Chapter Text
I wish to remain nameless
And live without shame
'Cause what's in a name,
I still remain the same
On the 22nd of July, the feast of St. Mary Magdalene, Sister Beatrice was alone at Santa Areala Academy for Girls. It was the kind of day that had started out grey and had remained persistently gloomy throughout. By mid-afternoon, the sky was bulging with thick, cumulonimbus clouds that promised a downpour and perhaps a splatter of hail.
Beatrice had arrived bundled up in her thick grey cardigan — the one with the missing button that she almost never wore out, but it was warm and soft and she threw it over her shoulders as she walked the ten minutes from her little flat to the school. It was more humid than she had anticipated, and by the time she made it to her classroom, her upper lip was damp with sweat. It was an unusual summer day in a week of decidedly unremarkable ones.
After settling down at her desk, Beatrice slipped her stockinged feet out of her shoes and curled her toes in, pushing them down against the cold tiled floor until they cracked with a soft k-k-k-k. She removed the four pins from her hair and laid her wimple down neatly beside the books on her desk.
In the brown paper bag she had brought from home was a cheese, tomato, and gherkin sandwich, and a bruised pear. Beatrice extricated the pear, which was meant as dessert once she’d finished her sandwich and bit into it, feeling a small rush of pleasure at the idea of eating out of the order she had prescribed for herself. The fruit was exactly how she liked it— almost too sweet, overripe and juicy. She pulled a green tartan handkerchief from the pocket of her cardigan and wiped at the sticky corners of her mouth.
But by the time she finished it, she was left with a core between juice-wet fingers and ran her tongue over the front of her gums, cleaning away the grainy, sugary pear residue. Beatrice wrapped the core up in a paper towel and deposited it back into the brown paper bag.
The cleaners had departed for the summer and she did not want to return to a classroom that smelled of rotten fruit, despite her affinity for the sickly sweet scent of fermentation.
Beatrice loved being at school when it was empty. It was a pleasure she had discovered years before when she had come in early to clean her classroom before the students came back from their summer holidays. The building changed when it was devoid of all those footsteps and voices and bustling teenage bodies. It became a great hollow thing that Beatrice walked through like a secret. It felt sometimes like church with its echoey corridors and thick, dusty silence. It was not that Beatrice had trouble finding time for herself. She lived on her own — which is how she liked it. But an empty school made her feel giddy and a little selfish, like for just that time the building was hers and hers alone. It reminded her of when she first entered the novitiate. She would spend the minutes just before curfew in the dark of the chapel, imagining that she and God were the only beings left in the entire universe, imagining that everyone else had disappeared and Beatrice could shed her skin, remove her clothes and walk around under the sky like they had in Eden. These were the kinds of fanciful thoughts that came to her in the solitude of her classroom.
An hour after she had arrived, Beatrice had reorganised the small bookshelf against the back wall — filled with mathematics textbooks, a few biographies of famous mathematicians and philosophers, and a guide to cognitive mathematics for any of her students who were feeling brave. She had also dusted all of the window sills — the dark wood collected dust and small dead insects at an alarming rate. She made her way from corner to corner, cleaning in a way that was futile when students were constantly dancing in and out, enjoying Josephine Baker’s jaunty crooning from the little bluetooth speaker on her desk.
Once she was completely satisfied with her work and the classroom smelled vaguely of AirWick and disinfectant, Beatrice wiped her hands on the cleaning rag and reached for her sandwich bag. She had earned lunch. She was halfway into her sandwich and Liu Cixin’s The Three-Body Problem when she heard the voices — one distinctly male and the other just a laugh. A full-bellied, rich sound that filled the quiet air like sandalwood incense in an empty cathedral. Beatrice flushed with embarrassment and removed her reading glasses, slipped her feet back into her shoes, reached for her wimple, and tossed her sandwich back in the bag.
She was still brushing crumbs off the front of her tunic when Father Vincent walked by her open classroom with a woman at his side. Beatrice caught a brief look at the bright, smiling face and knew immediately that she was the source of that laugh.
“Oh, Sister Beatrice.” He popped his head in while the woman hung back, preoccupied with her phone. Beatrice assumed she was a parent or perhaps one of Father Vincent’s old students. “I didn’t realise anyone would be here.”
Beatrice, who was already sitting up straight, went rigid, like one of her students being called upon. “Father Vincent. Hello.” Her smile felt stiff. “I’m just going through some last minute admin.”
His smile, as always, was warm and genial. “As you were, Sister Beatrice. I did not mean to disturb you. We will be in the staff room with Mother Superion should you wish for some company. I believe there will be muffins.”
“I’m quite alright here, Father.” Her smile did not falter. “But thank you.”
