Part 5 Fog Flees the Sundowners!
November 27th 2007 15:16
As we briskly walked down the steepening path, a distant frail old voice called out from behind us, “Mother! Mother McKenny!” The head nun stopped and spun around, I only just missed front on rugby tackling her to the ground, it would have been declared offside of course, for more than one reason. “Oh there she is! Sister Bruce! Come and meet our new volunteer, Fog.” With the near collision and suddenly another nun to meet, and that nun having a man’s name, my head was spinning, and as I attempted to turn around, while also desperately avoiding blessed mammary contact, I lost my footing, the path being a few inches higher than the bitumen car park area.
After gathering my composure, I turned to greet the new nun face to face, but instead of smiling, I was grimacing. But, the nun was not there! My expression immediately changed to confusion and as I was about to ask the head nun, where had she gone, I was jolted yet again.
“I’m down here you stupid man!” croaked a tiny nun at my feet. She looked like Yoda, and was about the same size. It is always rude to stare, or emphasise someone’s physical defects, but this time I couldn’t be blamed, surely?
Sister Bruce looked four hundred and seventy years of age. She didn’t have wrinkles, she had valleys! Out of this Comedia del arte mask of a face, came a voice I could have used in a pantomime, for the Devil! Her eyes were exothalmic, bulging to the point of bursting, and were of a piercingly icy blue colour, that hue which sends a chill to the pit of your stomach. Her nose was of prodigious proportion and her mouth, about two smarties wide and firmly clamped in a downward curve. She hated me on sight.
“Sister Bruce will assist you at times; she travels around from place to place. We let her do her thing these days, as she refuses to retire we might as well make some good of her.” I felt awkward again, fancy talking about Bruce as if she wasn’t there. Then again, she looked a good part goblin, and she hadn’t blinked nor taken her eyes off me. It occurred to me, that she may actually be an alien.
Sister Bruce’s habit, she was the only nun to still be wearing her nun’s habit (‘penguin costume’) fell to the ground, its hem frayed and dirty from footpath dust, you couldn’t see her feet, it was as if she was a worn out Christmas tree decoration, toppled long ago, from the top of a tree owned by a giant. A fallen angel!
Her habit looked like the original one given to her the day she married Christ, that ritual, of finally becoming a nun, always made me feel a trifle uneasy. When nuns marry Christ, they wear a bridal gown and are given a gold wedding ring, in the old days, and they cut off their hair too.
They also abandoned their given names, often taking the name of a female Saint, with Mary being the usual first name, so, June Watkins, would become Sister Mary (saint) Martina (Watkins). It was a statement both of leaving the outside world and one of humility. A rare few chose to emotionally debase themselves further, by giving up their name entirely. Some took the name of a man. And I was standing in front of one.
“What do you do boy?” croaked Sister ‘Yoda’. I stared frozen. I tried to suppress an explosive laugh. I was meeting YODA IN A NUN’S HABIT! I couldn’t hold it back, the thought of a light sabre being flashed from under her skirts released a convulsive laugh which I turned into a cough and clearing of throat. She looked at me as if I was insane. And I felt it!
“I… (more pretend clearing of throat)…Err, I am…I do...err… write…umm... I am...I write.” With such lunatic stammering and disjointedness, it was obvious that I was not a writer, or if true, I must only write monosyllabic poetry for the moronic. I then leered with a ludicrous grin trying to cover over my idiotic behaviour.
“He’s mad!” With that, Sister ‘Yoda’ turned on her heel and walked off. Actually, she glided away, as with no feet visible, she seemed to hover. Resentment flashed and my mind ferociously raged; ‘Where’s a Dominican monk when you need him? Dominicans knew how to deal with people who ‘floated’; they burned them at the stake! After all, they had run the Inquisition.
I wanted to let out a huge maniacal cackle, point at her and scream, ‘BURN THE WITCH!”
The head nun saw my distress and gave me a flicker of compassion, “Come along now, she is a little difficult to get to know, but a marvellous soul once you do.”
Nuns have a way of first intimidating you, then infuriating you, then immediately making you feel guilty, as ‘hell’, naturally.
