Teresa, My Love: An Imagined Life of the Saint of Avila

TERESA, gaily. Wrong, my girl, it’s not the alguaciles but the commotion stirred up by the Vejamen, that some will call my Satirical Critique! (Smiling.) You know, that mock-colloquium, remember? That parody of a homage rendered to me by Julián de Ávila, Francisco de Salcedo, my brother Lorenzo, and John of the Cross himself, in the parlor at Saint Joseph’s, before a rapt audience of sisters.…(Broadening grin.) We’re going to have more fun before I take my final leave, come along, cheer up.…(Mock-serious expression.) Bishop Álvaro de Mendoza had requested them to send me their thoughts upon that edifying instruction I received from the Lord one day of grace in prayer: “Seek yourself in Me.” (Stops smiling.) The gentlemen’s muddled remarks were positively comic: it still tickles me to think of their precious colloquium and my own barbs in response! (Smiling again; the faithful nurses can’t hear the words, and can only imagine what’s passing through her mind.) Good Lord, I had no idea at the time — five years ago, it must be — that one’s dying agonies could also be a sort of satirical critique. Yes, indeed, a teasing yet gracious exchange with others very similar to my progress toward God, as you’d confirm, my daughters, would you not?…I’m much obliged. (Normal voice, fast.) Who mentioned Hell? Not I. Nor Heaven, of course, not even Purgatory, it’s nothing but a vejamen, believe me. (Coughing, tears.) Because I don’t know who I am, but I know that in seeking myself in the Other within me, I am a double self. I should add that those are Montaigne’s terms, the expression of a writer who is younger than me and not precisely on my side, as will soon be a matter of public record. “And there is as much difference between us and ourselves as there is between us and other people.”⁵¹ Yet that man is not so far from me, I assure you.…Will anyone have the insight to notice?…Too bad…I am double, I say, and uncertain, endlessly seeking myself; but not shy or distraught, and with good reason! Because the Me in which the Lord invites me to seek myself (“Seek yourself in Me”), the Lord’s Me, the Other Me, is nothing less than recollected deep inside of me, for God’s sake!

Teresa is wearing her teasing smile again. Her attendants read it as ecstasy, as though La Madre were practically knocking on Heaven’s door.

TERESA, waving her arms. So I loosed a volley of grapeshot in the direction of those fine, chin-stroking gentlemen, though leavened needless to say by my customary pinch of amused affection. (Wrinkled nose.) It was aimed at John of the Cross first and foremost, since the dear friar had contributed the longest commentary of all, as befits a highbrow scholar from Salamanca. (Lips.) What’s more he was addressing me, a poor unlettered woman, the way the Jesuits always do, with such haughty condescension…such.…Oh, you know. (Lips again.) Between strict paternalists and patronizing persecutors, no contest! I’ve never hesitated for a moment, do you hear me, girls? (Wavering voice.) A tenderly strict paternalist is indispensable, and will be needed for a long time to come, mark my words. (Does this please or frighten her? Looks up and straight ahead.)

The dying nun continues to argue in her head with John. He is the only one at her side during these final instants before the Other.

TERESA, reading, fast. Why seek God as if we were dead, or when we are dead, my little Seneca? And why do you do no more than seek, unremittingly, wearing yourself out with it? While always claiming that there’s nothing more to question? Why, let’s rejoice, now that the Word has been revealed! The Sulamitess was good at bliss, even though she was always chasing after her elusive Spouse.…In the union I obtained by means of prayer, God’s grace bestowed on the soul means that the soul has found Him, once and for all. (Deep breath. Open palms stretched upward.) His actual presence actually inhabits me inside…since how long ago? As long as I’m alive I seek, but I seek inside me, because I’ve already found Him. I’ve said yes to the Other in me, and His Voice knows it. He is in me, I am Him, I am she who says yes. A woman called Molly Bloom will do likewise, more drolly. Did Joyce, a Catholic Irishman, think of me when he set that scene in the Spanish landscape of Gibraltar? (Pause. Stares at the flame. Closes eyes. Brief rest.)