He tipped his head at her and retreated, perhaps sensing the weight of his intrusion. He and the woman walked on, their voices slicing through Beatrice’s coveted silence.
She had planned to spend the entire afternoon at school, but it felt too crowded now. Knowing that Mother Superion was in the building made Beatrice feel like her secret was found out. It didn’t feel like her space anymore. She stayed for another half hour or so, collecting everything she would need for the summer. She did not think she would return until the term resumed in eight weeks.
By the time she was done, rain pelted against the windows so hard, the trees on the opposite field were a green blur.
She took the long way round to the back of the school, so as not to run into any of the other visitors. The fastest way home was past the tennis courts, but there was hardly any coverage and she was sure to get drenched. She was standing on the steps, looking out at the parking lot and deciding on her course of action when she smelled it — the sweet and acrid scent of cigarette smoke. It curled up her nostrils and made the back of her throat itch. She walked around the side of the building, just barely covered from the rain by the overhang, following the smoke to find its source. If there was a smoking student on the property, Beatrice would have to have words with them.
The source was leaning against the wall, one foot up against the exposed brick, cigarette held between her index and middle finger. Beatrice recognised the woman instantly as Father Vincent’s guest. Up close she was younger than Beatrice had initially assumed. Mid-to-late twenties perhaps. Dressed in tight-fitting jeans, a crisp white shirt, and a leather jacket, she was definitely not a parent. At least not the kind that sent their children to Santa Areala. Beatrice cleared her throat and the woman startled, dropping her cigarette. They both looked down as it rolled into the rain.
“Jesus Christ.” The woman put her hand to her heart and turned to Beatrice with a grin. “I thought you were Mother Stick-Up-Her Ass!”
“Not quite,” Beatrice answered, her lips twitching with the ghost of a smile. She wouldn’t betray her loyalty and Mother Superion with a stranger, but it wasn’t an inaccurate description. She found herself distracted by the cigarette butt that was currently becoming just wet ash and paper. “Although she does not tolerate smoking on the property.”
“No, yeah, I know,” the woman followed Beatrice’s gaze then beat down to pick up the butt, her hair getting caught in the downpour. “Which is why I almost shat myself. Wouldn’t want to make a bad second impression, you know?”
Beatrice did not know and frankly did not care to. “Yes, well,” she gave the woman a tight smile and reached out her hand, palm flat. The woman looked confused for a moment, then hesitantly lowered the sodden cigarette onto Beatrice’s palm, like a student caught chewing gum in class. Beatrice took it, turned the corner and disposed of it in the bin nearest to the steps. She considered just walking off then. She’d get absolutely drenched by the time she reached her flat, but the alternative was waiting it out and it didn’t look like the rain was going to stop anytime soon. She turned to find the woman had come around to follow her and was watching her with a look of unabashed curiosity.
“Hey. You’re not walking in this are you?”
“My flat is just a few blocks away,” Beatrice answered. “I’ll be fine.”
For a moment it looked like the woman was going to reach out, but she stopped and tucked her hands into her jacket pockets instead. “No way.” The woman angled her head. “My car’s just over there. Lemme give you a ride.”
“You really don’t have to,” Beatrice replied, suddenly aware that this is how kidnappings happened. She didn’t think this woman was particularly interested in kidnapping a 29-year-old aikido-trained nun, but stranger things had happened. “I—”
As if sensing her trepidation, the woman held out her hand. “I’m Ava.” That artless, easy smile was back.
“Sister Beatrice,” Beatrice replied automatically, reciprocating the handshake.
Ava’s hands were dry and a little callused. “Come on, Sister. It’ll be my good deed for the week. After the last few days I’ve had, I need it to even the scales a little. Please don’t take this away from me.”
Despite herself, Beatrice smiled. The woman’s easy charm was infectious. “Alright,” Beatrice nodded. “I appreciate it.”
“No sweat.” Ava leaned down to pick up the bright purple umbrella leaning against the wall that Beatrice had somehow missed. She opened it in a single move, holding it over Beatrice’s head. Beatrice instinctively moved closer as they began to shuffle into the rain, with Ava holding the umbrella between them, angling it to shield Beatrice completely. Shoulder bumping shoulder, Beatrice was able to get a good whiff of the other woman’s perfume — a leathery, masculine scent that mingled with the smell of cigarette smoke and tickled Beatrice’s nostrils. Distinct, though not particularly unpleasant.
There were only two cars in the lot and when they stopped in front of the shiny red Fiat Beatrice thought, “of course,” which was a strange thing to think, since she knew nothing about the woman who owned the car, except that she was kind enough to give a stranger a ride home and smoked on public property. Matched with the leather jacket and the vague air of rebellion, the car made sense. She’s the kind of woman I would not have been friends with at school, Beatrice thought as Ava opened the passenger door for her before running around to slip into the driver’s side.
