The sarcophagus is cold against my back. I think I hear sounds coming from within, but I will not turn to look. Sister Kveta has sent me here to pray. A punishment for something I did.
The chicken kept pecking me. It hurt. I only meant to make it stop. But I cannot tell you about that. Not yet. I think you would not like it.
The picture that hangs over me on the wall of the apse frightens me. It is of the Blessed Hroznata. It is his tomb behind me. His wealth and sacrifice built this abbey, Tepla Abbey, where I live with the Sisters and Mother Agnes and Father Lucas.
I am not a novitiate. I am only a girl.
In the painting, Hroznata's face glows with the candlelight. He is an infant, new born. His mother weeps over him, her hair curling around his naked body. But his eyes. I can see his eyes. They are open, rolled toward me because his head has fallen back over the edge of his mother's lap. His mouth gapes, empty and black. He is stillborn.
The Holy Mother hovers at the corner of the picture, wreathed in clouds. She smiles on the grieving mother and the dead baby. She stretches out her hand toward them. It is the miracle of the Blessed Hroznata--that he was saved to do good for God. The Holy Mother will give him life again.
I think I could do that, too. Give life to a dead thing.
I thought about it in the chicken coop this morning, but there were so many of them. If there had just been the one . . .
I may only be a girl, but I am a special Mouse. I do not think I am Blessed.
