“Now Mother, it’s not that I have anything against the city. I just thought we’d be happier here than someplace we’ve
never been.”
“All we been doing for the past thirty years is burying our friends ’till there ain’t none left,” complained Mrs. Ram. “And you know it, Abe. If we don’t leave now, we
never will.”
Mr. Ram gave
no reply.
“Well, I don’t think Mr. Ram would like it up in D.C. anyway,” said Regina disapprovingly. “Especially if he had to work at the
Kennedy Center.”
“What’s wrong with the Kennedy Center?” asked
Mrs. Ram.
“It’s not exactly a monastery I can tell you that. Of course most of what goes on is above water, but some of the other things, why I’m sure Mr. Ram’d be too shocked by some of the productions Victor puts on to even consider visiting it,” said Regina, trying to use some reverse psychology on Mr. Ram. “So maybe he’s right. Washington probably would be too much of a change
for him.”
“Why is it named after John F. Kennedy?” queried
Mrs. Ram.
“Because he had more mistresses and more affairs with more Hollywood stars and more society women than any president in history,” replied Regina. “After all the nights he spent with Marilyn and others, it’s no wonder he had
back problems.”
“Of course, Johnson claimed his johnson visited more women than JFK ever dreamed of, but then Texans always exaggerate,”
added Theodora.
“Personally, I wouldn’t even vote for a President who didn’t cheat on his wife,” confided K. “Any man who isn’t charismatic enough to bed the women he wants won’t be a very good leader. Just look at the record. Monogamous husbands have almost always been
lousy presidents.”
“Were all the presidents really like that? What about George Washington?” asked
Mrs. Ram.
“How do you think he kept warm at Valley Forge? As they used to say, ‘First in war, first in peace, and first between the legs of his countrywomen.’ And I’ll guarantee you, Abe Lincoln spent plenty of time consoling the war widows who went to
visit him.”
“Too bad Ben Franklin never became President. He would have given Kennedy a run for the Most Mistresses Maintained by a President Award,” said Regina.
“And don’t forget Grover Cleveland who had to respond to cries of ‘Ma, Ma, where’s my Pa?’ when news of his illegitimate child came out,”
added Theodora.
“Carter is the monogamous type, and look at what a disaster he has been!”
concluded K.
“Well, Thea,” said Regina, “looks like we’ll have to go back in
the Hearse.”
“But we can’t. We’ll be caught for sure if we do,”
said Theodora.
“Don’t worry Thea, there’re so many limos in D.C., they’ll never even notice us.”
Just then Tony returned with
the food.
“Jesus, Tony, where’ve you been?” asked a famished K.
Smelling the fish Tony had brought, Sister Carla went over to Tony and started hitting Tony’s legs with her flippers, demanding food and
crying, “Aaann.”
“Ow! Stop it
you little—”
“You touch Sister Carla, Tony Olisbos, and I’ll take care of you for good,” warned Regina. “Give me the fish and I’ll feed her myself.” Tony handed Regina the raw fish, and she led Sister Carla into the other room where the penguin could eat in peace. Meanwhile Tony and Theodora spread the food out on the table. Coito gave grace: “What greater love hath these animals that they give up their only begotten life for our sakes,” and with that, the group began
their meal.
“What did you do as a nun, Coito?” inquired
Mrs. Ram.
“Nun? I quit before I’d even become a novitiate. I thought I could bring the Catholic Church up to the twentieth century, but I quickly realized it was a lost cause. I’d die before I’d become religious again.”
“Did you quit the nunnery too, Regina?” asked
Mrs. Ram.
“No, I was a nun for
several years.”
“Why’d you become a nun?” asked
Mr. Ram.
