Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

The Nun I Hated {Continued from page 35) Jersey tone of hers. She smiled pleasantly. "Yeah," Connie said, flatly. "Welcome then," said the girl, "and here, let me help you with your suitcase." Connie pulled the valise away. "I'll kick you in the shins if you touch this," she snapped. "I'll — " A voice interrupted her. "Hello," it said, "you must be Concetta Ingolia. We've been expecting you. My name is Sister M ." Connie looked up at the nun, a young and beautiful lady, with one of those faces and expressions she'd seen in paintings of saints her dead grandmother used to keep around the house. It made her sad to think of her dead grandmother now. It made her feel like bawling. But she wasn't going to bawl now, no sir. Because bawling was the farthest thing from being tough. "Come," the nun said, as Connie stood looking at her, "let's go to my office and get to know one another a little. . . ." The nosy business In the office, sure enough, the nun started with the nosy business. "I see no mention here of your mother," she said, looking at a paper she'd just pulled from a folder. "Is she alive, Concetta?" "She and my father got divorced when I was two," Connie said. "And do you ever see her?" asked the nun. "Sure, a lot," Connie said, lying, the truth being that she only saw her mother a couple of times a year. "And your father's a musician," the nun said. "That's why I'm here," Connie said. "He's gotta go on the road all the time to make a buck and he couldn't take care of me." "You lived with your grandmother until recently?" asked the nun. "Until she died," Connie said. "Rest her soul," said the nun. Then, "And I guess there was nobody else to take care of you." "Sure there was," Connie said. "I've got nine aunts and thirty-one first cousins and we're a big close family — " She stopped. The truth would show if she kept on talking, she was afraid; the truth that nobody in that big close family, nice as some of them were, really wanted to take care of her, to take the responsibility for her. She watched the nun now as she reached for another piece of paper — a medical report. And she listened as the nun, in a very quiet and long way, and even turning red in the face once in a while, asked the nosiest question of them all — "because," as she said, "I must know for our own records, my dear, and so that we can help you and give you advice." Connie sat, hearing her out. And then she said, "Oh, that's happened to me already, yeah. I know all about it. I was in a hotel room one night, on the road, visiting my father. He was out, working. I was alone when it happened. I got scared at first. I even thought I was dying. But I asked a maid in the hotel, finally. And she explained it all to me . . . This maid." When she was finished talking, Connie noticed that the nun was looking at her, very sympathetic. This made her uncomfortable. She didn't want any sympathy from anybody here, especially not from a nun. "How come you're a nun?" she asked, suddenly, remembering hearing once from somebody that nuns don't like to be asked that question. "How come?" Sister M asked back. And not mad, either. But smiling a little, just like those pictures of the saints. "Because, Concetta," she said, "I am in love with Christ our Lord, and because this is the only way I know to show Him my love. "What," she asked Connie then, "do you want your life to be like, when you grow older? What do you want to become?" "I don't know," Connie said, lying again, since more than anything she wanted to be a singer — but why should she go telling this nun and have to hear her say, "Oh, how nice." or something stupid and phony like that? "Well," said the nun, "there's plenty of time to decide, isn't there?" If anything is ever wrong . . . When Connie didn't answer, she got up from her chair and she said, "Concetta, before I show you to your room and introduce you to some of the girls, I want you to know that if anything is ever wrong, if you ever want to talk over anything, you must feel free to come and talk with me . . . All right?" Connie shrugged. "I guess so," she said. "And," the nun started, "if, at the beginning, especially, you ever find yourself feeling lonely — " "Me?" Connie interrupted. "I'm never lonely . . . Look," she said, "When I was a little kid, my very first day of school, in kindergarten, I went alone. Other kids were standing around with their mothers, holding their hands, crying. And me, I was alone. And not crying." "You're a very independent young lady, aren't you?" the nun asked, still smiling "a little. "Yeah," Connie said, "very independent" — whatever that