Sinners and Saints

Sinners and Saints Chapter 18 - The Bitch is Back

Sunday is a comparatively-free day for us.  Of course, we still have to attend Mass, but it’s usually just slightly-longer than normal Mass. 

Except for today.  

On Sundays, the Bishops give us Mass.  I guess they think they are doing a good deed for us or something.  When the bishop - Bishop Barnibas - enters the chapel we all rise in respect.  He’s another old-schooler.  Mona hisses to me that his Masses are in Latin and are always the full-thing, no matter what day it is.  I was really hoping for Bishop Ignacio.  With his impressive paunch, he is just as anxious as we are for breakfast and rushes through Mass. 

When we finally sit, Mona pulls a Bible from the pew and motions for me to do the same.  She opens her book and silently flips to a page, pointing at the page number and the lines of a verse.  I open mine to that page and scan the verse. 

Jeremiah 11:15  - “Why has my beloved wrought great wickedness in my house?  How can the holy flesh take away from you your wickedness, in which you have gloried?” 

My snort is soft and I ever-so slightly shake my head.  She thinks I was out getting a mark.  I flip through the book slowly, knowing what I want to say but with no knowledge of it, I don’t know automatically what book, chapter or verse to go to like she does.  Finally I close it and make a rocking motion with my arms, hoping she picks up on the fact that I was at the hospital. 

She quirks a brow, but doesn’t attempt further communication.  I’m woefully inadequate at this and she knows it.  We listen to the service and I stand and kneel and sit whenever Mona does.  I finally got the English cues, but the Latin is still a mystery to me. 

Finally, I see the Bishop bless the wine and bread and I groan to myself.  Since I was never confirmed, I technically can’t take communion.  So far, this hasn’t been a problem, but it looks like my luck is about to run out. 

Mona notices my distress, “Just do what I do,” she chances a hurried whisper at me as she grabs my hand and drags me behind her to the altar.  

My knees are knocking.  Have I mentioned how bad a liar I am?  And even though I know the Big Guy isn’t paying attention and doesn’t care, it just seems so wrong to participate in a ritual that I’m not worthy of.  Mona squeezes my hand hard and gives me a steely look.  “Don’t draw attention to yourself,” she reminds me and I nod quickly and follow her and the rest of the sisters submissively. 

When I’m in front of the Bishop, he holds the cup and I take a tiny sip and swallow quickly as the tepid, watered-down wine hits the back of my throat.  I obediently stick my tongue out and he places a small, tasteless wafer on it before giving a half-hearted blessing and jerking his head to tell me to move away. 

I know enough not to chew, but this is like letting sawdust slowly dissolve in my mouth.  Seriously, rice cakes or Matzo has more flavor.  “Why couldn’t Jesus have blessed the wine after the bread?” I wonder, trying to swallow down the soggy mass that is sticking to my tongue like tasteless peanut butter.  I make my way back to my pew and kneel again.  Mona clasps my hand briefly and I give her a weak smile, my eyes watering from the effort not to chew. 

Now that the Eucharist is out of the way, the rest of Mass concludes and the Bishop leaves through the back.  We gather up and walk silently to the dining room.  I still can’t scrape the body of Christ off my tongue.  It feels like it swelled up three times already and is now clinging to the roof of my mouth too.  I’m going to start gagging soon. 

I eye the restroom door some thirty feet ahead of me and calculate the seconds it will take me to reach it, slip into a stall, wrap the wafer in some toilet paper and bury it in the bottom of the waste-basket.  Less than thirty, certainly.  My pace quickens a bit, but I’m blocked by Sisters Bernard and Mary-Francis ahead of me and Mona next to me.