Back in the Habit (18 page)

Twenty-five

The car—or Giulia and
Bart—tripped the porch's motion sensors. The next moment, glaring white light flooded the front steps out to the end of the driveway.

“Who can be showing up at this hour?” Giulia continued onto the steps.

“People have been arriving at weird times all week. Lots of them took red-eye flights to save money.” Bart's voice sounded both wary and tired. “They're going to want help.”

“Good thing you have a key.”

“The doorbell rings in Sister Alphonsus's room.” Sister Bart led the way this time, back down the steps.

“All the time?”

“Ugh, no. Just these two weeks. I don't think she'd be all bubbly all the time if she was on permanent overnight doorbell watch.”

All four car doors opened, and the driver plus three Sisters squeezed out of the artsy rectangular vehicle.

It's like a Catholic clown car.
Smiling, Giulia walked up to one of the nuns. “Good evening, Sister. May I help you with your suitcases?”

The ancient Sister grasped the sleeve of the younger one next to her. “Syster Winifred, var snäll och hjälp mig med mina resväskor.”

Sister Winifred gave Giulia a tired smile. “Good evening. Sister Peregrin doesn't speak any English, I'm afraid. She and Sister Georgia are here to visit Sister Arnulf.”

The driver, a slicked-back businesslike young man, had already opened the hatchback and was setting a handful of black suitcases on the ground. Next to him, Sister Bart paused in picking one up. “Is she expecting them?”

“Yes, but we're about two hours later than we said we'd arrive.” Sister Winifred clapped gloved hands over her ears. “Is it always this cold here in October?”

“No. We were supposed to give everyone a warm, sunny Indian summer welcome to Pittsburgh.” Sister Bart slung a messenger bag over her shoulder and picked up a medium-sized suitcase. “I have a key, so we can go right inside.”

Giulia walked around to the hatchback as the driver set the last suitcase on the ground. “I'll get these.” She squatted, picked up two suitcases by their padded handles, and grabbed a small Pittsburgh Penguins duffel bag with her other hand.

“Stopp! Jag tar den.”

Sister Peregrin moved faster than Giulia expected and snatched the duffel bag out of her hand. It clanked and crinkled. The elderly Sister hugged it to herself and the noises stopped.

“Tack.”

“She said ‘thank you,' ” Sister Winifred called over to Giulia.

In the combination of shadows and floodlights, Sister Peregrin's smile looked more like a warning than anything else.

Sister Georgia said something to Sister Winifred, who reached into the back seat and brought out a fringed, knitted shawl. Giulia froze in place.
A translator. Dropped into our laps.
She would've high-fived Bart if both their hands hadn't been filled with suitcases.

The driver closed the hatchback. “Thanks for taking care of these. I have to head back to the airport for my next load, assuming the plane lands on time. Never tell your grandmother that you'll do her a favor anytime she needs one. Mine took ‘anytime' literally.”

“Not a problem. Cute car. I thought it was a little small for a regular taxi.”

“It's bigger inside than it looks, like Time Lord technology.” He looked down at Giulia. “I mean, if you get the reference.”

“Geronimo!” Giulia said. “Although my favorite is still Tom Baker.”

“I'll grant you that. I'm a Pertwee man myself. 'Night.”

Bart unlocked the front door. Sister Winifred thanked the driver. Giulia climbed the steps in line with Sister Peregrin and Sister Georgia. When everyone was in the foyer, Bart flipped the deadbolt and set down the two bags she'd carried in.

“I'll run upstairs and get Sister Arnulf and Sister Theresa. I'm sure they're asleep, so I may be a few minutes.”

Giulia helped the visitors with their coats. Sister Peregrin set the Penguins bag between her feet and stood guard over it exactly like a father penguin. Giulia turned her face away from the group until she could control her expression.

The Swedish Sisters looked around at the foyer's portraits of the Pope and the Community's founder, the muted blue walls, the wood-patterned linoleum. Giulia listened to their comments, but understood nothing.

Sister Winifred sank into one of the armless chairs. “What a day. Thirty hours in airports or on planes, and being examined like we're a new brand of terrorist.”

