The Rising of the Moon

(Excerpt: Nun Scene)

Flynn Connolly

There was so much starch in the guimpe that it had the texture of cardboard, and she had tripped over the long black skirt three times on her way over the school grounds. She found it incredible that Kerry trapped herself in this Iron Maiden of a costume every day-willingly!

The teenage girls ambled toward their seats, in no hurry There were around thirty of them, all dressed in navy and red school uniforms with skirts reaching well below the knee, and every one of them looked bored to death. Little wonder at that since they were nineteen or nearly so and still in secondary school. When Nuala had been nineteen she had been at university for two years, but the regulations had changed since then. So much had changed. Boys could matriculate at seventeen, but girls remained in secondary school for an additional two years taking more religion and home economics classes. This was to better prepare them to become mothers, as they were expected to do within a few years. If a girl wasn't discouraged from attending university by her family or the parish priest or the low quotas for women students or the entrance exams that emphasized advanced maths-which girls were not encouraged to study-then she was allowed to enroll. But few majors were open to her, as most courses of study weren't considered acceptable for "ladies."

These girls, then, spent all day, as they had the past two years, wasting time. No wonder they were bored.

"What class is this, anyway?"

That woke a few of them up. They blinked in surprise and exchanged puzzled glances. "Well?"

Finally one girl, a brunette with a precise ponytail from which not one hair strayed, raised her hand.

"Well, speak up, girl. There's no need for this hand-up-asking-for-permission-to-breathe nonsense."

They were staring at her now, most confused, but all wide awake. The brunette awkwardly lowered her hand and spoke. "It's-it's home economics, Sister."

"Is it? How perfectly dreadful."

Girls were looking at each other all over the room, apparently thinking that their neighbors might have an explanation for this odd behavior from a nun.

Nuala walked around the desk and sat down on the edge of it, nearly strangling herself when her hem caught on something. Someone giggled, but most of the girls tried not to smile.

Nuala yanked her skirt away from the desk, muttering "Bloody stupid outfits!" When she seated herself successfully on the desk, she looked up to find the students staring at her. "Right. Now then. Home economics, you said? Is it really?" The brunette nodded, her eyes wary.

"Well, not for today it isn't. I don't know a bloody thing about home economics, and it's a stupid thing to waste your time studying, so we won't. I hope no one minds." This time shock mingled with the confusion in their faces. "But we're supposed to be-" the brunette began.

"What are we going to study instead, then?" a very pretty girl with long reddish blond hair asked. Nuala noted that her vest wasn't buttoned and her cuffs were rolled back. Punishable offenses, she remembered all too clearly.

Nuala had deliberately rolled back her cuffs every day as a schoolgirl, or turned up her collar or left her vest unbuttoned, or all three. The punishment was always the same in those days: She was not allowed to play camogie with the other girls; she was forced to stay inside and study. She hated sports and loved to read, so all she had to do was act sullen and rebellious and she got what she wanted. Her various teachers never seemed to learn that she was manipulating them. It worked all through school, and was a wonderful lesson in how to get her way.

Nuala answered the girl. "What would you like to study-if you were ever given a choice?"

This caused all the girls to exchange still-confused but now bordering on suspicious glances. Nuala noticed, but her gaze never wavered from the blond girl with the rebellious cuffs.

"What difference would that make? We haven't a choice, have we?"

Nuala recognized a kindred and angry spirit when she met one. "Good answer. So you don't." She looked out over the class. "How many of you are planning to try and get into university?" After some hesitancy, three girls raised their hands.

"I see. And how many of you are planning to marry and have kids soon?"

It was nearly unanimous that time. The blond girl, however, kept her arms rigidly crossed.

"And how many are planning to become nuns?" That took care of the few holdouts from the last question- except for the blonde. She stared defiantly back at Nuala, her arms still crossed.

"That would seem to leave you in a group by yourself."

"I'm used to that."

The girl wasn't giving an inch. Her expression, her posture, her tone, and especially those cuffs and vest were a defiant challenge to the authority inherent in Nuala's costume. Nuala liked her already. "I can see that. What's your name?"

There were some low snickers from other girls, and the blonde's cheeks flushed. "Heather Lonnegan." Her chin came up as she braced herself for the punishment she obviously expected.

Nuala saw the grim satisfaction on the faces of some of the other girls as they, too, waited. They were probably the ones who never rebelled, who hadn't the courage. So. Heather wasn't liked, was she?

Nuala smiled, startling them all. Yes, this was the one to focus on, to try to reach. Her smile widened as she said, "Give 'em hell, Heather. And don't ever give up."