Beatrice reached for the seatbelt and adjusted her wimple, tucking the hair that had come loose back in. “It’s just two blocks left,” Beatrice said.
“Alright,” With a hand on the wheel, Ava pulled out in a clean, easy move. “So, you teach at the school?”
“Yes.” Beatrice glanced at her. “I teach Mathematics.”
“Oh, cool. I always sucked at maths. But I’m sure you’re a great teacher.”
Not sure if it was a compliment or a statement, Beatrice said, “Thank you.” And then, “Left here.”
Ava took her eyes from the road for a second to seemingly appraise Beatrice. Her gaze felt rude and bold. “Aren’t you kind of young for a nun?”
“Excuse me?”
“I just mean all the, like, all Catholic school nuns I knew were pretty ancient. I swear, one of my carers, Sister Bernice, was definitely related to the crypt keeper. You don’t look anything like them.”
“Right at the stop sign,” Beatrice replied and wondered at the word “carer” rather than “teacher.” “I took my vows younger than most. Though many of the Sisters at Santa Areala are around my age.”
“So, what came first?” Ava turned onto the narrow street that housed her flat. “The teacher or the nun?”
“I’m not sure I follow.” Beatrice was feeling antsy. Her tunic felt itchy and tight. She put it down to unplanned social interaction on a day dedicated to solitude. Ava’s questions were friendly and innocent enough; Beatrice couldn’t fault her for making conversation.
“I just mean, were you a teacher who decided to become a nun or a nun who —”
“Here is fine.” Beatrice was already reaching for her seatbelt release.
“Oh.” Ava stopped with a jerk outside the old four-storey building where Beatrice had happily resided for the past five years. “You weren’t kidding when you said it was close.”
Beatrice turned to Ava with a genuine smile, feeling suddenly rather moved by the kindness of a stranger. The wipers squelched noisily against the window as rain battered the car. “Thank you very much for the lift. I appreciate it.”
Ava’s smile came quickly, as though it was queued to appear at any given moment. “Sure. Like I said, you’re the one doing me a karmic solid.” She rolled down her window after Beatrice exited, running towards her building to get out of the rain. The last thing Beatrice heard was “See you around, Sister Beatrice,” which Beatrice thought was an odd thing to say to someone she would most likely never see again.
The building was dark as Beatrice climbed the three flights of stairs to her flat. There was a single window on every landing through which a dark grey sky could be seen, which made it feel much later than it actually was. By the time Beatrice reached her floor, a loud, insistent meowing could be heard through the door.
“I hear you, Archimedes,” Beatrice called out as she unlocked her door. The black cat weaved around her ankles the second she stepped into the apartment, slipping off her shoes at the door. “You silly thing,” Beatrice cooed, as she bent to scratch behind Archimedes’s bat-like ears. “You saw me this morning.”
She picked up the slinky cat who couldn’t have been more than a year old, according to the vet. The shiny green collar Beatrice had bought him matched his eyes. He wasn’t hers, not technically. But Beatrice felt that the Lord would understand feeding and sheltering and…cuddling one of his creatures. If anything, his presence caused her to pray more. Mostly just variations of, “Lord, give me strength” after the cat knocked down a cup full of pens or ate half a roll of loo paper.
The rest of Beatrice’s day was spent much like any other. By the time she settled for bed, she had had two cups of tea, finished a crossword and started Day of the Triffids, which she’d already read twice before. It was just past nine when she kneeled beside her bed to recite the hour’s liturgy and as she finished she remembered Ava and that unapologetic smile that seemed to fill the space around her. On a whim, Beatrice sent up a blessing, thanking God for the kindness of strangers and samaritans.
That was the first and last day it rained all summer.
______
September began hot and sweltering and stayed that way.
Beatrice arrived for the first day of term, with sweat clinging to her skin and tunic. Santa Areala was based in the heart of Madrid and originated as a convent school in the 1700s. The building was old, austere and beautiful. Exposed brick, entangled vines, and a chapel bright with stained glass made for an impressive school. It had undergone a number of renovations and rebranding over the years and now stood as a British Catholic school for girls. Most of the teaching staff were Sisters like her, who had taken simple vows and lived in Church appointed lodgings near the school.
“Sister Beatrice!” a voice called out as Beatrice made her way past throngs of teenage girls, summer still clinging to them, like a wildness that would soon be stolen away by the new term.
Beatrice turned to find Camila smiling at her, bouncing on her heels like an overeager puppy. “Sister Camila,” Beatrice returned her smile. There was a reason Camila was one of her favourite colleagues. “How was your summer?”
