Vigil

by Cecilia Samartin

  In the distance, I often heard the wail of an ambulance or a police car siren, and the rumble of traffic, but by the time these sounds reached over the wall through the garden and into our cloistered life, they were softened to a mere suggestion. It was nothing but a faint reminder of the chaotic world outside the convent walls and nothing to worry about. Infinitely more disturbing was the barking of Sister Olivia’s little dog, Muffin. Muffin was a toy poodle the color of clarified butter, and for some reason she didn’t bark at squirrels or cats. She barked only when men entered the convent, and she didn’t stop barking until they left. The other novices and I sometimes joked about how Sister Olivia had managed to train her little dog to be frightened of men.

  Whenever we would hear Muffin’s yapping, we knew that at least one boy or man was somewhere on the grounds. On Wednesday afternoons we always assumed it was the gardeners, but at other times we’d pause in our chores and wonder who it might be and how long he’d stay. The week the Franciscan seminarians arrived for their yearly retreat, Muffin was so upset by such an overwhelming masculine presence that she wouldn’t stop growling and snarling. Eventually, she had to be shut away in Sister Olivia’s room because even the most patient of the sisters became annoyed.

  The seminarians were about my age, between eighteen and twenty-four, and I often watched them file into the chapel from the kitchen window as I peeled the potatoes and carrots they would be having for their lunch. Some were short and squat, and others were quite tall with broad and muscular shoulders like field hands. They walked swiftly, looking more like soldiers than priests, and I wondered how education could temper this seemingly masculine and ungodly energy, and how many would actually allow themselves to be tamed.

  One afternoon as I watched them, the girl working next to me said, “Excuse me, Sister, but if you continue to peel away at that potato, you’ll have nothing left.” I stopped and looked down to see that I’d whittled the potato down to the size of my thumb. I blushed, and as I continued to work I was careful not to look out the window at all, not even a peek.

  As I approached the second year of my novitiate, I was relieved from my duties in the kitchen and reassigned to the less agreeable cleaning detail, but I didn’t mind, because I was given the additional responsibility of looking after the children at the Blessed Mother preschool. I didn’t think I’d love it as much as I did. The playful and innocent energy of the toddlers was contagious, and I spent most of the day laughing. When the mothers came to pick them up at the end of the day, I described their children’s antics, highlighting how clever they were and how distinct their personalities.

  “You have a gift, Sister,” they’d say. “It seems that you know our children even better than we do.”

  I colored upon hearing this. We were not encouraged to indulge ourselves with too many compliments. “A mother always knows her child best,” I replied with a bow of my head.

  “But my son responds to you much better than he does to me. When you speak to him he actually listens,” she replied.

  Another mother added, “What is your secret, Sister? Tell us so that we can try it at home.”

  “I don’t have any secrets,” I replied. To me it was very simple. I enjoyed playing with the children and they enjoyed playing with me. If they broke a rule or were unkind with another child or a staff person, I would gently remind them of the rules and praise them when they behaved properly. It was never more complicated or mysterious than that.

  “Please advise us, Sister. How can we get our children to be more obedient?”

  “I’m not sure what to advise,” I said, uncomfortable in the role of expert.

  “Oh, you must have some advice,” they said, gathering round.

  I strained to come up with something, and finally what came to me was this. “I suppose that there is great power in gentleness,” I said.

  At first they didn’t seem to understand my meaning, and then their eyes softened with wonder.

  One woman said, “That makes sense to me, although I can’t tell you why.”

  Another asked, “Do you think this gentle approach would work with our husbands as well?”

  The woman standing next to her said, with a smug smile, “I doubt it, Paula, your husband’s probably more difficult to manage than your son.” And we all laughed.

  On most afternoons you could find me standing in the parking lot surrounded by a circle of young mothers as they talked about their lives and their troubles. I was surprised by how similar these modern women were to the simple women I’d known in my village. And the problems they had with their men were similar too. A few even confided privately that their husbands were engaged in extramarital affairs. When they asked me what I thought about this, I didn’t hesitate to offer an opinion. “Men are born with one foot on the road to corruption,” I said. “And trying to change them is even more difficult than enduring them.”

  There were no smiles following this sober declaration, and one woman asked, “Then what is the answer?”

  It felt as though my mother’s voice had lodged itself in my throat and that her mystic nature had possessed me. “Acceptance,” I replied. “Acceptance or retreat.”

  Eventually my turn came to serve the gardeners, or “the boys” as the sisters referred to them, although several were well past fifty. They ate their lunch at the convent in a room off the kitchen reserved for lay visitors. Most of the sisters didn’t like serving “the boys” because they were messy and loud, and although they made an effort to moderate their brusque manners around us, they could still be off-putting. But I secretly enjoyed serving them. For one thing, I was one of the few sisters who was able to converse with them in Spanish, as the other Spanish-speaking sisters were much older and would never be assigned such a menial task. But it was more than this. I was intrigued by the animalistic gusto with which they ate. I remembered when my uncle would come home after a long hiatus in the hills and how he was so intent upon every bite of food that he was unable to say a word until he cleaned his plate.