word meant. For the next moment, the two of them stood, looking at each other, the nun thinking her thoughts; and Connie thinking hers— how she wanted so much right now to say something mean and nasty to this stiff lady in black with all her make-believe niceness, something so mean and terrible that the nun would have to let her have it, a good hard slap in the face; yes, that was what she wanted. Connie knew now, for the nun to get so mad she'd have to bring up her hand, and so that she, Connie, could say, "You lay a paw on me and they'll hear me all the way over in Brooklyn!" — just one good slap so she could leave this place and go back to where she'd come from and stay with a girlfriend's family, with anybody, till she got old enough to be on her own. Oh yes, Connie knew, this was just the time for her to say something and get the nun's goat and then get going. But she knew, too, that she couldn't say anything now, not now this minute, not as the nun stood there with her fingers touching, all of a sudden, very gentle, that big silver crucifix she was wearing around her neck. Well. Connie thought, looking back up, into the nun's eye, there's still time. And there's ways. And I'll find a way . . . You just wait and see. . . . For the next few weeks, Connie tried everything to get kicked out of the school. She didn't study; she yawned all through her classes. She was sullen sometimes, mopey. And when she wasn't moping she was rude, always looking for fights. She tried aggravating everybody; the girls on her floor, the girls in her classes, the nuns, Sister M , especially, the one she couldn't stand most of all. But everybody, it seemed, forgave her her aggravations and turned the other cheek. "Poor Concetta," she overheard one of them say one day, "she must be so lonely with nobody ever coming to visit her. It's no wonder she's so nervous and doesn't want to talk to us." "Poor Concetta, my eye," Connie thought "Just give me time!" More weeks passed. And more. Still, nobody was kicking Connie ou of any place. How to get kicked out And then, another day, Connie overheard another conversation. This time the girls were talking about a former classmate of theirs, wondering how she was doing now. It seemed that this girl had had the pleasure of being asked to leave the school, because she'd been caughi writing something "insulting," by Sister M , of all people, and in her class too. Mmmmmmmmmm, Connie thought tc herself, hearing this. "Mmmmmmmmmmboy!" Suddenly, she smiled triumphantly. She knew now what she had to do. She sat in Sister M 's class thai next morning. The other girls were sitting with clasped hands, looking up all attention at the nun, who was explaining something on the blackboard, while Connie, ignoring the lesson, was writing furiously away in her notebook. I hate this school, she wrote. 1 hate the food. I hate my room. I hate the girls. I hate the nuns. And I really hate Sister M , whc. is a pain in the neck and thinks she's sc holy. She looked up when she was finished wondering whether the nun had noticed her. But Sister M hadn't; or. at least ? she looked as if she hadn't. So Connie started again. And this time she pressed down harder with her pencil and wrote slower, and underlined the words really hate and Sister M . And this time, she was glad to see, she got caught while doing it. "Concetta," the voice came floating across the room, "what are you doing?" "Nothing," Connie said. She gave her notebook a push and made it drop to the floor. "Have you been writing something, Concetta, instead of listening?" Sister M asked. "Sort of," Connie said. "May I see what you've been writing?' Connie cleared her throat and pretended to be embarrassed. She picked her notebook up from the floor. "I'd rather not,' she said. "Concetta," the nun's voice came, "if you don't mind, please bring that book up to me." Connie did. Sister M read what she had written. "All right." said the nun, when she'd finished, her voice very calm, but her eyes kind of sad-looking, of all things. " — now you tear this page out of your book, and go tack it onto the bulletin board out in the hall, and then go to my office and wait for me." Connie rushed — nearly skipped — out into the hall, and did as she was told. Then, as she was about to go on to Sistei M 's office, another nun, an old nun. came over to see what Connie had tacked to the board. "Tsk-tsk," said the nun, when she read it, "and we'd had such high hopes for you here. Sister M , especially, always saying those nice things about your potentials." Two girls, walking by now, came to see what the old nun was tsk-tsking about They, too, read what Connie had written