Giulia sat in the opposite chair. “The airports in Sweden have similar screening procedures as the ones here?”

“Not nearly as invasive, but international travelers get the joy of scrutiny by Customs. I remember when the habit commanded deference and respect.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “It was long and annoying at home. It wasn't too bad at London because we didn't leave the plane. But when we got to New York City, everyone had to go through the new scanners.”

At the word
scanner
, Sister Peregrin turned to them and said, “Svin.”

Giulia smiled. “You don't need to translate that one.”

“I've been with the Göteborg convent for seven years, and I've never heard these two Sisters use any language stronger than ‘Jesus, Maria, och Josef.' ”

“What happened?”

She touched the top of her veil. “The screeners at the airport didn't know what to make of the high crowns on these. We were all taken aside for extra searches. I had a difficult time convincing the Sisters that we needed to remove our veils to prove we weren't hiding anything under them.”

Giulia stared at her. “They made you remove your veils?”

“It gets worse. I removed mine first, to show the Sisters that it wasn't a big deal. They weren't happy, but they complied.” She looked Giulia up and down. “Your habits are so much simpler. Look at mine—this gathered skirt could make two of yours. Our long sleeves are fitted enough that they passed inspection, but our skirts and undergarments are too bulky. Apparently they looked suspicious.” She gave Giulia a wry smile. “Our first female screener brought in a second one and told us we had to be ‘patted down.' ”

“These little old Sisters? What terrorist profile could they possibly fit?”

“Now, Sister. You know profiling is illegal in the United States.” She winked. “I must've conveyed my unhappiness with the procedure when I explained it to them. I thought
svin
was an extreme for them, but they gave me an education in obscure Swedish curses.”

“It's a good thing the screeners didn't understand them, then.”

“Lord, yes. The screeners were as polite as possible in such a bizarre situation, but we still had a total stranger's hands feeling every part of our clothing. And bodies, through the clothing.” She sighed. “I feel violated. I was afraid my companions would go through the roof. Well, as far as their arthritis and hip replacements would let them.”

“I'm amazed they put you three through that kind of search.”

A shrug. “We weren't the only ones taken aside. I'm just grateful they both stayed silent through most of the search. Unfortunately, when the pat-down reached our, well, our panties, they indulged in invective from their youth. Including the word
Nazi
.”

“No.” Giulia covered her mouth with her hand.

“Yes. But, thank God, the habit still has some cachet. The screeners pretended they didn't hear the ‘N-word' and finished rather quickly.” She put her hands behind the small of her back and stretched. “I wonder what that closed-circuit tape will look like.”

The two Sisters stopped their tour of the foyer in front of Giulia and Sister Winifred. Like a well-rehearsed vaudeville routine, they spoke in turns in rapid Swedish. Within four sentences, their voices began to ratchet up and they stepped on each other's lines. Sister Winifred tried to translate at first, but gave up.

“Winifred! Peregrin! Georgia!” Sister Arnulf walked toward them as fast as Giulia had ever seen her.

The two Sisters abandoned their tirade and met their friend halfway, all three laughing and talking at the same time. Behind them, Sister Theresa yawned like a cave.

Giulia stood. “Sister Theresa, this is Sister Winifred.”

They shook hands. “We expected you hours ago,” Sister Theresa said.

“I was just telling Sister Regina about our unfriendly-skies experience.” Sister Winifred yawned this time. “Is there any possibility of hot tea or cocoa? We haven't eaten since we crossed the Atlantic Ocean.”

“Let's get your bags up to your rooms first and we'll raid the kitchen.” She stopped. “I have no idea where they put you.”

“Wait a second.” Giulia squatted by the end table that held the telephone and came up with Sister Alphonsus's clipboard. “I assume they've put all of you together …” she flipped one page and ran her finger down the next. “Here's Sister Georgia … yes, and Sister Peregrin next to her. Sister Winifred, you're two doors down from them. Third floor: 310, 312, and 314.”

Sister Winifred translated for the two new arrivals. With a glance at Giulia, Sister Peregrin picked up her Penguins duffel. Giulia tucked the Day-Timer under her arm as she and the younger Sisters shared the rest of the luggage between them.

