Chapter 684 - The Pious Rando
The carriage stopped before East Gate Market's busiest street. When Weiss stepped down, he glanced around—he didn't see the second carriage, but the watchers had certainly melted into the bustling crowds around them.
Rando stood in the street. If he hadn't known he had crossed timelines, he would have thought he was standing in some postmodernist art installation.
Modern and medieval, Eastern and Western—all were mixed together in this bustling marketplace. Bauhaus-style red brick buildings, Western-styled pseudo-classical structures built with Chinese materials, all-wooden sorted garbage bins, police in black uniforms wearing conical hats and leg wrappings, carrying truncheons... all of this strangely blended together.
Rando resisted the urge to whistle. Their group was led by Father Rodrigues to the Commercial House Restaurant, into a rather elegantly decorated private room—somewhat like the upscale Chinese restaurant private rooms Rando had visited in Chinatown.
"This is the best restaurant here." Father Rodrigues casually accepted a hot towel from a young girl, wiping his face and hands. A faint jasmine fragrance wafted through the room.
Then a young girl in a light blue belted dress and white apron brought fragrant drinks in fine porcelain bowls—Chinese tea.
Father Rodrigues expertly lifted his bowl, used the lid to push aside the tea leaves, and carefully sipped.
"Come, please enjoy."
Brother Cecilio crossed himself. "I'd like a glass of cold water."
John Dermott curiously examined the tea leaves in his bowl. He cautiously sipped, frowned, then seemed to savor something.
"On such a summer day, a cup of hot tea will make your body and mind feel refreshed." Rodrigues had developed quite an addiction to tea drinking and gently guided his colleagues.
Father Jin Lige frowned. In his view, this priest seemed far too enthusiastic about physical pleasures. A missionary should be content with the simplest water and bread—a little red wine would be the greatest blessing. Yet here he was, indulging in strange foreign drinks.
Father Jin Lige opposed all manner of exotic foreign beverages—whether Spanish chocolate, Arabian coffee, or Chinese tea. To him, they were all temptations of the devil.
Lunch—or rather this late-afternoon meal—was sumptuous for a group that had been enjoying the Quarantine Camp's special cuisine. Weiss found it nearly unbearable to endure lengthy grace before warm whole-wheat bread.
The chowder stew made with sea clams, shrimp, various fish, and kelp was delicious—reminding him of the "Provençal bouillabaisse" he had eaten in France. Large fish fillets were fried to perfection, served with fresh tomato sauce, leaving the diners exclaiming with delight. Since it wasn't Lent, a large platter of sausages was also served, fried in some unknown oil, arriving fragrant.
Weiss took one bite and nearly spat it out: God knew what animal's offal and bones had been ground up, mixed with starch and spices. Apparently to mask the strange taste, they had generously added large quantities of spices. The flavor was practically inedible. But the missionaries ate happily. He had no choice but to set down his knife and fork, push the plate aside, and claim that dietary restraint was a Christian virtue.
The drink on the table was some kind of fruit wine, very sweet. With ice added, it was smooth and refreshing. The priests drank quite a bit—not just because the wine was mellow, but because they needed such beverages to relieve the fears of recent days.
Everyone was satisfied with the lunch, including Sirik. As a slave, he couldn't dine with his masters, but outside the private room, he had devoured four or five "fish fillet burgers" and followed his master to the monastery with a contented smile.
Prior Wu and Father Bai of the Lingao Monastery personally came to welcome them at the church entrance. Behind them stood local brothers. The piety showing on their dark faces delighted Jin Lige.
The Australian church's hospitality made Father Jin Lige, already frightened enough in the Quarantine Camp, feel overwhelmed. Upon entering the church, he could only marvel and exclaim. From glass covers supported by cast-iron brackets on the walls, bright flames illuminated the modest interior with brilliant radiance. Even the Florence Cathedral during Corpus Christi, lit with all its candles, could hardly be so bright.