  I was fascinated by their thick forearms that they rested on the table as they ate, and the dirt under their nails, and their rough clothes and heavy boots. The odor from their bodies was a spicy, earthy smell I found intoxicating, and almost as mysterious as the incense that smoldered near the altar. And the way they laughed so unfettered and free, sometimes pounding their hands on the table and leaning back in their chairs, reminded me of the children in my class. Often I’d find myself smiling along even when I didn’t have the slightest idea what they were laughing about.

  One of the younger gardeners often smiled and winked at me when I served him, and one day he was bold enough to say, “Sister, I think that you’re far too young and pretty to be a nun.”

  “I may be young,” I replied placing a bowl of spaghetti in the center of the table, “but I am not pretty.”

  “Oh, but you are.” He turned to his right. “Don’t you think she’s pretty, Julio?”

  Julio blushed and elbowed the young man sharply in the ribs. “You must excuse my brother, Sister. He has very little sense in his head.”

  Later while I was collecting the dirty plates and Julio was not around, the young gardener approached me again. “If you weren’t a nun, I’d take you out dancing. Have you ever been dancing, Sister?”

  I was shocked and fascinated by the question, and nearly dropped the armload of dishes. This young man was as foolish as he was courageous. It’s true that I wasn’t officially a nun yet, but he didn’t know that.

  “I think…I think you should listen to your brother,” I returned, and I heard him chuckle as I walked back to the kitchen. My heart was still beating fiercely as I sunk my hands into the warm soapy water, and despite my better judgment, I found myself thinking about how it would be to go dancing with this young man. Beyond the convent walls there was the madness of a violent world, but there was also dancing, and there were parties where women dressed lavishly while elegant men escorted them through this d
angerous labyrinth. Outside the walls there was music that made you forget yourself and your holy obligations, and there was the erotic pleasure of physical love. I recalled the vision of my uncle and aunt, their bodies twisted through and around each other like the knots of the hammock, and I wondered if this experience of love was worth the sacrifice of peace. I wondered about this sometimes even as I prayed.

  I felt ashamed for enjoying the young gardener’s attention. And even after my assignment serving “the boys” had ended, I thought of him whenever I heard the blowers howling out in the garden, and I imagined how it would be to run my finger along the thick vein that ran from the inside of his wrist to his elbow. At night before I fell asleep in my cell, I sometimes searched for this same vein in my own arm, and as I searched, I thought about the young gardener who wanted to take me out dancing.

  One afternoon my superior, Sister Pauline, ushered me into her office. A few days earlier I’d made an official request to take my first temporary vows, and I assumed that she wanted to speak with me about this, as she did with every novice. After taking these vows, I would have to wait another two years before making another such request, which at the age of twenty-one felt like an interminable amount of time to wait. But in the meantime I’d be allowed to wear the dark brown and black habit of the fully professed nuns, although my veil would remain white. How I longed to send Sister Josepha an updated photo of myself in my new vestments.

  Mother Superior and I had had many edifying conversations in her office over the years, and I welcomed the opportunity to learn from her wisdom. As always, she leaned over her desk and clasped her hands before her as her black veil fell across her shoulders in an authoritative sweep. All the while she peered at me through her rectangular spectacles in that singular way that made me feel as though she knew me better than I knew myself. She stared at me for a remarkable length of time without moving a muscle, her expression a frozen mask of scrutiny. This could be quite unnerving for those who didn’t know her, but I’d experienced this inspection from her many times before and long ago realized that in her position of authority, Mother Superior was not required to observe custody of the eyes. Eventually she pointed to a chair facing her. “Please sit down, Sister,” she said gently.

  I lowered myself into the chair, aware that my knees had started quivering and my intuitive fear was beginning to gather like a storm in the pit of my stomach. This fear that had been awakened as a child had been dormant for years, but it hadn’t lost its potency. Already I felt myself breathing in tight little gasps as I clutched my hands one to the other, certain that this conversation would be different from the rest.

  Mother Superior bowed her head before looking back at me, her gaze firm and resolved. “I’ve been thinking and praying very hard about this, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it would be best for you to take some time away from the convent.”

  Her words hit me squarely in the pit of my stomach, leaving me quite breathless. How could she be asking me to do such a thing, to act against the deepest yearnings of my soul? “I…I…don’t understand.”

  She sighed and closed her eyes as though to listen to a voice deep inside her. When Mother Superior spoke from this place of inner knowing, pure light shone forth from her mouth, and there was no denying her that power derived from contemplation and wisdom, and I braced myself to receive it.

  “Ana, in this life we are preparing for death, the moment when we will look into the face of our creator. But we must not mistake life on earth with the eternity that lies beyond.”

  In response to my befuddled expression she continued. “I sense something in your demeanor, a curiosity and a yearning that distracts you from your focus on our beloved Savior.”

