I grabbed the envelope and slit it open. I pulled out the many pages that were inside. Opening them up, I could see why this envelope was so much thicker and bigger. The previous letter had been typewritten. These pages were are all hand written. It was filled with stark black handwriting on the bright white paper. Her writing was a little large, but not too large and it was really beautiful, almost artistic writing. I started to read.
Peter
I wish I could speak directly to tell you about what has gone on since I have arrived in France. It is a very long story and I will try to tell it all to you in the best way that I am able. In any case, I have to write it all down for you and explain all that I have done so far and of the results of my adventures here. I wanted to finish this up and be sure that I would have it in Sandy’s hands before you arrived again in town. I first went to see my former student Mireille and learn what she knew. She told me of what she found out from her cousin Beatrice and of the monk, Brother Andre. The story that she had was a little uncertain and very incomplete. She suggested that it would be best if we could journey down to the south of France and to the village where the monk resided. We obtained all the details of the whereabouts of the village and of the church. So, after resting for a few days, we set out on the train to our destination.
We were able to stay at the house of Beatrice’s relations and they were helped to arrange for us to be able to speak with the priest. We walked over to the church the next day and after the morning Mass we met the priest, Father Martin. He took us to his small parlor and we sat down and had coffee and some rolls and began our discussions. I explained to him, that it was important to me that I would be able to speak with Brother Andre and to find out what he knew about Patrice or about his father and what had become of them. He was very kind and understanding and said that he would arrange a meeting for us with Brother Andre the next day. Father Martin would explain everything to Brother Andre and prepare him to meet with us in the morning. We thanked him and I left full of excitement and worry about what I might discover from the brother.
As you might imagine, I spent a very restless night thinking about what tomorrow would bring. We got up early that morning and were soon again back at the church and meeting Father Martin. We walked back to his parlor and there at the table sat an elderly man, in brown robes, similar to what Father Martin wore. He sat quietly at the table and glancing up at us as we entered. Father Martin introduced us to him. Then he excused himself, saying that he would leave us to discuss in private with Brother Andre about what he knew of our family. After we sat down, Brother Andre looked at us and smiled and said that he would try to give us as much information as he could and help us on our search. Our conversation started out a little awkwardly as we were uncertain as where we would begin or if he even had information about Patrice. After a few questions we were still stumbling a bit, not knowing what to expect from the monk. Finally, he stopped us and began again to speak.
“From what you have told me so far, I think I already know about whom you seek. If you will relax for a bit, I will tell you the tale of the one we called Brother Muet. Now I cannot tell you the exact day or even year that this happened, but this is how it began. This was a number of years ago back in our monastery in Algeria. We were a small community and we had some chickens, small animals and raised some crops all to feed us and also to trade with the local villagers. One of brothers, Brother Francois, was out for his morning trek one day into the countryside, he would pray and meditate as he walked. That morning while on his usual route, he thought that he saw an animal or something hiding under some trees in the valley. It was not moving, so he walked down to investigate. When he made it to the trees he took his walking stick and nudged the animal to see if there was life. It stirred slowly and as it did, he saw that it was a man. He was moaning and in some distress. He tried to raise him up, but the man was not able to get up. Brother Francois hastened back to the monastery and got our mule cart and another brother to help him and went back to rescue this man. They were able to put him into the cart and take him back to the monastery. Once there, Father Pierre, who was also our doctor, took him into our small infirmary to see if he could help this man. He was quite dehydrated and unable to speak. Father Pierre was able to start giving him fluids and to bring down his high fever. After a few days of nursing and giving him broth and cool liquids, he seemed to be recovering a little. He still was almost in a coma and not able to respond. It was also discovered that he had a wound in his right leg, it looked like a bullet wound that had been inflicted quite some time ago. Father Pierre said that when the patient regained his strength, he would have to remove the bullet as it already was a source of infection on his leg and maybe his bones as well.
Eventually we were able to take care of that and after some months this man was awake and able to walk and take meals with us. Unfortunately he still could not speak and after many attempts, he could not remember his name or how he came to be in this condition. It was at this time that we decided to call him Brother Muet, Brother Speechless. We had to call him something. He smiled and responded to that name and so he began his life with us.”
