Cathedral of the Sea

The three of them peered at the rear of the church, where the ten columns stood: eight of them in a semicircle and two more farther back. Beyond them, workmen had started to build the buttresses and walls that would form the new apse. The columns rose higher than the small Romanesque building, but the scaffolding went on up still farther into the sky. It was not surrounding anything, as though the workmen had gone crazy and were trying to make a stairway to heaven.

“I’ve no idea,” Angel admitted.

“None of that scaffolding is supporting anything.”

“No, but it will,” they suddenly heard a man’s firm voice say.

The three of them turned round. They had been so busy laughing and coughing they had not noticed that several men had gathered behind them. Some of them were dressed in fine clothes; others wore priests’ vestments, enriched with bejeweled gold crosses on their chests, big rings, and belts threaded with gold and silver.

Father Albert was watching from the church door. He came hurrying over to greet the newcomers. Angel leapt up, and choked once more on his bread. This was not the first time he had seen the man who had spoken to them, but he had rarely seen him in such splendid company. He was Berenguer de Montagut, the person in charge of the building work on Santa Maria de la Mar.

Arnau and Joanet also stood up. Father Albert joined the group, and bent to kiss the bishops’ rings.

“What will they support?”

Joanet’s question caught Father Albert just as he was stooping to kiss another ring: “Don’t speak until you’re spoken to,” his eyes implored him. One of the provosts made as though to continue on toward the church, but Berenguer de Montagut grasped Joanet by the shoulder and leaned down to talk to him.

“Children are often able to see things we miss,” he said out loud to his companions. “So I would not be surprised if these three have noticed something that has escaped our attention. So you want to know why we’re building this scaffolding, do you?” Glancing toward Father Albert for permission, Joanet nodded. “Do you see the tops of those columns? Well, from the top of each of them we are going to build six arches. The most important one of all will be the one that takes the weight of the new church’s apse.”

“What is an apse?” asked Arnau.

Berenguer smiled and looked round. Some of the group with him seemed as anxious to hear his explanation as the boys were.

“An apse is something like this.” The master builder joined his hands together in an arch. The children were fascinated by his magic hands, and others in the group crowded forward to see. “Well, on top of all the rest,” he said, separating one hand and pointing to the tip of the other first finger, “we put a big stone called the keystone. To do that we first have to raise it to the very highest scaffolding—right up there, can you see?” They all peered up at the sky. “Once that is in place, we’ll build the rib vaults of these arches until they meet the keystone. And that is why we need such tall scaffolding.”

“Why are you doing all that?” Arnau wanted to know. Poor Father Albert gave a start, although by now he was growing used to the boys’ questions and comments. “None of this will be visible from inside the church, because it’s all above the roof.”

Berenguer and a few of the others laughed. Father Albert sighed.

“Of course it will be visible, my boy, because the roof of the present church will gradually disappear as we build the new structure. It will be as though this tiny church were giving birth to another, bigger one.”

Joanet’s obvious disappointment unsettled him. The boy had become accustomed to the small church’s sense of intimacy, to its smell, its darkness, the atmosphere there when he prayed.

“Do you love the Virgin of the Sea?” Berenguer asked him.

Joanet glanced at Arnau. They both nodded.

“Well, when we have finished her new church, the Virgin you love so much will have more light than any other Virgin in the world. She will no longer be in darkness as she is now. She’ll have the most beautiful church you could ever imagine. She won’t be shut in by thick, low walls, but will shine among tall, delicate ones, with slender columns and apses that reach up to the heavens: the perfect place for the Virgin.”

They all looked up at the sky.

“Yes,” Berenguer de Montagut went on, “the Virgin of the Sea’s new church will reach right up there.”

He and his companions set off toward Santa Maria, leaving Father Albert and the boys behind.

“Father,” Arnau asked when the others were out of earshot, “what will happen to the Virgin when they take down the old building, but haven’t finished her new church yet?”