Birgitta the Nun

Part 53 - Last Night in the Tent

As the sun met the field-clad horizon, the desolation of the merchant grew stronger. The sensation was enhanced by something unsettling, a corruptness of the evening. The merchant couldn't put her finger on it. Solitude was all around her, yet, something wouldn't leave the wind in peace.

Inside the tent, she observed the cloth bulge above her head, back and forth, as a careful wind caressed the petit residence. She crawled into her sleeping-bag and covered her head. But before she had time to make herself comfortable, a scraping sound reached her ears. It came from the entrance - something clawed at the tent cloth. It seemed as if someone, or something, was knocking on her door. Except, she hadn't got a door to knock on.

"Ho-ho, is anyone at home?" a thin voice seeped into the tent. "Might I come in? It's the Big Bad Wolf," then a nervous chuckle. Something snorted - then silence.

The merchant pushed her head out of her sleeping-bag and stared at the zipper-made entrance. For a moment she considered imagining it all. After all, there could be no one out there - there was nothing for miles. But then the 'knocking' continued.

It was the most annoying sound. The way something clawed at the cloth, with its presumable paws, gave the merchant goosebumps. And not the good kind. She had no intention of answering the 'door'. What was lurking outside was none of her business. She didn't care what plotted in the night - right now she deserved some sleep. And so she let the scraping continue.

The desperate clawing finally died away. But it was replaced by something worse: something pulled at the zipper. The pulling force got a grip, and the tent opened up. The merchant started. She had no way of escape and had to settle for crouching in the corner. With the sleeping-bag on her head, she tried to make herself invisible.

A strong wind followed the movement of the zipper and found its way inside the tent. It whisked the whole place around - kitchenware flying in one direction, and a toothbrush and some ragged blankets in the other. Finally, something again pulled at the zipper - and the tent was closed. Under some blankets and socks, panting in the opposite corner, the merchant could discern a sad figure. It was the abbess.

"Why didn't you open up?" the heaving nun cried. "Would you prefer me kidnapped?"

"Where did you come from?" the merchant looked about in disbelief.

"I saw you—" the abbess indignantly removed some socks and blankets resting on her head, "you and your enormous backpack - far away, ahead of me. But I couldn't catch up. I tried calling," she whimpered, but looked more angry than sorry, "but you wouldn't hear me. The next thing you were gone—and then I stumble upon this tent."

"But I was trying to catch up with YOU—you were ahead of me." The merchant was thoroughly confused now and couldn't comprehend the situation at all.

"Nonsense," the abbess muttered and removed her dirty clogs. "Didn't you hear me—really?"

"But why did you knock in the first place? You know how a zipper works—you could have just rushed in."

"I know." The abbess stopped her fiddling and took a long look at the merchant, "The thing is - I wasn't quite sure it was your tent."

"Seen a lot of tents around here, have you?" the merchant retorted with a haughty laugh. But really she was terribly relieved to have the abbess again by her side.

"No—but who knew what could be lurking inside? And you didn't open up when I knocked, did you? No—because you weren't so sure yourself."

"That's not the same thing. You lost your head there a bit—"

"Oh yes," the abbess cried. "I lost my head a thousand times—and a thousand times again. You know," she lowered her voice, "for a moment I imagined a bear taking up residence inside your tent. I saw it before me, looking all snug and cozy. Maybe it had had a nice human dinner—"

"Ok that's enough," the merchant cut the agitated nun off. "I believe you—please."

The sound of a church ringing its bells put an end to their chatter. First it rang far in the distance, then it seemed close. Then it disappeared. The abbess glared at the merchant, who would offer nothing but a silly grin as an explanation.

They drew together and listened to the rising and falling of the silence. The church bell was no more, but a busying of feet and wheels and hooves. It made no sense. Noise came and went. The hours dragged. Their eyelids dropped but they could find no rest. Not even the frisky merchant would fall asleep, and together they waited for stillness.

When morning finally came, they were both void of hope. They sat back to back inside their tent, deprived of peace and quiet, heads leaning heavy in their hands.

They had no intention of getting up, and would have stayed like this for the rest of the day, had not a child suddenly poked her head inside the tent. She devoured the scene with curiosity, but pulled out her head as she was met by the gaze of the bewildered nun.

The merchant was the first one to react. She hurried out of their nest and found herself in the middle of a marketplace. The abbess was quick to follow. The curious child stood watching as they exited the tent. She seemed not embarrassed at all to be staring like an idiot of a tourist. A parent came running, snatching the child in front of their eyes - and she was gone.

"Are we there yet?" the abbess looked with big eyes at the commotion surrounding them.

"Yes—yes, I would think so," the merchant replied. "I think we made it."