  Breathing hard, I sat on the edge of my chair and placed my hands on her desk. “Mother Superior, forgive me, but I don’t know what you mean. With…with all due respect, all I care about is God’s will for my life. I want only to serve him as humbly and obediently as possible.” I sounded desperate when I should’ve been serene, but it was impossible to compose myself.

  “Curiosity isn’t a bad thing, Sister,” Mother Superior continued. “Before you can find the answers you need, you have to ask the questions, and I don’t believe you’ve done that yet.”

  I felt every muscle in my body stiffen. “But I don’t have any questions. And all I want is to live here with you and the other sisters. You are my family.”

  Mother Superior studied me for a few moments longer, trying to discern my motivation, and then she gave up a beleaguered sigh. “Dearest Ana, you were a mere child when you came to us. You needed a home, but unlike the other novices, you’ve never lived outside our community. And I believe that this may be at the heart of your dilemma.”

  I wanted to dismiss everything she was telling me as nothing but the ranting of an overly protective mother, but I couldn’t deny everything she said. The truth is that I’d always seen myself as a lost bird with broken wings that happened upon a beautiful flock that nurtured me as one of their own. My wounds had healed within the tranquillity of their world, and now I was being pushed out of my nest, but I didn’t want to leave. This was my home.

  “Sister, I…I cannot leave the convent.” Tears sprung to my eyes, and I hastily wiped them away with my sleeve. “Where would I go? What would I do?”

  Sister Pauline’s expression softened somewhat. Although she was not typically impressed by tears, she knew that I wasn’t one to shed them ingenuously. She handed me a tissue from the box on her desk. “I understand that this will be a challenge for you, but I am quite certain that it is one you must face. And if it’s God’s will that you proceed with your commitment to a religious life, then taking time away will not alter his course for your life. Quite the contrary, that will only strengthen it, and you will be able to proceed with an unencumbered spirit.”

  I knew that it was not only useless, but also unwise to argue with my superior about a matter so integral to my formation. If the Carmelite sisters were to accept me back into their fold, I would need to demonstrate not only devotion but obedience as well.

  I bowed my head and sniffled. “I will do whatever you ask of me, Mother Superior.”

  “Very well,” she said in a lighter tone. “As I mentioned earlier, I’ve been thinking and praying about you for a long time, and just yesterday it came to my attention that a family well known to our parish church is looking for a nanny.”

  “A nanny?” I echoed.

  “Yes, and considering your obvious talent with children, I think this opportunity would be perfect for you.”

  My apprehension eased a bit, as I never tired of hearing about my abilities with children. Then it occurred to me that my unseemly pride was apparent and concerning to my superior. Perhaps she complimented me to test my character.

  “Thank you, Sister,” I replied, lowering my gaze in an effort to appear as humble as possible.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Trellis are looking for the right person to care for their small boy. Their present nanny had to go to Mexico because of a family emergency, and Mrs. Trellis is expecting another baby shortly, so naturally they’re anxious to find a replacement as soon as possible. The assignment shouldn’t last more than six months, ample time for you to think and reflect, wouldn’t you say, Ana?”

  “Yes, Mother Superior,” I said.

  “The Trellis family has quite a legacy,” she said, and then went on to trace their illustrious lineage and to highlight the charitable contributions they’d made to the convent, to the church, and to other community organizations. I listened with half an ear as I struggled to understand how in just a few minutes everything in my life had changed, and why it was that all of the changes in my life had been so brutal and abrupt. In truth, I was feeling quite sorry for myself.

  “Sister, are you listening?” Mother Superior asked.

  “Forgive me, I suppose that I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of this.”

  “Of course,” she said with sympatheti
c bow of her head. “I’ll relieve you from your duties in the preschool this afternoon so that you can rest and start organizing your things.”

  I would’ve much preferred to spend the rest of the afternoon with the children, but I bowed my head and mumbled my gratitude instead. Mother Superior dismissed me, and as I dragged my feet back to my cell, I wept into my sleeve so that the other sisters wouldn’t notice. If they had asked me what was wrong, I wouldn’t have known how to explain that once again my life was about to change without my consent.

  When Sister Josepha and Ana had finished praying, the older woman carefully gathered her rosary together and tucked it back into the pocket of her sleeve. As she did so, the beads made a pleasant clacking sound that filled Ana with nostalgia and melancholy. It seemed to her that the prayers had been able to stop time, or at least slow it down a bit, but now the world was back to moving at a dreadfully brisk pace.

  The two women left the still-sleeping patient in his darkened room and went out to the corridor, where sunlight was streaming in through the windows overlooking the garden. As Sister Josepha passed by the window, she paused to admire the sight, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the bright light outside. “What a beautiful and restful place. We should make some time for the garden today, Ana,” she said.

  “I’d like that, but let me show you to your room so you can rest. I hope you’ll be able to stay longer this time,” Ana said, remembering that her previous visits had always been far too brief.

  “I’ll stay as long as you need me,” she replied.

  Relieved to hear this, Ana led Sister Josepha to the room that she herself had occupied for many years.

  “Such luxury,” Sister Josepha said when she entered. “How many cells would fit in this space, nine? Ten?”