Back in the Habit

by Alice Loweecey

  “Five-thirty. Time’s up. Get downstairs and immerse yourself in it all. Make them accept you as one of them. Deal with the repercussions when you’re safe in your own apartment again.”

  _____

  The refectory at least sounded like a restaurant in the real world. The necessity of making oneself heard over the clatter of dishes and flatware gave Giulia an unexpected sense of relief.

  She found one empty seat at a table smack in the middle of the long, crowded dining room. Four other nuns were already seated there: one bouncing lesson-plan ideas off of one reading The

  Imitation of Christ, one writing a letter, and one leaning against the chairback, looking green around the gills.

  “Sister Mary Regina Coelis,” Giulia said to the table in general. “Is anyone sitting here?”

  The letter-writer shook her head without looking up.

  “Sister Eleanor.” The greenish one’s voice matched her skin tone.

  “Are you all right, Sister?”

  She opened her eyes. “Our plane landed an hour ago. We hit the worst turbulence in the history of mankind.” She winced and closed them again. “Now I know how chicken legs in a Shake and Bake bag feel.”

  “Eleanor, I told you to drink ginger tea before we left.” The letter-writer capped her pen. “A pleasure to meet you, Sister Regina Coelis. I’m Sister Cynthia.”

  “Your ginger tea was the first thing I vomited on the plane, Cynthia.” Sister Eleanor squinted at everyone. “My apologies. I’m only here to collect saltines and ginger ale. Then I’m hiding in my room all evening.”

  Giulia gave in to her curiosity. “I didn’t think there was a Saint Cynthia.”

  “There isn’t. My given name is Cindy. They allowed me to compromise at my Investiture, and I became Sister Mary Cynthia. I could hear my mother’s teeth grinding all the way from the back of the church.”

  The wizened doorkeeper stood, and the room fell silent.

  “Good evening, Sisters, and welcome again to today’s arrivals. Please bow your heads as we thank Our Father for this meal.”

  Giulia bowed her head with the rest, but kept her eyes open. The book-reader maintained her spiritual demeanor. The lesson planner at first appeared annoyed by the interruption. Sister Eleanor sank into her chair, the green tinge holding steady.

  When the prayer finished, the lesson planner resumed the third week of Advent. Giulia turned to Cynthia. “I’d never have believed they could squeeze thirty-five tables plus two of those restaurant-size steam carts in here.”

  Cynthia touched the back of her hand to Eleanor’s forehead. “This is the first I’ve seen it. Eleanor and I are from New Jersey.”

  Sister Fabian’s table proceeded to the serving table at their end of the room.

  “Do you know the Sisters at Sister Fabian’s table?” Giulia said to Sister Cynthia.

  “One’s our former Superior General, so I’m guessing the others are formers as well.”

  “I should’ve guessed from the shared CEO look.”

  The lesson planner said, “Rank has its privileges.”

  The Imitation of Christ reader primmed her lips. “If it doesn’t affect you spiritually, morally, or materially, Susan, then put it aside.”

  Sister Susan wrinkled her nose at the reader, who closed her book.

  “‘First keep the peace within yourself, then you can also bring peace to others.’ Good evening, Sister Regina Coelis. I’m Sister Mary Elizabeth. Susan and I are from the Indiana branch.”

  “Did you give the history presentation?” Giulia stood with the rest of the table to get in line for dinner.

  Sister Cynthia said. “Eleanor, sit there. I’ll get your crackers and soda.”

  “No, that was our Community’s former Postulant Mistress. She was an actress before she entered. The skits she wrote for the Postulants to perform on Saint Francis Day were always clever. She was appointed Postulant Mistress of this Motherhouse after the merger.”

  Giulia helped herself to baked chicken, potatoes, a roll, and salad. While she added milk to her coffee, Sister Bartholomew and a shorter, plump Novice carried plates to a table filled with retired Sisters. Two Postulants did the same for another full table. A third table with five more obvious retirees watched their servers with avidity.

