Chapter 1

Jesus asked me to start the Last Judgment, reverend abbot. His exact words were, “Paul, I want you to announce to the world who can enter the Kingdom of God and who is excluded.” I told him, “Only you can judge the living and the dead.” Jesus said, “Tell what you know and you become me.” I said, “I don’t want to be you.” He said, “Haven’t you always dreamed of telling the Final Story, Paul?” I said, “I will never tell the Final Story if it means starting the Last Judgment.”
    Then you know what I did? I told Maria Perez, the love of my life. That was Tuesday. Yesterday, I came this close to telling my friend, Ben Sachs, when he laughed and said there was no Last Judgment. And I wanted to tell John Clay before he made my appointment with you, reverend abbot.
    Do you think I came to your monastery because I’m strong? I came because I am weak, because I can’t trust myself to keep my mouth shut without help. I came because you and your monks follow a strict rule of silence. I can’t start the Last Judgment if I’m forbidden to speak, can I?
    Still, I almost didn’t come. When I boarded my flight in New York yesterday, I believed coming here was the only thing to do. By the time the plane landed, I had serious doubts. I turned my rental car around four times.
    Please, don’t misunderstand. Your reputation for hospitality is the finest. From the moment I arrived, the warmth of your greeting made me feel I am among friends.
    And, please, don’t think my reluctance was a reflection on your monastery. What a sanctuary. I got up with the monks before dawn to hear them sing the Gregorian Chant. It could have been the ninth century. I saw hooded monks illuminated only by candlelight as they sang, Vidimus stellam eius in Oriente. Medieval song mixed with the scent of beeswax to become a balm for my lost soul.
    I’m getting to the point. I almost didn’t come because I was afraid you would ask me to tell you what I know before admitting me to your cloister. Prove my fear unfounded. Welcome me with open arms, no questions asked.
    How can you refuse me? Didn’t Jesus say, “Knock and it shall be open unto you?” What? Everyone who seeks to join your monastery must first unburden himself?
    But I cannot confide my troubles without telling you what I know, and that defeats my purpose in coming. Can’t you drop the requirement in my case? After all, I am Paul Genet, winner of the Seminal Prize for Literature. It’s not as if I were someone off the street.
    I’m sorry, reverend abbot, I mean no disrespect. I don’t want to set myself above the others, but I am a special case. Yes, I do understand that one exception can undermine discipline, but no person should hear from the lips of another what I have to tell. Don’t you see it is in everyone’s
best interests that I keep what I know to myself? Look, I’m on my knees.
    Is there nothing I can do to change your mind? I will become the humblest of the humble and scrub the latrines, clean the grease traps in the kitchen, and spread manure across the fields by hand—every day. Observe. I drop from my knees onto the cold, stone floor and lie before you in complete supplication.
    I’ve never met anyone as hard as you. At least grant me one small favor. Promise not to breathe a word of this to anyone. Why the need for secrecy if I’ve already told Maria Perez? Because, reverend abbot, after you learn what I know, you will be the only one besides me who can start the Last Judgment. Maria’s dead.

Chapter 2