Thursday, October 2nd, at 9:09 in the
A.M. I've been inside the chapel! Sister Zoe gave me a special tour.
It's awful! Not the chapel. What they did to Jesus. There were
pictures all along the walls showing it. We went by them one by one
with Sister telling the story. His eyes were the saddest eyes I've
ever seen. They made me cry and Sister was going to take me away but
I said no. We kept walking and Sister kept talking but I didn't have
to listen. I knew the second I saw his face how the story ended.
Then we were standing under him. I almost couldn't look but I did. I
He was dying. Sister tried to explain why and
what it all meant. I didn't hear though. I heard something else,
like pounding. I think it was his heart. I heard it beating.
Then another sound came. It got louder and louder
until I couldn't hear the heartbeat anymore. It was the insect
sound, shrill and terrible, and then I screamed.
I guess Sister didn't know what to do because she
just let me, until I stopped. Then he was dead. He still had his
eyes open and the blood trickling down all over and his hands and
feet all crippled from the pain, but he didn't feel it anymore.
And I was glad. They'd hurt him so bad, I was
glad it was over. I stopped crying then.
Sister led me away. She was saying how he'd gone
to be with his father and wasn't really dead and in three days was
alive again, but I think she was just trying to make me feel better.
I was all right though. Him up there on the cross, and the pictures,
didn't bother me anymore.
We walked back here and Sister made me lie down
to rest. I didn't think I was tired but I was wrong, I guess,
because I slept until this morning. I think I dreamed.
As soon as I woke up I was supposed to go see
Sister. But I remembered everything and wanted to write it down
first. I forgot the dream.
During the incident in the chapel, Sister Zoe
again confronted what she believed to be the specter of Marcy's
past. For though the girl's response could not be attributed
unequivocally to her memory of the rape, it was a logical (and an
intuitive) assumption. The fact that Marcy appeared unacquainted
with the crucifixion and the story of Christ suggested that religion
had something to do with her identity. But was it identity-related
prior to Marcy's coming, or had it been a recent adjustment
corresponding to the young girl's interest in the Sisterhood? The
puzzle was complex. Waiting now for Marcy to arrive, the nun
suspected it would grow no simpler.
Where was the girl? As usual Sister Zoe,
up at 6:00, had showered, dressed, and prayed, then gone outdoors to
take her morning constitutional. By 8:00 she had eaten breakfast. At
8:15 she had presided over the meeting called to inform her staff
about a new admission: reviewing the patient's background, assessing
his present needs, selecting the ward to which he would be assigned.
At 9:00 she had checked the note left pinned to her door in case
Marcy had come during her absence—and found she had not. At 9:45 she
had welcomed the new patient. At 10:15 she had returned to read and
answer the daily mail. And here it was 11:30 and there was still no
sign of Marcy.
I saw him!
I was on my way to see Sister when I saw this car pull up and he got
out. I recognized him instantly. He was exactly like the carving
that the Miniature Man had made. And white! He was all white, too.
Not just his clothes. Everything! His hair, his skin. I couldn't
believe it. I hid. I don't know why. I didn't want him to see me.
But he did anyway. Or at least I think he did because he turned and
looked right at the tree where I was hiding. He had on dark glasses
so I couldn't see his eyes. I ducked out of sight. Then I ran. I
don't know if he was still watching. I didn't turn. I ran straight
I wish I'd told Sister about the carving before.
She probably won't believe me if I tell her now. I wish he hadn't
seen me. I wish I knew the reason why
There was a knock on the door. Marcy jumped.
The door slowly opened.
Marcy saw feet—they were Sister Dana's. She was
so relieved she almost came out from her hiding place. Embarrassment
prevented her. How could she explain why she was acting like a
little kid? She waited, a hot blush throbbing in her ears. It seemed
to take forever for the door to close.
When it did she crawled back out from under her
bed. Her journal still lay open on the desk, its last line waiting—I
wish I knew the reason why… She
finished it… he's come.
"According to this...
back to Table of Contents