White Noise - Don Delillo [137]
I said to my nun, “What does the Church say about heaven today? Is it still the old heaven, like that, in the sky?”
She turned to glance at the picture. “Do you think we are stupid?” she said.
I was surprised by the force of her reply.
“Then what is heaven, according to the Church, if it isn’t the abode of God and the angels and the souls of those who are saved?”
“Saved? What is saved? This is a dumb head, who would come in here to talk about angels. Show me an angel. Please. I want to see.”
“But you’re a nun. Nuns believe these things. When we see a nun, it cheers us up, it’s cute and amusing, being reminded that someone still believes in angels, in saints, all the traditional things.”
“You would have a head so dumb to believe this?”
“It’s not what I believe that counts. It’s what you believe.”
“This is true,” she said. “The nonbelievers need the believers. They are desperate to have someone believe. But show me a saint. Give me one hair from the body of a saint.”
She leaned toward me, her stark face framed in the black veil. I began to worry.
“We are here to take care of sick and injured. Only this. You would talk about heaven, you must find another place.”
“Other nuns wear dresses,” I said reasonably. “Here you still wear the old uniform. The habit, the veil, the clunky shoes. You must believe in tradition. The old heaven and hell, the Latin mass. The Pope is infallible, God created the world in six days. The great old beliefs. Hell is burning lakes, winged demons.”
“You would come in bleeding from the street and tell me six days it took to make a universe?”
“On the seventh He rested.”
“You would talk of angels? Here?”
“Of course here. Where else?”
I was frustrated and puzzled, close to shouting.
“Why not armies that would fight in the sky at the end of the world?”
“Why not? Why are you a nun anyway? Why do you have that picture on the wall?”
She drew back, her eyes filled with contemptuous pleasure.
“It is for others. Not for us.”
“But that’s ridiculous. What others?”
“All the others. The others who spend their lives believing that we still believe. It is our task in the world to believe things no one else takes seriously. To abandon such beliefs completely, the human race would die. This is why we are here. A tiny minority. To embody old things, old beliefs. The devil, the angels, heaven, hell. If we did not pretend to believe these things, the world would collapse.”
“Pretend?”
“Of course pretend. Do you think we are stupid? Get out from here.”
“You don’t believe in heaven? A nun?”
“If you don’t, why should I?”
“If you did, maybe I would.”
“If I did, you would not have to.”
“All the old muddles and quirks,” I said. “Faith, religion, life everlasting. The great old human gullibilities. Are you saying you don’t take them seriously? Your dedication is a pretense?”
“Our pretense is a dedication. Someone must appear to believe. Our lives are no less serious than if we professed real faith, real belief. As belief shrinks from the world, people find it more necessary than ever that someone believe. Wild-eyed men in caves. Nuns in black. Monks who do not speak. We are left to believe. Fools, children. Those who have abandoned belief must still believe in us. They are sure that they are right not to believe but they know belief must not fade completely. Hell is when no one believes. There must always be believers. Fools, idiots, those who hear voices, those who speak in tongues. We are your lunatics. We surrender our lives to make your nonbelief possible. You are sure that you are right but you don’t want everyone to think as you do. There is no truth without fools. We are your fools, your madwomen, rising at dawn to pray, lighting