by Mark Seaman
I couldn’t understand, no matter what the circumstances, why any girl or woman would wish ill on another human life that they were carrying inside of them, although I must admit some of the stories I heard caused me to question even my own thoughts and feelings at times. Another young girl who was from Ireland, Pauline, was a case in point. “My uncle and his friend raped me on my fifteenth birthday. I’d gone to his house to pick something up for my mammy. I’d never really liked him from the day he married my mammy’s sister, he was always a bit slimy towards me, so he was. You know, brushing his hand against my backside when I walked past him or standing in my way and pushing his body up against my breasts that sort of thing. Anyway, so he invites me in and says my aunty has gone to work but has left a special birthday present for me and that he has something to give me as well. I walked into the front room and his friend is there and he sort of smiles at me and says what a lovely looking young girl I am. I said thank you but I felt sick in myself that he should say something like that to me when he didn’t even know me as such. I began to feel uncomfortable and said I had better get off home, but my uncle says didn’t I want my present first and he grabs my arm and pulls me towards him. He smelt of beer and cigarettes and I tried to push him away, but he tells his friend to come and take my arms and he puts his hand across my mouth and tells me not to scream.
“We just want a little fun that’s all and you’re a big enough girl now to join in,” he says and pushes me back onto the dining table. His friend held my arms above my head and my uncle pulls down my pants and forces himself between my legs.” She stopped talking for a moment as the violence of the memory overtook her. I stroked her arm in a vain attempt to comfort her. “I’m so sorry. You don’t need to say anymore.”
“No, you’re alright; it helps in a way to remind myself that it wasn’t my fault.” She took a deep breath. “So after he’s finished he tells his friend to come and have a go and they swap over with my uncle holding me down. Through my tears I’m begging them to stop but my uncle bends down over me, his face so close to mine that I can smell the drink on his breath and he practically spits out the words at me telling me I can cry all I want but this is going to happen, so why don’t I lie back and enjoy it.” She stopped talking again, wiping a tear from her cheek with her hand. I could see the pain of what she had been through etched on her face as she recalled the horrific events of that day. “Eventually it stopped. They let go of my arms and I got up, struggling to stand as my legs began to buckle under me. My uncle lit a cigarette and told me I could go home now and enjoy the rest of my birthday.
““If you ever want some more, Pauline, you know where to find me.””
The two of them laughed as I pulled up my pants with their muck still running down my legs.“Oh and by the way I wouldn’t say anything to your mam as she probably won’t believe you, and even if she does she’ll not do anything about it.” He laughed again and flicked the ash from his cigarette on the floor.
““Do you remember when your dad got killed during the war and I looked out for you all? Well your mam was very grateful if you get my meaning and we became close, very close.”” Pauline took another deep breath. “I didn’t want to hear what he was saying but he wouldn’t let me go until he had finished.”
““In fact, your mammy has been coming here regularly over the past few years so we could spend some time together when your Aunty Colleen has been at work, only she doesn’t know about that; about how your mammy likes me to fuck her like I have you. So you see if you do say anything to her she’ll be in as much trouble as you when your aunt finds out. So why don’t you think about that, Pauline, before you go opening your gob to your mammy or anyone else?””
“I told him I didn’t believe him and that my mam would never have done the things he said, not with him. I said he was vile and that I hated him, but he just grinned at me.
““Well your mam doesn’t hate me; in fact she really likes me, although she does feel guilty about betraying her sister that much is true. But, like I say, I wouldn’t talk to her about that as you’ll only upset her all the more. In fact she might even think you agreed to come and spend time with me and Patrick here as some sort of revenge for finding out about her and me. What do you think about that, Pauline? Who knows, she might even get jealous so she might, what with you being so young and her getting a bit past her prime if you know what I mean.”” Pauline looked at me. “What could I do, especially if he was telling the truth? And if he was then I couldn’t even trust my own mam to be there for me. I just went home and never told anybody, but I did begin to take notice of when my mam would go out, especially during the day. I even followed her once and saw her get into my uncle’s car, so maybe he was telling the truth about the two of them? Anyway, few weeks later I found out I was pregnant and because I didn’t feel I could talk to my mam or anyone about what had happened I ran away and came to England. I left a letter on the table telling her everything that had happened and what my uncle had said about the two of them. Then a couple of weeks after I got here I wrote to her again giving her the address I was staying at in case she was worried about me but she never wrote back. After a while and with my belly growing I had to move out of the place I was staying and had nowhere to go; then someone told me about this place, and here I am.”
Even accepting the experiences of my own past I still struggled to understand how one person could treat another so cruelly, with no thought beyond their own selfish and perverse desires.
I struggled to find words of comfort as I listened to her story.
“So if you wonder why I can’t wait to get rid of this little bastard growing inside of me, well now you know. They can take it away from me the second it’s born. I don’t want anything to do with it. I don’t want to see it or hold it.”
My heart broke for her, and for the child she was carrying, but I comforted myself with the thought that at least her baby might have the chance of a better life once it was adopted into a proper family home; one where it would be given the love and opportunities that Pauline and so many of the girls who found their way to the grim surroundings of the Sisters of Mercy had so obviously been denied.
