In accordance with the abbess’s injunction, Zuana does not see Serafina. While this causes her anxiety, she accepts it. The abbess’s words are not without wisdom. If the girl is to forge any life for herself here, she must find her own way to God like every other novice. And to do that she must make peace with herself. While Suora Umiliana may not be the gentlest of guides, nor the abbess’s greatest ally, it had been she, out of all the nuns, who remained the most skeptical about the novice’s earlier false goodness, and with humility and discipline as her credo she will surely be an honest and steadfast watchdog over any young soul.
As for the fasting—well, it is a route they have all taken at some point in their journeys toward God, and as long as the girl is careful not to exceed the penance she should not be too damaged by it.
AS THE BODY grows thin, so by as much the soul waxes fat.
The lump of stale bread is delivered to the cell every morning, along with a jug of water mixed with a few spoonfuls of wine. Like everything in Santa Caterina, fasting is encouraged in moderation, and the daily ration is designed to prick hunger, not cause starvation.
Serafina, however, is not interested in moderation. Her hunger, curled inside her stomach like a great tapeworm, lies in wait for the delivery. She drinks some water in slow sips, feeling it move down her throat, then tears the bread into a dozen small pieces, arranging them carefully on the wooden plate. She eats a single piece, washed down by more water, then places the plate in the center of the cell so that it is always visible wherever she moves, as a reminder of temptation. At some point during the day she will perhaps take another of these pieces and break it into even smaller bits, a few of which she will put into her mouth, letting her saliva work on it until it is soft enough to swallow. At the end of the day, whatever is left she secretes somewhere around her cell, to hide it from the nun who brings the next day’s ration and in case she might need it later, though she never does. This much is her choice, in her control.
It is a cause for some wonder, how quickly this change has taken place: the way the fasting, the idea as well as the fact of it, has become her life. She carries the hunger with her every moment of the day. When she is praying she prays to withstand it, and when it is at its most acute it moves her toward prayer. The only time she does not feel it is when she is asleep. And yet—and here is the strangest thing—she is not in anguish over it. Instead, this concentration, this absorption in the act of not eating, is so strong that it has begun to wipe out all other feelings and thoughts that might pursue her. There is no room now to pine for voices reciting poetry or to yearn for the touch of a hand upon hers. No time for fury at her incarceration or the indulgence of despair. Even the music that used to soften the silence in her head has stilled. She is too busy with the business in hand, decisions to be taken, challenges to be faced: how many sips of water, when and how many slivers of stale bread, how many times each mouthful must be chewed to make it last, whether at the end she will swallow it or perhaps spit it out. And though there may be setbacks, there are also triumphs. The simple fact of controlling what she does or does not put into her mouth gives her a strange sense of power. It also makes her feel less alone. For in this struggle another voice is becoming louder.
As the body grows thin, so by as much the soul waxes fat.
The novice mistress’s words have become her poetry now. While Suora Zuana was intent on pushing bread into her mouth, Suora Umiliana understands the satisfaction that comes from crushing one’s own resistance. Suora Umiliana, who has always offered her cold comfort, is now kindness itself. Each day she gives up her recreation hour to sit and pray with her. Her instruction, which once seemed so joyless, becomes full of substance and meaning.
“Give it up to Him. The struggle, the temptation. Your weakness and your unworthiness. For no one can do it alone.”
It is as if the novice mistress has been waiting for this moment, to see her so reduced and defeated that she can be rebuilt. Her voice, once so harsh and prodding, has grown gentle in this companionship.
“Hoard your hunger, taste the ache, feel the emptiness. Give it all up to Him, Serafina. He has felt it all and worse. If you are truly humble, He will not reject you. Ask Him for His help. I am not worthy, Lord, but be with me now in this fight. Fill me with emptiness. For You are my only food, my only sustenance. Purge me so I will be ready for You”
