by Martha Long
I put the sweepin brush an dustpan an handbrush back in the press an looked aroun the convent kitchen. Finished. Better get up te the hall door. Ma Pius will be waitin fer me te take over the door an the phone. I could hear her voice ringin in me ear if I was one minute late.
I sat in me own little waitin room leanin me face in me hands, restin me elbows on the wide windasill, an stared out at the orchard. I dropped me shoulders, lettin out a big sigh, feelin the contentment in me, lettin the peace an the lovely sweet soft sound of the nuns singin in the chapel lull me inta a lovely doze. They sounded so sweet an melodious. It ran through me, takin me te a world where there’s no pain, no sufferin, no hurry an no worry. Just feelin a stillness. Calm an peaceful an dreamy, makin me wonder wha all the fuss an the bother is about.
I didn’t notice the phone ringin away fer a minute, I was so lost in meself gettin carried away wit the picture of meself wrapped up in a black habit covered from head te toe, the white bonnet hidin under the veil givin me a bit a colour.
I saw meself gazin up at the altar, singin the Gregorian Chant, just like they’re doin now. I would float outa the chapel wit me hands wrapped under me wide sleeves, or under me cloak. Lost in a fog of holiness, seein an hearin nothin. Then glide up te me little cell on the last bell, tellin me me work is done fer the day.
I sighed, liftin me head seein the garden again an thinkin, yeah, I might like te be a nun. Then the janglin rattled me nerves. The phone! I jumped up an crept fast up the chapel passage, makin sure not te make a sound. Then made fer the little phone box an picked up the phone. I held me breath, then shoutin out in me best voice, hopin te sound like Ma Pius, ‘Hul..lo! Gud..after..nune! Dis..is dee Ho..le..Re..De..mer Cun..vent speekink!’ Then listened.
‘Cud I spake te the nun . . . gabble . . . charge . . . gabble . . . butter . . . R . . . der.’
‘Wha? I can’t hear ye! Wha did ye say?’
‘Tsk’ . . . big breath . . . ‘tsk . . . I want te spake te . . . babble . . . butter ORDER!’
‘Eh, just a minute, please. I shall go now an..dt ge..dt someone fer yew!’
I dropped the phone an rushed te get the gong, wonderin wha the hell they were sayin. I picked up the mallet an then remembered just in time. Ma Pius said I wasn’t te gong when the retreat nuns were in the chapel! I looked aroun. Wha’ll I do?
Sister Benedict came swingin herself outa the chapel headin fer me. ‘Martha Long! Who is that telephone call for?’
I looked at her, thinkin. ‘Eh, it’s for Sister Butter Order.’
‘Who?’ she gasped.
‘Sister Butter Order! A woman on the phone said she wants te speak te her.’
‘Oh, can you not take a simple message?’ she huffed, swingin herself past me an draggin herself up te the phone. I disappeared back te me little waitin room. Tha aul one on the phone was speakin very fast, an I couldn’t understand her culchie accent!
I went back te lookin out the winda; it was beginnin te look like rain. The sky was gettin dark, an the room was feelin a bit chilly. I watched the apple trees beginnin te wave wit the wind blowin up. Gawd! We’re always dyin te get our teeth inta them apples, but the only look we get at them is watchin them from our playroom growin on the trees. Last year I got meself inta terrible trouble when the older young ones put the big idea inta me head te climb out the winda an grab a few.
‘Go on! Go on! You’re skinny and small enough to fit through the bars,’ they roared, eggin me on.
I looked at the bars, sayin, ‘Then youse better mind the door an watch fer Sister Eleanor!’
‘Yeah, yeah! Course we will, hurry! We’ll keep watch!’
I climbed out, stuffin meself through the thick black iron bars, an flew inta the orchard, gallopin fer the first tree. I grabbed a hold of the lowest branches an shook the hell outa them. Apples flew down in all directions, landin on me head, an I grabbed a handful.
‘Throw them in!’ the big ones roared.
Me head was flyin, lookin an listenen te them an wonderin how I’d carry the rest still sittin on the ground.
‘OK!’ I shot te the winda, sendin them flyin in, then suddenly I heard a load of shoutin.
‘Look, Sister! She’s robbing the orchard!’