“Oh, it was great!” Camila fell into step beside her as they made their way to the auditorium for the morning assembly. “I visited the Order of Our Holy Mother in Granada for a few weeks. You know they have their own football league?”
Beatrice chuckled. “Really? Isn’t that where Sister Lucretia is originally from?”
“Yeah,” Camila laughed. “Can’t imagine Sister Lucretia kicking a ball, though.” Beatrice did not know exactly how old Sister Lucretia was, but she certainly looked as though she was a step closer to Heaven than any of them. She had the sudden memory of hearing about a nun who looked like the crypt keeper, but couldn’t for the life of her place it.
“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” she smiled.
“What about you?” Camila asked as they dodged an excited gaggle of girls. “What did you do this summer?”
“Nothing exciting,” Beatrice replied. “Daily meditation, a few day trips around the city.”
“Sounds relaxing,” said Camila. “And how’s Archimedes?”
“Mischievous,” Beatrice’s smile grew. “He’s just learnt to open the bathroom door and drink from the tap. It’s truly demonic behaviour.”
Camila laughed, delighted. “He sounds like an angel.” Then she put her hand on Beatrice’s elbow, and leaned in conspiratorially. “Oh, hey, did you hear about the new sub? They finally found someone to replace Sister Shannon.”
Beatrice frowned and found herself whispering. “I thought Lilith was lobbying for the position. She made it very clear that she wanted to move from Latin to English Literature.”
“I know, right?” Camila raised her eyebrows. “And apparently this sub isn’t even Catholic.”
“That’s hardly a requirement for working here, Camila.”
“Yes, but she’s, like, un-Catholic from what I heard. Apparently, Mother Superion is not happy about it.”
“So why did she allow it?” Beatrice asked, intrigued despite herself.
“Apparently Father Vincent made a case for her.”
“You’ve said ‘apparently’ three times now.” Beatrice looked sceptical and Camila shrugged,
“Hey, I’m a librarian. We have a grapevine.”
“Hmm.” Something tickled the back of Beatrice’s brain, an annoying, insistent itch that she couldn’t scratch. “Right, well, I suppose we’ll meet Lilith’s usurper in a moment.”
Beatrice peeled off to the bathrooms, leaving Camila at the entrance of the hall. The heat was getting to her. She could feel the hairs sticking to the nape of her neck. It made her want to take off the wimple and plunge her head into cool water. Instead, she settled for splashing her face a few times in the teachers’ bathroom. She was dabbing the water off when she heard a distinct “Shit!” Beatrice turned to see a colourful tube, rolling out from under one of the stalls. It was followed by a hand, grappling aimlessly for what Beatrice realised was a wrapped tampon.
Beatrice reached for it and held it out for the mystery hand. “Oh, thanks!”
“You’re welcome,” Beatrice answered.
“Is that… Sister Beatrice?”
Beatrice stopped. She couldn’t place the voice, but again, that tickle of recognition. “Yes?”
The sound of a toilet flushing and then the stall door opened. A young woman who was decidedly not a nun, exited.
The woman from the day it rained.
Ava.
“Oh my god,” she was grinning. “I knew I recognised your voice.” She squirted soap into her palm and began rubbing it all over her hands before even wetting them. It was bizarre. “Thanks for saving me, by the way. It’s like an anxiety dream coming to life — getting your period on the first day of school.” She finally turned on the tap and ran her fingers under, creating a small mountain of suds.
“I…” Beatrice watched her flick water off her hands and wipe them on the back of her pants. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.” Ava’s grin was a fixed feature. “Told you I’d see you around.”
“You’re…” It clicked. “You’re the new English teacher.”
Ava gave her a one finger salute. “Guilty as charged. For the next six months at least. Signed a contract and everything.”
“You didn’t say anything,” Beatrice didn’t mean for it to come out as an accusation, but she recognised the bite in her tone. “When we first met.”
“Well, I didn’t know if I had the gig yet,” Ava explained. "I didn’t have the best interview with the boss lady.”
“And now you’re here,” Beatrice added, not quite understanding why she felt so caught off guard by this fact.
“Well, Sister Beatrice,” Ava walked up to her. “Don’t sound so excited about it.”
“I’m sorry,” Beatrice attempted a smile. “Welcome to Santa Areala. I’m sure you’ll, um,” She motioned to Ava in her flared jeans, platform boots and button-down shirt that honestly could have been done up another button, “—fit right in.”
“Thanks,” Ava replied. “You’re sweet. A terrible liar, but sweet.”
The morning bell chimed three times and Beatrice made for the door. “I hope you enjoy prayers. You’re about to sit through two hours of them.”