  Right, they’re serving. We did the same. But at least there were three of us and only seven retired Sisters. Those girls need a week’s vacation.

  Eleanor left with her motion-sickness supper. Giulia said to Cynthia, “Are both of you stationed at your old Motherhouse?”

  “No, in Tallahassee. No more New Jersey winters, hooray. Eleanor is high school Spanish and I’m Chemistry and Physics.” She took a bite of her buttered roll. “What about you?”

  “I’ve been away for a year. This is my re-assimilation.”

  Susan snorted. “Like the Borg.”

  Elizabeth set down her fork. “Susan, one day you will say that to the wrong person. Don’t forget your review is only a month away.”

  Susan stabbed her chicken. “Don’t worry. I’ll behave for the committee. You know I’m always a good example for impressionable young minds. That covers a multitude of sins.”

  Giulia added sugar to her coffee. “The first one post-vows was the worst. I always rubbed Sister F. the wrong way, and there she sat in judgment on me.”

  “Our Superior General was easygoing,” Susan said. “I knew she’d never win the battle for Combined Overlord.”

  Elizabeth rapped Susan’s hand with the back of her fork.

  “Ow. All right, all right. Blame it on menopause.” She caught everyone’s eyes. “I shall now practice decorum and eat the rest of the meal in silence.”

  Elizabeth briefly raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Is the rest of your group here, Sister Regina Coelis?”

  Giulia surveyed the room. “I haven’t seen them, but I just arrived. It was a long trip. My last post was in Pierre.”

  “South Dakota?” Susan’s coffee cup hovered halfway between the table and her mouth. “I guess you really did tick certain people off.”

  “I didn’t realize the Community had convents so far west.” Elizabeth shot a pointed look at Susan.

  Giulia shrugged. “We do, and I’ve seen them all. I have a reputation as the nun who won’t push girls into Entering.”

  Susan said, “Ouch. Just as the numbers are dropping like rocks?”

  “What’s the point of talking up the joys of convent life to girls who anyone could see wouldn’t make it past the first round of psychological tests?” Giulia appealed to the table in general.

  “You get no argument from me,” Susan said. “Four out of the five in my group cut and ran before Investiture, something unusual back in the day. And Eleanor wonders why I’m such a cynical old besom. My solo Novitiate was a never-ending party.” She jerked one shoulder. “As I’m sure you’ve gathered, sarcasm is my major fault.”

  Elizabeth said to Giulia, “I agree with you in principle, Sister Regina Coelis, but God needs workers, however flawed. Who’s to say that with attentive Formation those girls wouldn’t have made admirable Sisters?”

  There’s no polite response to that. Sometimes I wonder how I lasted as long as I did.

  Giulia finished dinner and set her dishes in the gray plastic bins on the rolling carts at the back of the room. The institutional dishwasher lurked just down the short hall beyond the carts. Giulia caught a whiff of the powerful soap it required, then gave herself a mental slap. Wrenching her brain out of reminisce mode, she sized up the Superior Generals still drinking coffee at their table. Next, the two Novices and two Postulants. She didn’t see the Novice Mistress’s bright red hair and quirky smile anywhere. It had been years since they’d met, but she was remembering more and more the longer she breathed Motherhouse air.
r />   She wandered into the nearest of the six rooms that took up most of the first floor, reacquainting herself with the layout of the building.

  The first parlor opened into another, then into a telephone room that connected to the main library. No dust marred the books on the built-in shelves, not even the volumes of Canon Law at the very top. If Sister Bartholomew and the others were saddled with the dusting, too, Sister Bridget would’ve had to work to find the time to get depressed.

  Soft muttering from behind her made her jump. In the sagging flowered armchair under the crucifix, a white-haired nun wearing the European version of the modified habit was writing in a spiral notebook.

  That habit could kindly be described as “quaint.” The gathered ankle-length skirt, cuffed sleeves, and three-inch white plastic crown atop the waist-length veil made Giulia happy to wear a plain, A-line dress.