“Well, when I was a kid, my mother got me to enjoy all the music she and my father had listened to when they were kids, you know, Big Band, Glenn Miller, and she’d get me to watch all the movies she used to go see with my father when they were growing up. I really liked the movies and music from back then. They had a certain optimism, a
joie de vivre
, almost a naïvety about life, all of which it seems like we’ve lost since then. While I was in college, there was Watergate and Viet Nam and the CIA and racial problems, and Berkeley wasn’t exactly a hotbed of contentment. If people in other countries liked our movies and music, they hated our government, and everyone around me at college was either cynical or distrustful or, or…it just all seemed so different from the movies and music my mother had shown me. It seemed to me that there had to be a better way to live life than being distrustful and cynical about everyone and everything, and besides, I thought someone had to carry the torch of American optimism, especially when everyone else was trying to put it out. And I decided that person would
be me.
“I decided that what I wanted to do was to go abroad and show others that America was still a country that wanted to help people. I had thought about going into the Peace Corps, but I didn’t want to be connected with the government because if I worked for them, I was afraid that the people in the country I was going to wouldn’t trust me. So instead I became a Maryknoll nun, purposing to go down to Central America to help others and show them what America could be. I had met a couple of Maryknoll nuns in California. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was in the convent. My parents didn’t like the idea at first since they were Methodist, but after a while they accepted my decision.” Sister Carla had turned away from the table and was studying the floor beneath
her intensely.
“What’s she doing?” asked
Mrs. Ram.
“She’s trying to judge how far it is to the floor. Penguins are terribly nearsighted because their eyes are adapted to seeing underwater. So it takes them a while to judge distances. They’re quite good jumpers though. Some can jump better than they
can walk.”
“So what happened in
the convent?”
“Being there was quite an adjustment those first few months. Though I had taken on the idealism of the thirties, I had not taken on the Hayes Commission’s morality. I had always had boys chasing after me, but I really didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. You know, men are funny because it’s so easy to manipulate them. I took cues from the movies and from friends and learned to act coy and shy, or aggressive and spunky as the situation demanded. Most of them never realized how I was controlling them. They were so happy to be with me, they didn’t seem to care. What happened at the end of the date was their main concern. Not that I didn’t enjoy it either. In fact, I probably enjoyed it more than they did, but I also made sure the evening itself was just as fun.” Sister Carla jumped off the chair and started to explore the Ram’s house at
her leisure.
“Anyway, the convent changed my dating habits drastically, but I adjusted quickly enough. A lot of the nuns I met there were nice, optimistic, and even idealistic, though often for different reasons from my own. Nuns are not the simplistic Debbie Reynolds types that movies make them out to be. Most of them are probably more vivacious and thoughtful than the average person. You know, they say clothes make the person, and it’s the same with nuns. Most people only see the black and white outer habits nuns wear before the world without ever thinking about what nuns wear under their habits. But to some of the more liberal nuns, their nightgowns were their pride and joy. Why, I myself had a veritable rainbow of brilliant gowns to sleep in. Under a nun’s habit lies her true nature, not
in it.
“But that’s beside the point. In due time I was down in Central America, and I must admit, it turned out to be something quite different from what I had imagined. I was sent down there to work with Sister Carla, that’s whom I named our penguin after. She had already been down there for two years, and she believed in helping people’s bodies as well as their souls and went out of her way to do so. She made sure she had done everything she could for the people she was working with, and she never gave up. Whether someone woke her up in the middle of the night seeking refuge, or came to her at the church, she went out of her way to help them. It wasn’t always easy either. We were taken advantage of many times and we knew it, but we stuck by our
jobs nevertheless.
“Unfortunately, Sister Carla did too good of a job,” continued Regina more solemnly. “She helped everyone regardless of whom they were and that was her fatal mistake. The government of the country we were in was rather brutal and the leftists often did their best to be as inhuman as the people they were trying to overthrow. There were rumors about some of the things that happened to people the government didn’t like. They told me about the ‘flying nun’ incidents. Government soldiers would take some nun who wouldn’t cooperate with them up in a helicopter, fly over the ocean, and then push her out the window and tell her to fly. None did. Both sides had told Sister Carla to stay in the Church where she belonged, but she and I ignored them. I guess we just figured it wouldn’t happen to us, or if it did, it was God’s will.”