Ava’s face fell and she followed Beatrice out. “You’re shitting me.”
Beatrice was indeed shitting her.
The whole thing took less than an hour and throughout, Beatrice was fixated on Ava, who sat in her assigned seat on stage. She looked so out of place — a pop of colour in an otherwise black and white film. The thing was that Beatrice liked black and white; she found comfort in the predictability of monochrome. Ava was distracting. She bounced her knee during the Our Father, cracked her knuckles when Mother Superion started talking about school vandalism, and when Lilith glared at her, Ava had the gall to give her a little wave. She was audacious in a way that perplexed Beatrice — it was both vexing and utterly fascinating.
_____
“What kind of name is Ava Silva? It sounds made up. She’s not even religious,” Lilith was saying as Beatrice walked into the staff room at lunch. The students were all out in the sun, enjoying the heat like lizards in uniforms, pulling up their skirts to try and get a tan. They had ten more minutes of break before classes demanded their attention. “And have you seen the way she dresses? It’s completely inappropriate.”
“You haven’t even spoken to her,” Camila answered from across the room where the Nespresso machine was sputtering out an espresso. Camila lived in a shared house with a few other Sisters further from the school and their house mother disapproved of caffeine. Camila drank at least four cups of coffee a day. “I introduced myself this morning and she’s really nice. Right, Beatrice?”
Lilith and the rest of the teachers in the lounge all turned to look at her.
“You’ve chatted with her then?” Sister Dora asked from her usual spot in the farthest corner of the room. “What’s she like?”
“She’s certainly not a typical Santa Areala teacher,” Beatrice conceded. “But I can’t say I know much about her.” She walked past them all and dropped a tea bag into her favourite mug. It was a white one with a thick, solid handle that had a faded image of Snoopy on his dog house. She filled it up with boiling water and brought it to her nose, closing her eyes at the scent of chamomile and rooibos.
Lilith, who had mastered the art of sneering while sounding impossibly haughty when they were in school together, applied this skill as Beatrice sat across from her. “She’s no Shannon. She doesn’t seem all that intelligent, either.”
“Sister Lilith!” Mother Superion entered and they all straightened their backs. Camila adjusted her wimple, pushing back the curl that constantly threatened to escape. “That is no way to speak about a fellow staff member. You will keep your thoughts to yourself.”
“Yes, Mother Superion,” Lilith mumbled under her breath, but then smirked when Mother Superion added,
“No matter how accurate they may be.”
Lesedi, who had transferred from a Catholic school in Botswana, and was one of the now three other staff members who were not part of religious life, looked up from her tuna salad. “I just think it’s a little suspicious that we know nothing about her training or history other than what Father Vincent has told us.”
“Did Shannon meet her?” Beatrice interrupted whatever else Lesedi was about to say.
“What?”
“Sister Shannon, did she meet Ava beforehand? I remember us discussing that any replacement would be contingent on her approval.”
“I believe they did one of those Zoom meetings,” Mother Superion replied, stirring milk into her tea. “It was over the summer.”
“Then Shannon approves.” Beatrice glanced at Lilith over the lip of her mug. “Father Vincent approves. With respect, Mother Superion, I’d take that over someone who ticked every single one of the required boxes. Accept the one whose faith is weak, without quarrelling over disputable matters,” Beatrice quoted.
“Thank you for your opinion, Sister Beatrice,” Mother Superion replied, tight-lipped. “You are ever the diplomat.”
“So this is where the party’s at.”
All the heads in the room turned to the door. Ava walked in, half a Twix bar in hand, the other half stuffed in one cheek. “I was wondering where all the cool kids hung out.”
Mother Superior straightened. “Miss Silva. We take our lunch here daily. You may also eat in the gardens or on the grounds. Taking lunch in classrooms is discouraged.”
“Also, no eating in the library,” Camila piped up. “But I’m sure you know that.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” Ava swallowed the chocolate and licked her tongue over her front teeth. Beatrice watched her with a sort of wonder. She came in and the air in the room changed. Camila looked brighter, Lilith seemed to shrink, and Mother Superion became almost laughably rigid beside Ava. It was as if she changed the whole world in an instant.
“Well,” Lilith stood, her gaze dismissive as she walked past Ava. “I should be getting back to my classroom.”
“I have my duties as well.” Mother Superion took her tea with her as she left, along with three other teachers.
They shuffled off, leaving Camila, Beatrice and Ava standing in the now very spacious room. “So…” Camila handed a mug to Ava. “Coffee?”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” She motioned her thumb to the door. “Call me Moses, but did I just inspire that mass exodus?”
Camila giggled and Beatrice refrained from the urge to laugh. “It’s not personal,” she said. “Sister Lilith is currently dealing with a career crisis.”
