glad to see no crucifix here or other sign of devotion. “My brother and I shouldn’t have pressed on, but I weep to think my poor mother might die before I see her one last time.”
Madame Goulart still frowned, but then the other two women entered.
They were about Petra’s age, and unlike their elders seemed healthy and cheerful. One wore a green skirt, the other a yellowish-brown one. Both wore dark red country bodices, laced in front, over plain shifts, and wooden clogs on their feet. All the women wore clogs, and given the state of the floor, Petra wished she did, too.
The one in the green skirt stared at Petra and said, “Oh, but you are beautiful.”
It made Petra blush, but she could think of nothing to say other than, “Thank you.”
Brown Skirt poked a pointed elbow into her sister to remind her of her manners, and they both sat on a bench. But they kept flickering glances at Petra, as if she fascinated them. Of course, with most nuns living in cloister, they might never have seen one before.
They were old enough to be married, but wore no rings. Petra wasn’t entirely surprised. Green Skirt seemed a bit slow, and had large eyes that should have been appealing, but which put Petra disconcertingly in mind of a cow. Brown Skirt’s eyes were small and too close together, and when she smiled, she showed small, sharp, crooked rat’s teeth.
Petra, you’ve never studied a rat’s teeth. Be charitable!
Promising to do penance, Petra smiled at both and said, “Good evening.”
Cow Eyes smiled back, but anxiously. The other showed those teeth. Perhaps neither was normal. This seemed a very unfortunate family.
“Solette and Jizzy,” Madame Goulart introduced. The slow one seemed to be Jizzy and the sly one Solette. “And my mother attends the pot.”
Petra had seen the woman add things to the pot—some herbs from the pouch and more vegetables. Trying to make their poor meal stretch to five more mouths. Petra wished they had some food to offer.
“That is a dog your brother has?” Madame Goulart asked.
Petra was still having trouble with the dialect. “Yes, an absurd thing, is she not?”
“Pretty collar. Your brother, he is a rich lord?”
Were they planning to demand an outrageous amount for a night’s shelter?
“We’re simple people, really, but we will pay generously for your hospitality.”
“Good, good. Come, Sister. I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.”
Petra followed her through the right-hand curtain, praying for better than she expected. She found herself in a room containing just one bed. The bed was low and large, and she saw no doors or stairs that could lead to other rooms. She was going to have to share one bed with the whole family? But Madame Goulart walked toward the back wall, which was entirely covered by dark red curtains. Petra hurried after. Thank God.
The woman parted the curtains in the middle to reveal something quite like a nun’s cell, with other curtains making side walls. The end of the room held curtained sleeping alcoves—perhaps five of them? Peculiar, but Petra could have cried hallelujah with relief.
She hurried forward but halted, hit by yet more smells. The prevailing damp and rot was joined by unwashed sheets, old spilled wine, perhaps even urine, and something else. A rank, musty odor that turned her stomach.
“Oh. I…”
“What?”
Inspiration flew to Petra like an angel. “I cannot sleep in a room without an open window. I’m sorry. It is the rule of my order. I must be ready for God to take me at any moment.”
“God needs a window?” the woman asked with surprising perception.
Petra spread her hands. “It is the rule. I will return to my brother….” Please.
But Madame Goulart said, “That wouldn’t be right, Sister,” and stumped off to the right.
The woman dragged back the curtain at the end of the row to reveal an identical sleeping space. It was as filthy, but had a shuttered window. Petra opened the shutters and
Madame Goulart still frowned, but then the other two women entered.
They were about Petra’s age, and unlike their elders seemed healthy and cheerful. One wore a green skirt, the other a yellowish-brown one. Both wore dark red country bodices, laced in front, over plain shifts, and wooden clogs on their feet. All the women wore clogs, and given the state of the floor, Petra wished she did, too.
The one in the green skirt stared at Petra and said, “Oh, but you are beautiful.”
It made Petra blush, but she could think of nothing to say other than, “Thank you.”
Brown Skirt poked a pointed elbow into her sister to remind her of her manners, and they both sat on a bench. But they kept flickering glances at Petra, as if she fascinated them. Of course, with most nuns living in cloister, they might never have seen one before.
They were old enough to be married, but wore no rings. Petra wasn’t entirely surprised. Green Skirt seemed a bit slow, and had large eyes that should have been appealing, but which put Petra disconcertingly in mind of a cow. Brown Skirt’s eyes were small and too close together, and when she smiled, she showed small, sharp, crooked rat’s teeth.
Petra, you’ve never studied a rat’s teeth. Be charitable!
Promising to do penance, Petra smiled at both and said, “Good evening.”
Cow Eyes smiled back, but anxiously. The other showed those teeth. Perhaps neither was normal. This seemed a very unfortunate family.
“Solette and Jizzy,” Madame Goulart introduced. The slow one seemed to be Jizzy and the sly one Solette. “And my mother attends the pot.”
Petra had seen the woman add things to the pot—some herbs from the pouch and more vegetables. Trying to make their poor meal stretch to five more mouths. Petra wished they had some food to offer.
“That is a dog your brother has?” Madame Goulart asked.
Petra was still having trouble with the dialect. “Yes, an absurd thing, is she not?”
“Pretty collar. Your brother, he is a rich lord?”
Were they planning to demand an outrageous amount for a night’s shelter?
“We’re simple people, really, but we will pay generously for your hospitality.”
“Good, good. Come, Sister. I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.”
Petra followed her through the right-hand curtain, praying for better than she expected. She found herself in a room containing just one bed. The bed was low and large, and she saw no doors or stairs that could lead to other rooms. She was going to have to share one bed with the whole family? But Madame Goulart walked toward the back wall, which was entirely covered by dark red curtains. Petra hurried after. Thank God.
The woman parted the curtains in the middle to reveal something quite like a nun’s cell, with other curtains making side walls. The end of the room held curtained sleeping alcoves—perhaps five of them? Peculiar, but Petra could have cried hallelujah with relief.
She hurried forward but halted, hit by yet more smells. The prevailing damp and rot was joined by unwashed sheets, old spilled wine, perhaps even urine, and something else. A rank, musty odor that turned her stomach.
“Oh. I…”
“What?”
Inspiration flew to Petra like an angel. “I cannot sleep in a room without an open window. I’m sorry. It is the rule of my order. I must be ready for God to take me at any moment.”
“God needs a window?” the woman asked with surprising perception.
Petra spread her hands. “It is the rule. I will return to my brother….” Please.
But Madame Goulart said, “That wouldn’t be right, Sister,” and stumped off to the right.
The woman dragged back the curtain at the end of the row to reveal an identical sleeping space. It was as filthy, but had a shuttered window. Petra opened the shutters and
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