Page 102 of The Grey Wolf
“I remember the last time we left,” said Jean-Guy quietly.
“So do I.”
“I was so angry.”
Armand looked over to the rugged shoreline and the trees that clung to it, then his eyes came to rest on Jean-Guy.
“So was I.”
Jean-Guy turned to him. “You were? You never told me.”
Armand nodded. “When you made your choice, and I watched you leave without me, I was so angry I could barely breathe. Not at you. But at…” Armand didn’t say the name. Didn’t have to. “Dom Philippe could see my rage. That’s when he explained where this place got its name.”
“To distract you?”
“Non.To help me make my choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were right, Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups is an unusual name for a monastery, to say the least. And it comes from an unusual, even unorthodox source.
“When the Gilbertines fled the Inquisition, they ran all the way to the New World. And still they kept going. Until they finally stopped. Here.” His eyes shifted to the vast forest. “In the middle of what seemed wilderness but turned out to be much more civilized than where they’d come from. The people here, the Cree, welcomed them. Helped them.”
“Bet they regretted that.”
“Actually, as it turns out, it was one of the few examples of peaceful coexistence. It helped that the Gilbertines had no sense of entitlement or need to convert. After the horrors of the Inquisition, they just wanted to live in peace and be left alone. Over time the monks learned the local language. They learned the customs and beliefs of the Cree and were taught how to survive. The Abbot and the Chief discovered an unexpected friendship. One day, while visiting the monks, the Cree Chief asked why they were there. The Abbot explained that they had been chased out of their home. Some killed, burned at the stake, others tortured and imprisoned. By those meant to be their spiritual family, their fellowfrèresandpères. The Gilbertines who were left escaped. It was clear that the Abbot had brought his rage with him, and with each visit, as more details came out, his anger grew. His rage, while understandable, was threatening to destroy not just him but the new life they were creating. No place is safe if built on a foundation of hatred.”
Listening to this, Jean-Guy became very still. He watched the Chief and could barely believe that this man had been the focus of his own hatred.
Sensing the scrutiny, Armand turned and looked at him with such tenderness it made Jean-Guy’s eyes burn.
“You’re not alone,” said Armand quietly. “I felt the same way. As I stood on this very spot and watched you leave, I could feel hatredgrowing. Changing me, consuming me. Dom Philippe knew exactly what I was feeling. That’s why he was telling me the story.”
Armand gestured toward a point of land.
“One evening, as they sat by a fire on the shore over there, the Cree elder told the Abbot something that had happened to him when he was a child. His grandfather, the Chief at the time, told the boy that he had two wolves at war inside him, tearing at his insides. One of them, a grey wolf, wanted the old man to be strong and compassionate. Wise and courageous enough to be forgiving. The other, a black wolf, wanted him to be vengeful. To forget no wrong. To forgive no slight. To attack first. To be cruel and cunning and brutal to friends and enemies alike. To spare no one. Hearing this from his grandfather terrified the child. He ran away. It took a few days before he dared approach the old man again. When he did, he asked his grandfather, ‘Which wolf will win, the grey or the black?’”
Armand was now watching Jean-Guy. It was as though they were the first, last, and only people on earth. “His grandfather said, ‘The one that I feed.’”
Jean-Guy exhaled, then dropped his head, staring at the sparkling water at his feet. After taking a deep breath, he nodded and looked up at Armand.
“Saint Gilbert Between the Wolves.”
“We all have them, inside. Best to acknowledge that. Only then can we choose which one we feed.” Armand turned and looked out across the mirror lake. “There’s a huge black wolf out there, Jean-Guy. Has been for a while. Feeding on rage, on the need for power. Spreading fear and hatred. Infecting the frightened and vulnerable. Convincing them to do the unthinkable.”
“We need to find him. We need to stop him,” said Jean-Guy.
“Or her,” said Armand, even as he saw his own black wolf lift its head. “But there’s also a grey wolf. We need to find him too.”
Jean-Guy considered before saying what he was thinking. But finally, he spoke.
“Are we so sure which is which,patron?”
As the plane banked to make its way back to Montréal, with Jean-Guy muttering prayers and Frère Simon muttering curses in the back seat, Armand looked down at the water. But in his mind, he saw the monks of Saint-Gilbert watching them leave, their black robes fluttering lightly in the soft breeze.
CHAPTER23
Isabelle Lacoste met the plane and was talking even before they’d gotten out.
