Two days before her 34th birthday, Caroline Geraint - Cigi to her friends - threw open the windows of her apartment.  Though the view was only three stories high, she was able to look down on the streets of Vienna below and across the rooftops of several buildings across, and she soaked it in.  For a moment she breathed in the crisp spring air.  But just for a moment.  Mindful that she was clad only in her bra and panties, Cigi retreated.  She moved over to her bed, from which she could still gaze out the generously sized window, and lay down.  

The bed was comfortable enough, especially considering it was part of the furniture that had been included when she rented the modest flat some months ago.  The place was nothing particularly fancy but it served her needs exceptionally well.  The neighbors were quiet and, with the exception of the church bells which rung at regular intervals, there was little ambient noise from the streets below.  She could be alone here quite comfortably without feeling altogether isolated.

The cool air that breezed in was making the gossamer curtains billow gently, and the sight enchanted Cigi as she lay gazing at it mindlessly.  The breeze wafted over to where she lay and her exposed skin considered whether or not it should make the effort to form goose bumps.  After a moment of adjustment, her body had made a decision.  With the vestigial reflex confined, Cigi was able to close her eyes and contemplate the universe.

Further relaxed by the darkness behind her eyelids, Cigi imagined how she must look.  In her mind's eye she could see her body from a safe position in the upper recess of the coved ceiling in her bedroom.  Her imagination had become excellent of late.  She could see herself well despite the only available light being the dim cast as the day dwindled to night and filtered through the open window.

She admired her body, which she had kept in excellent form over the years.  Still sexy enough to attract a man, if she had so desired, and she was proud of what she saw.  Despite a natural inclination to slenderness, Cigi had feared a rich Viennese diet might take its toll on her lithe proportions.  In as much as it had not, she delighted, but it pleased her more to know that it didn't matter.  She didn't want or need the complications of another man in her life.  She hastened away from that thought.  It wasn't where her mind wanted to go.

Cigi allowed her mind to withdraw from its safe perch in the corner of her room.  She withdrew further, retreating into the cosmos, watching the image of her body grow smaller and smaller as she went.  From that safe distance her coprporal form was reduced to a small and insignificant blip on the plant.  A speck in the larger universe.  It was an enjoyable perspective, she found.  Perhaps way too much.  She was thinking she might return to this point again some time.  The moment, however, did not allow her time to ponder if the indulgence might be healthy.  For in a split second her vision changed.  She saw a nuclear bomb dropping through the sky, dailing through bursts of clear blue and clouds, down to the Earth and detonating - right in the middle of the Mariahilferstrasse.

Dammit! She thought, coming back to her senses.  Why was it that her delightful meditations were always so rudely intruded upon like that?  Cigi supposed it was some latent part of her brain calling a halt to what it perceived as nonsense.  She wondered if it was her mind's own, if rather dramatic, way of telling herself that there were more important matters she needed to address.  There were certainly, she considered, be more gentle ways of getting snapped out of such reverie.  But how did she explain that to herself?  Alas, a matter for Freud and his ilk.  As she slipped on a pair of jeans Cigi bade her subconscious to use a a little more gentle imagery in the future.  The quick yank back to Earth sometimes left her with a headache, and she headed for the kitchen where the aspirin was kept.

The Padre looked down at the bundle in his arms. The woman who had thrust it upon him had managed to genuflect and flee in an instant. He hadn't known her, so it was doubtful she came from the local village. But he knew her kind. Prideful enough that what she was had done did not come easy, but desperate and terrified all the same. He had seen women like her many times before, and knew this would be far from the last visitation of this type in his future.

The bundle wiggled.

With a sigh, he began making his way toward the nursery. A tiny squeak emanated from the folds of his parcel.

Soon enough, he thought, willing the sound's source to silence for the duration of the stroll. Still, the Padre knew better and was not altogether unprepared when another sound issued forth. He was, however, compelled to stop in his tracks. The noise had sounded less like a cry and ever so slightly like his name.

