Sister Bernadette held her coffee cup between her cold hands and heard the young woman at the table beside her scolding her six or seven-year-old son.
“Eat it, eat it! If you don't! I'm warning you! Eat it, eat!”
The child was playing with the free toy inside McDonald's child’s meal pack mesmerised by the colours and shapes of the toy still wrapped in plastic. She berates across the table.
“Next time you ask for anything you’ll get nothing. I'm warning you!”
He says nothing but fidgets in his chair. His mother's voice rises in anger.
“I told you not to order the chicken, you never eat chicken, but that's what you wanted. Well, I'm sick of you wasting things. I work hard for my money and you don't care, you just don't care. Eat! Eat!”
It seems as if the Saturday morning treat is going down hill rapidly. The boy idly picks up a chip and chews it. This seems to enrage the mother, who shouts,
“Don't just eat the chips, you have to eat the chicken. It's a complete waste to have the whole meal and not eat the chicken. You've done this before. I'm not having it, eat eat!”
Sister Bernadette lowers her head and prays. For what, she's not sure, but a more peaceful environment for the mother and son would do. The boy has not spoken since they arrived at the table in the cafe. His excitement in opening the box had been tangible as he searched for the toy inside. But now Bernadette notices a nervous twitch around one of his eyes. Her middle-aged cousin Henry had the same twitch. It was no wonder, Henry’s life had been difficult, full of trauma. Watching the young boy’s nervous mannerism made her want to weep. Despite her prayers there is tension building and sister Bernadette feels her futility in the face of it. Unable to stop the storm reaching a crescendo.
“Okay, that’s it! If you're not eating the chicken, you're not having chips!”
She picked up the McDonald's children's box and threw it in the bin.
“I warned you, I told you before, didn’t I? Why can't you listen. Why do you ruin everything. Even this is spoiled! Are you happy now?”
She is tidying away the trays slamming them down while clearing their table. The boy is holding tight to this free toy held below the table, out of sight, as the mother grabs his other arm and hauls him to his feet.
“Come on, that's all finished let's go!”
Her anger has a justified, righteous ring to it. As if she is enjoying being angry and making a clear point to the silent twitching child. As they pass Bernadette’s table, she wants to reach out a hand and ask the mother.
“Who are you really angry at?” In gentle curious tones. But that would be unforgivable.
The mother and son have reached the front glass doors are exiting when the mother spots the toy still wrapped in its plastic wrapping unopened in his hand. She snatches it from him and throws it in the bin at the front door. He howls his distress and tries to reach in the bin to retrieve the toy. She pulls him away from the bin and suddenly both are gone. This righteous angry young mother and her thin tiny nervous screaming son.
Bernadette's coffee has become tasteless and cold. The cafe feels contaminated by the toxic argument. When a novice Bernadette had hated the arguments in the convent. They had made her stomach churn and her constant indigestion that meant she seem to live anti-indigestion tablets for months. In those early frightening months it had been a red haired novice with a furious temper who seem to be at the root of all disputes. She seemed ready to explode over the slightest word, perceived slight, inconvenience, shortage of biscuits or even an accidental nudge on the way to the chapel. Bernadette remember going through a long mass with the red haired girl glaring angrily across the cold chapel. The unpleasantness lasted two days and nights Bernadette had practically overdosed on anti-acid tablets during the long weekend. Such was her dosage the elderly nun on nursing duty called her in to question her.
“Do you have problems with the food here?”
She had asked when looking through the dispensing records. She was in her 60s and was called Gerty. The face was wreathed in smile lines and she spoke with a heavy Yorkshire accent. Bernadette had admitted.
“I've always had a sensitive stomach, if I get upset about anything my stomach seems to suffer.”
Gerty smiled,
“We will have to find a solution to that, won’t we?
Bernadette had lifted her face at that benevolent tone and asked somewhat tearfully,
“But how sister?”
“Well, I suggest we start with prayer, shall we?”
Gerty rose and beckoned Bernadette to follow her. They went down a long corridor to the empty chapel. In an alcove the two kneeled in silence. At first, Bernadette felt disappointed. She had begun to hope Gerty had sensed the reason for her distress, the red haired girl’s toxic presence. Or had a treatment apart from the constant diet of anti-acids that she consumed all her life. But no, here they knelt in the darkened chapel, back where Bernadette had started the morning with her adversary’s toxic glare.
But as she peeped at Gerty kneeling beside her, upright, habit folded neatly, hands covered, with her shoulders relaxed, she was shocked at the intense expression on the elderly nun’s face as she prayed. She was so obviously asking for divine help that Bernadette shut her own eyes and copied. It seemed the very least she could do, given all this effort on Gerty’s part. After a long silence Bernadette had another sidelong look at the elderly nun beside her. The expression had changed. It was now a listening face. As if somewhere in the chapel a voice had begun to speak and Gerty was taking in everything said.
Bernadette closed her eyes and tried to listen too. Not to ask, pray or demand but wait for the answer to come. The quietness stretched out and a stillness settled within her. She felt the hardwood under her knees, the smell of the candles in the corner, she fancied she could see their flickers through her closed eyelids. Then, the silence of the empty chapel seem to embrace her. With her hands wrapped in her habit the coldness of the chapel did not make her restless for the sunny cloisters. Instead a thought bubbled up.
“A servant is drawn unto Me in prayer until I answer him; and when I have answered him, I become the ear wherewith he heareth….”.
Bernadette breathed slow and deep, feeling her heart rate change. A memory of the stream near their home came to her. She could see the boulders, the grass verge, hear the bubbling sound of water swirl round the stones. The river racing down the slopes of the mountain, clear, cool and fresh. As a child she love to hold her head above its surface and observe the pebbles below the water. They were shiny and coloured and so beautiful. Sometimes she would reach down and stir at the bottom of the stream so that stones and mud mixed and the water would become brown and mysterious. Then she would lie and watch as gradually the constant trickling stream would clear away the debris until again crystal clear pebbles appeared magnified in all their beauty. Returned to an ethereal beauty that could not be destroyed by intent nor time. In the chapel Bernadette breathed in deeply and opened her eyes. This time it was sister Gerty who was watching her and smiling.
“You look much better! “She queried, “But are you?”
Bernadette felt as if a weight had been lifted from her heart. But not at all sure how.
“Thank you, sister, I do!”
As they left the small chapel Bernadette felt as if she'd learnt a lesson of value and for the first time found herself looking forward to all the other valuable lessons ahead. When she’d finished the novice training, she was given a new name, sister Bernadette. At first, she been in a state of disbelief at being given this of all names! She had admired the Saint of course. But it had to be a horrible coincidence that it was also the name of that angry red haired novice who had tormented her throughout her training. Then, she learnt to let that go too and could laugh at the coincidences that come along in life. Let it all go. Her acidic stomach, hurt feelings, discomfort, breath deep and let it go. Sometimes you had to laugh at the journey we are all on and be patient until the water clears and translucency returns, which it will!
