Anxiety and Faith

A warm bar of morning sun peeked through the shutters, alighting on my face and stirring me awake. I suppressed a yawn, rolled out of bed, and shuffled my way into the kitchen.

Resé busied herself making pottage for breakfast, as she did everyday. I was finally tall enough to peer into the cast iron pot she hung over the open-flame stove, so I watched the thick mixture bubble as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

“You’re up early,” she said, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. “Come give mommy a hug.”

I nodded once, and let my mother embrace me. She smelled like cinnamon and raw flour, and the gentle way she stroked my hair set me at ease.

“Today is the day,” she whispered. “You are finally old enough to receive a name.”

I wrapped my arms around her waist, then pressed my ear to her pregnant belly, listening. “The baby is sleeping,” I concluded when I could not hear anything. Resé laughed, and let go of me.

“Are you nervous?” She asked, catching my topic change. “There is no reason to be.”

I was almost five and a half years old, but I had never left our property before. Our home abutted a cropfield on the fringes of a small, unnamed village, and everyday I explored our modest lands, but this would be the first time I went into town.

I wonder if I will receive a name as well? Melana said, a teasing edge to her tone.

Do you want one? I asked.

She was silent for a time, before speaking up once more. I don’t know. I do not feel connected to the religious rites of this world whatsoever, but… I feel as if I am being left behind.

You worry too much. How can you be left behind when we’re stuck together?

The front door rattled open in the next room, and Gero called out. “Son, come here for a moment.”

I looked up at Resé, and she gave me a smiling nod. “Go on, don’t make him wait.”

Gero looked healthier than he had in years. He gave up drinking when my mother became pregnant for a second time, and his attitude shifted. Gone was the selfish and churlish man I had known, replaced by a softer version of himself. He still had a temper, but the adage that time heals all wounds seemed to be true for him.

“I’m here, papa,” I said, peeking around the corner. He beckoned me closer, and ruffled my hair with his left hand, then knelt beside me.

“I brought you a Naming Day gift,” he said, and presented me with a package. It was a box, wrapped in simple brown paper—a hefty expense in a world where paper was a rarity.

“May I open it?”

“You may,” he said.

I tore open the parcel to reveal a set of white robes. “What is it?” I asked.

“Clothes for your Naming Day,” my father explained. “It is customary to wear white in the church.”

I studied the robe. The cloth was soft and supple, just thick enough to be weighty but still flexible. And it was as white as driven snow, a purity I had never seen in this world. “It’s so pretty.”

“Indeed, and it is all yours. Make sure to be careful with it, that cloth will stain easily.” Gero mussed my hair again, then idled his way into the kitchen. I could hear him kissing Resé, and she laughed like the tinkling of a wind chime.

You really love them, don’t you? Melana asked.

I do. In some way, I wonder if my mind hasn’t regressed to be more child-like. But I’m not sure I really have a choice in the matter anyway. Oxytocin is a powerful enabler, after all.

Oh please, you’re just a big softy, Melana said, and I felt her soul circle mine like a curious animal. So, you gonna try it on?

I thought about it for a moment, then folded the robe and closed the box. Better not, I don’t want to get breakfast all over it.

Boo. I bet you’d look nice in it. Mommy might even pay you a compliment, she teased.

My face reddened, and I cleared my throat to distract myself from the thought.

*****

Gero hoisted me onto his shoulders, and carried me through the village, one hand holding me steady while the other interlocked with mother’s. It was quaint, with little homes that reminded me of a Bavarian town, and wide unpaved streets.

Several children were present at the doors to the church building, each one coping with the anxiety of the day in their own ways. One boy, shorter and broader of shoulder than me, boasted about how his father expected a great name from him. Another child, a girl with a timid demeanor, whiled away her time apart from the group, mumbling something to herself. In all there were eight kids, nine including myself.

The church itself was grand, with two imposing towers straddling a vaulted roof. The facade was carved with intricate friezes, each depicting a different era from the history of the faith. Compared to the rest of the village, it felt out of place.

I wonder where the funds for such a building came from, Melana said.

“Alright son, your mother and I have to leave you here,” Gero said, lifting me off his shoulders and placing me on the hard-packed dirt road.

“You can’t stay?” I asked, anxiety touching the edges of my voice. In five and a half years, I had never been apart from my parents for more than a few minutes, and that was only when I played outside. I also had no friends, in large part because our home was isolated from the rest of the village.

“Fret not,” Resé said, kneeling in front of me so that we were at eye level with one another. “I know it can be scary, but I promise it will be alright. Your father and I will be in the transept praying while you kids receive your blessings. Once it’s all finished, we can go home and we’ll have a big party to celebrate.”

“Will grandmother be there?” I asked.

Resé smiled, and cupped my cheek. “She will be. And you’ll get to meet your aunt Cindé and her new husband, as well.”

I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. There is nothing to be afraid of. I am a grown adult on the inside, I can handle whatever they throw at me. The unease lingered, but my raging emotions settled. I opened my eyes, and smiled up at my mother.

“Then, I will be okay,” I said.

You really do seem more child-like. Are you ready? Melana asked. I faced the church, and nodded once.