The Terebinth Tree

Lightning cut a jagged swath through the break in the center of the drawn draperies and lit up the cluttered living room. It was followed by a crack of thunder and the splatter of rain against the windows. These elements added to the theatrical but tense atmosphere of the impending exorcism. The setting was that of a film noir mystery movie, Caroline Romanov thought, sitting to the right of her goddaughter Mary Montaigne. Her attention was fastened on Mary wringing her hands in agitation. The young woman’s jaw worked spasmodically and lurking in her pale blue eyes was the look of a trapped animal.

“Now don’t be afraid, my child. Soon all your fears will be gone and you’ll sleep like you did when you were my devochka, da?” Her grandmother Olga still lapsed into Russian during stressful moments.

Mary nodded obediently, but a nervous tic and frantic expression clearly indicated that she did not believe a single word. Panic, that frightening, inchoate terror, struck more and more often of late, causing her to want to flee although from what and to where she did not know. The churning inside Mary’s midsection and dizziness in her brain never let her get beyond that part to figure things out. Her feet shifted restlessly and her gaze darted from one to another in the room.

Father Alexei lit all seven candles in the candelabra on the concert grand piano. Caroline could hear the clinking of the chains in Father Alexei’s hand-held pot of incense as he censed every object, person and corner of the room, praying almost inaudibly but intensely. “Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us …”