“She wanted your job.” Camila swirled sugar around in her second cup of the day.
“Well shit,” Ava shrugged. “She can have it in six months.”
“You’re not planning to apply for a permanent position?” Camila asked and Beatrice watched as Ava wrestled with an answer.
“I don’t really do permanent,” she finally said. “I’m super excited about this job, don’t get me wrong. I just…move around a lot.”
“What do you do when you’re not teaching?” Beatrice asked, taking advantage of the quiz session.
“After uni, I tutored a bit, travelled here and there. Taught ESL to adults in Bratislava. You know. Just sort of bummed around, experiencing the world. Turns out there’s a lot of it.”
“So,” Camila took a seat beside Beatrice and faced Ava who was still leaning next to the coffee maker. “Are you married?”
“Camila!” Beatrice felt a blush creep up her neck.
“What? Can’t I ask?” She looked at Ava. “Can’t I ask?”
“You can ask.” Ava laughed. “I’m as single as a nun.”
Then she looked down and winked at Beatrice. In front of Camila. As if it was a completely appropriate gesture. Beatrice, who had never been winked at in her life, flailed and nodded. She nodded and immediately wanted to bury herself in the cemetery behind the greenhouse. Ava made her feel utterly unhinged and she could not, for the life of her, understand why.
She mulled on this all through the rest of the week, which seemed to go by in a flurry of new term excitement. It was Wednesday when she walked by Ava’s classroom during one of her free periods to see Ava perched on one of the desks, cross-legged, while a sea of eager young faces stared up at her from the floor. She had moved all of the desks to form a semicircle, walling them in, and was reading, in animated tones, from a small paperback. Beatrice had stopped, leaned against the wall away from the door so as not to be seen and listened.
“So what is bell hooks referring to when she speaks of ‘an eternity of desire?’”
Three hands went up, two from students who never spoke in Beatrice’s class. She waited until the bell rang and then knocked on the open door.
Ava was cleaning her large scrawl off the whiteboard when she turned. “Sister Beatrice. Hey.”
“Hi.” Beatrice attempted what she hoped was a smile. “I heard the end of your class. I don’t recall Sister Shannon teaching bell hooks last year.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s not one of the prescribed texts, but we were looking at Elizabeth Barret Browning and the kids were bored to death, so I thought I’d give them something more…intersectional. It’s not, like, meant to be part of the lesson plan or anything.” Ava put down the duster and wiped her hands on her pants. “Why?”
“Well,” Beatrice wrung her hands together. She had been teaching for Santa Areala for a long time. She liked teaching. She liked the school. And despite advocating for Ava in the teacher’s lounge, Beatrice found that she was…uncomfortable by the changes Ava seemed to be implementing. “Isn’t it a little…mature for them?” She fiddled with the reading glasses strung around her neck.
Ava made a face that suggested she was not completely serious when she said, “Come on. You’re not going to get all prudish nun on me? Start banning books?”
“No,” Beatrice blinked, not sure if she was supposed to be offended or not. She’d never been called prudish before, but she’d never really thought of the alternative either. “I certainly don’t believe in censorship. But I do know that two years ago we had a Biology teacher who taught the girls about the chemistry of the morning-after pill and, well, she’s no longer with us. I wouldn’t want you to befall the same fate.”
Ava’s laugh was harsh. “God, you make it sound like she was taken out. And I appreciate your concern for my job, Sister, but I don’t believe in keeping the students behind a curtain of ignorance. They’re seventeen. Their hormones are going crazy. If you think they haven’t been exposed to way more explicit content than Bell Hooks, think again. And let’s be real — if it’s violence, incest, beheadings and sexual assault you’re looking to protect them from, we should probably ban the Bible and yet there seems to be a copy in every classroom.”
Beatrice buzzed with frustration that she struggled to articulate. On one hand, Ava was absolutely right. Of course the students had iPads and phones and whatever else they used to access every nook and cranny of the internet. On the other hand, she hated how easily Ava made her feel young, naive, dismissed.
“Alright.” Beatrice finally said. “You seem to know what you’re doing.” She made to walk out, but Ava stopped her, a hand on her upper arm. Beatrice didn’t mean to flinch, but she did.
Ava’s hand fell away immediately. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick about it. I really do appreciate you looking out for me. I just…I think that I could really do some good here, you know?”
Beatrice nodded, focused on the way Ava’s fingers flexed at her side. “I should go,” she said and made for the door. This time, Ava did not stop her.
_____
On Friday late into the afternoon after most of the teachers had left for the day, she found Ava in the library, on the small step stool in the poetry section. Beatrice hadn’t realised she was looking for her until she found her. Ava was on her tip-toes, trying to reach something on the highest shelf. The stool wobbled precariously and Beatrice watched as Ava tried to catch her balance.
