The Nun's Story (short story)

The Nun’s Story

‘No, no! How can you do this to me?’

Emily Johnston froze. Had she said it out loud? Dad said that she talked to herself too much - little did he know; if only it was that simple. But No; Dad did not look over; he was still busy packing away her collection of Harry Potter books.

She looked back down at Mindy, her cabbage patch doll. She hesitated.

‘We’re best friends… pleeeease …don’t ….’

She steeled her resolve; it was the hardest thing she had had to do in her 18 years – but it had to be done.

‘Please Emy, don’t-’

Emily closed her eyes and pressed the cardboard flaps down on the box. Even with closed eyes she could still see Mindy’s expression in the darkness…and of course the voice was clear in her head; not muffled by the cardboard box as she had irrationally thought it would be.

‘You know you love me…pleeeease…pleeeeease.’

The voice was insistent, pleading. She could not bear it.

‘Leave me…alone!’

As Emily reached for the Sellotape a large teardrop burst onto the cardboard box.

‘Please Emy…’ it was more a whimper.

‘Shut up, shut up! SHUT UP!’

She tried to tape the top of the box - but patches of damp were making it difficult to stick the flaps down; her hands shook. Dad had to take over; he applied an extra layer of Sellotape.

‘Come on now…dry your eyes …this was your idea, after all.’

‘It was sister superior’s idea, really.’

‘You’re not having second thoughts…?’

‘No, no – it’s not that.’

‘You know … your Mum and I support whatever you want to do…’

‘I know…’

‘We can hold on to anything special that you want to keep…for sentimental reasons…like Mindy…I know how attached you were to that old doll.’

‘No, it’s okay. I have to break those attachments. Sister Mary practically gave me a sermon …I must put away childish things…It’s silly really’

‘If you are sure?’

‘I am; I need to do this … anyway, it will help towards the dowry.’

‘There is that, right enough.’

Dad smiled encouragement, in a sort of bemused way, like fathers the world over, perplexed by the enigma of their daughters.

The remainder of the packing took the rest of the night; boxes and boxes of books and assorted stuff, black bin bags filled with soft toys - the accumulated clutter of childhood– plus one cabbage patch doll – all ready for the car boot sale.

The planned ‘boot’ sale turned into two car boot sales, held over consecutive weekends. Even after that there was inevitably some stuff left over – but they had done very well; raising just under three hundred pounds all told.

Mr Johnson quietly packed away the remaining bits and pieces. He thought of these as keep-sakes; for himself as much as for his daughter. H e decided against telling Emily about them – but maybe she would appreciate them one day. He hoped so.

With the dowry provided Emily Johnston became Sister Luke. Finally she was accepted as a novice at St Magdalene’s convent.

While many of the novice sisters struggled with monastic discipline, Sister Luke felt that she had come home to the ideal spiritual life. Other Sisters struggled with the rule of Silence; Sister Luke embraced it; preferring silence to the idle chit chat still indulged in by some of the sisters.

Several sisters observed that Sister Luke was always promptly first to prayer call and always last to leave. She soon gained a reputation for spiritual piety and was held as an example for others by the sister superior. Inevitably, some sisters were stricken by that double edged spiritual sin; admiration turned to envy, with a dose of resentment.

Little did they realise that Sister Luke had her own personal struggles to contend with.

In the beginning Sister Luke felt that she had left her old problems behind, along with her old life and identity.  But as time went by the demons of Emily Johnston crawled back.     

In the dead of night she would wake up from restless dreams with a vague feeling of having been summoned, but there was no one there.  She could never quite remember the dreams …but they left her with a sense of dread; a premonition of disaster.

Lack of sleep started to affect her daily disciplines; she was observed nodding-off during prayer and on occasion had to be awakened with a shake at the end of mass.

During periods of silence and contemplation she was disturbed by strange visions which invaded her mind with thoughts that seemed alien to her.

