God's maths

Frances she didn’t let him ponder on this though as she pointed to all sorts of shells embedded in the rock. The area was pretty populated to the experienced eye; he might have missed 90% of it had she not pointed them in the first place. Some were animals, a few others, imprint and remains of sea life. No huge ammonite – they loved open seas - only tidbits that reminded them that life had existed in many, many different forms before humans walked this very earth. Tristan wasn’t a creationist, per se, choosing to interpret the writings with a more open mind. And this … those proofs that life had been, and would be should humanity take care of it, was the reminder of their little place in the world.

As they climbed once more, level after level in the old quarry, Tristan shared his inner musings. He was surprised to hear Frances echo his thoughts.

— “I find, too, that geology puts us back into our place. It gives men the meaning of how little they represent over the history of earth, and how we should refrain from ruining what was before us.”

— “Ecology through geology,” Tristan stated at they reached the upper level.

He paused then, taking in the large terrasse of hardened rock devoid of large trees. At his feet, the lazy river snaked around hills and forests, its waters sparkling in the sunshine. Tristan removed his jacket, letting the crisp air cool him down as his eyes settled on the northern valley. Icy, wet fog still clung to the village, drowning the lower levels of the river into a cloudy mist that contrasted with the low sun. It truly was beautiful up there. Beside him, Frances stood, her warm chocolate eyes fixed upon the horizon; she was enjoying this. Basking in the beauty of her surroundings, leaving all burdens behind. Her shoulders were relaxed, the fleece sleeveless coat fitting snugly to her form. Her long braid, sat upon her breast, reddish strands catching fire with the winter light. Cheeks flushed, features relaxed… beautiful.

— “Stargazing does the same thing to me,” she eventually said.

Shaken out of his reverie, Tristan merely addressed her an interrogative look to push her to elaborate.

— “The lab next door to my school specialises in astronomy, and there is nothing like learning of the origins of the universe to put things in perspective. A little humility would be nice. I think they are my favourite teachers”

Tristan nodded. Here, there, he was catching a real glimpse at Frances’ world. Until now, she had brought hers into his, seeking him in the safe heaven of his church. But today, he was the outsider. Somewhere deep within, his heart lurched … how much of a gap was there between them?

— “So where does God fit, in this?”

Frances cocked her head aside, then pointed to a circle of fire on the ground with rocks around it. As they settled on the improvised seats, the young woman opened her bag to fish the food out.

— “You know… I have this friend that works in the genetics department in university. A faithful Catholic.”

Tristan noted how the notion still seemed to grate on her tongue; he could understand why, even if it was the institution that had welcomed him in the first place. The cradle of his own faith, the principles that had made him a grown man. Would she ever let go of her anger?

— “He says nature is the proof that God exists.”

— “So how does he mingle the two views?”

As she fished out items from her bag, Tristan noticed that his breath had stopped creating volutes now as they sat in the sunlight.

— “Naturally. Are you familiar with the Fibonacci suite?”

— “A little.”

He didn’t ask what it had to do with the rest, knowing how Frances’ mind worked by now. She would put all hypotheses and facts before linking them together, much like a scientist rather than like a taleteller. She gave him a Tupperware, a fork and a cloth towel to lay upon his thigh, all the while speaking about Fibonacci.

— “In high school, friends made a presentation on how Fibonacci’s suite is linked to the golden number, and how nature is organised to be perfectly balanced, yet uneven. That a plant would start with one leaf, then two, then three on the next level, then five, and so it goes, following this beautiful pattern that enclosed perfection. The same you find in Nautile’s shells and all sorts of plants. They call it God’s math”

Forgetting his food, Tristan’s mind mused over the mathematical concept.

— “I didn’t know that”

Frances opened her own meal, pointing the fork in his direction with a playful smirk.

— “If you did, you’d be more a geek than a man of the cloth. But you can search on the net about nature and Fibonacci suite.”

— “I think I will,” he nodded, lifting up the lid to find a rice salad laden with colourful items.

The priest dug into the dish, taking a mouthful in hopes of analysing the different tastes that assaulted his tongue. Coriander, carott, sunflower seeds, olive oil… sesame ? It was delicious, but there were far too many underlying flavours, and his brain could only do one thing at the same time. And at the moment, he was listening raptly to a very strange young woman. When Frances was excited about something, her pace increased enough for him to struggle.