In the midst of stunned stares, Nuala changed tone abruptly. "Now, then. I've no patience for home economics, a truly silly subject, so that only leaves religion, doesn't it? . . . Doesn't it?"

The brunette with the ponytail had been both shocked and disappointed when Heather was not taken to task, and she was glaring at Nuala in angry suspicion. "Of course, Sister, religion is the other topic we study, but this is a home economics class. We are supposed to be learning how to make pork roast almondine today."

"Really." Nuala shrugged. "Well, I suppose then that you kill a pig, cut it up, throw almonds on some portion of it, and toss it in the oven. Is that close enough for you?"

Heather laughed, delighted, and a few of the others chuckled, but most weren't sure how to respond. Except for the shocked brunette.

"May I ask who you are, Sister? I don't recognize you. And I know every Sister in this school personally."

Nuala's smile wasn't kind. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me. My name, if you must know, is Sister . . . Malachi."

"Well, Sister Malachi," the brunette went on, now quite annoyed at this most unnunish behavior, "we are supposed to be learning how to make-"

"Oh, put a sock in it, Bernadette." Heather glared at her in disgust. "Who gives a damn about your bloody pork roast almondine anyway, you insufferable arsekisser?"

There were a few snickers at that; it was obvious that Bernadette was not any more popular than Heather.

Before Bernadette could fashion an outraged retort, Nuala spoke again. "Now, then, religion is not really my topic, either, but I am dressed for the part, so let's have a run at it, shall we? Let's see, religion: catechism, confession, communion ... No, too boring. Ah, I know! Bible stories! Now there's a fascinating topic, to be sure."

The girls were watching her warily, not sure whether to appreciate the change in routine or fear it. Bernadette's eyes narrowed, and she shot a glance at the door as if seeking outside intervention. There was a half smile playing about Heather's mouth; she was leaning forward, waiting.

"Do you know the one about the fellow in the Book of Judges who gave his concubine to a crowd of men to be gang-raped to death in order to spare his own life?"

The girls were shocked; Bernadette was outraged. Heather, though surprised, was waiting for Nuala to continue.

"Or the similar story in Genesis where the man who owns the house that two angels are staying in offers the mob who wants these angelic fellows his own two virgin daughters instead, to do with as they wish?"

The girls were now fidgeting in their seats, alarmed and finally aware that something was definitely wrong. Heather was grim, but when Nuala looked into her eyes, she nodded once.

"Or the story of how Absalom raped the concubines of his father, King David, thus besmirching David's honor, not the women's, because of course women have no honor. So David then, with typical biblical justice, imprisons the women for life because they had embarrassed him by being raped. And it's not just his concubines that suffer in this manner, but his many wives, as well." Nuala made herself more comfortable on the edge of the desk, warming to her topic. "Because David arranged the death of Bathsheba's husband so that he could take her as his own possession, the Lord God becomes upset. Not at what David did to Bathsheba, mind you, but at what he did to the husband. So God declares, I will raise up evil against thee out of thine own house, and I will take thy wives before thine eyes, and give them unto thy neighbor, and he shall lie with thy wives in the sight of the sun.' "

The girls' eyes were wide. Some were merely confused, but others were clearly frightened; rape was never discussed openly, and certainly not by nuns. What was not discussed could be ignored, but Nuala was making them face it.

"Rape, you see," Nuala went on, "is not considered a crime against a woman, but against whatever man she is considered the property of. And since western civilization is based on Judeo-Christian principles, rape is not treated as severely as it should be. After all, it rarely happens to men, does it? It happens to women, and women don't matter."

"None of our teachers would speak of such things!" Bernadette finally erupted. "I don't know who you are, but this is not a suitable topic-"

"Shut your gob!" Heather turned on her. "How can it not be suitable, when it's us it happens to? It's about time we heard a bit of the truth in this damned place!"

"Certain things should not be discussed-" Bernadette persisted.

"How can they be stopped if they're never discussed?" Heather hesitated in her anger, looking back up at Nuala. "I mean, everything should be discussed, freely."

Nuala saw the look in the girl's eyes. She was ready to argue the point, if necessary, but she was obviously hoping she had found an unlikely ally. Nuala smiled.

"I agree, Heather. Though the Church, of course, does not. Therefore, neither does the government, since they are the same entity. Do you remember the stories I just mentioned? You must have read the Old Testament when you were young; you couldn't go to a Catholic school and not read it."

"Yes, we read the Old Testament in bunscoil," Heather replied. Her tone was cautious, but she was obviously curious about this strange nun. Curious enough to play along. "But I don't remember those stories being used for homilies."

"Well, they wouldn't be, would they? They're about women." Nuala let them ponder that one, looking straight at Heather.

