The Gathering

by William X. Kienzle

“But even if we don’t go to Monroe … if we become, say, Dominicans from Adrian … we’d still be the same essentially. We’d be nuns. Just members of different orders, that’s all.”

  “Sure. But what’s that got to do with the Brothers? That there aren’t enough to staff all twelve grades of boys?”

  “That’s where Mike comes in.”

  Alice shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

  “How many boys from Redeemer intend to become priests?”

  “I dunno. A couple … maybe three or four …”

  “From the whole high school?”

  “No. I meant by class. I’d say”—Alice ran the figures through her mind—“a couple—as many as four or five … from each class.”

  “Okay. Why do you think these kids go to the seminary?”

  Alice shrugged. “Because they want to be priests.”

  “Yes. But why do they want to be priests?”

  “Well, going to a parochial school doesn’t hurt. Having Catholic parents. Like that.”

  Rose nodded. “And Mike tells me it’s not only those things. It’s also because they think being a priest is exciting. They want to get in on the action.”

  “I couldn’t argue with that.”

  “It’s right from the horse’s mouth. Mike said that. And he also said that not many of the kids understand what the Brothers are up to. And that’s why the Brothers don’t inspire many kids to join up.”

  Alice looked surprised. “Gee, I don’t have a problem with that. The Brothers of Mary we’ve got here are classy guys. Real men and real teachers.”

  “But they’re not teaching us. So we don’t experience them the way the boys do. Anyway, how many boys in Redeemer High School, do you think, sign up to join the Brothers?”

  “I … I don’t know. Not as many as want to be priests.”

  “Would you believe one or two in the whole high school? Mike says the kids appreciate being taught by men for the first time in all the years in school. He says he just doesn’t see the Brothers as a vocation. One of Mike’s teachers asked him if he wanted to become a Brother.”

  “What did Mike say?”

  “He said he’d never thought of being a Brother. He said the Brother looked kind of hurt. Like he’d been personally turned down. But Mike had said it and he couldn’t take it back.

  “Mike told me he couldn’t understand the vocation. Brothers aren’t dumb. Lots of times they’re smarter than priests. So why go half way?”

  Alice could hear the radio being turned off downstairs. She couldn’t make out which program was going off. But the sound had stopped; the Smiths were getting ready to retire.

  Alice, on the other hand, was ready for some Sinatra. Her desire would cause no problem; it was shared by Rose.

  “How are you getting along?” Alice asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The brushing. How many strokes?”

  Rose brushed. “That would be ninety-three,” she said without breaking stride.

  “How can you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  Alice sat upright. “We’ve been having a conversation. You had to be involved in what we were talking about … at least part of the time. How can you talk and still keep count of your strokes?”

  “It’s not hard; it’s just a matter of thinking of two things at the same time.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.”

  “You find it difficult?”

  “Me and most of the rest of the world.”

  “There.” Rose put the brush down and shook her shoulders, which were somewhat stiff after this monotonous exercise. “All done.” She turned to Alice. “Some music?”

  “You bet!”

  By the time the two girls reached the main floor, the Smiths had retired to their bedroom. Michael, also in pajamas and robe, was stretched out on the living room floor.

  None of them felt awkward. They were friends and no more than that.

  Rose went directly to the phonograph. In no time the pleasantly nasal voice of Vaughn Monroe was crooning “Blue Moon.”

  The two girls sat together on the floor roughly halfway between the record player and Michael, who, pencil in hand, continued to work on English drills.

  Alice, lost in Monroe’s distinctive voice, seemed mesmerized by the lamentation.

  “Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone, Without a dream in my heart, Without a love of my own …”

  Without a love of my own. How depressing! Was that the lonely life she was slated to enter?

  Alice had no real knowledge of convent life. No one who had not lived that life could comprehend it. In her naïveté, she was quite sure that what she saw she certainly would get.

