Silent Monday

   Silent Monday

Suzanne Marsh

1964

Silence pervaded Mount Saint Margaret’s Academy for Girls that Monday morning, as we entered the front doors of the school. It was mandatory silent Monday, a day of retreat and complete silence. Actually I think the nuns just wanted a day of peace and quiet. I knew there was going to be a silent Monday so I took the precaution of sneaking in a few other books that could easily be hidden within The Bible. The idea was a day of contemplation, to me it was a challenge; could I out smart the nuns. That remained to been seen, I had been treading thin ice with the sisters for most of the year. I was the nuns nightmare, I had wanted to go to public school my mother had other plans. She decided I was going to Mount Saint Margaret’s, end of discussion, her reasoning was the nuns that ran Mount Saint Margaret’s were the same ones that had dealt with me from the first to the eight grade.

This particular silent Monday started off with a bang, literally. I accidentally brushed up against the fire alarm. The nuns came running from every conceivable room, nook and cranny. It was like a group of black and white ants coming in droves. Sister St. James simply turned off the alarm, gave me one of those glares: “don’t do that again.” I sort of shrunk under her glare, my eyes downcast. Then she notified the fire department that everything was fine. Silent Monday huh? I was just getting started. Silent Monday was a challenge to me, quiet was never in my vocabulary to begin with.

Silent Monday was a retreat, a completely silent one; we were allowed to read from books about saints or the bible. I preferred the bible since it was easier to hide books that no doubt would have the nuns in a tither. I had the bible on loan for three hours beginning at one o’clock in the afternoon. That would take me to the end of the school day.

Silent Monday began with chapel where we did penance for our sins. Mine were sometimes greater than most. I decided since I had to do the one hour, I would do it early, I was going to go up to the cloister and lead a small tour. That was the general idea; what happened was nothing short of Sister Saint James’s fury. The cloister is where the nuns slept, the fact that they were referred to as cells piqued my interest to say the very least. Since no one would be around to watch I knew a silent Monday was a good time to explore. I thought that I would find a whip for self flagellation and possibly a hair shirt or two. There was only one way up to the cloistered area, through heavy wooden doors, I would have to bide my time to be sure I did not accidentally find a nun in her cell. My theory was to get in there snoop around, then get back out without being caught. It seemed simple enough in my teenage brain, so I waited. Lunch was also silent, there is nothing worse than no conversation at all for eight hours, to this day I can’t do it.

I finished my lunch, watching to see where the nuns were going, chapel, now was my chance. I quietly went up the marble stairs, trying not to let the doors creak. ‘So fat so good’ I thought, no one was in sight. I walked into one cell, there sure wasn’t much to see. There was a bed, a wardrobe closet a crucifix on the wall. The color was a pale green. The blanket was a darker green. What a let down this was, no hair shirts, no whip, no nothing. I left that room and headed back down the stairs, I had no idea that Sister Saint James was at the bottom of the stairs waiting like a hawk waiting for its prey. She pounced on me the moment my foot hit the bottom stair. Her face was a brilliant red, her eyes blue with fire:

“Just where have you been?” She asked her voice shaking with anger.

“No where in particular Sister Saint James.” It sounded lame at best.

“You were in the cloister weren’t you? Don’t bother to lie, I saw you.”

Oh man, I was in for it now:

“You will go to the library and write a composition about the sister’s personal spaces being gawked at by some teen that doesn’t respect privacy.” I thought if the was the worse she was going to do I was sadly mistake. She called my mother who promptly apologized for my incredibly horrible behavior. She also pointed that if I had really want to see a cloister; I had an aunt who was a nun. I guess that quieted Sister down a bit.

Before heading to the library I tucked Fanny Hill in the back of my sweater. That book was what at the time considered a filthy book, it was never a piece of literature but intriguing to a teen with no supervision at home. I arrived in the library with three minutes to spare. I found an empty table. The first thing I did was go and get a bible from the front desk. Sister Gerald Marie smiled as she gave me the book. Under the table I quickly put Fanny Hill in the bible, closing it. I still had write that essay about the nuns personal space and what privacy means. I was always creative but this was going to tax my creativity a bit. What exactly could I write? I had no business being in the cloister, that was an invasion of their privacy, why not I could think of anything else. Five hundred words later, I had not really said anything and I had five hundred more to go, anything under that and I would find myself having to write something else. It took me about twenty minutes to finish; then I got the bible containing Fanny Hill. I was really engrossed in the story when Sister Saint James happened by. She had some sort of built in radar, somehow she knew I wasn’t reading the bible. She grabbed the bible as Fanny Hill tumbled to the floor. She picked it up like it had cooties, she dropped it in the garbage bin. She motioned me toward the door and out into the corridor:

“You are suspended from school for the next five days. One more stunt like this and you will

be expelled, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

Meekly I replied:

“Yes, Sister Saint James, I understand.”

She was on a roll:

“You know, you are not the best student here. You have fallen asleep during lectures, you bring

in a filthy book to read. Do you not have any scruples? While you are suspended I want you

to write a composition about why you do not read filthy books here. I have already called

your mother, she is on her way here to pick you up.”

I knew I was in trouble when my mother arrived; “Allison Margaret Wilson what possessed you to read

a book like that? You are grounded for life, do you hear me? Life!”

I decided if that was the worst she could do I would simply bide my time until I had to return to Mount Saint Margaret’s it was funny giving the nuns a run for their money. We drove home in silence. Silent Monday turned into five day of silence. The Monday I returned to school, Sister Saint James asked for the composition, which I gave her. She read it without one word, put it in her top desk draw. My first class of the day? English. I had a lot of practice on composition that year.