Lettres à un indifférent

In the quiet of a Belgian Benedictine refuge, a weary traveler finds an unexpected companion in a young monk named Maurice. Though surrounded by prayer and routine, Maurice carries only a battered copy of Dante, dissecting its verses with a sharp, literary eye while keeping his own thoughts tightly sealed. Their daily encounters—over meals, in chapel aisles, and during a brief car ride to the nearby abbey—spark a subtle tension between curiosity and restraint.

As the narrator’s stay lengthens, the two men share a tentative friendship, each letter and conversation revealing fragments of a life lived behind fortified walls. Maurice’s occasional offers—guiding the visitor to Maredsous, suggesting a ride to the train—hint at a deeper desire to connect, yet he remains guarded, as if protecting a wound that could bleed at any careless touch. The correspondence that follows becomes a delicate dance of intellect, faith, and the yearning to glimpse the soul hidden behind the monk’s carefully built palisades.