Last Night at the Blue Angel (14 page)

Naomi

CHAPTER 17

KANSAS, 1954

T
HE NIGHT I
ran away from home, Sister and I drove for hours. It was past midnight when we knocked on the front door of her convent but several nuns were awake and dressed, standing in the entry when we arrived as though they knew we were coming. They were clearly happy to see Idalia, some of them even cried a little. I realized they hadn't seen her in years. All of this they seemed to be trying to hide from their boss, the taller, sterner nun everyone kept an eye on.

Idalia put her hand on my back.
This is Naomi
.

Well, aren't you grown up
, one of them said. I looked at her and slowly realized it was Sister Therese, the nun I'd been so terrible to.

Sister Therese
, I said.

She frowned at me.

Long time no see
, I said. Some of the nuns laughed while others scowled at the ones who were laughing.

The boss nun stepped forward, stilling the others.

I'm Sister Anne
,
Prioress here. Welcome
.

Then she turned to Idalia and squeezed her shoulders. Idalia's head lowered a little, like she was sorry.

A tiny old nun stepped forward, reached up, and put her hands on my cheeks.
You're so tall!
she said.

This is Sister Regiswinda
, said Sister Anne.
She'll show you to your room
.

Sister Regiswinda took my hand and we walked down the hall of the big old house.

Everyone calls me Sister Windy
, she said, smiling, her round face squeezed by her coif.

She led me to a small bare room.
Are you hungry?
she asked.

The question reminded me of my body, the emptiness in my gut, which led me to think of Laura walking away from me, her back, her not turning around.

No
, I said, looking at the floor.

Sister Windy took my hands in hers and patted them.

I wasn't sure if you'd let me in
, I said.
It's my fault that Sister—

Sister Windy shook her head no before I could finish my sentence.
That's unrelated
.

Beg your pardon?

It's our rule
, she said.
All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ
. She touched my hand when she said the word
as
. She closed her eyes to finish . . .
for He Himself will say
,
“I was a stranger and you welcomed me.”

She let go of my hand and stooped to turn down the bed.
Others here might say we let you in because we're bored and courting trouble but they are sour old women
.

She looked around the room.
Prime is at six o'clock. I'll wake you
. On her way out she patted the two towels folded on a small wooden bench.
The bathroom is across the hall there. For you to wash up
. She didn't close the door all the way when she left.

If I were to wash I would wash away Laura and I'd never have her smell on me again. After settling myself in the hard, narrow bed, I brought my hair to my face to smell it, then my fingers. Lying down on the hard, narrow bed, I stared at the ceiling. I pulled the blanket tight around my body but it was too light. If only it were a heavier blanket, something to hold me down. The wind was windier here than at home, if that was possible, and rattled the small high window. A Johnny Mercer song played over and over in my head and I hummed it to myself, pausing between phrases out of worry that someone might hear me. But the nuns felt very far away. I had never in my life had a room to myself. Or a bed. It was nearly daylight when I finally fell asleep.

I
woke again to Sister Windy shaking me lightly. I sat up and she handed me a small loaf of bread wrapped in a dish towel.

We're not supposed to eat before Holy Communion but you must be so hungry
.

She left me to get ready and without my knowing it, took my dress to the wash. All I had left to wear was Laura's lavender dress. I put it on slowly, imagining the cotton was her skin as it slid over mine. When Windy returned she gasped and touched her fingers to my waist.

Oh
,
it's beautiful
, she said, excited and worried.

It's all I have
, I told her.

Oh
,
you have so much
, she said, shaking her head,
so much more than you know
.

I sang prayers with the nuns in the small chapel that morning. Singing erased everything but what I was singing. No
Yesterday
. No
Later
. Sister Windy routinely pointed to where we were in the text. I nodded and watched Sister Idalia sing. She didn't have to read the text; she knew it all by heart. I wanted to talk to her afterward but she disappeared.

After breakfast, Sister Anne, the prioress, showed me around the grounds.

Sister Idalia wasn't at breakfast
, I said.

Sister Anne observed something high up in a tree.
Sister Idalia needs some time to reflect
.

I need to speak with her
.

Well
,
you may not
.

What am I supposed to do?
I asked.

Sister Anne began to walk and I followed.
You're pausing. Catching your breath. And since Sister Idalia was
,
in part
,
responsible for the events that led to your circumstances
,
we are letting you stay here. For a day or two
.

She took me into the church on campus.
St. Scholastica Chapel
, she said in a loud whisper. It was quiet and grand. Red pillars lined the sides. Just below the ceiling, stained glass handled the light like a sieve. Spears of red, blue, and green light pointed to empty spots on the pews, the walls. I wanted to stand in those colored lights. The image in the stained glass was a woman holding a small organ. Under her feet was a sword pointing at the ground.

Saint Cecelia
, said Sister Anne.
Patron saint of music
.

I felt myself go hot, and wondered just how much she knew.

I would recommend that you spend a little time here in the chapel. Pray. Ask God for guidance
.

As she spoke, it occurred to me that allowing others' opinions of me to strike me, to heat me up and shrink me, had to stop. Somehow. I had to be bigger.

You are so young. And though you may feel loss
,
you now have a chance to begin again. In any way you choose. Few women find themselves in such a position. Wouldn't you agree?

Everything she said felt like a test she believed I would fail. I glanced at the high, arched ceiling. I'd never seen anything like it, or heard so much quiet. It felt like we were standing at the bottom of a deep bowl of silence. Even the wind sounded very far away.

This is a gift. You would do well to acknowledge it as such
, she said.

She looked at the watch around her neck.
I have meetings
. Then she left with a turn and a whoosh of fabric, the big door groaning as it opened and closed behind her.