“Is there any poem worth a broken ankle?”
Ava smiled before she even looked at Beatrice. That smile was like a whip, like a crack of lightning — fast and bold. “There are poets worth dying for.” She finally did a little jump and managed to pull the spine of the book down so that it tumbled into her waiting hands.
“Blake,” Ava continued, hopping off the stool. “is one such poet.” She handed Beatrice the book to inspect. The Book of Thel.
Beatrice turned the book over to scan the back. “I’m afraid when it comes to poetry I have quite pedestrian tastes. A top 40 playlist, if you will.”
Ava laughed and tilted her head, examining Beatrice with unabashed curiosity, like she had done in the car that day.
“What is it?” Beatrice wondered if she had something on her face and resisted the urge to straighten her wimple.
“Nothing. I just…like you.”
“Oh.” Beatrice wasn’t sure how to respond. Ava seemed to operate with a candour that was both refreshing and startling. It was the simplest of statements and yet Beatrice had no reply. Ava unmoored her. “Thank you.” And then, “Would you like to take a walk?”
They stopped at Ava’s classroom, where Ava added her new find to a tote bag crammed full of yellowing paperbacks. “Sorry,” she mumbled as a moth-eaten copy of Jude the Obscure fell to the floor. Ava stuffed it back into the bag, bending the cover back and making Beatrice wince.
Ava stood and offered Beatrice her elbow to take like some eighteenth century gentleman. She was utterly ridiculous. Beatrice ignored her, clasped her hands to her front and inclined her head to the door. “Let’s go.”
They walked past rows of lockers, through the back doors where Beatrice first found Ava smoking more than two months back, around the library tower. “Where are you taking me?” Ava asked, following along dutifully. “This feels pretty far off-campus.”
They reached the cemetery and Beatrice pointed. “This is where we take out the teachers that just aren’t cutting it.”
Ava’s eyes bulged. “What?”
And then Beatrice was laughing, because Ava looked genuinely distressed for a moment, and it felt good to be the one surprising her.
“Oh,” Ava exhaled a chuckle. “You’re joking.”
“I am known to do that on occasion,” Beatrice deadpanned just as they walked past rows of ancient tombstones — gap-toothed and crumbling until they got to the greenhouse. Next to the big glass box were rows and rows of planted vegetables.
“This garden is the furthest you can get from the school building while still being on campus. Students aren’t allowed to be here without explicit permission. And it’s quiet. Nice when you need a break. And I thought that ever so often, you might need some air.”
“Or a place to hide when Sister Lilith decides to hunt me for sport?”
“That too.” Beatrice took a seat on a wooden bench near the rows of beetroot. “She’s not all that bad, you know. Just…intense. Her family have been long-time patrons of the school. They have certain…expectations.”
“But you’re nuns,” Ava took a seat beside Beatrice and though the bench was big enough for three people, Ava sat close enough that their hips touched. “Don’t you, like, give up all that family bullshit when you take your vows?”
Beatrice tried to smile, but it felt tight and forced, so she didn’t. “It’s not always that simple. Especially when one’s family is as enmeshed as Lilith’s.”
“Do you still speak to yours?” Ava asked and Beatrice felt a slow surge of panic welling up inside her. To squash it, she said,
“Did you know that Sara Teasdale once visited the school?”
Ava graciously allowed her to change the subject. “Wait, seriously?”
Beatrice nodded. “She travelled Europe with her mother at the age of 21 and reportedly stayed a night here when it was still mostly a convent. Apparently, she was heartbroken and wrote an entire book of poems in one night while staying in one of the tower rooms.”
“Is that true?”
“I don’t know,” Beatrice admitted. “I was told the story by a colleague who left a few years ago. But I like to sit here and think it is.”
“Sara Teasdale is not exactly ‘Top 40’,” Ava said. “I thought you were a poetry philistine?”
Beatrice laughed. Again. Stomach muscles that had gone unused for years clenched back to life. “I didn’t say I had no taste. Also, we did a few of her poems in school,” she admitted. “I liked the one about old love. About the conflict of giving up an old love for a new one. I can’t remember how it goes.”
Ava scrunched up her face for a moment as she considered. “Is that the one that ends with, ‘Old love, how can I be true? Shall I be faithless to myself or to you?’”
“That’s it!” She hadn’t thought about the poem in years. “How did you—“ she turned to Ava. “Did you just know that?”
“I had a lot of time to kill when I was a kid and the…place where I was living didn’t have much in the way of children's books, but it did have a ton of poetry. If they won a Pulitzer, it was in the poetry box.” She shook her head. “It’s a good party trick, but I would have killed for an issue of Wonder Woman.”
