The Lance, Part 1

Something dark is hiding in the rainforest...

Image Credit: Family photos of Infrognation, Wikimedia Commons

Though I've dabbled in creative writing here in the form of first person narratives, they've always been based on reality. This is fiction, based on a premise for a short story I first wrote in college and partially inspired by an idea I had for a character after reading this piece.

I started to re-write this as a short story, basically a re-hash of the original version I wrote ten years ago, but after a full day of typing, I realized that the story has grown quite a bit since then. I’ll try to release the parts over the course of the next week or so.

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“As Eve was formed from the sleeping Adam’s side, so the Church was born from the pierced heart of Christ hanging dead on the Cross.” — St. Ambrose of Milan

“This is part of the deal,” she reminded herself. “It’s said Christ comes in a distressing disguise, and I suppose a sullen teenager counts as one of those.”

Sister Mary Dolores was on mission, a real mission. Well, another mission. “It's not as if I wasn’t on mission before” she frequently reminded herself. True as that might have been, pushing papers and emptying wastebaskets in a Catholic retreat center office in Idaho didn’t have quite the same flavor to it as working at a mission school in Belize.

St. Mary of Edessa’s was miles from the nearest city, a tiny village in the middle of the rainforest. To get there, she had ridden in a bus with people crammed on wooden benches through thick rainforest for the five hour drive from the airport. The seatmate nearest her had had a cage full of despondent, overcrowded chickens balanced on his lap-and partially on hers- the entire way. Once she arrived at St. Mary’s, she slept under a mosquito net, washed her spare habit by slapping it on the rocks in the stream that ran on the far side of the village, and hadn’t felt the cool exhalations of an air conditioning unit in the two years since she’d arrived.

Sister Dolores (all the sisters in her order took on the name “Mary”) had taken her final vows only three years before. One of the younger sisters in The Society of the Crucified Savior, five years of formation and preparation had left her feeling at least basically prepared to live “as a living sacrifice”, though she still occasionally caught a less than pious word escaping her lips during the steamy, mosquito filled rainy season. She lived in a wooden house perched on stilts by the river with four other sisters; the priest and the two brothers from the society lived in another similarly raised house downstream.

She taught a class of thirty fourteen and fifteen year olds basic sacramental theology —primarily with a black board and a set of wooden tables with benches. Paper, pencils, and books were all in preciously short supply and were generally kept for the less numerous senior class. She tried to be cheerful and count it all as gain for Christ, but teaching had stretched her— keeping a full class in some sort of order with no resources other than her force of will had been what her novice mistress had called “a growing experience.”

Right now, she was using her best stern voice and look (she had asked one of the older sisters to demonstrate what both should look like the night before) in a last ditch attempt to reach a slouching fourteen year old girl in a wrinkled khaki uniform. The rest of the class had already left for lunch, and a slight breeze came through the open door. The bright sunlight, the swept dirt courtyard, and the almost unnatural green of a mango tree could be glimpsed from the dark, shabby classroom.

Neither the sister nor the teenager in front of her noticed. “Juana, I don’t know how you expect to be able to pass this class if you’re always sleeping or whispering with Elvira. The final is only two weeks away, and you— and Elvira!— need to be paying attention so that you can move on to second year.”

Juana bit her lip and stared defiantly somewhere slightly to the left of Sr. Dolores’s head. Sr. Delores sighed. Time to try a different tack. She spoke gently.

"Fr. Steve has told me you’ve been having a difficult time at home.” Juana’s eyes suddenly met hers. Encouraged, Sister Dolores continued, “Do you think having another talk with him might help?”

“No, Sister.” Juana’s eyes shifted back to the left. “I’ll try to pay attention and stay awake. May I go to lunch now?” The sister sighed. It was like speaking to a wall. “I really don’t know how else—”

Suddenly, a voice came from the door.

“Sister, let Juana go to lunch. I think you’ve browbeaten her enough.”

Father Steven Leo stood at the door wearing faded clerics and a bemused half smile. A wiry man, age was just beginning to show. He wore glasses, and his hair was turning from black to gray, though he still had all of it. He ran the parish and the school attached to it with near universal approval from the teaching sisters and the people they served; he was a gifted preacher, a talented confessor, and had a knack for affectionate banter.

Juana quickly slipped out the door as he came in.

Sister Dolores was pleased to see him. She felt blessed that he had found the time to be her spiritual advisor on top of all the responsibilities that came with being both pastor and administrator. She felt like she’d grown so much in her understanding of her relationship with Christ under his care; no other confessor she’d had had delved as deeply into her soul or been as vivid in his descriptions of Christ’s love.

“I was hoping to catch you.” he said. “How is preparation for finals coming along?”

“It’s fine.” she said. “I think I’ve finally gotten most of the class to pay attention, though there’s one or two I’m still trying to reach.” She gestured towards the door.

Fr. Steve chuckled. “She’ll come around.” He shifted his weight forward. “I know you wanted to meet tomorrow for direction, but I’ve got a meeting with the parish council for that upcoming sermon series with Fr. Tony. Can we meet this afternoon?”

She thought for a moment. She had been planning to meet with Sr. Gianna, the school principal, to discuss logistics for the graduation ceremony. “I have a meeting this afternoon, but not until four. I think I can make that work.”

“Great!” Father Steve grinned. “I’m glad. I really enjoy our time together— I know it’s direction for you, but it’s really a highlight to my day.”

She smiled, slightly embarrassed. Sometimes, she wished that he wouldn’t flatter her so much. Father Steve had told her before that he thought that their friendship was special, “Like Francis and Claire, or St. John of the Cross and St. Theresa of Avila. I feel so supported by you in my ministry here.”

She hoped she could be worthy of a friendship like that.

“See you at three, then.” he said, turning towards the door. “My office door will be open.”

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Evening was falling when Sister Dolores climbed the steps and into the sisters’ house. Sister Gianna looked up from her book.

“Sister Dolores! We missed you at the meeting this afternoon, and I was starting to get worried when you weren’t in the chapel for prayer.”

“I’m sorry.” Sister Dolores seemed to pull herself out of some thought. “I was…held up.”

Sister Gianna nodded sympathetically. “One of the students wanted some tutoring, I take it? You’ve really got to say no more often, sister.”

“No…” said Sr. Delores, “Father Steve wanted to meet.”

“Ah.” Sister Gianna sighed. “Well, I suppose that he had a good reason, though I wish he could have given me a heads up. It’s the most hectic time of the year, and it’s not easy to find time all of us can meet outside of evening recreation, and I do think, that while we’re very lucky to have him, he could at least tell me if he needs to meet someone during school planning hours...”

“Excuse me.” said Sister Dolores.

She slipped into the bathroom and quietly closed the door. Turning on the tap to cover the noise, she leaned over the toilet and retched.

Part 2 here.