“Sister Bart, can you get—” Giulia looked around. “She never came back?”

Sister Theresa shouldered the messenger bag. “I thought she did, but I was preoccupied with getting Sister Arnulf down here in one piece.”

The three Swedish friends continued to talk nonstop.

Sister Winifred said, “I probably look like I've been flying for thirty hours.”

Giulia smiled. “You do have that ‘lead me to a bed and lock the door behind you' look.”

“Oh, a bed. That sounds wonderful.”

“Not before tea and sandwiches,” Sister Theresa said. “I've traveled to Africa several times. Air pressure changes plus layovers plus living on those tiny foil packs of peanuts will give you a spectacular headache if you don't eat some real food.”

“I believe you. I haven't been out of Sweden in ages. I'd forgotten what a rigmarole the trip to the Motherhouse is.”

The elevator reached the dim, quiet third floor. Everyone stopped talking and proceeded to their rooms, moving as only nuns trying to be silent could move. Giulia detoured to her own room, yanked out the bottom dresser drawer, and set the Day-Timer on the floor under it.

When she re-entered the hall, the three younger Sisters were sorting suitcases and bags. Sister Arnulf and Sister Peregrin began a low-voiced conversation. Sister Georgia said something to Sister Winifred, who said something to Sister Theresa, who pointed to the door next to the elevator.

“Let's head to the kitchen,” Sister Theresa said. “We have ham and turkey and bologna, and I think we have Kaiser rolls.”

Sister Winifred's stomach rumbled. “Excuse me. Lead us to it, please.” She spoke to Sister Peregrin, who set her bags in the wardrobe and followed Sister Arnulf into the hall.

“I'll wait for Sister Georgia,” Giulia said. “What's the word for
kitchen
?”

“Say
I köket
. That means ‘in the kitchen.' She won't try to ask you anything, so don't worry about the language barrier. She's a docile old dear. She'll follow you without an argument.”

“Sister—” Giulia said, but the rest of the group had already piled into the elevator and vanished downward.
Inside the bathroom, the toilet flushed. When the bathroom door opened, Sister Georgia glanced past Giulia at the empty hall.

“
I köket
.” Giulia pointed down and hit the elevator button.

Sister Georgia nodded and preceded Giulia into the elevator. They made the short trip in silence, Sister Georgia fingering the oversized rosary attached to the traditional Franciscan cord at her waist. Giulia still remembered how to tie the special three-strand knot at the end of it.

The light in the kitchen reached a little ways into the refectory, and Giulia guided Sister Georgia between the tables.

“Vilka vackra dekorationer.”

Giulia started to say that she didn't understand, but they reached the dishwasher hallway and a minute later the kitchen. Sister Georgia repeated her remark.

“She says the decorations are beautiful,” Sister Winifred said from her position at the counter next to one of the refrigerators.

“The Postulants created them,” Sister Theresa said, spreading mayonnaise on a slice of wheat bread. “Sister Arnulf's been helping them with the papier-mâché and the painting all month.”

“Syster Georgia, vill du ha skinka eller kalkon?” Sister Winifred indicated the tray of cold cuts.

Sister Georgia held out one half of a roll over the ham side of the tray. “Skinka, tack,” she said and took the already-used knife out of the mustard jar.

“I feel positively rebellious, violating the sanctity of the kitchen at this hour,” Sister Winifred said.

Giulia beelined—decorously—for Sister Winifred. “I wonder if I can ask you a favor. I don't know a word of Swedish, and I'd really like to talk to Sister Arnulf about something.”

Sister Winifred swallowed a bite of her turkey on wheat. “Of course, but it can wait till tomorrow morning, I'm sure.”

“I'd really—”

“Because, to be honest, I can barely put together a coherent English sentence right now.” She smiled.

“Could you at least ask her—”

“Tomorrow morning, after prayers.”

Giulia forced a polite smile. “Of course. Thank you. If you're all right here, I'm going to head upstairs.”

“Oh, yes, we're fine. Thank you for all your help. We'll be sure to thank Sister Bartholomew when we see her tomorrow—that is, today.”