Heather's expression was grim. "It was forever Joseph and his rainbow coat or Noah and his bloody ark. They stuck to the fanciful, nice stories. And then we reached meanscoil, and it was strictly New Testament, Jesus and the like. We skipped over the parts you mentioned in school-but I wondered at them, all right. I tried to ask a few times about why God used people so badly, but the nuns always changed the subject back to the Sermon on the Mount or whatever. They always said that, as Christians, it was the words of Jesus we should be concentrating on."

Nuala nodded. "Right. Concentrate on the nicer bits and forget the more unpleasant aspects of the book that Christians claim is the word of God." Before an outraged Bernadette could speak, she hurried on. "How about the story of Jephthah's daughter? You don't remember that one either?"

It wasn't just Heather who shook her head this time. She was gaining their interest, at least.

"Well, you know the one about Abraham being ordered by God to murder his son Isaac, don't you? That's a fairly popular one with priests and their ilk."

Bermadette jumped in. "God in His compassion spared Isaac's life. He never meant for Abraham to kill Isaac, it was just a test of his faith. As the Church teaches us-"

"Just a test of his faith, was it?" Nuala interrupted. She felt Heather's eyes on her. "What a bloody cruel thing to do. Imagine how terrified that poor boy must have been. For his own father to tie him up and raise a knife over him, to almost murder the child! What kind of a father would do that? And what sort of a god would ask it?"

"Abraham had to prove his faith," Bernadette insisted, her voice petulant. "Sister Mary Clare says-"

"Why should Abraham or anybody else have to prove anything?" Nuala didn't raise her voice. Though rigid adherence to religion always disgusted her, that emotion was not what was needed here. Heather was watching her closely, waiting to see what she would do.

"And if God was as 'compassionate' as you claim, then why didn't he spare Jephthah's daughter?"

"Who was that?" Heather asked, ignoring Bernadette's splutters behind her.

"Well, I don't know who she was, really," Nuala admitted. "The author of the book of Judges doesn't tell us her name. I suppose that, being only a daughter, not a son, she isn't important enough to warrant a name. Anyway, the story goes that Jephthah, who was a mercenary and a very efficient killer, makes a deal with God before a big battle. The deal is that, if God helps him win this particular battle, then whoever comes out of his house to greet him first upon his return will be offered up as a burnt offering to the Lord. Guess who came out first?"

Someone gasped. Several of the girls appeared pale, sick. Heather's expression, however, was silent hatred.

"Yes," Nuala went on. "Her father comes back safe from battle, so she runs out to welcome him home, and what does she get for her devotion: a death sentence. Jephthah feels bad about it, the author says, but he made a promise to God, so it's got to be done. The poor girl is allowed only a two-month reprieve so that she can go on a retreat into the mountains to mourn the fact that she'll die a virgin. After that, her father murders her. Where's your compassionate God and his last-minute stay of execution this time, Bernadette?"

Bernadette's cheeks were bright red in her anger. She pushed herself to her feet. "You're making this up! I don't believe that's in the-"

"Book of Judges, Chapter Eleven, verses thirty through forty. Look it up."

Bernadette tried again. "The Bible is an inspiration to all mankind. It offers us hope-"

"Hope of what? Being treated as less than human just because you're female?"

Nuala wasn't angry; seeing the mixture of rage and confusion on this nineteen-year-old girl's face only made her sad. She spoke gently. "Bernadette, why offer your allegiance or respect to a religion and a government that keeps you enslaved? You deserve better than that. We all do. As James Connolly once said, 'The great only appear great because we are on our knees. Let us rise.' "

Heather was staring at her, her lips parted, her eyes round. Nuala recognized that expression; she had felt that way the first time she stole one of Connolly's books out of the Adult section of the Falcarragh library and experienced the revelation of true words.

"You're not a nun!" Bernadette's accusation came out half strangled in near hysteria. "You don't belong here! What have you done with Sister Anunciata? Where is she?"

"Calm yourself, girl." Nuala spoke softly, but got to her feet, realizing that her time was up, and far sooner than she had planned. "Your teacher is perfectly fine. I'm sure that tomorrow she'll be happy to teach you how to make pork roast almondine. Now, if you will excuse me, I really must be going."

"I'm getting the Mother Superior!" Bernadette screamed, but she took only two steps before Heather had grabbed her, twisting her arm behind her back.

"You're not going anywhere, Bernie." As she struggled with the furious girl. Heather glanced at Nuala. "You'd best go-and quickly."

The other girls were too dumbfounded to interfere as Nuala headed for the exit in the front. She paused in the doorway, looking back at Heather.

"Keep those cuffs turned up, kid."

Heather smiled. Then Nuala slipped out into the hall and was gone.