I detect no hint of what might be concealed behind the doors save pale printed script declaring: dawn, midday, dusk, and midnite. Dawn. I am hauled back to reality.
I devour with my eyes the work my kind is forbidden from seeing. It is too complex for our minds to comprehend, too important to be entrusted to us. We are reduced to this manner of consumption. The scriptorium smells of the linen they use for the paper. The moonlight comes through the gaunt windows and glints off the illuminations as the ink dries down. I wander the room and revel in the intellect and intricacy solidified on the pages by the brothers of this place. What I wouldn’t do to pass for one of them. To be surrounded by such elevating academia and beauty. Pinned to one monk’s desk is an especially halting work. The document is small and handsome, designed with structures like on a chart of the monastery, vaulted ceilings lined up almost evenly. The human effort behind the result is visible in the miniscule imperfections. Tentatively, I touch the page. I retract my hand in fear of smudging the fresh ink. Such a striking color, like egg yolks. Moving my candle around its perimeter I start discerning the sections on the page lifted and pressed in patterns. Dotting, like the lines brothers trace to keep their writing even. Small twisted shapes speak to me, resonating of an ancient language pagans might recognize. Laid into the center is another raised piece upon which four drawn structures reside. I realize with fascination that the work is a tetraptych, sealed from within. I detect no hint of what might be concealed behind the doors save pale printed script declaring: dawn, midday, dusk, and midnite. Dawn. I am hauled back to reality. Lauds has come to a close and the chanting has faded away. Should I be discovered here in the stark light of day my stolen robes and bound chest would not disguise me. I escape down the stone staircase and through the heavy oak door to the grounds, scraping it closed against a resistant earth floor. As I retreat into town I commit every line of the drawings to memory and decide with a smile to break into the monastery more often.
Beatrice McAviney for CARRIE FEDER, in the Library with Purgatory Pie Press. Show continues to October 14.