Regina paused.
“It was a Wednesday when it happened. I was walking home when some of the people in the village ran up to me and told me some men had taken Sister Carla away. They didn’t know who the men were or what side they were on, but she was gone. Two days later someone found her body. She had been shot twice. As soon as I heard, I went to see her body to make sure her remains were taken
care of.
“I don’t know. The whole situation was just too real. Sister Carla would have wanted me to stay on, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. My heart wasn’t in it. I stayed down there a while and read the Bible every day. But everything seemed so wrong. If Paul wasn’t preaching at me, the priests were laying down rules and regulations for me. I knew how to live without some man telling me what to do. And the men in the Bible were bigger chauvinists than the men down in Central America. Just read the Bible and see how the Jews treated women back in Old Testament times. The Israelites killed all the men in battle, but raped the women they captured or made them their mistresses. Their women were just furniture. And then I realized Israel was just like Honduras or some other Central American country. Every few years there was a coup, an assassination, a war, or something like that. Nothing had changed in three
thousand years.
“After Sister Carla got killed, I tried reading the Bible for solace, but everywhere I read there was nothing but death and destruction from man and from God. You read in one place where the Israelites kill
500
,
000
men in a few days. In another place an angel kills
185
,
000
men. I guess God would justify that like we justify Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but what I never could understand was Childermas, the Slaughter of the Innocents. God sent an angel to Joseph so he would save His Son Jesus, but He let all the other children die. Why didn’t God tell the other fathers that Herod’s men were coming to massacre their children? Why did He save His Son and not the other children? I never could understand that. Of course now I’m an agnostic, so I think it’s all a bunch of nonsense, but I never could
reconcile Childermas.
“If I didn’t believe in religion anymore, I still believed in life. So I quit my religious career and decided to get everything I could out of life while I still had it. I tried to fulfill my lifelong dream of breaking into the movies, but met with no success. Oh, I got a few jobs in this or that, but nothing big. It’s probably just as well. I wouldn’t have been satisfied with just acting. I would have wanted to try and make movies too. I’ve got lots of ideas, but the problem is always getting the connections and finding a vehicle
for them.
“I had almost forgotten about Central America when some nuns came to me. One of them told me that Congress was holding hearings on military aid to Central America. They thought I should go tell them about my experiences down there and said they’d arrange everything for me. Well, I didn’t like the idea at first, but I felt I owed it to Sister Carla so I agreed to do it. I really thought it was going to be a big deal, but when I got there most of the people on the committee didn’t even show up, and those who did just read off some questions their aides had cooked up for them. But while I was in D.C., I visited the Kennedy Center; Victor hired me; I moved in with K and Thea; and the rest, as they say,
is history.
“Actually it’s too bad you aren’t coming back with us. I’m sure you’d like it up there, and we’d really like to have you come along. Won’t you please?”
asked Regina.
“I’m ready to go,” said Mrs. Ram. “He’s the one who’s holding
things up.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking. Guess there ain’t much left around here for us. Do you really think you could get jobs for us and a place
to stay?”
“Sure we could,”
said Theodora.
“Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll sleep on it tonight and tell you my
decision tomorrow.”
“Just make sure it’s yes,”
said Theodora.
Mr. Ram had already decided to go to Washington, D.C., but had decided to delay his announcement a day so he could save face. The next morning Mr. Ram told the others his decision, and they all began preparations for their departure. Coito called Victor to tell him they would be leaving for Washington, and he arranged for housing for both the three sisters and the Rams. On Thursday, a week after the three had escaped from jail, the three sisters, Tony, Sister Carla, and the Rams packed up the station wagon and headed for Washington, D.C., not knowing what fate awaited them.