“Mother McKenny? How long has Sister Yo...err...Sister Bruce been here?” I was relieved, at last, to learn of her name and title. “Silly boy! Sister McKenny! Poor old Sister Bruce is somewhere between the present and sixty years ago in a European convent, just depends on the time of day, and her mood.”
I didn’t pursue my Sister Yoda question, and was glad she didn’t pick up on my near gaffe.
Suddenly she stopped. We were in front a of a tall locked iron gate, attached to a very tall iron fence, completely surrounding a small building. “We’re here. Now you’ll meet the Sundowners. I am sure you will grow to love them as we all do. Try to remember this combination, and do not ever let any of this community see you punch in the number, or we will have a hell of a time of it.” I forgot the code as soon as she put it in! What happens if I can’t get out?
My apprehension bladder, if there was such an organ, was now exhausted. I couldn’t have cared less. Yet, in the back of my mind the small beacons of distress were still blinking; locked security gates, security codes, don’t let them see the combination!
We entered the gate, “Please make sure the gate is locked shut. Now, follow me and I’ll introduce you. Please do not speak. Let me do the introductions, just smile and nod your head slowly in the affirmative, be pleasant and you must be calm!” Sister McKenny stared at me for a moment. “Take a few deep breaths, you’ll be fine.”
How can I now be pleasant? Being ordered to not make a sound, smile and be pleasant. REMAIN CALM!! Why did she have to say that? Of all things to say, she says remain calm, to a neurotic obsessive in an agitated paranoid state!
It then dawned on me, it was a forensic psychiatric ward, hence the security codes, they were dangerous, and their families never visited them, BECAUSE THEY KILLED THEM ALL!!!!!!!!!!
We walked inside, it was the kitchen area. A bench ran along one whole wall, and everyone was sitting on it, staring at me.
“Hello…hello dear… (some whispering face to face that I can’t hear), Sister McKenny did the rounds I supposed, each person was addressed directly, and very personally, and with great affection. It worried me, that now, in this nightmare; I see genuine warm compassion and love exude from Sister McKenny.
A growing admiration for her grew within me, and then…“TAKE ME HOME NOW!!!!!!!” was screamed in my left ear.
I think I screamed too, yes, I am sure of it.
After gathering my composure, I turned to greet the new nun face to face, but instead of smiling, I was grimacing. But, the nun was not there! My expression immediately changed to confusion and as I was about to ask the head nun, where had she gone, I was jolted yet again.
“I’m down here you stupid man!” croaked a tiny nun at my feet. She looked like Yoda, and was about the same size. It is always rude to stare, or emphasise someone’s physical defects, but this time I couldn’t be blamed, surely?
Sister Bruce looked four hundred and seventy years of age. She didn’t have wrinkles, she had valleys! Out of this Comedia del arte mask of a face, came a voice I could have used in a pantomime, for the Devil! Her eyes were exothalmic, bulging to the point of bursting, and were of a piercingly icy blue colour, that hue which sends a chill to the pit of your stomach. Her nose was of prodigious proportion and her mouth, about two smarties wide and firmly clamped in a downward curve. She hated me on sight.
“Sister Bruce will assist you at times; she travels around from place to place. We let her do her thing these days, as she refuses to retire we might as well make some good of her.” I felt awkward again, fancy talking about Bruce as if she wasn’t there. Then again, she looked a good part goblin, and she hadn’t blinked nor taken her eyes off me. It occurred to me, that she may actually be an alien.
Sister Bruce’s habit, she was the only nun to still be wearing her nun’s habit (‘penguin costume’) fell to the ground, its hem frayed and dirty from footpath dust, you couldn’t see her feet, it was as if she was a worn out Christmas tree decoration, toppled long ago, from the top of a tree owned by a giant. A fallen angel!
Her habit looked like the original one given to her the day she married Christ, that ritual, of finally becoming a nun, always made me feel a trifle uneasy. When nuns marry Christ, they wear a bridal gown and are given a gold wedding ring, in the old days, and they cut off their hair too.
They also abandoned their given names, often taking the name of a female Saint, with Mary being the usual first name, so, June Watkins, would become Sister Mary (saint) Martina (Watkins). It was a statement both of leaving the outside world and one of humility. A rare few chose to emotionally debase themselves further, by giving up their name entirely. Some took the name of a man. And I was standing in front of one.
