Martha stood outside the door
of Sister Teresa’s office;
other pupils passed by
along the corridor
on their way to lessons.
One of the pupils
came over and said:
What you doing here?
Martha paused
********* her rosary
in her skirt pocket.
Seeing her
about my vocation
to be a nun,
she said.
Rather you than me,
Mary said,
I wouldn’t be a nun
for all the holy water in Rome:
See you later,
and she walked off
down the corridor.
Martha resumed
********* her rosary
and muttering an Ave.
The door opened
and the nun
poked her head out:
Come in, Martha.
Martha entered the room
and the nun closed the door
behind them,
and sat at the desk.
Sit down, Martha.
Martha sat in the chair
opposite the nun.
Sister Teresa,
fingered pages
in front of her.
So you want
to be a nun?
Martha nodded
and gazed at the nun.
The nun was thin
and had a pointed nose
and thin line of a mouth.
What kind of nun?
Sister Teresa asked.
A good nun,
Martha replied.
The nun frowned:
I meant, an active
or contemplative nun.
Contemplative nun,
Martha said.
She focused on the crucifix
on the wall above the nun’s head:
the Crucified's eyes
were half open
and half closed,
and the crown of thorns
was pushed down
into the head.
The nun studied
the young girl
opposite her: plump
with brown hair
and a vacant expression
on her face.
Have you spoken
to the priest
about this?
the nun asked.
Yes,
Martha replied
returning her gaze
to the nun.
What did he say?
the nun asked.
To see you,
Martha said.
The nun looked
at the girl’s expression,
at her other-worldly gaze.
Have you any particular
order in mind?
Martha’s eyes lifted
to the feet of Christ,
nailed one on top
of the other, bloodied.
Not sure which,
Martha said,
but my auntie Rose
is a Benedictine nun
in some abbey
in the south.
The nun gazed
at the girl’s hands
********* a rosary.
She took down a book
behind her and opened it.
Shall we write
to the Benedictine order?
she asked.
Martha wanted to go
and kiss the feet of Christ,
place her lips
where the feet met.
Cistercians nuns,
Martha said,
gazing back at the nun.
The nun scribbled down
the address of the order
from the book.
I will write to the abbess
of the order
and see what she suggests,
the nun said,
but you will need to be
at least sixteen
before you can enter,
although they prefer eighteen.
Martha remembered seeing
a photograph of a Cistercian nun
in a book from the school library.
I’m nearly fifteen,
she said,
and by the time
all the letter writing is done
and I make a visit
and they see me,
the time will go,
Martha said.
The nun said
she would write
and after a few
more questions,
Martha left the room.
The nun gazed
at the door;
she would
write the letter
and express
the best she could
about the girl.
She was certainly not
the usual fifteen year old
in Tipperary;
and there was something
a bit odd about her,
how she eyed
the crucifix on the wall
during the interview.
She would write
and hopefully
it would do.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 6:47 AM UTC
Martha stood outside the door
of Sister Teresa’s office;
other pupils passed by
along the corridor
on their way to lessons.
One of the pupils
came over and said:
What you doing here?
Martha paused
********* her rosary
in her skirt pocket.
Seeing her
about my vocation
to be a nun,
she said.
Rather you than me,
Mary said,
I wouldn’t be a nun
for all the holy water in Rome:
See you later,
and she walked off
down the corridor.
Martha resumed
********* her rosary
and muttering an Ave.
The door opened
and the nun
poked her head out:
Come in, Martha.
Martha entered the room
and the nun closed the door
behind them,
and sat at the desk.
Sit down, Martha.
Martha sat in the chair
opposite the nun.
Sister Teresa,
fingered pages
in front of her.
So you want
to be a nun?
Martha nodded
and gazed at the nun.
The nun was thin
and had a pointed nose
and thin line of a mouth.
What kind of nun?
Sister Teresa asked.
A good nun,
Martha replied.
The nun frowned:
I meant, an active
or contemplative nun.
Contemplative nun,
Martha said.
She focused on the crucifix
on the wall above the nun’s head:
the Crucified's eyes
were half open
and half closed,
and the crown of thorns
was pushed down
into the head.
The nun studied
the young girl
opposite her: plump
with brown hair
and a vacant expression
on her face.
Have you spoken
to the priest
about this?
the nun asked.
Yes,
Martha replied
returning her gaze
to the nun.
What did he say?
the nun asked.
To see you,
Martha said.
The nun looked
at the girl’s expression,
at her other-worldly gaze.
Have you any particular
order in mind?
Martha’s eyes lifted
to the feet of Christ,
nailed one on top
of the other, bloodied.
Not sure which,
Martha said,
but my auntie Rose
is a Benedictine nun
in some abbey
in the south.
The nun gazed
at the girl’s hands
********* a rosary.
She took down a book
behind her and opened it.
Shall we write
to the Benedictine order?
she asked.
Martha wanted to go
and kiss the feet of Christ,
place her lips
where the feet met.
Cistercians nuns,
Martha said,
gazing back at the nun.
The nun scribbled down
the address of the order
from the book.
I will write to the abbess
of the order
and see what she suggests,
the nun said,
but you will need to be
at least sixteen
before you can enter,
although they prefer eighteen.
Martha remembered seeing
a photograph of a Cistercian nun
in a book from the school library.
I’m nearly fifteen,
she said,
and by the time
all the letter writing is done
and I make a visit
and they see me,
the time will go,
Martha said.
The nun said
she would write
and after a few
more questions,
Martha left the room.
The nun gazed
at the door;
she would
write the letter
and express
the best she could
about the girl.
She was certainly not
the usual fifteen year old
in Tipperary;
and there was something
a bit odd about her,
how she eyed
the crucifix on the wall
during the interview.
She would write
and hopefully
it would do.
A girl in Eire wants to be a nun 1963