Jaysus! The big ones were munchin on me apples an laughin their heads off, an the others were stampedin in wit the nun! Oh, help! Mammy! The nun is comin. Me heart is goin so fast it’s tryin te fly out through me mouth. Ahh! I looked aroun me at all the apples still sittin on the grass. All this is fer nothin! Fuck! I’m gettin somethin for me trouble. I bent down, flyin aroun the grass, pickin up apples an shovin them down me knickers, an flew at the winda just as Sister Eleanor came flyin through the door, all black veil an the wings of her sleeves an habit flyin out behind her, screamin, ‘Where is she? Martha Long! GET OUT OF THAT ORCHARD AT ONCE!’
I got stuck in the bars tryin te get meself back in a hurry.
‘Get in!’ she roared, draggin me through the bars an landin me hangin offa the windasill face down, lettin the apples roll outa me big navy-blue knickers. She grabbed them up, slappin me arse wit the other hand an tryin te hold onta the apples, while the young ones tried te grab them offa her. ‘You are very bold! That is strictly forbidden. Get in! How dare you? Dilly Nugent, give me back those apples at once!’
I whirled meself aroun an leapt te the floor, runnin before me feet even hit the floorboards, an made fer the door, while the nun wrestled Dilly Nugent an her gang fer the apples. The big ones were screamin their heads laughin, an Sister Eleanor was screamin, hysterical an all red-faced, an Dilly Nugent an her gang was screamin at losin the apples.
I grabbed the door handle te make me getaway, an the big young ones blocked me way. ‘Stay here, Long! You’re going nowhere!’ they laughed, hangin onta me fer the nun. She grabbed hold a me an marched me next door an locked me in, takin the handle a the door wit her so I couldn’t get out.
‘Stay here until I get back and decide what to do with you,’ she roared through the door, an I could hear her marchin off, flyin up the stairs.
Oh, gawd! She’s probably goin te the convent te get the Reverend Mother fer me! Ahh! Help, I’m really for it now. I’m not stayin here. I looked in her sewin machine an took out her big shears she calls it, a big scissors, an put it through the lock, an it opened.
‘Get back in there!’ the big ones roared, waitin outside the door fer me.
I lifted me head lookin aroun me little waitin room. Yeah, I got meself inta an awful lot a trouble tha time. Sister Eleanor didn’t speak te me fer weeks over tha. She said I was a very bad influence on the other childre! But I’m bidin me time. Them young ones have had it their own way fer long enough, an one of these days I’m goin te find a way te turn the tables on them. Yeah, see if I don’t, ye ratbags!
I heard the rustle of a habit an the shakin a rosary beads an the squeakin a soft leather shoes – Mother Pius! I sat up straight in me chair wit me heart givin a jump. Wonder wha she wants? Hope I’m not in trouble.
‘Ah, Martha. Here you are. Well, really, you gave us nuns quite a laugh. Ha, ha! You are so funny,’ she said wipin her red nose wit a big white hankie. ‘Sister Butter Order! Well, I have been called many things, I am sure. But Sister Butter Order? Oh, we did laugh! You are a hoot! Listen, my dear, they were asking for me. I am in charge of the butter order. My job as Mother Pius is to take charge of the money. So refer all those calls to me, hm?’ she said, lookin down at me an pattin me head.
‘Yeah, right, Mother Pius.’
‘Yes! You must say yes! Now start improving your diction; open your mouth, dear. Now I should get you on to some reading. Meanwhile, I have a lovely present for you.’
Me eyes lit up as she landed down a Clerys bag on the little table, openin it an pullin out a plastic sheet wit holes in it, an another bag wit balls a different colour wool. Me mouth dropped as I watched her take a crochet needle she called it, an pull the wool through an inta the hole an pull it back out again. ‘Now! You see?�
�� she said smiling. ‘It is very simple. You can make me a lovely rug to put beside my bed. Wouldn’t that be lovely?’ she said, all smiles, showin me her big horses’ teeth, shakin her shoulders wit the excitement.
‘Eh, yeah . . . yes.’ I wasn’t feelin very excited meself as I looked at it, takin it from her te examine wha she did.
‘Go on, do have a try, it really is easy, you know.’
I put the needle inta the hole, wrappin the wool through, an felt meself wantin te go te sleep already.
‘Good girl! Now you will have something exciting to look forward to when your cleaning duties are finished. You can be doing something really useful and enjoying yourself at the same time. We must have fun: all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Ha, ha! Now I must be off!’ An she twirled herself, makin her habit swing aroun the edges, an took herself off out the door, leavin me lookin at balls a wool an a bit a plastic.