“What do you do boy?” croaked Sister ‘Yoda’. I stared frozen. I tried to suppress an explosive laugh. I was meeting YODA IN A NUN’S HABIT! I couldn’t hold it back, the thought of a light sabre being flashed from under her skirts released a convulsive laugh which I turned into a cough and clearing of throat. She looked at me as if I was insane. And I felt it!
“I… (more pretend clearing of throat)…Err, I am…I do...err… write…umm... I am...I write.” With such lunatic stammering and disjointedness, it was obvious that I was not a writer, or if true, I must only write monosyllabic poetry for the moronic. I then leered with a ludicrous grin trying to cover over my idiotic behaviour.
“He’s mad!” With that, Sister ‘Yoda’ turned on her heel and walked off. Actually, she glided away, as with no feet visible, she seemed to hover. Resentment flashed and my mind ferociously raged; ‘Where’s a Dominican monk when you need him? Dominicans knew how to deal with people who ‘floated’; they burned them at the stake! After all, they had run the Inquisition.
I wanted to let out a huge maniacal cackle, point at her and scream, ‘BURN THE WITCH!”
The head nun saw my distress and gave me a flicker of compassion, “Come along now, she is a little difficult to get to know, but a marvellous soul once you do.”
Nuns have a way of first intimidating you, then infuriating you, then immediately making you feel guilty, as ‘hell’, naturally.
“Mother McKenny? How long has Sister Yo...err...Sister Bruce been here?” I was relieved, at last, to learn of her name and title. “Silly boy! Sister McKenny! Poor old Sister Bruce is somewhere between the present and sixty years ago in a European convent, just depends on the time of day, and her mood.”
I didn’t pursue my Sister Yoda question, and was glad she didn’t pick up on my near gaffe.
Suddenly she stopped. We were in front a of a tall locked iron gate, attached to a very tall iron fence, completely surrounding a small building. “We’re here. Now you’ll meet the Sundowners. I am sure you will grow to love them as we all do. Try to remember this combination, and do not ever let any of this community see you punch in the number, or we will have a hell of a time of it.” I forgot the code as soon as she put it in! What happens if I can’t get out?
My apprehension bladder, if there was such an organ, was now exhausted. I couldn’t have cared less. Yet, in the back of my mind the small beacons of distress were still blinking; locked security gates, security codes, don’t let them see the combination!
We entered the gate, “Please make sure the gate is locked shut. Now, follow me and I’ll introduce you. Please do not speak. Let me do the introductions, just smile and nod your head slowly in the affirmative, be pleasant and you must be calm!” Sister McKenny stared at me for a moment. “Take a few deep breaths, you’ll be fine.”
How can I now be pleasant? Being ordered to not make a sound, smile and be pleasant. REMAIN CALM!! Why did she have to say that? Of all things to say, she says remain calm, to a neurotic obsessive in an agitated paranoid state!
It then dawned on me, it was a forensic psychiatric ward, hence the security codes, they were dangerous, and their families never visited them, BECAUSE THEY KILLED THEM ALL!!!!!!!!!!
We walked inside, it was the kitchen area. A bench ran along one whole wall, and everyone was sitting on it, staring at me.
“Hello…hello dear… (some whispering face to face that I can’t hear), Sister McKenny did the rounds I supposed, each person was addressed directly, and very personally, and with great affection. It worried me, that now, in this nightmare; I see genuine warm compassion and love exude from Sister McKenny.
A growing admiration for her grew within me, and then…“TAKE ME HOME NOW!!!!!!!” was screamed in my left ear.
I think I screamed too, yes, I am sure of it.
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Comment by tlcorbin-raginravensview
Coffee Quip
A Global Citizen
Paranormal Paranormal
Is Why
Alaska Chronicle
Sleezer's World
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
yes Raven, it was quite an experience, but it pales into insignificance compared to what is to follow!!
cheers
fog
Comment by Tracy
Movies and Life
I love this paragraph:
Fantastic story....I'm off to the next bit...
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
yes it is a rather fun little passage!
cheers
fog
Comment by Ash
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
hahahahahaha! I love it!
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
a formidable sight!
However, one could only hope to live long enough to from 'valleys'!!
cheers
fog