her nose with her other hand. The silence grows so big the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece is loud. Age is gentle on her careworn face. Her golden hair, just starting to gray, is soft around her face. She takes in a big deep breath, letting it out slowly. He watches her chest rise and fall.
“What do you want to do about it?” she finally says, evenly. Her quiet acceptance has always amazed him, and he watches her, searching her face for a sign of how she feels, how this will play out.
“I think I need to start exploring what it would feel like to be who I really am.” As a pained expression crosses her face, he squeezes her knee gently. “But safely, Bianca, safely,” he adds quickly. “Nothing public. Nothing that could expose you, the children, or the mission to anything that could hurt you or them.”
The thumb of her right hand gently rubs the back of her other thumb. A small gesture. A gesture so full of a meaning he is scared to know. She looks down at her hands, the silence stretching between them. “Do I want to know the specifics?”
“I spoke with Father Michel at the École,” Francois rushes in, taking the question as an invitation in his desperate need. “He had some ideas for me, some places where I could start to feel my way into living this. And I’m going to use Lent as a time of prayer and reflection to truly make sure of it.” He pauses, noting the pang of worry and fear in his abdomen. What if she says no? Or asks him to wait? The guilt he feels is almost overwhelming, a heavy stone lodged in his chest. The guilt and the conflict: what it means to his family to accept himself, what it means to him if he does not. There’s betrayal in either direction. He doesn’t know which is worse.
He had not expected how Jerusalem would affect him; how it would throw him into turmoil, raising all the old questions he had kept at bay for so long. In the École, he has found a place of such deep faith combined with such a commitment to academic rigor and questioning that it has blown open all the doors the Dutch Reformed church he was raised in in South Africa had firmly closed. Father Michel had pointed him to the spiritual texts he could read to see how much orthodoxy had suppressed.
“Are you okay about this, Bianca? Really?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper. “I know you’ve always known. But we agreed—” he catches himself, “I made the promise I would not act on it, and now I’ll be breaking that promise.”
She looks at him fully now, her hazel eyes tender, but clear. “Yes, you will be breaking your promise to me. But it was a promise made to men, not to God.” She looks down at her hands again, one thumb still caressing the other. “I’ve seen how it’s been tearing you apart this last year.” She swallows. “To get back the man we love, we might need to lose the man we know.” She looks up at him, her gaze level. “But be kind with us, Francois. We are on this journey with you too.”
Francois feels a sob rising, his throat tightening. His wife’s gentle acceptance…how can he do this to her, to his family? And yet how can he not?
“Oh Bianca,” he sobs, his voice breaking, “I’m so sorry. If I had known— I truly believed—” He finds himself stumbling over his words. “I truly wanted to believe— And we did try, didn’t we?” He needs her reassurance—desperately.
“Yes, Francois,” she says softly, her voice gentle to his tender soul. “We really did. And we have two beautiful children, who are very much loved.”
Her kindness breaks him, and Francois just sobs, his body shaking with the release of all he has been carrying for so long. The idea that he can finally allow himself to be, to explore what being would really be—
It’s exhilarating.
It’s terrifying.
Reading from Book 2, the completion of Eleanor’s Adventure
Spring Writes Literary Festival.
May 15, 2025, 7pm ET
While y’all are reading Book 1, I’m working on Book #2 - the conclusion to Eleanor’s adventure.
Just how does she land up on that office bathroom floor one dark winter night? What’s her comeback strategy this time?
Register with Spring Writes at this Zoom link to listen to the next phase of Eleanor’s journey.
Coy? yes. But in a delicious way, so we will savor the truth and it's importance when we learn what it is.
You are lighting a match to burn something down it seems, but you are being quite coy about exactly what...and I don't want to jump to conclusions with the clues you are dropping!