The Gathering by William X. Kienzle

to the next. She would be with the bereaved, offering consoling words, a reassuring presence, and the promise of more prayer.
    All these were positive and motivating arguments for the life she proposed to pursue.
    She could not imagine what it would be like to live in a community of women who would compose one’s “Sisters.” She hoped that that would be worth the price of admission. Still, there were doubts.
    What if she were to find herself locked away with no companions other than women who were more strangers than Sisters?
    What if she were housed with one or more women with whom she was flat-out incompatible? Alice guessed there would be no remedy for that. Obedience—blind obedience—would be the required response. The Community saw fit to send her to this school, this hospital, and/or this convent. That mission then would be God’s will—no matter how unpleasant the atmosphere might be.
    Monroe’s voice reinvaded her consciousness. That about which he was singing was the real sacrifice she would have to face. She felt that it would be the most difficult gift of all—a veritable oblation.
    Loneliness.
    And not just under a Blue Moon.
    She would see it everywhere.
    And it would be worse as a nursing Sister. Teachers deal with students, kids more than likely. More times than not it would be on an adversarial basis. She recalled a cartoon of a nun at a blackboard lecturing other nuns. On the blackboard was the stick figure of a little boy in open-neck shirt and jeans, with a slingshot sticking out of his back pocket. The cartoon caption: “ THE ENEMY .”
    Teaching nuns had little to do with adults, unless the parents’ little darlings were in deep scholastic or disciplinary trouble.
    The nursing nun dealt with everyone from infants to the elderly. Not only did these nuns care for the ill and infirm, they also interacted with the next of kin: husbands, wives, children, friends, relatives, lovers. Sometimes the love among these people was all but palpable. They would hold hands, be near, kiss.
    None of that for her.
    Could she do it?
    Right now, Mr. and Mrs. Smith were in bed together. Whether or not they were making love, at least they were together—touching, caring, sharing, being in love.
    Not in her life. Her life would have its pluses—and its minuses. Could she carry it off? No telling till she gave it her best shot.
    No one had said a word during Monroe’s song. Alice and Rose each had her own thoughts and daydreams. Mike was deep into lines connecting adjectives to nouns, adverbs to verbs.
    Monroe had finished. Time to put on another record.
    Time to share a little conversation.

    SIX    
     
    M IKE PACKED AWAY HIS BOOKS, rolled over onto his back, and stretched. “No wonder they call Monroe the Iron Lung; he sings practically every song his band plays.”
     
    “Stop picking on him.” Rose was lighthearted. “At least he’s good at it.”
    “He sounds like someone pinched his nose with a clothespin,” Mike replied.
    What has been said of twins’ closeness was true of Mike and Rose. Even as infants they had paid more attention to each other than to the toys their parents lavished on them.
    Although Mr. and Mrs. Smith had planned a large family, Rose and Mike were the only offspring they had and the only ones they would ever have.
    The Smiths had not expected twins, although they certainly welcomed the two, who would, they thought, provide a great start toward the desired large Catholic family.
    The bad news was the discovery of a cancerous growth on the mother’s uterus. The growth was excised, of course. But to do so, the entire uterus had to be removed. There followed an extended period of watching and praying that the surgery had removed any possibility of recurrence.
    The parents’ initial reaction was to lavish the twins with toys and games. Eventually, they saw the light and settled down to provide their children the only things they really needed—tender, loving