— “Good you’ll tell me what you find. Anyway. So my friend working in genetics, he says that in every lab, there are faithful believers like him because when you see the perfection of natural things, there can only be the hand of God to make it so. That statistically, there should have been hundreds of millions of mutations to make animals and plants the way they are, but many of those should never have happened, or not migrated to gonads. Hence, not transmitted to the next generation”

Tristan nodded, his fork forgotten, knowing he was missing some information but intent on keeping up just as well. Did she realise, with her friends in genetics, astrophysics or thermodynamics, that she talked to a priest whose theoretical mathematics ended after the A-Levels? Not that he was bad, far from it, mathematics were easy for he was a very logical man. Still…

— “And that, even if the most adapted are supposed to evolve, it wouldn’t have come to this degree of perfection if you keep to statistics. A proof of God’s hand, if you will. Something that bridges between Darwin and the creation”

The rambling had ceased, and Frances returned to her rice salad as if they’d had just conversed about the weather. What kind of entertainment could a woman like that appreciate when her brain ran full speed like this all the time? Swallowing another mouthful of his own meal – that stuff flattered his tastebuds, just like her chocolates had! —Tristan eventually questioned:

— “It is a clever way to put it. What do you think of it? Is God seen in nature, or is it pure evolution?”

The young woman considered her words carefully, then she stared at him across the circle of ashes on the ground.

— “When I walked into your church, I was a fervent atheist but I think that with your guidance, I have become an agnostic.”

Her words touched him deeply, and for a moment, Tristan could only stare in her beautiful eyes, quite stunned. Then he regained his bearings, and a tiny smile quirked his lips.

— “Open-minded, and waiting for further proof?”

Frances balanced her fork upon her knee to drink, yet he could nearly hear the cogs turning in her mind.

— “Honestly… I don’t think I mind if God exists or not, because my choices are mine, and mine alone. I am responsible for them, no matter who is watching over there.”

— “An honest answer.”

And the subject of her beliefs was closed … the counterattack came swiftly. Three mouthfuls of salad, at best, before she asked a question that he knew was coming.

— “Can I ask you a question, Father Tristan?”

— “I'm just Tristan, here. And have you ever hesitated?” he countered merrily.

The truth was that she did; the more she knew him, the more her affection grew, the more she tended to refrain from hurting his feelings. It helped that her misgivings with the Catholic religion had abated, soothed by the gentle light of the man who sat before her.

— “However did you become a priest?”

Blam. A well-aimed pique. She deserved the truth, didn't she ?

— “Anger management. I nearly killed a boy, back then. I was fifteen.”

Instead of disgust, fear, or astonishment, Tristan was surprised to find only curiosity in Frances’ eyes. The absence of judgement caused his shoulders to relax.

— “What happened?”

He had heard this question more often than not, especially at the seminary. Most of the time, details were requested by people who enjoyed gossips, or those who wanted to insist upon his redemption. But Frances’ question was a pure effort to understand, and thus, he felt free to give her his truth, the one that sat deep within, rather than recount the facts.

— “It was a foolish street fight. I do possess a temper, and that altercation very nearly finished dramatically. On that day, I decided that I needed to find a different way to live my life. The teachings of the church brought me much a quiet path. As for the rest, Tai-Chi also helps.”

Two perfectly shaped eyebrows rose upon her forehead.

— “Oh, it makes sense. I understand that Equilibrium image much better now.”

Tristan smirked at that. The notion was stuck in his mind, now, because of her.

— “You are a sensitive woman, Frances.”

She gave him a tiny smile of acknowledgement.

— “I felt it…”

Her statement made him pause, his fork in the air.

— “Felt… what ?”

— “There’s this hard core within you sometimes, this gleam in your eyes. I always knew you were dangerous.”

Ill at ease, Frances shrugged then, putting the empty box of salad beside her as Tristan’s eyes followed her every move. How had she, so easily, seen the steel he was made off? Read those flickers in his eyes?

— “Yet you trust me,” he deadpanned to cover the shock of her perceptiveness.

— “Yes, you have shown nothing but kindness to me. There is nothing wrong in being dangerous, the intention is all that counts. Your skill is a tool, nothing more.”

The priest polished whatever was left of the eggs and tomatoes at the bottom of his own Tupperware, considering her answer. As the Tai-Chi teacher, plenty of youth feared him, or incensed him. Both reactions were pretty common, and sometimes took months to handle. Some of them still worshipped him, three years after their debut.

— “But tell me, it is pretty unusual for a priest to delve into Chinese energy.”

Ah, trust her mind to start putting things in perspective.

— “It shouldn’t,” Tristan answered evenly. “God is in everything, everywhere we want to find him. Just like you said, we have to find our place in the world.”

There was a gleam in her eyes as she collected boxes and forks to pile it up in her bag once more, a pleased expression that told him she fully agreed with his response.

— “I understand now why it is so easy to talk to you. You are so open-minded.”

— “Thank you, Frances. For your words, and for the meal. It was delicious.”

Her response was a genuine smile that left him a little breathless. Driving his tongue over his upper teeth, Tristan tried to keep track of the conversation, determined to ignore the flutters that danced in his stomach.

— “We all know, the young ones, that the church needs to evolve. Somehow, I am glad to be here for those in need. And speaking of those in need…”