Page 94 of Heathens
Oh, how his kingdom fell, how it burned to the ground leaving nothing in its wake. It turns out, Evelyn was always in control. Auguste's discarded pawn was the queen all along—the praying mantis that eventually decapitated his head and made him pay for everything he did to her.
To all of them.
Her Love is Greater
Salem
Present
I know that faith isn’t magic. Those that believe, those that choose to bow to God and dedicate their lives to it—we’re not special. We certainly don’t have any special access to God, like some people believe. We are men and women—humans, believing in something greater. It’s both terrifying and life-affirming. Like jumping off of a cliff, waiting to see if someone is going to save you or let you splatter across the ground below. We are just servants. Merely followers of a deity, kneeling to something that’s never been proven.
That’s the hardest realization of all.
In what some might call a crisis of faith, I embarked on a personal journey, making my way from one holy site to another. From Rome to Florence, Jerusalem to Bethlehem. And now, as I bow my head against the Western Wall in Jerusalem—as my skin tingles with the frenetic energy here—I sigh.
I’ve found my soul mate. I’ve found my God. And in that combination, I’ve found peace. A future.
* * *
I pick Lily up at Ben Gurion International airport, and we barely make it to our hotel in Tel Aviv before I'm pulling her sweater off, on my knees and peeling her jeans off. We make love twice in a row, drinking each other up so thoroughly that I feel drunk on the smell of her skin, the velvety feel of the underside of her breasts. I pull orgasms out of her with my fingers, my tongue, stringing them along until she's moaning my name and flushed with color—something I've delightfully discovered happens when she comes.
God exposes sin not to shame us, but to change us.
As I trail my fingers along her spine, as she breathes evenly, asleep on my chest, I have to accept that this is my fate. Lily changed me for the better, made me a better servant to God.
I can worship God at church, and Lily at home, kneeling to both of them equally. Because I can’t live without either of them. I’m not ready to give either one up. According to outdated rules and centuries-long traditions, what we were doing was sinful. But, as I fall asleep with the woman I love in my arms, I realize my sin might be great.
But her love is greater.
* * *
Over the next week, we stuff ourselves with dolmas, hummus, tomato and bell pepper salads, and falafels—an homage to the night we met. We rent a car and navigate our way through Israel, the tiny country filled to the brim with ancient cities, history, and dark conflict. How so much can be contained here is baffling, but all I know is, I feel God.
I feel God over, and over, and over.
We spend a day at the Dead Sea, smearing mud over our bodies and floating in the buoyant water. It stings, but it’s also cleansing in a way. We spend the night at a Kibbutz—an expansive farm that grows produce. We sample the plump tomatoes, the carrots caked with dirt, the sweet strawberries. Our last two days, we drive to Jerusalem, wandering the alleys of each quarter—feeling the wild energy of each faith, tasting them all, feeling for the first time that we’re truly not alone in this world. As Lily prays at the wall, separated from me, I realize that I’m doing okay.
My faith will be okay.
As long as we have each other, we will be more than okay.
I have the taste of her embedded in my soul—the feel of my maker behind it all.
In all that is right or wrong, pure or muddled, there is Lily, and her incredible ability to blur the lines of my life and allow me to live.
Live life to its fullest.
Epilogue, Part One
Queen of Virtue
Lily
Two Years Later
The organs in the little cathedral echo across the stone, kissing everyone's ears and tingling down their spines. I cross and uncross my legs, a nervous flutter starting in my belly. Evening mass begins, and the altar boys walk down the short aisle carrying the thuribles emitting smoke. I look around Saint-Eustache Church. It sits just between Les Halles and the Rue Montorgueil district, an unfinished yet beautiful cathedral. When I first saw it, I gasped. At first glance, the facade so closely resembled Notre Dame de Paris that I wondered if I was being tricked. Though, inside, it's entirely different. Its unfinished appearance is oddly charming. Oddly fitting, for us.
The organs stop playing as Salem walks up to the altar, carrying his worn Bible and wearing a white robe. I’m filled with pride, with so much love, that I feel as if I might burst. He delivers a sermon on forgiveness. I look around—everyone is paying attention. When he speaks, it’s hard not to pay attention. He grabs you and holds your attention, won’t let you go until you surrender completely. I always joke that that’s why he convinced me to marry him five months after we met.