  After what appeared to be each sentence, the little Sister read it aloud. The muttering wasn’t in English. Giulia stepped forward, unsure if she could help or if she should try to find someone who understood her language. While she wavered, the elderly nun leveraged herself out of the chair and over to the computer desk. Her arthritic fingers pounded the keys like she was punishing someone.

  Giulia sidled through the opposite doorway into the Community Room.

  Sister Bartholomew caught her on the main stairs. “Sister Regina Coelis, can you really help with the buffer?”

  “Of course I can. What time do you want me there?”

  “Right after we finish the breakfast dishes. Sister Gretchen’s okay with it. She’s being pulled in eight different directions too.”

  “Are there only two Canonical Novices this year?”

  “We had six Postulants enter the four different Motherhouses back in February, but only three of us made it to the new, merged Community.”

  Giulia kept her voice casual. “Three isn’t bad.”

  “No, there’s only two of us now.” She shook something off. “I wish they’d emphasized more that ‘Canonical’ means ‘cloistered.’ Cabin fever is a bad thing.”

  “Been there.”

  Bart gave Giulia that bright smile.“If you can be in the chapel about eight-fifteen tomorrow morning, I’ll show you where we keep the supplies.”

  “I hate to take advantage of you like everyone else, but I don’t have a towel in my room.” Giulia forced herself not to wince. It wasn’t a lie, since her room did lack a towel, but she knew she only asked Sister Bartholomew so she could weasel information out of her.

  “No, no, you’re not. They’re in the linen closet on the second floor. I’ll show you.”

  She led the way to the large bathroom next to the front stairs.

  “They’re on this shelf … except when they aren’t.” She closed the door on the empty middle shelf with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. The clean ones must still be in the cellars.” She hesitated. “I can get one for you.”

  “I’ll come with you. I need to work off that starchy dinner.”

  “You will? Thanks.” They walked the length of the hall and through the double doors that opened onto the back stairs. Sister Bartholomew appeared oddly relieved to have Giulia accompany her.

  “How’s the spider situation down there?” Giulia said.

  Sister Bartholomew waved a dismissive hand. “They’re all over the place, but that’s what shoes are for.” Her voice smirked. “One got into Sister Beatrice’s sheets last month. She tried to take it out on us, but Sister Gretchen told her that since Saint Francis himself isn’t going to appear in the cellars to chastise the spiders, Sister Beatrice should practice decorum and leave us Novices to her.”

  “I remember Sister Gretchen. She became Novice Mistress after I took vows. Does she still do impressions of old movie stars?”

  “Oh, yeah. She’s added some new ones, too. Her Adam Sandler is great.” Sister Bartholomew walked with fast, firm steps.

  Giulia’s gym routine enabled her to keep up. “Do you still have to hand-starch the veils for the traditional habits?”

  “Do we ever.” Her voice seemed relaxed but her pace didn’t slacken. “At least only five of them still wear it.”

  “Cooking starch at five-thirty in the morning.” Giulia huffed. “No one should touch the antique gas stove at that hour. Unless it’s been updated?”

  “I wish. Nope. Vivian and I alternate weeks: one collects the laundry, the other cooks the starch. Someday a sleep-deprived Novice will blow up this place.”

  They passed the gigantic institutional washing machines that looked like UFOs turned on their sides. Formica-topped tables lined one wall. A similar table in the center of the room reserved for the three-foot strips of white linen looked exactly as it did nine years ago. The only change was the addition of two apartment-sized stacked washer-dryer combinations.

  “This brings back memories. Once we started singing St. Louis Jesuits songs while we worked, just like we were the Franciscan Seven Dwarfs. Sister Isidora showed up just then to check our ironing job on the veils and lectured us on the virtues of silence.”

  A floorboard creaked. Sister Bartholomew jumped. “Oh, man, the last batch of towels never got folded.” Her voice came fast and jerky. “Do you mind waiting while I tackle these?” She glanced into the dark room beyond the laundry, then dragged her attention back to the pile of clean towels.

