431. An Hour in the Life of a Novice

An Hour in the Life of a Novice-  

From a Novel by Eva Ulian

Monday followed into Tuesday without the least bit of difference. Mass, breakfast, bed-making, housework, instructions, Angelus and lunch- all performed in the uttermost silence. After lunch came recreation in the main room, which to Irene was more like a medieval inquisition than a moment for relaxation. How could one have a conversation with fifty or so women without ending up with a splitting headache was beyond her comprehension. Fortunately it was not compulsory to offer one’s pearls of wisdom and one could get away without pronouncing a single word for the whole of the hour. But then, she had to remember this was her only chance to move her lips, to speak. However, her brain froze and she could only sit there without saying or doing anything whatsoever except make appropriate facial expressions of comprehension where necessary- even that was an effort for she had to follow what was being said- all this, to Irene seemed just needless torture, she simply had no idea what to say to fifty women or so, locked up day and night within four walls...

‘How are you all getting on with your meditations?’  one of the novices asked generically during recreation.

‘It’s rather an immense book,’ Deborah, who never missed a chance to show off, answered promptly.’ Irene thought awhile on her own meditations. Unlike Deborah, Mother Paul had given Irene a very slim book with hard black leather covers, but Irene had no idea what to do with it. She carried it with her to chapel because that was what all the others did. What was meditation? She thought; she couldn’t remember of actually ever doing it. Obviously Deborah was quite familiar with the subject, going to a convent school goodness knows how many retreats they had. Naturally at Irene’s school meditation was probably considered a matter off-limits rather than anything else. ‘Teresa of Avila is an immense subject,’ Deborah continued.

‘And that is all you have discovered?’ Mother Sebastian cut in drily.

‘Indeed not, Reverend Mother,’ Deborah’s eyes opened in some amazement, even insult, that someone was actually exacting something from her. ‘I have discovered that Saint Teresa entered the Carmelite convent because she considered it the safest way to salvation.’

‘A bit selfish, don’t you think?’ Nancy butted in.

‘You had better not challenge the Saints,’ Mother Sebastian warned, ‘they are more powerful than you, for they are dead.’

‘She, Saint Teresa that is,’ Deborah continued in a know-it-all tone, ‘considered prayer the doorway to great graces,’ Deborah paused in an effort to recall something. ‘If this doorway is closed, Saint Teresa said…’

‘I do not see how God can bestow any graces,’ Sister Thomas concluded.

‘Precisely,’ Deborah said offended by the interruption.

‘I had that book before you, that’s how I know,’ Sister Thomas said clumsily, realizing she had committed an offence against humility by showing off her knowledge.

‘Grace,’ Nancy muttered to Irene, ‘is that thing which makes you put up with what goes on in a convent.’

‘I know what grace means... and don’t be so derisive!’ Irene answered furtively, trying hard not to smile at Nancy’s definition of “grace”. Mother Sebastian’s glance shot across the table to the side of the room where the two offenders were sitting.

‘May the rest of us be partakers of your wisdom?’ She asked sarcastically. Neither Irene or Nancy spoke. ‘I presume it was an exclusive conversation, which as you know, has no place in a convent.’

‘No,’ Irene answered immediately, ‘It’s not like that at all.’

‘At all…  at all what?’ Mother Sebastian demanded like some sergeant major in the army.

‘The conversation was not at all exclusive…’ Mother Sebastian was showing signs of irritation, ‘I am referring to the title of the person whom you are addressing. Who are you addressing?’

‘The community,’ Irene answered candidly.

‘No you were not.’ The Novice Mistress snapped, ‘you were addressing me, and I am Reverend Mother!’  Irene bowed her head, not so much as a sign of submission but to make sure she could hide signs of  her lack of forbearance.

‘Yes, Reverend Mother,’ Irene mumbled. The Novice Mistress pulled at the edges of her shawl as if to straighten it.

‘Well... what were you talking to Sr. Nancy about?’ she queried without looking up.

‘It’s nothing… Reverend Mother.’

‘If it was nothing, then I suggest you remember to speak to the community about it not between yourselves.’  The Novice Mistress paused, ‘have you anything to add to the discussion?’ she said suddenly looking in Nancy’s direction.

‘No, Reverend Mother,’ Nancy said.

‘Then you’d best find something to say,’ the Novice Mistress said flatly.

‘I have a much different meditation book,’ Irene interrupted quickly coming to her friend’s rescue.

‘Oh…’ Mother Sebastian’s eyes opened wider, ‘and what may that be?’

‘The stock market…’

‘What!’ Mother Sebastian snapped, glancing sideways incredulous at her assistant.

‘Today it was the stock market, yesterday was the football ground, the day before in the tube station…’

‘Stop!’ Mother Sebastian ordered, then turning to Mother Paul demanded, ‘What kind of book have you given her?’

‘Michel Quoist, Reverend Mother.’

‘Who?’

‘A French priest, Reverend Mother… approved by the Church,’ Mother Paul concluded.

‘Change it!’ the Novice Mistress said waving her hand as if to eliminate the discussion, ‘give her something pre-Vatican II, something more orthodox.’  Mother Paul nodded in acceptance and Irene felt some disappointment since the word ‘orthodox’ had all the connotations of sounding indigestible.

©Eva Ulian