Beneath the Veil: Holy Hand, Hellish Intentions

I rubbed my eyes slowly as the Church bell chimed softly repeatedly, “ I didn't get much sleep this night ” I thought within myself as I closed my eyes to offer silent gratitude. I picked my Bible and rosary from my bedside for devotional prayers, normally after saying the short prayer I just writes in my journal but Sister Elżbieta, my roommate— I Imet her here, according to the other sisters she has been here for long. Sister Elżbieta didn't talk much but her eyes always conveyed the message she wished to pass across. I gave her one last look before I stood up and entered the bathroom to freshen up. By the time I came out of the bathroom, Sisterba Elżbieta had already left the room. I adjusted my veil properly one last time before I came out of my room to join the long line of nuns going downstairs for breakfast as I entered the dining room, I took a look at the oatmeal I couldn't help but wonder how the convent is surviving on the meager amount that they had, coupled with the care they were taking care of the orphanage. The food was always just enough to put our stomach at ease, never to make us satisfied. Yet, no one ever objected. That was part of our vow— obedience, sacrifice, and silence. But I would rather starve, than go back to my old life. Across the long wooden communal table, I caught a glimpse of Mother Catherina speaking in hushed tones with one of the other sisters. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the expression on Mother Catherina’s face gave me the impression that it was something serious. I instinctively dropped my gaze, pretending to focus on my meal, though my thoughts were far away, they were probably sharing the chores for the day. I remembered the little girl from yesterday—Eva. She looked very thin and had dark circles around her eyes, the dress she was wearing looked like she was flung into it. I had given her the piece of bread I was supposed to eat, pretending I was full. It wasn’t charity; it was guilt. Guilt that I still had more than I deserved. After breakfast, we moved quietly into the chapel for morning mass. I watched as the incense went up into the air. I was barely listening to the mass. The nightmares were back better than the last, and the Latin chants filled the space with a calming solemnity. I knelt down, closed my eyes, and whispered the prayers, but my heart was not in them. The past always had a way of creeping into sacred spaces. My parent’s dead face flickered before me— empty dark eyes, blood seeping into the expensive rug, a soft whisper against my ear: “Let’s play a little game, you hide and I seek, Now go hide Anysia. ” I have been hiding ever since. I swallowed hard, clutching my rosary so tight the beads left marks on my palm. “Sister Anysia, it is time for the daily chores, you are going with Mother Magdalene and Mother Catherina.” Sister Agnes said snapping me back to reality. “Okay… where would I find them?” I Iasked “They are in the recreational area waiting for you.” Sister Agnes said as she hurried to get her chores done. I knew that Sister Agnes was always in charge of taking care of the children at the orphanage and that requires lots of attention, I thought within myself as I made my way to the recreational area to meet Mother Magdalene and Mother Catherina… I inhaled heavily, I knew that Mother Magdalene didn't like me that much, that was why the woman tried to keep me as close as possible because she wanted to find flaws in me. “Took you long enough” Mother Magdalene said and she got into the old rusty bus that belonged to the Father in charge of Our Covent and she got into the back of the car as Mother Catherina gave me a reassuring look. The smell of fresh bread mingled with sea salt in the air. Traders shouted over each other, their hands moving very fast ready to offer their goods to any passerby whether they wanted to buy or not. "Ah, le sante sorelle! What a vision—black veils and empty baskets, both waiting to be filled! Look here, olives so good they’ll make even a nun say ‘Mamma mia!’ And these tomatoes? Red as the devil, but blessed by Saint Rita herself—I promise!" "Don’t tell the bishop, but I’ll throw in an extra lemon if you pray for my wife—she’s been mad at me since Easter!" One trader shouted from his stall, making the sisters smile a bit. I moved quietly between the stalls, my veil brushing my cheek. My gaze stayed low. The burlap-lined basket I held was half-filled with lentils, soap, and a small tin of olive oil. Mother Magdalene’s voice tore through the noise. “ Careful with that basket, Sister Anysia. You’ve already bruised the lemons.” I stopped, blinked once, and shifted the weight of the basket without a word. Mother Catherina , softer in tone, chuckled slightly. “They’re lemons, Magdalene, not artefacts. And Sister Anysia is carrying half the convent’s food stuff.” Mother Magdalene sniffed. “There is strength, and there is carelessness. One does not excuse the other.” I kept walking, pressing my lips into a thin line. As I passed a stand of figs, I paused and reached for the dark, ripe fruit. “Would these be appropriate for the children?” I asked. Mother Magdalene stepped beside me, lifting one and inspecting it closely to find any fault in it. “They are overripe. We wouldn't be able to keep them for long.” I drew my hand back. “I was considering their sweetness, not how long they would last.” “A good nun considers both.” Before I could respond, Mother Catherina smoothly stepped between us and plucked two figs from a nearby crate. “These will do. Firm, sweet, and durable. Like discipline with kindness.” She offered one to Magdalene with a small smile, the kind that looked capable of changing a villian to an Angel. Mother Magdalene frowned, clearly annoyed but she kept her cool. We continued through the market, sunlight rays that were reflecting on the edge of my rosary glinting to my eyes. Mother Catherina leaned closer and whispered to her, “Don’t mind her, dear. Magdalene thinks nagging is love. But that rule doesn't apply to everybody. Now bring that basket it looks too heavy for you” My lips twitched in what could almost be called a smile. And behind us, Mother Magdalene walked with her hands folded tight, watching me with eyes that said she knew something.