The light that poured through the Saint Cecilia window lit the dust in the air. I sat in the last pew and thought about Laura. Her hair, her skin, her breath. I might never know her again.

I said hello to Saint Cecelia. I said hello to God, and asked aloud,
What is there to say? What can I tell You that You don't already know?
And nothing happened. I looked around to make sure no one else was there, and hummed a few notes. A little bit of the Attende Domine and then a little Johnny Mercer.

“Skylark, have you anything to say to me? Won't you tell me where my love can be?”
I liked how it sounded in the big space.
“Is there a meadow in the mist?”
I'd never heard my voice like that. I listened to it come back to me and enter me. Me. My own voice. With my eyes closed, I imagined Mother and Father, Murielle and the little ones sitting all along the bench, even Laura, smiling at me. A voice in my head crept in and said,
They are not here. They will never be here again
. I thought I would explode at this thought, my insides shaking, so I stepped into the middle of the aisle, stood with my legs far apart so I could push the sound out louder, harder. I stretched my arms far out to my sides.
“And in your lonely flight.”
The shape of the chapel or the silence made my voice sound so large. Fat. Fuller than it really was. I could make something bigger than I with just my body.
“Haven't you heard the music in the night?”
Somehow that sound came out of me and wrapped itself around me at the same time. It held me. And I believed I was going to be all right.
You're going to be just fine
,
all by yourself
, I said aloud. For Cecelia, God, Laura, my sweet family, and for Idalia, since none of them had a word to say.

I heard a sound, maybe a door closing somewhere, so I stopped. Then I whispered to Saint Cecelia,
Watch me
.

I
ran on my tiptoes to the back of the chapel, raced to the convent, through the door, and down the hall to the little room until I was out of wind. I turned my bag upside down and out fluttered David's card, which I tucked in the envelope of money.

Sister Windy returned with my dress folded in her arms. I shoved the contents of my bag back inside it.

Sister Windy
, I said. She handed me my dress.
I need to see Sister Idalia
.

She shook her head no.

Sister
,
please. I must tell her good-bye and that I'm sorry and—

Sister Windy continued to shake her head no while saying,
All right. Follow me
.
And keep up. We don't have much time
.

I followed Windy through the building's maze. She was small and didn't seem capable of such speed. We came to the end of a long, dark hall and Windy knocked.

A chair creaked.

I'm to be left alone, Sister
, said Sister Idalia.

I have the girl
, said Windy.

Idalia opened the door and they smiled at each other. Windy rushed away, waving her hands in the air like she wanted nothing more to do with us.

Idalia's head was newly shaved. Her eyes looked large.
Hi
,
peanut
. I hugged her. She put me in her chair and sat down on her bed.

I'm going to Kansas City
, I told her.

Idalia nodded and looked at the floor.

I'm going to find David. I would like to become a singer. And make records. He could help me
,
I think. And maybe he could help me talk to Laura
,
set things right
.

Idalia looked at the wall above my head and then back at me.
That might not work
.

There was a small desk built into the wall of her room and on it was a stack of notebook paper and a pencil. Several pages were covered with Sister's writing. Next to that was a small plate with a piece of plain brown bread on it, untouched. I thought about my plan. I hadn't yet imagined the part about leaving Sister, setting out on my own, and the idea of it started to work into my bones like cold, damp air.

I can't stay here with you
,
can I?
I asked.

No
.
Unless you're thinking about joining us
.

I looked at her.
Become a nun?

Eventually
,
yes. I don't suppose that's something you ever considered
.

Murielle and I used to put dish towels on our heads and dip our fingers in the water cup in our bedroom before making the sign of the cross
, I told her, the thought prying open the big tin of ache inside me.

Sister waited.

Aside from that
,
no
.
I don't want to be celibate
. I looked at my shoes.

Sister rubbed her head.
Love is much bigger than what you've experienced in your young life. If anything
,
sex gets in the way
.

I tried to understand what she was talking about.

If you ask me
, she added.

I still don't want to be celibate
, I said, which made her laugh.

I know
,
peanut
.

I looked at the piece of bread again, sure she wasn't eating.

Is this your punishment?
I asked, looking around the room.

She looked at the floor. There was a scar on top of her head where hair didn't grow.
We punish ourselves
, she began, but then stopped and looked at the wall as if there was a window there.

You told me to love her
, I said.

Idalia moved her head this way, then that.
I did
.

There was a clock on the small table, its ticking made extra loud by the emptiness of the room.

Idalia smiled.
Did you enjoy prayers this morning?

I did
.

She took a deep breath.
Some days I feel like the only way I can talk to God is to sing. The singing gets me out of the way
.

I know
, I told her,
it feels like you're not you anymore but a thing that makes these sounds. I love that
.

I love it
,
too
. She looked at the clock.
You must go
, she said, standing.
Sister Anne
. . .

I know
. How would I tell her that I was sorry. It was so hard to make the words come out but I had to. I stood and said,
I'm so sorry about what I did
.

Idalia took my shoulders, shook her head.
I'm not
.

I love you. Thank you
. I hugged her and turned to leave.

Peanut
, she called after me. I turned around.
Sing well
.

I will
, I said, and I gave her a little bow that made her laugh.

I
left the convent and hitched a ride with a family, settling myself in the bed of their truck between a rusty wire cage holding three chickens and a herding dog who was missing hair in patches. A small boy turned around in the cab and watched me through the open space between the back windows. The wind whipped my hair and dress as he stared. I waved my hand in his direction like he was a fly and he blinked, hurt, before turning back around in his seat. There was a swirl cowlick on the back of his head, like God blew very hard on just that spot.