132. Black Dress

“As a postulant,” I told Julio, “you’re not allowed a cell phone.”

“What cell phone?” he asked innocently.

“The phone Alfred said he gave you.”

“Oh, that cell phone,” said Julio.

“And you’re not allowed to lie to your Abbot, Julio,” I said.

“OK, OK,” he said, “but it’s a good thing I had it … to talk Maria in when she got lost on these roads up here.”

“You had your girlfriend up here to the monastery?” I asked, incredulous.”

“Don’t worry, not in the house. In the garage. She brought a few bottles of wine and we …. said goodbye …in the SUV.”

“You’re a real Casanova,” I said.

“And I’ll pay for the cassock I took from the back of the chapel,” he said.

“The cassock?” I said.

“Maria thought it was kinky when she wore it, unbuttoning all the way down the front and …”

“OK, enough, Julio,” I interjected.

“She’ll send it back,” he said.

“Tell her to keep it,” I said. The thought of the young woman unbuttoning the garment used in our services has unfortunately continued to  enter my mind.

A week later the UPS man brought a package.    As I opened the box  and saw the cassock, I was overwhelmed with the powerful smell of orange jasmine perfume,  strong enough to knock a good man down.  The only way to describe the smell is to imagine someone mixing  orange jasmine and Aqua Velva.    The vision of Maria in nothing but a loosely unbuttoned cassock had taken a week to begin to fade in my mind, but now it was back full force and I wondered when women discovered the effect of scents.  Soon after leaving the Garden of Eden, I presume.

Without thinking, I hung the cassock with the others in the back of the chapel.  But Maria's perfume was terrifically potent, like an evil spirit.  Soon all we could smell at our prayer services was orange jasmine.  When I saw the monks close their eyes in meditation, I had to wonder what they were meditating on.  None of the Brothers had met Maria, but her scent would guarantee not one of us would ever forget her.