He had almost forgotten his name. He was simply Padre to all in this forlorn outpost that passed for a parish. There had been a brief time when he had been dubbed Hermano by the locals. This served only to distinguish him from the Padre for whom he had barely arrived in time to administer Last Rights. The old priest had hung on for just under a week before passing to his reward. He didn't know how long the old man had served in this inhospitable, remote, and lonely outpost in the Pyrenees. The land had been claimed by Navarre, then Castile, but the people largely regarded themselves as a nation apart from Spain. Though the Padre had eventually become sufficiently acquainted with their tongue, the church operated in Spanish and Latin. Orphans, like the bundle in his arms, were raised to speak proper Spanish but were completely conversant in the local dialect. The children, like everyone else, simply called him Padre.

The infant's burble, so very close to his name, piqued his curiosity. In spite of the crispness in the morning air, he gently drew back the thin blanket. Perhaps the moment, unfolding as it had, colored his perceptions but the Padre felt certain that the gaze which met his was something akin to angelic.

Large, warm, brown eyes set in a face seemingly chiseled from alabaster met and seemed to return the Padre's regard. Quiet now, the child possessed an aura of calm and composure unusual to his experience with infants. The babe turned its head, covered in chocolate brown curls, from one side to the next, appearing to take in its new surroundings. Rather than startling at the unfamiliar embrace in which the child now found itself, the moment was taken in with an uncommon grace.

He covered the infant once again and proceeded with a sense of urgency to the children's dormitory where the Sisters hurriedly relieved him of the child. Though a child always represented the challenge of a new mouth to feed, they never ceased to delight at the sight of an infant. And on this occasion they did not falter. With smiles and coos, the child was swept up and laid out on a table for examination. They needed to know what they had to work with, and give the child a name.

She proved to be a perfect specimen. Ten fingers, ten toes, and apparently well-fed, the Sisters guessed her age to be about 10 days. Someone remarked that it must have been hard for a mother to give up a healthy, seemingly placid, and beautiful, baby. Padre contemplated that for a moment, but left his thoughts at once when talk turned to what they would call the child.

Typically, the Padre left that to the Sisters. They regularly blessed the children with names of saints and martyrs as the occasion seemed to fit, but on this occasion Padre took control.

"Gracia," he said, moving over to where the child lay. Looking down on her, he marveled that she appeared to, again, meet and return his regard. Without question, the name suited the child. She was the exemplification of the Lord's grace.

"She will be Gracia," he repeated the name. None of the Sisters questioned him.

*****

Pulling closed the foyer door as she exited the building, Cigi decided that Chinese sounded good for dinner and headed toward the cafe on the corner near her building. While waiting for her order, she gazed up at the ceiling and amused herself with thoughts about her days.  She was beginning to really savor Vienne now that she had been here a while.  What had begun as a post-divorce flight from the world was rapidly becoming much less so.  It had morphed into an adventure, and she was starting to like it.  The stress of her divorce from Ted had been soul crushing, but the end - thanks to a great lawyer and the upper-hand in an ugly situation, had at least been profitiable.  Negotiations had taken a polite twist as she traded on what would have been her public humiliation.  Ted was going to take a hit, but he would make more money, and the new found wealth enabled her to make an escape that would survive any scandal in her wake.  

Searching for a job abroad had slaked her thirst for escape and given her delightful fantasies about living in Paris, Florence, and other delicious destinations.  When the Stress became near unbearable, she applied to several and as the court dated neared she accepted an offer to serve as liaison for HR and training at the headquarters for an American company based in Vienna.  Her HR background with the cozy nonprofit where she had worked for years put her in good standing for the post, but Cigi also knew that the post had been diffidult to fill because it was only part-time.  People wanted to work abroad but they needed to be paid full time in order to sustain themselves in the expensive European economy.  She dared not full herself into believing she had trounced any number of competitive candidates to score the job.  

But the job was hers and four weeks after her divorce was final she landed in Vienna.  Even if she could afford it, staying in a hotel was not going to suit her long term.  The third floor walk up in a modest working class area afforded her just enough subterfuge - so no one would ask how she could afford to live otherwise - was comfortable and life in the Ottakring had kept her grounded.  Families.  People bustling by with their day's shopping.  The church calling the faithful at regular intervals.  A small park nearby, and the Ubahn just a few blocks from her door.  It wasn't a bad place in terms of location - her co-workers didn't sneer.