Ah, fuck ye, Ma Pius, you an yer rug! I hate makin things! I stared at it then made a start, an after a few minutes stopped te get a look an see how much I’d done. Five holes! Ah, I’m not botherin me arse wit tha. An threw it down on the table, lookin out the winda again, seein nothin had changed.
I wandered up aroun the phone, starin at it fer a minute, hopin it would ring, but still nothin happened. Then I wandered out te look at the front door, an nobody called. I can’t open the door te get a look outside, the nuns would skin me alive. Then the big parlour door opened an a monk in long brown robes stared down at me. He was nearly the height a the top a the door. He had jetblack wavy hair an laughin blue eyes tha danced in his head.
‘Hello there, little lady!’
‘Hello, Father,’ I said, hopin the nuns wouldn’t come along an ask me wha I’m doin here disturbin the monk.
‘What is your name?’ he said, smilin at me.
‘Martha, Father.’
‘Ah, Martha. Saint Martha!’ he said te himself. ‘I hope you are not a saint!’ he said suddenly, lookin down at me very seriously.
‘Eh, no, Father! Definitely not tha. The nuns would let ye know tha fast enough,’ I said, laughin.
‘Good! We have enough of them around here,’ he roared laughin, throwin his head back. ‘I see you around here beavering away. Quite a busy little bee, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah, Father. I have me work te do, an I have te get it done quickly, or I miss me dinner!’
‘Oh, take as many shortcuts as you can. Dinner comes first,’ he said, tryin te look serious. ‘I think it’s time for a little reward. Would you agree with me?’
‘Yeah! Oh, yeah! Definitely, Father!’ I said, shakin me head up an down, wonderin wha he was goin te give me. It couldn’t be any worse than the knittin Ma Pius gave me. Anythin is better than tha.
‘Would you like some sweets?’
‘Eh, yeah I would,’ I said happily.
He pushed open the door, wavin over te the table wit bowls a sweets an fruit an everythin fer yer heart’s desire. Me eyes flew along the table, takin in the big slab a yella cake Sister Thomas must a baked fer him. An yella butter from the dairy, an crustylookin soda bread, an jugs a cream an bowls a strawberries, an Jaysus! I couldn’t take in half the things, there’s so many!
‘Come on in and help yourself,’ he said, seein me hesimitate an look aroun te see if a nun was comin. ‘Come along, quickly! Get the sweets anyway! You don’t want to get caught before you even sampled some of the stuff. Here!’ An he lunged at the table, grabbin a handful of sweets an stuffin them in me smock pocket, then reached over fer another handful, stuffin me other pocket, an laughed, sayin, ‘Come in and have some cake while you are thinking about it.’
I made up me mind an shot inta the room, waitin fer him te cut me a big slice a cake wit a wide silver knife an put it on a red flowery plate wit gold aroun the rims. ‘Eat that,’ he said handin me the plate. I lifted it up an took a big bite while he sprawled himself in an armchair, sayin, ‘They give me far too much; it’s much more fun watching you get enjoyment from it. I’m not a particularly good sweet eater. What are you doing at the moment?’
‘Eh, I’m waitin fer the door an phone te ring, Father,’ I said, sendin a shower a cake crumbs flyin outa me mouth, watchin it fly in all directions. I felt meself lookin very foolish, an I grabbed me mouth te hide them, an nearly choked, cos the cake was too dry an went down me windpipe! I was eatin too quickly.
‘Here, take a drink,’ he said, laughin an standin up an pourin me a glass a orange from a big sparklin bowl wit slices a fruit floatin in it. It slid down me neck, makin me face shiver. I drank the lot in one go, an he filled it up again, sayin, ‘Have as much as you want.’ Then he leaned back in his armchair, sayin, ‘What age are you?’
‘Fourteen, Father.’
‘Have you left school?’
‘Yes, I just started workin here on the hall door.’
‘What was your favourite subject at school?’ he asked, leanin over in his chair, waitin fer me answer.
‘Eh, English, Father. Readin an writin an spellin, an sums ye do in your head. Mental arithmetic they call it. But I didn’t get far in school, Father. I came in an they put me inta the fifth class, an I hadn’t been te school before tha, only in an out fer a little while. But I never learned anythin, cos I wasn’t there long enough.’ Then I took another big bite of me cake an a sup a me drink. Enjoyin meself no end. Eatin an havin the monk talkin te me was better than sittin wit aul Ma Pius’s knittin.
