Fleeting Memories

July, summer has set in it all its heat. I lie motionless in bed hoping to cool off.  My hands and arms finally feel cold. Eyes closed, I let my mind wander and find myself in Jerusalem or Nazareth.  Forty years ago. I have risen early. The American students I am chaperoning are still asleep. All but one. He joins me as we move towards the Church of the Annunciation. A friar waits to let us in, with a ladder so I can climb up to take photographs of the Romanesque capitals with prophets in their swirling robes and archers and devils. Capitals made not by local artisans but by artisans from France. We are on the site where Gabriel is said to have appeared to Mary to tell her that she will bear the Son of God. Another artist had been commissioned to paint a fresco and had envisioned Mary clutching a column in terror as the Angel appeared. It was not however to the liking of the friars who insisted that Mary be shown as a meek Virgin, accepting the will of the Lord.  One can redo a fresco,  put on fresh plaster. It is not so easy however to change the capitals carved in stone.

Now,  forty years later, I can envision that moment but can no longer envision  the church itself. My companion at the time was a young man studying to be a priest. Does he remember more than I? They say there were five capitals and that they were never installed. Yet I know I climbed up a ladder to take pictures of istoriated stone capitals and that the church was not very large. A friar had given us permission, had opened the doors for us and that it was early morning with no one else around. Where did this image come from, – perhaps if I could get hold of the young man who helped me at the time?  I suppose memories can play tricks on you and pictures on internet of neither a church in Jerusalem or in Bethlehem look right. Was it a Christmas tour and did we participate in midnight mass on Shepherds’ Field?  Was it cold?  In my mind, I only see the historiated capitals and the sparse grounds around the church. And Michael handing me my camera once I am up on the ladder.

Fleeting memories that may not be real. Illusory. Deceptive. But somehow real.