A group of lovely children in black-and-white uniforms, crosses hanging from their chests, were singing psalms of praise at the altar. Violin and harpsichord accompaniment flowed like water through the church. Father Jin Lige felt deeply moved and amazed—the music praising the Lord was so harmonious and soul-stirring, yet he could see no orchestra, no musicians in the church. He remembered Father Rodrigues's descriptions of the Australians' miraculous technologies: they could put all instruments inside a box of metal and wood, performing complex and magnificent music from within. Then the organ's voice joined in, its solemn roar filling the entire church. The organ sound grew and grew, becoming deep rumbling thunder, drowning out all other sounds. Then suddenly it transformed into heavenly music, like a maiden's high, fine voice, floating high beneath the dome, finally becoming deep roaring and thunder again before falling silent. The thunderous rumbling still echoed, trailing endlessly beneath the dome. Father Jin Lige's mouth hung half-open, shaken by this solemn sacred music.
Then a clear, soaring female voice began an unaccompanied hymn—Judy Collins singing "Amazing Grace." The choir children joined in with their young voices. The clear, slow rhythm rose gradually from the church's depths, ascending toward the dome. The priests involuntarily crossed themselves.
In this solemn, soul-touching music, he saw many devout believers prostrating themselves on the floor. The one in front was so moved he kissed the feet of Jesus nailed to the cross. The gaslight flames cast his elongated shadow on the floor. Jin Lige discovered that person was none other than his attendant Weiss Rando.
Father Jin Lige couldn't help praising the Lord's miracle once again. The sacred sounds of praise had clearly driven out the devil that had possessed that man, making this half-mad soldier once again a humble servant of the Father. Weiss Rando, having once again heard the voice of the Heavenly Father, was obviously deeply moved. He requested to confess his grave sins in this church.
This sudden request surprised everyone. But the Jesuit priests were excited. Nothing could bring more joy than a fallen person returning to the Church's embrace.
Bai Duoluo reluctantly entered a confessional reserved for Wu Shimang. As a conscientious young priest, he was quite unwilling to simultaneously play the role of informer. He knew this sealed confessional contained a microphone. The recording tapes were collected daily by specialists and sent to the Political Security monitoring room.
A cough, then a loud sound of nose-blowing. Bai Duoluo knew that strange man had sat down across from him.
"My child, what do you have to tell the Lord..."
"I need to see your Council Leader," the white man across suddenly said in halting Cantonese, interspersed with English words. "Your situation is not good. The Guangdong pirate chief Liu is preparing to join forces with the Dutch fleet of the East Indies to destroy your fleet, then attack the harbor and sack Lingao."
If Lingao's purgatory was the Quarantine Camp cell, then Father Jin Lige would certainly believe the Lingao Monastery was heaven. As for where Lingao's hell was, the Father didn't even want to think about it. But he had also heard that the Australians had established a prison in Lingao called the "Labor Reform Camp." Those fortunate enough to return from there had lost all interest in the priests' ethereal preaching about hell.
The Lingao church, however, had intense interest in this hell. Priests often went there to preach to the poor prisoners. Father Rodrigues also went frequently.
The Lingao church seemed to have a special interest in saving secular "sinners." Father Jin Lige quickly noticed this.
Now, Father Jin Lige sat at a desk in a bright, spacious study—Father Rodrigues had generously vacated his own quarters in the monastery. He needn't feel guilty about this—a two-story building for the monastery was under construction. The Lingao Monastery was constantly expanding its space to accommodate an ever-growing religious community.
From every angle, the Lingao Monastery was flourishing. After Jin Lige conducted his first Sunday Mass and sermon, he fully sensed the local church's prosperity. He couldn't help feeling genuinely happy to have come to such a place to expand the Lord's flock.
An elderly nun humbly came to the study. Her wrinkled, dark face was full of respect as she carefully cleared the dishes from his desk. The Father had just enjoyed a particularly delicious fruit ice and chilled kvass on this sweltering Lingao afternoon.
He suddenly felt somewhat ashamed of his indulgence in culinary pleasures. This feeling was especially strong when he thought of his attendant.
The fervor emanating from Weiss Rando, this soldier of unknown origin, astonished even the learned and widely traveled Father Jin Lige. Perhaps believing the lengthy confession to the Australian priest was insufficient to cleanse his sins, Weiss had resolutely remained at the East Gate Church to live an ascetic life. He cut his hair short, wore a coarse cloth shirt, and subsisted daily on a few rice cakes and water. He refused even to live in a room, instead moving to the church bell tower.