  She would wear the time-honored uniform, popularly known as a religious habit. It stood for something. She would be set apart in a most secular world. She would dedicate herself, body and soul, to the Roman Catholic Church.

  If she joined almost any other religious order than the IHMs, she would be invited to express her preference for one of two paths: teaching or nursing. The fact that she would not necessarily be allowed to pursue the one she had chosen merely spoke to the dedication that religious life would demand of her.

  But there was something to be said for either occupation.

  If she were to teach, she would be instilling in young minds the ancient and ever-present truths of Catholicism. Her students would remember—some for the rest of their lives—what “Sister said.” The aphorism “Once a Catholic, always a Catholic” would, in many cases, be the legacy of her vocation.

  That—even the demands on her freedom—was all on the positive side. There would be pride in what she had accomplished and a reverence for what her life signified.

  If she were directed to the nursing field, it held similar possibilities. She would have to be qualified as a nurse. She would work in a Catholic hospital where uniforms abounded and nurses’ caps identified the wearer’s school of training. But among all those uniforms of various shades, hers—the religious habit turned white—would be the most distinctive.

  She would be warmly welcomed by patients stricken with nearly every sort of illness. Her prayers would be solicited and promised. Patients would go forward with renewed confidence: What better insurance could there be than a nun’s prayer?

  She would be with those who would not survive. Being encouraged and given good hope as they passed from this life to the next. She would be with the bereaved, offering consoling words, a reassuring presence, and the promise of more prayer.

  All these were positive and motivating arguments for the life she proposed to pursue.

  She could not imagine what it would be like to live in a community of women who would compose one’s “Sisters.” She hoped that that would be worth the price of admission. Still, there were doubts.

  What if she were to find herself locked away with no companions other than women who were more strangers than Sisters?

  What if she were housed with one or more women with whom she was flat-out incompatible? Alice guessed there would be no remedy for that. Obedience—blind obedience—would be the required response. The Community saw fit to send her to this school, this hospital, and/or this convent. That mission then would be God’s will—no matter how unpleasant the atmosphere might be.

  Monroe’s voice reinvaded her consciousness. That about which he was singing was the real sacrifice she would have to face. She felt that it would be the most difficult gift of all—a veritable oblation.

  Loneliness.

  And not just under a Blue Moon.

  She would see it everywhere.

  And it would be worse as a nursing Sister. Teachers deal with students, kids more than likely. More times than not it would be on an adversarial basis. She recalled a cartoon of a nun at a blackboard lecturing other nuns. On the blackboard was the stick figure of a little boy in open-neck shirt and jeans, with a slingshot sticking out of his back pocket. The cartoon caption: “THE ENEMY.”r />
  Teaching nuns had little to do with adults, unless the parents’ little darlings were in deep scholastic or disciplinary trouble.

  The nursing nun dealt with everyone from infants to the elderly. Not only did these nuns care for the ill and infirm, they also interacted with the next of kin: husbands, wives, children, friends, relatives, lovers. Sometimes the love among these people was all but palpable. They would hold hands, be near, kiss.

  None of that for her.

  Could she do it?

  Right now, Mr. and Mrs. Smith were in bed together. Whether or not they were making love, at least they were together—touching, caring, sharing, being in love.

  Not in her life. Her life would have its pluses—and its minuses. Could she carry it off? No telling till she gave it her best shot.

  No one had said a word during Monroe’s song. Alice and Rose each had her own thoughts and daydreams. Mike was deep into lines connecting adjectives to nouns, adverbs to verbs.

  Monroe had finished. Time to put on another record.

  Time to share a little conversation.

  SIX

  MIKE PACKED AWAY HIS BOOKS, rolled over onto his back, and stretched. “No wonder they call Monroe the Iron Lung; he sings practically every song his band plays.”

  “Stop picking on him.” Rose was lighthearted. “At least he’s good at it.”

  “He sounds like someone pinched his nose with a clothespin,” Mike replied.

