Birgitta the Nun

Part 2 - The Monastery

The monastery was a good place to live, for cat and nun the like. The high stone building stood hospitable and cool, offering plenty of room not to bump into anyone on a regular basis. Four large salons furnished the four corners of the monastery, each in every point of the compass. In between, endless hallways spread and sprang, connecting the salons in a nearly non-traceable manner. In the middle pranced the dining hall. Every hallway in some manner, straight or curled, led to this sacred oasis, helping even the most lost of nuns to find her way to nourishment. Sooner or later. No one would have to go hungry for too long.

The monastery offered an almost hermitic life, acting as a residence exclusively for nuns. Visitors were seldom accepted. Children weren't allowed. Not even for short visits. To Birgitta, it meant everything. When imagining children's laughter echoing through the hallways she would give a shudder. She didn't like children. No nun could like children.

As a practicing nun, Birgitta had two flaws: she was afraid of the dark and terrified of spiders. And one can't go around being scared of eight-legged creatures, and shadows of the unseen, in the house of the Heavens, built for tolerance and somber solitude (children didn't count). Still, so she did. However, except for these flaws she was a strong person and a good nun.

The sisters' private quarters lay scattered all over the cloister, giving each nun the opportunity for seclusion. The numerous hallways running through the building, zigzagging in every direction, gave the impression the complex was initially meant to be a maze. Or rather, a prison - impossible to escape. Beginners were given a compass and a map, and an orientation crash course, not to get lost too easily. Still, every now and then, a search party of nuns would gather to go hunting for lost newcomers. And lost newcomers were to be found everywhere. Oftentimes they had locked themselves in in some remote bathroom. Once or twice a newcomer lay heaved upon a shelf in the library, hiding behind some ill-chosen books. Pretty often they would be found sitting with their backs against a corridor-end, not even trying to find their way back. Yes, occasionally, some newcomers even lost their way so much so, they got themselves stuck up on the roof. It was a mess, but in the end, entering would take place voluntary.

As mentioned before, the immense stone structure gave excellent conditions for solitude. After all, walking silently down a deserted hallway would be, in a way, what made a nun a nun. Without solitude, anyone could take on the challenge of the vows. Without isolation, any idiot could do it. But not everyone stood fit for loneliness and contemplation. And so, the monastery remained a sacred and exclusive place.

The cats of the monastery came and went as they liked, being allowed their own little entrance. The small scuttle with its swing-door, frequently used, produced a draught during the winter, however, not to anger the nuns. They let it stay, despite the cold, all to please their feline friends. And feline friends came in hordes, as it were, they had found a respite among the disorderly nuns.

Apart from the sisters, a cook lived at the monastery. Her name was Petra and she was not a nun, obviously, but she was welcome anyway. She was an excellent cook and always had time for a chat, if one was in need of a good gossip. But for Petra there were only nuns and cats around the monastery. There were the monks of course, but no one payed them any attention. They lived some safe distance away, yet had a hard time minding their own business. Particularly, they wanted to visit now and then, to inspire the sisters and give some advice. Though, they were seldom received. And seldom in this case meant never.