Birgitta the Nun

Part 3 - The Holy Office

Birgitta made her way through the monastery. She went through some corridors, climbed several stairs, traversed a few rooms, to finally reach the door of the Holy Office. Without knocking, she pushed the door open and strode in.

The Holy Office, like any other office, had settled in a mess. Papers lay scattered all over the room, used coffee mugs balanced on top of each other, and every plant ever brought to brighten up the place had died. Books, all full of dog ears and bookmarks, thronged on innumerable shelves along the walls, sure to be forgotten and rediscovered over and over again.

Incidentally, the abbess had company. She conversed with a young nun, who held a lit cigarette in one hand, while wiping her tears with the other. Birgitta hesitated, observed the ridiculous scene.

"Well—that's the whole point of becoming a nun," the abbess focused on the smoking and choking sister. "There's nothing to lament anymore. You can never be abandoned again, and at the same, time you are completely free. You don't even have to pay the bills, or buy toilet paper—of course, you shouldn't smoke, but keep it to yourself and I won't tell anyone." She lifted her head, pointed Birgitta to have a seat, then continued, "Look, you haven't been here for a year yet, and I would be sad to see you leave. Why don't you follow Birgitta around for a while, and see what comforts the monastery have to offer."

Birgitta rolled her eyes.

The crying nun inhaled some heavy smoke from her cigarette. Careful lines of white fume trailed down her nostrils as she spoke, "I'm just not used to being alone this much. It gets on my nerves. My head won't stop bothering me. I—and I keep thinking and thinking. Do you know—" she exhaled in a stutter, "when your thoughts starts going in circles and your ideas get stuck, and you don't know why you're thinking about bathing balls all of a sudden, or pancakes? Do you?"

"I know," the abbess stroked the arm of the upset nun, "but you're young and part of another generation."

"The de-generation," Birgitta said.

The abbess shot a sharp look at Birgitta, not pausing her sympathy, "Anyway, you'll get used to this place, and learn how to appreciate it. If you need a reminder you can always visit Petra in the kitchen. She's a real chatterbox and she'll make your ears bleed. She'll make you wish you'd never meet another human being again."

The helpless nun startled.

"Don't worry." The abbess observed the terrified expression on the newcomer's face. "It was a joke. Petra just likes to talk a lot—and it's a good reminder of why peace and quiet is better than gossip. But we like her and we keep her. She's a good cook and she knows her frontiers."

The abbess was an old champ, a sage if you like, wise and full of faith, but still a bit cynical. However that works. Sœur Emmanuelle was her allotted cloister name but no one ever used it. She was a given abbess and nobody ever took her for anything else. Her vestment was plain, just like her fellow sisters', still, in a crowd of nuns, she would stand out like a star. When she talked one listened. Her patience stood any test, even among naïve rookies, and she had a knack for settling disagreements.

The abbess let the newcomer light another cigarette, made sure she had calmed down, then turned to Birgitta with an inviting gesture.

"We have a guest," Birgitta announced.

The crying nun choked on her smoke and the abbess stiffened in her place.

"Is it a jesuit?" the abbess nodded her head, squinted her eyes.

Birgitta shook her head.

"A monk?" the young nun suggested.

"A preacher?" the abbess went on guessing. "Or a salesperson?"

Birgitta continued to shake her head.

"Is it my parents?" the young nun asked, and again took to whimpering.

"No. Absolutely not," Birgitta cut the wailing nun off. She fidgeted in her chair, let out her hand, offering the company another round of moonstruck suggestions.

"It's a goblin," the abbess cried. "I'm sure of it." She gave the newcomer a heavy clap on the back and nodded, agreeing with herself. "Yes. I knew they would come, one day or another."

The rookie also nodded. Her eyebrows raised, she gave a weak smile. She looked at the abbess, then at Birgitta. Then again at the abbess. Her eyes went to and fro, as it were, not finding a reliable source to focus on.

Birgitta observed the guessing going overboard. No more suggestions came and the abbess appeared to have settled the deal. A goblin seemed an honorable guest, though, perhaps a somewhat troublesome one—

"It's a wizard, alright—" Birgitta interrupted the nodding of the company. "Maybe also a commie, I'm not sure—the thing is, she wants to stay the night. Can I offer her a bed or should I kick her out?"

The abbess screwed up her eyes, overdoing the surprise. Then, in a singsong voice, "That's strange. Wizards don't like monasteries. And monasteries certainly don't like wizards."

"She's a wretch, a real nervous wreck, and doesn't seem to be in her right mind. Should we help her or not?"

The abbess tapped her nose, looking from the one nun to the other. Her left eye twitched as she hummed and gave it a thought. "Hmm—why not?" she finally replied. "Take Sœur Madeleine here with you. This could mean a good lesson. A visitor most likely means trouble—and this will teach you not to miss the outside world."

"But—" Birgitta objected.

"No buts. I know this will mean some work on your part, but you'll have your leisure back soon enough." The abbess had made up her mind and offered no room for protests. In fact, she seemed rather pleased. She clapped her hands as she motioned the two nuns away from her office.