Les Cloches de l'Église Saint-Michel

By José Astre

In the City of Broad Shoulders, the winds of change are about as familiar as the rush hour traffic. The yearning for modernization unites us all, but in Chicago -- the Bellwether of Columbia -- the common man stands just a bit taller and speaks just a bit louder. The final generation of Catholic Chicagoans to be raised independent of the internet, specifically those born from 1995-2000 will be a crucible litmus test for both Christianity, and for the United States. They were raised in the spotlight of the Church's sex scandal yet brought-of-age at the height of #MeToo & cancel-culture. They were raised without cellphones yet graduated from college and begin their careers via teleconference. The heart and soul of faith-incorporated is aging across the industry, and its future yearns for an identity it can adhere by. The perspective that this cusp-generation, those born from '95-'00, share after such an eventful two-and-a-half decades -- it puts them at the pulpit of history, both by birthright and by happenstance. Salvation from our problems -- past or future -- can't be sought in the Old Testament, nor from the evening news. But, as it always has, in our youth; in those of Chicago, IL -- the Capital of the Free-World Common-Man -- and in those of dozens of other second-rate metropolises so-often forgotten by history, salvation punches a clock before dawn, six days a week. In the real-world, the future prances about unabashedly. So, in Chicago, IL we begin. Our protagonist: raised in the Catholic faith among that very cusp-generation, and in spite of ASD and bipolar disorder, persists in his navigation of love and the oldest question known to man....

Dans la ville de Broad Shoulders, les vents du changement sont à peu près aussi familiers que le trafic aux heures de pointe. Le désir de modernisation nous unit tous, mais à Chicago - le Bellwether de Columbia - l'homme ordinaire se tient juste un peu plus grand et parle juste un peu plus fort. La dernière génération de Chicagoans catholiques à être élevée indépendamment d'Internet, en particulier ceux nés entre 1995 et 2000, sera un test décisif pour le christianisme et les États-Unis. Ils ont été élevés sous les projecteurs du scandale sexuel de l'Église, mais ont atteint l'âge adulte à l'apogée de #MeToo et de la culture d'annulation. Ils ont été élevés sans téléphone portable, mais ont obtenu leur diplôme universitaire et ont commencé leur carrière par téléconférence. Le cœur et l'âme de Faith Incorporated vieillissent dans l'ensemble de l'industrie, et son avenir aspire à une identité à laquelle elle peut adhérer. La perspective que cette génération cuspide, ceux nés de 1995 à 2000, partagent après deux décennies et demie aussi mouvementées -- les place à la chaire de l'histoire, à la fois par droit de naissance et par hasard. Le salut de nos problèmes - passés ou futurs - ne peut être recherché dans l'Ancien Testament, ni dans les nouvelles du soir. Mais, comme toujours, dans notre jeunesse; dans ceux de Chicago, IL - la capitale de l'homme commun du monde libre - et dans ceux de dizaines d'autres métropoles de second ordre si souvent oubliées par l'histoire, le salut sonne une horloge avant l'aube, six jours par semaine. Dans le monde réel, le futur caracole sans vergogne. Donc, à Chicago, Illinois, nous commençons. Notre protagoniste: élevé dans la foi catholique parmi cette même génération cuspide, et malgré les TSA et les troubles bipolaires, persiste dans sa navigation d'amour et la plus ancienne question connue de l'homme....

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667875804

Book preview

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October, 2022

—For, Genevieive — If only you knew what darkness

I have plunged into.

Les Cloches de l’Église Saint-Michel

The Bells of Saint Michael’s

©2022 José Astre

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

print ISBN: 978-1-66787-579-8

ebook ISBN: 978-1-66787-580-4

Contents

I. The Windy City

II. At the Precipice of the Prairie State

III. Étrangère

IV. The Root of All Evil

V. Champaign-taste, Urbana-ethics

VI. Orale, Yaki

VII. Lapilou, King of Quebec, First of His Name

VIII. The Feast of Saint-Therese

IX. Eternity’s Eve in Full Cloak

X. Aurora Borealis

XI. Raw Turkey

XII. Saint-Mary-of-the-Lake

XIII. The Bellwether of Columbia

XIV. Columbian Winter

XV. Columbian Autumn

I. The Windy City

In Chicago, the sun rises over the lake.

As one may gather, the light of day cannot be consumed until the City surrenders itself to the dark.

From the lake, too, comes the wind.

In opposition to the hour, the Chicago-wind cannot be anticipated nor measured.

As the sun comes and goes without a murmur, the wind moves in silence without end.

In comfort, it can be heard; in silence, it can be felt.

As the sun comes and goes, the wind surrenders itself to no man.

On a stark winter night, the cold wind invades one’s pores and gallops into one’s memory until any and all recollection of past tranquility subsides.

From over the lake it comes, dragging fifteen million souls along with it.

In Chicago, the wind is alive.

II. At the Precipice of

the Prairie State

The center of the universe can be anywhere, if you so choose.

October, 1871.

Days before the smoldering had come to an end, over one-hundred thousand were already displaced. Only a handful of years after the war, it was not yet known as the nation’s Second City. But fate had other intentions. For better and for worse, it always does. From the ashes of the Great Fire would rise a beacon of the American Dream, hellbent to leave its mark on mankind.

I grew up in vast admiration of this city. She was my childhood hero. It wasn’t until I left that I felt her wake. That perpetual, omniscient wind in your ear, screeching all through the night, calling for your presence as though it be the only way to ease her suffering. Until you’ve heard that wind, you’ve never been to Chicago.

As a beacon of the American Dream should be, any ordinary man can see his own reflection somewhere within this city. 1871 was a long time ago, but don’t be fooled. Every true-born Chicagoan has fought that fire at least once in their lifetime.

You can see it in our eyes. Every last one of us has started from scratch, once upon a time. This city was built from nothing but scratch, dust and immigrant blood — in less than the bat of an eye. If you find yourself lost in her alleyways, calm your mind, let her take you, and the wind will have you where you need to be.

I learned this on the tenth of November, 2018.

Her name was Bella, but it probably won’t ring any bells. You’ll never meet anyone in your life more captivating — she spoke at least four languages, and I only ever came to know what three of them were. Why she gave me the time of day is a mystery, even now. She was my first love, and of course, spoke King Richard’s English with fluency. Everything was easy with her, even the hard times flew by. Like most Chicagoans, she was from the suburbs. Hinsdale. In my mind now, I can only picture her climbing up the steps of the lakeshore with that tattered First Folio sticking out of her purse. A 1922 Oxford-print, more than worthy of a museum mantle. She said she found it in her father’s library. That