Page 368 - A Little Life: A Novel

care of everything—all he needed to do was be a good boy, and study hard,
and not cause any problems. And, most important, say nothing. If they
found out what they were doing, Brother Luke said, then he would be sent

away, away from the monastery, to make his way on his own, and Brother
Luke wouldn’t be able to help him then. He promised.
The next two months were terrible and wonderful at the same time.
Terrible because they passed so slowly. Wonderful because he had a secret,
one that made his life better, because it meant his life in the monastery had
an end. Every day he woke up eager, because it meant he was one day
closer to being with Brother Luke. Every time one of the brothers was with

him, he would remember that soon he would be far away from them, and it
would be a little less bad. Every time he was beaten or yelled at, he would
imagine himself in the cabin, and it would give him the fortitude—a word
Brother Luke had taught him—to withstand it.
He had begged Brother Luke to let him help with the preparations, and
Brother Luke had told him to gather a sample of every flower and leaf from

all the different kinds of plants on the monastery grounds. And so in the
afternoons he prowled the property with his Bible, pressing leaves and
petals between its pages. He spent less time in the greenhouse, but
whenever he saw Luke, the brother would give him one of his somber
winks, and he would smile to himself, their secret something warm and
delicious.
The night finally arrived, and he was nervous. Brother Matthew was with

him in the early evening, right after dinner, but eventually he left, and he
was alone. And then there was Brother Luke, holding his finger pressed to
his lips, and he nodded. He helped Luke load his books and underwear into
the paper bag he held open, and then they were tiptoeing down the hallway,
and down the stairs, and then through the darkened building and into the
night.

“There’s just a short walk to the car,” Luke whispered to him, and then,
when he stopped, “Jude, what’s wrong?”
“My bag,” he said, “my bag from the greenhouse.”
And then Luke smiled his kind smile, and put his hand on his head. “I put
it in the car already,” he said, and he smiled back, so grateful to Luke for
remembering.
The air was cold, but he hardly noticed. On and on they walked, down

the monastery’s long graveled driveway, and past the wooden gates, and up