The dreams were becoming more frequent and more nightmarish. In her dreams the once gentle and loving Mindy would transform into a vindictive accuser and a tormentor. The ancient drama of spurned love was enacted; ‘If I can’t have your love… I will make sure that no one else can…’ It could only lead to self destruction.

One night the anguished Sister Luke/Emily Johnston thrashed around in such torment that she awoke the other sisters.

She was summoned by the Mother Superior, who monitored the behaviour and welfare of the novitiate. Nothing escaped the Mother Superior; it was rumoured (only half jokingly) that she had supernatural powers of observation and detection.

The truth was that the Mother Superior had an immense compassionate understanding for the trials and ordeals of the souls under her care – this included the novitiate as well as the more seasoned sisters. So of course she knew of Sister Luke – knew of her exemplary beginnings and knew, even before the latest report, that something was wrong, that something had to give under the sustained pressure exerted by Sister Luke.

The Mother superior sighed; she recognised the signs all too well – but she had not been prepared for the meeting; in her mind she still retained an angelic image of Sister Luke – and here before her was an agitated, mad-eyed creature, who somehow made the nun’s habit and garments look dishevelled.

‘Come child…sit down…and bring that chair closer.’

Sister Luke complied.

‘That’s better….’

There was an appraising silence. Sister Luke was again struck by the Mother Superior’s similarity to Mother Teresa; the same lined features, like creased leather – radiating compassion. 

‘Old crow! ...who does she think she is!’

Sister Luke tensed; gritted her teeth, clenched her hands.

‘oh please Mindy, not now.’

The Mother Superior read the anguish in Sister Luke’s eyes; observed the agitated posture and was shocked to see how thin this poor girl had become.

‘Come child, you can unburden yourself to me…’

It took a long time to persuade Sister Luke to do so; The Mother Superior needed all her considerable experience in spiritual counselling – even then it was touch and go for a while; the mother superior harboured no illusions; this child had serious psychological problems - but she had faith, faith in a higher power. After all, the child had had the calling; there was no doubt about that – the visions were startling and confusing – but there was no doubting their source…  

Still she had to be cautious; it was the sensitive ones, the ones with an abundant imagination that you had to watch…she had seen it before – many times.

The break through came after several of the Mother Superior’s sessions. Sister Luke had learned that the virtues of compassion and forgiveness did not just apply to others; they applied with profound logic to herself – yet this ran contrary to her instincts. She had to forgive herself, she had to have compassion for herself, she had to love herself – and all the aspects which comprised herself. She had to do this without reservation and God’s grace. This was the spiritual magic bullet delivered by the Mother Superior; a bullet that killed as it healed. It killed the guilt; killed the negativity and healed the heart.

The Mother superior was sure now that Sister Luke was over the worst; maybe not quite out of the woods yet, but on the right path, God willing. Sister Luke’s conduct certainly seemed to bear out the Mother superior’s hopeful prognosis. The other sisters remarked on Sister Luke’s recovery, her return to form – and more; she was recognised now for her charity, her compassion even - qualities that had been lacking.

The novitiates finally were admitted into the ranks of the order; over ninety percent of novices became nuns. Of the ten percent who did not make it into the order, for one reason or another, there was only one regrettable casualty; Sister Marie – who was now cared for at the nun’s sanatorium, where she received professional psychiatric treatment.  The Mother Superior was relieved that Sister Luke had not suffered a similar fate. She had watched Sister Luke’s progress with anxious concern. She knew she should not have favourites – but she had a soft spot for Sister Luke; it was a Mother’s secrete indulgence.  

As a fully fledge nun, Sister Luke was tasked with the roof-fund project. Fundraising suited her; she enjoyed the contact with the outside world; the local community. The public proved to be generous with direct appeals for donations – the nuns were quick to exploit this as they descended on public gatherings, brandishing collection tins.

Sister Luke was particularly successful at raising donations in her old haunt; the Saturday car boot sale. Despite her change of appearance she was recognised by many of the stall holders; as in times past, they called out offering bargains. But more importantly they also offered donations. 