  What has been said of twins’ closeness was true of Mike and Rose. Even as infants they had paid more attention to each other than to the toys their parents lavished on them.

  Although Mr. and Mrs. Smith had planned a large family, Rose and Mike were the only offspring they had and the only ones they would ever have.

  The Smiths had not expected twins, although they certainly welcomed the two, who would, they thought, provide a great start toward the desired large Catholic family.

  The bad news was the discovery of a cancerous growth on the mother’s uterus. The growth was excised, of course. But to do so, the entire uterus had to be removed. There followed an extended period of watching and praying that the surgery had removed any possibility of recurrence.

  The parents’ initial reaction was to lavish the twins with toys and games. Eventually, they saw the light and settled down to provide their children the only things they really needed—tender, loving care.

  “It’s not that I was looking for a specific singer,” Alice said. “It’s the song I wanted to hear.”

  “How come?” Mike asked.

  “Oh, I dunno. I guess I was feeling kind of alone.”

  “You should’ve told me,” Rose said with genuine concern. “We had plenty of time to talk about it upstairs. It certainly wasn’t going to do you any good to listen to such a sad song. Besides”—she was trying to be encouraging—“toward the end, it says, ‘Now I’m no longer alone … ’”

  “I guess the melody is what I was looking for,” Alice said. “It’s sort of sad and melancholy.” She smiled. “But now that I’ve heard the song and listened to you guys, it’s better.”

  “Remember,” Mike said, “you only get to feel like this”—he paused for emphasis—“once in a blue moon. That’s what it means: once in a very long time.”

  “You would make this cerebral,” Rose scolded. “Al just was feeling down. I’m sure that it happens to everybody now and then.” She turned back to her friend. “Is something bothering you, Al? Don’t be put off by Mr. Meat-and-Potatoes there. Believe it or not, he does have feelings.”

  “I know he does.” Alice smiled at the now blushing Mike. “I was thinking … I got to thinking about what we’re planning on doing.”

  “Which is what?” Mike asked.

  “Going into the convent,” Alice replied.

  “Is that it?” Rose’s tone was dismissive. “Good gravy, that’s not for another five years. First we have to go through grade school and high school. That’s a long way to go. We’ve got plenty of time to decide for sure. Heck, Mike here has only one year to make up his mind. Once he finishes the eighth grade, it’s off to the seminary—if they’ll have him,” she said with a mocking grin.

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t joke about that,” Mike said. “If Bob Koesler had a rough time, I’m not expecting a smooth slide.”

  “Sorry,” Rose said. “But you shouldn’t be so touchy. You know you’re gonna be accepted.”

  “Okay. But so do you two.”

  “It’s different with us,” Rose protested.

  “Oh?”

  “We—the three of us,” Rose said, “along about this time next year will graduate from the eighth grade. Then Al and I will start high school at Redeemer. Nothing much will change for us. But you,” she addressed her twin, “will be going to a very special school where you’ll start a long process to figure out whether or not you want to be a priest.

  “When the three of us graduate from high school, you’ll continue to be a student. Nothing much different will happen in your life. But our lives—Al’s and mine—will change terrifically. We’ll be in a convent. We’ll be postulants. We’ll be wearing a religious habit. We’ll be well on our way to becoming nuns.”

  Silence for a few moments.

  “I see what you mean,” Mike admitted finally. “Once we get out of grade school, my life will change—a lot. I’ll be a seminarian. But you and Alice; well, nothing much will happen to you two next year. Then, when we graduate four years later, I’ll still just be a seminarian … whereas you two will be beginning religious life in Monroe.”

  “I’m not sure …” Alice hesitated. “ … about Monroe.”

  “What?” Mike was puzzled. “You gotta go there. That’s where they make IHM nuns.”

  The girls ignored Mike’s flippant phrase. “I’m just not so sure I want to be an IHM,” Alice said.

  “What?” It was Rose’s turn to be surprised.