Beatrice stared at her.
“What?” Ava asked as the garden buzzed with life — bees and ants and small, cabbage-white butterflies that landed on the tops of broad leafy greens.
“No, nothing,” Beatrice replied softly. It was difficult to articulate the feeling that fluttered around inside her like those butterflies. But finally, she said, “I think it’s a good thing. That you got the job instead of Lilith.”
“You might be the only person who feels that way, but thanks.” Ava kicked a small stone at her feet and it bounced into the dirt. “I never figured I’d be friends with a nun.”
Beatrice blinked, somewhat surprised. “Are we friends?” It had been so long since she’d made a new friend and honestly, Beatrice didn’t consider any of her colleagues friends, except perhaps for Camila, for whom it was impossible to not feel affection. But she and Ava barely knew each other and she was sure Ava had a million other friends.
Ava’s smile took up all the space in the garden. “Of course. Unless nuns have some code against friendship with heathens.”
“We can have friends, Ava,” Beatrice replied and realised that it was the first time she had said Ava’s name aloud. It made her feel oddly vulnerable. “And you can call me Beatrice when we’re out of school. It feels only right. If we’re…friends.”
“Good,” Ava replied. “Cause I feel like you could take Lilith if you had to. Mother Superion, not so much.”
Beatrice snorted indelicately and covered her mouth. She wondered what it was like to be Ava and just say everything that came into her head.
“So, what do you do for fun?” Ava asked, turning her full attention to Beatrice in a way that was almost unnerving.
“I…well.” Beatrice looked past Ava and her intense brown gaze to the line of trees over her shoulder. It was a simple question, but Beatrice found herself fumbling for an answer. “I…uh. Read. Books. I have a weakness for speculative fiction, I'm afraid. And I like crosswords. Museums. Aikido.” It all sounded so incredibly dull when she said it out loud. Thank God she'd never have to put any of this on a dating profile.
“Aikido and crosswords.” Ava raised her eyebrows. “Shit, maybe you could kick Mother Superion’s ass.”
“Not something I’d want to put to test.”
Ava looked delighted. “I bet you’d kill at trivia. My friend has a bar and we do it every Thursday. The only problem is that we’re all terrible at maths. You should—” Ava paused. “I guess you don’t really go to bars much, huh?”
“Not really, no.” Beatrice fidgeted with the fabric of her skirt.
“Do you ever miss it?”
“Miss what?” Her heart was suddenly crawling up her throat.
“Just like, everything you can’t do as a nun. You know, owning shit, drinking, se—”
“No,” Beatrice answered quickly. “No, I have everything I need.”
“Cool,” Ava smiled like it was just that simple. “Must be a nice feeling.”
They settled in a silence that might have been comfortable if Ava wasn’t so close and her questions weren’t so intimate. “I should be getting home,” Beatrice said, standing up and clasping her hands in front of her. “I have lessons to prepare.”
“Hey,” Ava reached up and brushed her fingers against Beatrice’s knuckles for barely a second before pulling back. “Thanks for showing me this place.”
Beatrice adjusted her skirt, not quite looking at Ava. “You’re welcome.”
Beatrice walked to the edge of the cemetery and turned around just once in time to see Ava pull a thin paperback out of her jacket pocket like a magic trick, then made herself comfortable on the bench in Beatrice’s favourite spot as though she had always been there.
____
Beatrice arrived early the next morning, after a night of strange dreams and having to endure Archimedes’ zoomies at 4 am. She had spent less time than usual on her morning prayers. Her knees, thick-skinned and numb from years of kneeling, ached against the wooden floorboards. Her skin felt tight and her bones too big for her body. As Beatrice asked God to forgive her foibles, she thought suddenly of a scene from The Invasion of the Body Snatchers and knew it was time to give up. Her mind was a mess from restless sleep.
She walked straight to her classroom, avoiding the staff lounge and any chance of human interaction. Or more specifically, an Ava interaction. Not that seeing Ava was a bad thing, only that the thought of her made Beatrice feel strange and almost queasy.
This meant she had to break Mother Superion’s cardinal rule as she settled at her desk for a breakfast of tea from her flask and three Galletti biscuits. She made sure to close her lips over the biscuits before biting down to minimise the number of crumbs that would accumulate on her tunic. It was only after she’d finished a biscuit and had taken a sip of the strong, bitter black tea that she’d added to her flask as penance that she looked at the stack of textbooks on her desk. The top book was a small, grey hardcover and definitely not hers. Beatrice reached out to inspect it. Rivers to the Sea by Sara Teasdale. Beside it was a bright pink post-it with a tidy scrawl.
For the nun who has everything x