Mother Superior is standing
at the pulpit with her back ramrod straight. She sweeps a glance over the
gathering of young nuns. Her wrinkled face looks much like an old parchment but
her piercing blue eyes have lost nothing of their intensity. They seem to look
right inside the souls of the young girls.
All faces are upturned,
looking with rapt attention and eyes unblinking. She’s not only their superior.
She’s their role model. Many of them are projecting themselves, years from now,
picturing themselves in that very lofty place, commanding attention. In the
third row, Ana is drinking in every word she hears with bated breath. Like many
others, she is clearly in awe.
“...It is not unheard of,”
Mother Superior goes on, her voice booming in the huge church and bouncing off
the walls, “that a young nun strays off the right path, attracted by the
glamour of the wonderful outside world.”
She pauses for effect
then “time and time again, I have observed a wayward novice be lured by Satan.
She would forsake the good life of rectitude for the glittering lights of the beathtaking city.”
Her voice rises an
octave “make no mistake about it, girls, the Prince of darkness is way too
smart. He will use every trick in the book to lure you into his web. I have
dedicated my life to fighting him. I have won many battles but, alas, lost on
more occasions than I care to think about. Oh yes, Satan and I are old
acquaintances. We’ve known each other for long years and he knows I’m a tough
nut to crack.”
Mother Superior adjusts
her bodice and, raising a bony finger, shouts ominously:
“THE DEVIL…”
Lightning flashes
suddenly, illuminating the stained glass windows followed by a deafening clap
of thunder. The nuns cringe and look fearfully at the windows, unconsciously
crossing themselves.
“..is out there,”
continues Mother Superior, unperturbed “rubbing his hands with glee. Be strong and pray,
children. And, while you’re out there spreading God’s word and helping the needy,
ask yourselves:
is an hour of pleasure worth an eternity of damnation?”
A timid hand is raised
hesitantly in the third row. The matron glares then, recognizing Ana, her
features soften.
“What is it, Child?”
In a tremulous voice,
Ana asks:
“How do you make it last
an hour?”
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