‘Do you read?’ he asked me, soundin really interested in wha I had te tell him.
‘Yeah! The Bunty an Judy . . . they’re comics. But I don’t get them any more.’ I didn’t say tha’s cos I don’t go te the shops any more an rob me own!
‘Hm, and what were your favourite stories?’
‘Wee Slavey! She was a little young one back in them Victorian times, an she worked in the big house down in the kitchen. An they made her do everythin. She was blind bothered an bewildered tryin te keep up wit all the roars outa the cook an everyone tellin her te do this an do tha. Yeah, tha was good,’ I said, thinkin back on it. Then I let out me breath, gettin more at ease wit him.
‘Hm, very apt,’ he mumbled, lookin down at the floor. ‘Would you like me to give you something to read?’
‘Ye mean ye have comics, Father?’
‘No!’ he laughed. ‘But I tend to re-read over and over again some of the old classics. Did you ever hear of Charles Dickens?’
‘No, Father! Who’s he?’
‘Well, he wrote that stuff you are talking about. Wee Slavey, for example, would be his time. Here! Take a look at this,’ an he jumped up, goin over te his leather bag an took out a book, showin it te me. ‘This is called Oliver Twist. Read it, see what you think. It’s about an orphan boy left in the workhouse, and some bad people getting their hands on him.’
Tha sounded really interestin, an I took it happily, thinkin now I have somethin te occupy me.
‘I put that in my bag as an afterthought. I suppose it had something to do with me coming here, to an orphanage,’ he said, scratchin his head wit a faraway look in his eye fer a minute. Then he looked at me an patted me head, sayin, ‘You must run along now, back to your post. I hope you enjoy reading that. It will take a little perseverance, you may have difficulty with the way they speak, but keep at it, you will grow to enjoy it. Reading books will open up your mind, stretch it, and a whole new world will emerge. Never waste your time on rubbish, stick to the classics, and educate that fine mind you have,’ he said, lookin very serious.
‘Thank you, Father!’ I was delighted wit all me stuff an thought he was a very kind man altogether.
‘Bye,’ he said, shuttin the door gently behind me until I turned an ran fer me little room.
Just as I was about te open me book, the telephone rang. Ah! Just as I was about te enjoy meself. I galloped off, divin inta the box, an picked up the phone. ‘Hu..lloooo! Gud after..nuneee! Holy Re..d..mer Convent speak..ink!’
‘Yes! Get me Sister Eleanor, I’m
in a hurry,’ a grumpy aul one barked.
‘Jest a minute, please!’
I flew outa the box straight inta the Reverend Mother. ‘Come here a minute, please,’ she said, takin me arm an steerin me away from the phone. ‘Will you please stop talking nonsense!’ she said, starin at me fer a minute. ‘You do not say “Convent speaking”. The convent is not speaking, is it now?’
‘No, Mother,’ I said, thinkin about this.
‘Yes! And stop with that ridiculous voice! Speak properly!’
‘But I’m tryin te improve me diction, Mother! Like Ma . . . Mother Pius is always tellin me te do!’ I said, gettin very annoyed at the cheek at her, sayin I’m soundin foolish.
‘Yes, well, that voice does nothing to improve your diction!’ she said, straightenin herself up an slippin her hands under her cloak, an floatin off te the chapel.
Hmph! An fuck you, too! I thought, starin after her.
Later on, I was scrubbin away fer all I was worth on the long kitchen concrete passage when Ma Pius came whippin out through the convent door an stopped te stare at me. ‘My goodness, child. It’s eight oclock on a Friday night! Are you still working?’
‘Yes, Mother Pius. I’m nearly finished,’ I said, standin up an tryin te straighten me back, an flingin the wet hair outa me face an tryin te blow back the hard bits tha stuck te me face.
‘Well, I never!’ she said, flyin inta the childre’s kitchen te talk te Sister Mercy.
This mornin I couldn’t straighten me back, I don’t know wha’s wrong. I stooped down te sweep the back convent stairs, glad it was Saturday, an I’m nearly finished me work, I can have the rest of the weekend off, when Ma Pius came flyin down the stairs, an I couldn’t stand up te let her pass. I half stood, still holdin the dustpan in one hand an the brush in the other, the top half of me bent, trailin me head on the floor. I tried to lift me head te look at her, feelin very stupid lookin, an she said, ‘Excuse me, please!’ But I couldn’t move over. I felt really foolish, an she roared, ‘What’s wrong with you?’
