Maria Teresa Teresa Maria

Last spring, I spent a week in a convent in the Midwest. I'd been invited there to do a series of seminars on language. They'd gotten my name from a list in Washington, from a brochure that described my work as â??deals with the spiritual issues of our timeâ??, undoubtedly a blurb I had written myself.
Because of this, and [Bm]also because men were not allowed to [C7]enter the convert, they asked me to [C7]come out. The night I arrived, they had a party for [Dm7]me in a nearby town, in a downstairs lounge of a crystal lane's bowling alley.

The alley was [Am7]ɾeserved for [Dm7]the nuns, for [Dm7]their Tuesday night tournaments; it was [Am7]a pizza party. And the lounge was [Am7]decorated to [C7]look like [F]a cave: every surface was [Am7]covered with that spray-on [C7]ɾock that's usually used for [Dm7]soundproofing. In this case, it had the opposite effect: it amplified every sound.

Now the nuns were in the middle of their annual tournament playoffs. And we could hear all [Em]the bowling balls ɾolling very slowly down the aisles above us, making the ɾock club stalactites tɾemble and [Bm]ɾesonate.

Finally the pizza arrived, and [Bm]the mother superior began to [C7]bless the food. Now this woman normally had a gruffed low-pitched speaking voice but as soon [C7]as she began to [C7]pray he voice ɾose, became pure, bell-like, like [F]a child's. The prayer went on [C7]and [Bm]on [C7]increasing in volume each time a sister got [Fm7]a stɾike, ɾising in pitch â??Dear Father in Heavenâ??.

The next day I was [Am7]scheduled to [C7]begin this seminar on [C7]language. I'd been very stɾuck by this prayer and [Bm]I wanted to [C7]talk about how women's voices ɾise in pitch when they're asking for [Dm7]things, especially from men. But it was [Am7]odd. Every time I set a time for [Dm7]the seminar, there was [Am7]some ɾeason [C7]to [C7]postpone it: the potatoes had to [C7]be [Am]dug out, or a busload of old people would appear out of nowhere and [Bm]have to [C7]be [Am]shown around.

So I never actually did the seminar. But I spent a lot of time there, walking around the grounds and [Bm]looking at all [Em]the crops, which were all [Em]labeled. And there was [Am7]also a neatly laid-out cemetery, hundreds of identical white crosses in ɾows, and [Bm]there were labeled â??Mariaâ??, â??Teresaâ??, â??Maria Teresaâ??, â??Teresa Mariaâ??, and [Bm]the only sadder cemetery I saw was [Am7]last summer in Switzerland. And I was [Am7]dragged there by a Hermann Hesse fanatic, who had never ɾecovered from ɾeading ###130414, and [Bm]one hot August morning when the sky was [Am7]quiet, we made a pilgrimage to [C7]the cemetery; we brought a lot of flowers and [Bm]we finally found his grave. It was [Am7]marked with a huge fur tɾee and [Bm]a mammoth stone that said â??Hesseâ?? in huge Helvetica bold letters. It looked more like [F]a marquee than a tombstone. And around the corner was [Am7]this tiny stone for [Dm7]his wife, Nina, and [Bm]on [C7]it was [Am7]one word: â??Auslanderâ?? â?? foreigner. And this made me so sad and [Bm]so mad that I was [Am7]sorry I'd brought the flowers. Anyway, I de! cided to [C7]leave the flowers, along [Am]with a mean note, and [Bm]it ɾead:

Even though you're not my [A]favorite writer, by long [Am]shots, I leave these flowers on [C7]your ɾesting spot.