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led
to another hall with candelabra on the walls, illuminating the paintings in
their elaborate gold frames. She paused by the painting of a young, small girl
who held an abundance of roses in her hand. Draped in one of her elbows was a
wooden cross with Christ on it. Across the center bottom of the painting’s
frame there was a gold plaque with an inscription that read:
     
    I have never given to the
good God anything but love. He will return that love. After my death I will let
fall a ceaseless shower of roses upon earth. —St. Theresa of Lisieux
     
    “She was a very strong
and beautiful soul,” Neal said.
    “What did she do?”
    “She became small for the
sake of God,” Neal said.
    Tess envisioned her
shrinking, like the witch in the Wizard of Oz . “She became small?”
    “Not physically. Her
becoming small had to do with how she lived her life. She was faithful to the
little things in her daily routine, doing everything for God’s honor and glory.
She lived a peaceful and more or less hidden existence in the Carmelite Order.
She became small so that she could lose herself and devote herself to Christ.”
    Neal seemed to inhale the
painting. Tess couldn’t tell if he was deeply religious, or if he was truly
nuts.
    Neal pointed to the last
line of the inscription: “Whenever you see a rose on the ground, think of St
Theresa.”        
    “My last name is Rose,”
Tess said.
    “Well, then you’re a sign
from St. Theresa—a reminder to live small and be faithful to the important
things in your life.”
    Tess studied him for a
moment; she’d never come across anyone as over the top as this clown and yet there
was an earnestness about him that touched her. She recognized something of her
mother’s intensity and naivety in Neal that made her feel that he was for real,
that this wasn’t an act for him.
    “What's your book about?”
she said.
     “Religion,” Neal said.
    “That’s a broad subject,”
Tess said.
    “I wouldn’t want to
offend your religious beliefs,” Neal said.
    Tess laughed. The idea of
someone offending her religious beliefs, whatever they were, tickled her.
    “Try me,” she said.
    “My book unites all
religions; it breaks down the barriers humans create in the name of religion.
At least that’s what I hope it does when I finish writing it.”
    “Sounds like you have
your work cut out for you,” Tess said. She paused in front a painting of Mary
holding the baby Jesus with a halo around his head. It could have been any
woman holding her son.
    “I take it you’re not a
Catholic?” Neal said.
    “No,” Tess said. She
turned to face him; his eyes were on the painting. There was something in the
way he took it in, as if he were looking for a clue. “Apparently you are,” Tess
said.
    “Yes,” Neal said.
    “I was raised
Buddhist—Tibetan Buddhist. The Four Noble Truths and The Eightfold Path and all
that. My mother was from Thailand.”
    “That’s interesting.”
    “If you buy into it all,
I suppose,” Tess said.
    One of the candles in the
hall flickered and for a moment it looked as if it was going to die out until
as if spurred on by a spirit, it burned brighter.
    “And you don’t?” Neal
said.
    He walked on and she
followed him, until they stood at the end of the corridor where there was a
sign that said: NO ENTRY, Church Personnel Only.
    “When I was a child, it
was hard for me. All that stuff about suffering and being on the path to end
suffering. I wanted to have fun. Suffering seemed like a drag. I rebelled,”
Tess said.
    “Were there any turning
points?” Neal said.
    Tess hugged her shoulders
and looked around to see where the draft was coming from. Neal walked slowly
beside her and she debated if it were time to go, to say goodnight. She wasn’t
one to share details of her life with a stranger and she still wasn’t sure if
she were talking to a crazy man or a sane one.
    “Sometimes as we grow
older things we fought begin to make more sense,”