  “The IHMs are teachers,” Alice said. “That’s what they do. Oh, here and there one might be an infirmarian, so she’d likely have to be a nurse. But there’s no real choice when you enter Monroe: If you stick it out, you’re going to be a teaching nun.”

  “Maybe that’s why you were playing the Monroe record,” Mike teased. “You were thinking of being lonely in Monroe.” He chuckled.

  “We can do without your feeble puns.” Rose turned to Alice. “I’m really surprised, Al. I thought you and I had the same plans. I mean, we know the IHMs. I didn’t think there was any question.”

  “I haven’t mentioned it,” Alice admitted, “but I have been giving it some thought.”

  “What is it?” Rose probed. “You getting cold feet about the convent?”

  “That’s not it … at least I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s the question of having a choice.”

  “I don’t understand,” Rose said.

  “There are lots of different orders,” Alice explained. “There are teachers and nurses and … and missionaries! We haven’t even discussed missionaries!”

  “Do you think you might prefer one of those alternatives? ’Cause if you do, I wouldn’t want to stand in your way. I mean, it’s too big a choice for you to depend on somebody else to make.”

  Silence. Even though the girls were clearly aware of his presence, Mike felt as if he were eavesdropping.

  “I want to be with you,” Alice said finally. “That’s part of it. But I also want a bigger choice on what I’ll do with my life in a religious order.” Her brow wrinkled. “I’m confused.”

  “Well …” Rose shook her head. Her freshly brushed hair danced about. “We can’t plan that we’ll be together. We have to give up a lot of personal freedom when we become nuns. Far as I know, we’ll have precious few choices. Even our new names in the Order won’t be up to us. We can request, but others will decide them. And if we don’t even get to choose our own names, it’s not likely we’ll have much say in where we’ll serve or with whom.”

  Mike might as we
ll have been invisible.

  “I’m confused,” Alice acknowledged. “I want to be a nun. I want to be a ‘Bride of Christ.’ I want to wear the habit and I want to live up to what the habit stands for. I want to willingly—gladly—accept any sacrifice that I’m called to make.

  “That’s today. Yesterday I didn’t want to be a nun. Tomorrow I may want to get married and have kids. I don’t want to keep changing my mind, going backward and forward. It’s driving me nuts.” A tear slid down her cheek. More tears filled her eyes, waiting to fall. She wiped them away.

  Rose moved closer and put an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “I had no idea,” she admitted. “I just had no idea. Isn’t there anyone you’ve talked to about your decision? Isn’t there anyone you could discuss it with? One of our teachers? Your folks?”

  “Oh, Rose, I’ve got more confidence in you than in anybody else. I know … I really know that you’re the one to help me make up my mind once and for all.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Al. I want to help you. But I’ve got to be objective. I’m just a kid. Like you. I don’t have any experience with something as important as this.”

  “Prayer.” Mike spoke the word with no particular emphasis.

  “Huh?” Alice wasn’t sure what he’d said.

  “Prayer?” Rose echoed.

  “I don’t mean to horn in on your discussion. But”—he shrugged—“I really couldn’t help it.”

  “I don’t mind,” Alice said. “In fact, I was kind of hoping you’d throw your two cents in.”

  Rose was smiling. “You hit the nail right on the head, brother. The one thing we should’ve thought of right away. Here we are, talking about a religious vocation, and we’ve done a great job of missing the point. We plan on spending our lives in prayer … and we forgot all about it when it most counted.”

  “You two,” Mike said, “have been carrying on as if we were going to ship you off to the convent tomorrow. Migosh, you’ve got five years! Plenty of time, if you use it well.”

  ‘You’re right, pal,” Rose said. “And who knows what’ll happen during these next years?” She turned back to Alice. “You might even find a nun you have confidence in— somebody you can really open up to. But more than anything else we simply have to pray about it. And that means all of us: praying for ourselves and for each other.”