Although she managed to resist the stall holder’s good hearted offers, there were times when she was tempted: not to acquire anything in particular, but to indulge generally in nostalgic browsing. She would linger over a table stacked with old books and thumb through a well used copy of ‘The Half-Blood Prince’ or some other well loved book from childhood. She always checked the first page for inscriptions; half expecting to see her name scrawled in Dad’s careless handwriting – But she never did. Instead she read anonymous inscriptions with a secret longing.

Sister Luke was reminiscing over a Poly-pocket set which was just like the one she had owned, when she noticed the cabbage patch doll. She froze; she stared in disbelief. Could it be? What were the chances?

‘That’s me, you moron!’

She still had not moved. The Poly-pocket dropped from nerveless fingers; luckily it was a short drop onto soft toys.

Sister Luke reached for the doll, picked it up and examined it. The old thread bear cabbage patch doll certainly looked like hers. She remembered when she first got her doll; Mum had bought it at the car boot sale – she had not been too impressed with it at the time; she had wanted a Cindy doll. But they could not find one at any of the stalls.

‘It’s not Cindy’ Emily had said. She never heard her Mum’s reply.

‘No, not Cindy…call me Mindy!’ said a voice in her head. That was the beginning…

Sister Luke put the doll down. She suddenly felt sick; her head throbbed and she felt distinctly queasy. By the time she returned to the convent her condition had deteriorated even more. She went straight to bed and almost immediately fell into a fitful sleep.

The next morning Sister Luke awakened in an exhausted state, with a dull headache. She was like some one in a delirium; her mind assailed with strange dreams and vague memories of the night before.  

When she made up her bed she made a shocking discovery; there, under the pillow, lay the cabbage patch doll! Her mind reeled! The headache became excruciating. She could not think clearly…how? How was it possible? Her mind drew a blank…all she knew was that this could not be…she could not allow it - not again. She picked up the doll and dangled her by a leg – over a naked candle flame. Despite the screaming torrent of rage in her mind she kept the doll over the flame. When the head burst into flames she had to let go; the heat was intense and the screams were unbearable. The flaming doll hit the wooden floorboards-where it streamed black smoke and fumes.

Sister Luke did not even seem to hear the fire alarm; when the other nuns found her she was staring at the roaring fire; she seemed to be in a trance - the nuns could not rouse her. They had to pull her away from the flames.

The Mother Superior had been unable to elicit any response at all from Sister Luke. The Doctor’s reassurance that there was nothing she could have done, that Sister Luke was in a state of catatonia, was of little conciliation. It was with a heavy heart that she filled out the papers for Sister Luke’s convalescence at the sanatorium. She would pray for Sister Luke’s recovery.

It was some months before there was any real sign of recovery. When it happened it was sudden and deemed to be quite miraculous. The Mother Superior felt vindicated by the power of prayer.

Sister Luke had called on the nursing staff demanding food; she had come to her senses with a voracious appetite. Weeks later she was discharged and allowed to return home to her anxious parents.

Mr and Mrs Johnson were excitedly preparing for their little girls return home. They had been advised not to expect too much at first; to give Emily time and space to settle into home life; let her tell them about her experiences in her own way, in her own time.

Mrs Johnson fussed with bed linen and clean towels for Emily’s room. The room had been preserved in immaculate condition since Emily’s departure; it did not take too much effort to return it to its former habitable state.

Mrs Johnson placed a vase of daffodils on the bed side table. She wanted every thing to be just right. She inspected the room with satisfaction. Mr Johnson brought a box out of the cupboard; from this he produced several items; the books were promptly placed in the bookcase. There was a Poly pocket, which he placed on the bed side table.

As he reached for the final item the door bell rang.

‘Hurry up!’ said Mrs Johnson. She headed to answer the door.

‘Hold on!’ said Mr Johnson as he placed the cabbage patch doll on Emily’s bed covers.

‘This is the finishing touch!’