I interrupted Brother Andre, I asked him who this man was. Was it Patrice? The monk asked for patience and he said he would reveal everything, but all in good time. Patience was needed. He would finish his tale as it happened. He continued again “So Father Pierre was finally able to extract that bullet from his leg. He asked him if he knew how he came by that wound, but Brother Muet did not have a clue. It was here that it was confirmed that he was suffering from amnesia as well as losing the ability to speak. He had been wandering through the dessert and the hills for an unknown time and unknown sufferings. When he was strong enough he started to work along with the rest of us, and became a part of our community as well as he could. A few years passed and one day we were visited by some of the local military. They told us that there were a number of militant rebels in our area and were very anti-French. They were particularly were looking for any men who had been part of the French uprising at the time of the Algerian liberation from France. They were suspicious of any French men, including the monks here in our community. We told them that we were men of peace and would cause no problems. When the soldiers left, we found brother Muet hiding in the food cellar. He was alarmed and afraid. There was something about the armed men that frightened him. Maybe this was a clue t his past? After this he began to act a little differently, as if he had regained part of his memory it seemed.
Sometime after this there was another significant event. At the time that Brother Muet had arrived at our place, we had to replace all his clothing and sandals. Everything was tattered and dirty. We clothed him in our monastic garb as that is all we had. So he always wore our brown robes. His clothing and belongings were put into a box and left in our store room. We could use some of the clothes eventually as cleaning rags. It was when I remembered about those rags that I went into the box to retrieve them to use for cleaning the walls in our chapel. As I was cutting up the clothes and to then wash them it was that I came across an old, weathered, cracked small wallet. There did not seem to be anything in the wallet. I hesitated to throw it away, but then something fell out from it. It was an old photo that had been hiding inside. It was a picture of a young man and that of a beautiful red haired woman.” When brother Andre said this, he looked right at me. “Yes, of a beautiful woman. On the back it was written, – Claude and underneath it, La Mer. So we now had a clue to the identity of our Brother Muet. I assumed his name might be Claude LaMer?”
Pete, I have to tell you when he said that, my heart began to race. I never said anything about this to anyone. It was only a private thing between young lovers. When Patrice and I spent our time together, on old song by Charles Trenet, La Mer, had been quite popular in France and was our song as well. I had been familiar with the tune from an old Bobby Darin song – Beyond the Sea—which was the same melody but with a few different lyrics. It was very romantic and Claude would sing the French and sometimes the English lyrics as well to me. He had a beautiful voice. La Mer!!!! It had to be Patrice! To continue the narrative from Brother Andre
—“I showed the photo to Father Pierre and asked if it would be helpful to present this to Brother Muet. He assented. We waited till after our evening meal, we sat at the table and I spoke to Brother Muet. I asked if he recognized this wallet. I held it in my hands and then gave it to him. He gave a small nod of his head. He seemed a little confused, but he took it in his hand and stated to look through it. I asked him if he might be looking for this picture. I passed it across the table to him. His eyes glazed over and tears began to fall as his body began to shake. He again nodded his head excitedly. Yes.
Then I said to him, so you are Claude LaMer? He looked at me and tried to laugh and began to smile, he shook his head. It was here that the fog seemed to lift from our Brother Muet. While he still could not speak, he gave a sign that he wanted pencil and paper, he wanted to write! When he had the paper in front of him, he hesitated. He began to write furiously, as his memory came back to him in spasms and fits. Finally he wrote something on the back of the paper. It said —Before I can reveal my true name, I hesitate because once you know it, I may be putting you in danger, as I am someone wanted for things in my past, by the new government and by any of the Moslem rebels as well.—I looked at him and then at Father Pierre. I told him that anything he said to us, would be kept in confidence and never revealed to the authorities, come what may happen to us. You are one of our brothers now. We all knew the history of what had happened in Algeria at the time of independence and the wars with the French pied noirs and those that could not leave again for France. We would not judge what he might have done. He looked at me, He seemed relieved as he wanted to continue to sort out his past and might need our help to do it. He began to write again on the paper.
—-I cannot remember everything. I do not know how I arrived here or what happened at that time, but I am starting to remember what came before. This photo is from a long time ago. It is of me and the woman I loved. We were separated because of my departure from her to come back to Algeria to bring my parents back to France at the time of all the terrible fighting and troubles. As you can see, I never returned. Why? I have to sort that out. I need to discover my past and what brought me here to you. I hope that I may by this remembering, one day to bring back my speech again. In any case, my brothers, the beautiful woman in the picture is Claude….Claudine, my love. And La Mer? That was our song La Mer. I am Patrice Laperriere.
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Awesome!!!