A Windy Good Friday

It is a perfect Good Friday in my opinion --- bright and sunny but also cold and very windy. The trees in the cemetery behind my house are swaying and rattling against the windows. Some workers have been cleaning up the cemetery and there are stacks of wood against the old stone vaults set into the hill. Looking out the window I can see the open entrances of the vaults and, somehow, they seem particularly poignant today.

Ever since I was a good little Catholic school girl I have particularly loved Good Friday. I love the quiet of it and the sense of sadness that ends in joy in just a few days. I loved the Stations of the Cross when I was a kid and the Stabat Mater, a hymn I still remember the Latin words to. I will go through my CDs and select those that are perfect for today. Of course Allegri’s beautiful Miserere --- my favorite piece of music. And the evocative Requiems that I prefer --- Brahms in particular. I won’t eat meat today. I’m not a very good Catholic and I know those old dietary restrictions aren’t really adhered to anymore but I don’t care, I love the ritual of it.

Years ago I spent a Good Friday in a quiet coastal beach town in Mexico. It was a fragile time in my life, a love affair was dying and I was sad about it because it was senseless. He was a good man and I cared for him more than I had for anyone in years but we had different visions for our lives. Those visions were incompatible. So I went to this little beach town and stayed in a hotel that just opened for the season, there were very few guests --- one was a solo traveler like me. I still remember his name --- it was Karl and he was Hungarian. He had been living in the States for years but was now thinking about moving to Mexico.

There was a graceful courtyard in that place with a swimming pool the walls of which were decorated with amazing, intricate tile mosaics of seahorses and starfish and fish of all colors. I spent a lot of time sitting in the courtyard watching the beautiful young men who worked there cleaning the pool and getting it ready to fill. Karl joined me. He brought whiskey and I brought the tiny, sweet oranges, called “mandarinos” by the locals, that the children sold by the side of the road. We talked and I suspect he was trying to get me drunk for nefarious purposes but my mind was elsewhere. There were a lot of little salamanders in the holly shrubs that surrounded that courtyard and I remember how quiet it was and how they watched us with their huge, long-lashed eyes --- friendly, curious little creatures.

I remember Karl was telling me some story about a train ride he took through the north of Africa when I heard the church bells ring to mark the beginning of the three hours of silence Catholics observe on Good Friday. I told Karl that I needed to be alone and went up to my room. There was a balcony that overlooked the street which had an old stucco, Spanish-style church with a campanile next to it. It was filling with people who were there to attend the Stations of the Cross. I thought about going but the truth was I felt so bereft at the time that I didn’t want to move.

Later that day, when it was growing dark, there was a procession down through the street with everyone carrying candles and singing. I remember the heartbreaking tenderness of it and that, at the time, I thought I would never let myself love anyone again because it was too painful when it was over.

Of course since then I’ve changed my opinion and I’ve loved other men and I’ve always come away from those romances gaining more than I had lost. But I’ll always remember that particular Good Friday and all its emotions.

So today is Good Friday and I have a lot of work to do but I am glad that it is a bright and windy day like that one so long ago. And I am glad that there will be silence today and the memory of sweet voices lifted in song and salamanders blinking in the hedges. Happy Easter, everyone.

Thanks for reading.