  “You expect me to stand here and watch you work? Don’t be ridiculous.” Giulia shook out a towel and folded it, then reached for another. “Do they really expect you to keep up with all your usual responsibilities on top of the extra reunion chores?” She snapped a particularly wrinkled bath towel. “Don’t answer that. I already know what you’re going to say.”

  Sister Bartholomew’s shoulders slumped. “It’s only for this week. Sister Gretchen told us to do everything we could, and she’d run interference for us if someone got on our case.”

  Water sloshed through one of the washer pipes. Sister Bartholomew gripped her hands together beneath the remaining towels, but not far enough under to hide the gesture from Giulia.

  “Last one.” Giulia kept her voice brisk. “Where do you want them?”

  She pointed and Giulia pushed the two stacks to the end of the table, keeping the top towel for herself. “Did they ever fix that gurgle in the hopper pipes?”

  Sister Bartholomew’s eyes slewed to the corner where the deep utility sink lurked. “Um, yes, well, they said they fixed it back in June, but last week—”

  The pipe hiccupped. She squeaked. Another pipe emitted a low, bubbling moan.

  “I’m sorry, Sister, but I have to get back upstairs now. Thanks for helping with the towels.”

  Giulia stared after Sister Bartholomew as the slaps of her running feet faded upstairs. Then she followed the gurgles to the weepy pipe under the hopper sink—the same source from her time there. Odd that they frightened a Novice who ought to be used to them, what with all the time Novices spent in the cellars.

  Nine

  At 6:50 Monday morning, Giulia sat in the back of the Motherhouse chapel with a borrowed prayer book, and couldn’t concentrate on the long prayers to save her soul. Last night’s endless, looping nightmare dovetailed too neatly into that morning’s reality.

  So I dreamed my stress dream: back in the convent, in the habit, wandering the Motherhouse halls saying, “Why am I doing this again?” over and over and over. Her voice joined in the Psalm response. So what if I’m living it? It’s only a job. I didn’t retake vows. She gave the Psalm response again. I solve this by Wednesday and I’m back in my cozy, plant-filled apartment Wednesday night. Trimming dead tomato leaves never seemed so attractive.

  The Sister leading this morning’s prayers finished the last one, and everyone closed their books.

  I can receive Communion, too. I pre-Confessed to Father Carlos
on Saturday, and he gave me dispensation. This week, I can lie to serve the greater good.

  The organist played the opening bars to “Jesus, My Lord, My God, My All.” Everyone stood as the priest entered the sanctuary from the vestry on Giulia’s left.

  He was quite an improvement over the old man who mumbled through Mass in Giulia’s years there, even if he looked like Roger Moore gone to seed. He kept his sermon to five minutes flat. Because of that and the two Sisters acting as Extraordinary Ministers for Communion, Mass finished at twenty to eight. Giulia caught herself wondering who strong-armed the Bishop to make him assign this priest here.

  _____

  After breakfast—during which a recovered Eleanor taught everyone at Giulia’s table napkin origami—Giulia walked the chapel aisles waiting for Sister Bartholomew.

  She’d forgotten, or deliberately blocked—Frank had no concept of the stinking landfill of memories this “undercover in the convent” job had breached—the immensity of the chapel.

  The midnight-blue flooring set off the eighty rows of ashwood pews, lit by the morning sun shining through twenty tall, thin, clear glass windows on each side of the building. Four taller, wider stained-glass windows threw faceted prisms of light on the ash-paneled sanctuary. She remembered watching the slow movement of their colors on long days polishing pews. During the summer, that multicolored light painted the bleached-birch, life-size crucifix with colors too lovely for an execution.

  The Stations of the Cross have been re-gruesomed, too. Happy reunion, Sisters! Enjoy the realistic torture on all sides! I bet Sister Francesco got that job. She always was obsessed with the goriness of the Passion. No denying her talent, though. That blood looks real.

  The statues flanking the altar hadn’t been overlooked. Fresh silver edging framed the Virgin Mary’s blue cloak. Opposite her, Saint Joseph’s spray of lilies shone like mother of pearl.