Speckled
Speckled
There was bright light in a small garden, and shade beneath a few trees. A small nun sat speckled dark and light, on a bench beneath a tree, space on all sides of her. Soon a taller nun joined her. Here they sat outside of the sun, knees almost touching. Their faces were plain, unassuming. They looked the same. Anonymous under black robes and wimples.
‘It’s God’s gift to us.’ The taller nun shifted her wimple, showing dark hair that framed the white of her face. Dark circle around light. She moved closer to the small nun. Their feet touched. Their knees. Their shoulders. Their bodies angled together. Heat rose to pale cheeks, marking them both.
‘A gift, or a test? ’ She paused, then, ‘If Mary knew-‘
‘Mary won’t.’
‘She’s the head.’
‘God’s the head.’
‘That isn’t any better for us.’ The color slipping away, then, softly, from beneath curled shoulders, ‘It’s not natural. This is not natural. We. are not natural.’
‘No. God always has chosen special people. The Israelites, the Apostles- chosen and marked.’ She paused here, seemd to press closer, and her eyes grew hard in their brightness. ‘The commandments are not for his chosen people. We are marked, special. Together.’
They looked at each other then, two minutes, maybe three. Bodies kissed together, the space between them almost obliterated. Speckled both so they looked like just one. Then, the smaller lady reached for the other’s hand. Stopped. Pulled back. She shifted, looking away, bringing that space around her again, like a cloak.
The taller nun looked away too, a quick turn of the head, to the roses in the garden, and the sun above. Beside her, the small nun prayed fervently, knees and hands shaking. The taller nun too bowed her head briefly, and rising, walked from that speckled shade.
There was bright light in a small garden, and shade beneath a few trees. A small nun sat speckled dark and light, on a bench beneath a tree, space on all sides of her. Soon a taller nun joined her. Here they sat outside of the sun, knees almost touching. Their faces were plain, unassuming. They looked the same. Anonymous under black robes and wimples.
‘It’s God’s gift to us.’ The taller nun shifted her wimple, showing dark hair that framed the white of her face. Dark circle around light. She moved closer to the small nun. Their feet touched. Their knees. Their shoulders. Their bodies angled together. Heat rose to pale cheeks, marking them both.
‘A gift, or a test? ’ She paused, then, ‘If Mary knew-‘
‘Mary won’t.’
‘She’s the head.’
‘God’s the head.’
‘That isn’t any better for us.’ The color slipping away, then, softly, from beneath curled shoulders, ‘It’s not natural. This is not natural. We. are not natural.’
‘No. God always has chosen special people. The Israelites, the Apostles- chosen and marked.’ She paused here, seemd to press closer, and her eyes grew hard in their brightness. ‘The commandments are not for his chosen people. We are marked, special. Together.’
They looked at each other then, two minutes, maybe three. Bodies kissed together, the space between them almost obliterated. Speckled both so they looked like just one. Then, the smaller lady reached for the other’s hand. Stopped. Pulled back. She shifted, looking away, bringing that space around her again, like a cloak.
The taller nun looked away too, a quick turn of the head, to the roses in the garden, and the sun above. Beside her, the small nun prayed fervently, knees and hands shaking. The taller nun too bowed her head briefly, and rising, walked from that speckled shade.
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