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Maurice was conscious of having reached a decisive phase in his relationship with the authorities; he knew what to expect; but even this was insufficient to prevent the madness of his life from going on at the same brutal pace. Maurice, during periods of extreme stress, usually gave more attention to the Church, praying for his immortal soul, insisting, before God, that he was a different man, cleansed of his sins. When my son turned religious like this, especially following a prolonged drinking bout, he threw himself into a religious fervor: spending whole days at prayer, reading his Catholic Catechism, attending all the daytime services, fingering his rosary beads constantly, rolling his eyes as the priests did solemn rituals, presumably, consulting with the Almighty, and he'd sit on the bench outside the Rue de Clignancourt staring hynotically at a large bronze of Christ for hours at end. Sergeant Gay, worried about him not being in his room above the Cafe Belle Gabrielle, often found him sleeping on the wooden benches outside the Little Church of Saint Pierre near the Place du Tertre. The Church, the oldest in Paris, was just a stone's throw from the Mere Catherine and the Cafe de l'Abreuvoir, a sanctuary for bums when they wanted to sleep off their headaches .... |
from Child of the Montmartre