I went to meet Susan the day she was released from the maternity wing having been deemed fit enough to play an active role in the daily routine of the home again. She looked brighter in herself physically but mentally I could see she was still struggling. “Please, Susie, you shouldn’t keep beating yourself up, it really wasn’t your fault.” She looked at me as we stood in the long corridor between the nun’s quarters and Sister Claire’s study.
“I know you mean well, Ruth, but you’re never going to free me from this feeling of guilt. I just keep seeing the look on the doctor’s face as he pulled her lifeless body from me, the blood covering her like some form of awful sacrifice in payment for my sin.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Don’t say that. You mustn’t allow yourself to think like that, not even for a moment.”
Just then Sister Claire came out of her room. “What’s going on here, more idle gossip between the two of you I’ve no doubt?”
I felt a surge of protective anger rise up in me. “Actually, Sister, poor Susan is struggling to come to terms with the loss of her baby. It’s only been just over a week and she’s still very upset.”
“If she hadn’t got herself pregnant in the first place she wouldn’t be feeling this way would she? Honestly, some of you girls make me smile with your self pitying. You can’t keep your legs closed but then expect others to feel sorry for you when you find yourself in trouble. You should both be grateful for refuges such as ours where you have the opportunity to be cared for and to declare your wrongdoing and fornication before God.” She took a deliberate step towards us. “And on that confession, along with a suitable period of penitence and chastisement, you can embrace the blessed assurance of eternal forgiveness for your sinful ways and pray that you wi
ll never again be tempted to walk such a depraved path.”
Susan and I looked at each other in almost disbelief at what we were hearing.
“Of course I am sad that a life has been lost,” she continued, “but clearly God wanted to teach you a very serious lesson in all of this, Susan. Listen to me, girl, although you may be feeling physical pain just now – pain brought on by your own depraved actions I might add – you can take comfort in the fact that God knew your child from the moment it was conceived and, no matter the circumstances of that conception, now has the little one forever in his safe keeping. Surely you should be saying a prayer of thanks to him for that and not standing here whimpering and feeling sorry for yourself?”
“It’s she that’s in his safe keeping, Sister,” I said firmly.
“I’m sorry?”
“Susan’s baby was a little girl, so it is she that will be in God’s safe keeping.”
Sister Claire scowled at me. “You’ve always had too much to say for yourself, Ruth Cahn, but then again I have always found those of the Jewish faith to be self opinionated, certainly girls similar to yourself when entering the Holy Order. I would have hoped that time spent with us in a good Catholic environment would have helped improve your understanding as well as tempering your attitude and tendency towards insolence.”
I knew that any further conversation would be wasted no matter how reasonably I might present my argument. I looked away so as not to get embroiled in a dispute I was unlikely to win. I was also aware that Susan’s physical needs were far greater than my own desire to take on Sister Claire in a battle of words and so, taking my friend by the arm, walked away. Although I continued to feel anger towards Sister Claire in the way she had spoken to Susan and in her attitude to so many other girls in the home, I also felt a growing sense of sadness towards her as a person. How could anybody profess to be the servant of a loving god and yet spew out such vitriol towards the young girls he had placed in her protection and who were so clearly in need of the very care and support she alluded to as being available from this same omnipresent creator? I decided that was a question only he could answer and something that perhaps, in time, I might come to understand. For now I contented myself with the fact that God wouldn’t presumably punish me further for putting my arm around my hurting friend and consoling her in her misery and grief as best I could.
Susan was very quiet at supper and struggled to hold herself together during compline and evening prayers. Sister Rosemary allowed me to take her to bed a little earlier as she could see how despondent she had become, although the other Sisters didn’t agree with the demand for so much fuss and attention. We both got undressed and into our cot beds with Susan puling the thin blanket tight around her face to hide her tears.
“Feel better tomorrow, Susie.” I knew what a pathetic statement that was to make but I was struggling as to what else to say having exhausted all other avenues of comfort throughout the day. I lay there for some time listening to my friend crying as she tossed and turned in her bed. I prayed her tears would act as some form of healing balm and that in the morning she would wake feeling better about herself and what had happened. Eventually her crying ceased and I allowed the aching tiredness in my own body to overtake my mind, my eye lids weighing heavy as I drifted into fitful sleep.
I awoke with a start the next morning unsure of the time but aware that we hadn’t yet been greeted by the hand bell so enthusiastically rung by certain sisters in their efforts to rouse us. This was done no doubt as an act of personal vengeance, carried out against us girls, to display their own displeasure in having had to get up even earlier themselves.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked across to Susan’s cot. My heart leapt at seeing it empty. I jumped from my own bed and ran from the room calling out her name as I made my way down the narrow corridor that separated the various dormitories.
Sister Joan emerged form one of the side rooms. “Whatever is all this noise? Do you know what time it is, girl?”
“I’m really sorry, Sister, but Susan is not in her bed.”
“Might she be in the toilet? Did you think of that before waking the whole household?”
I felt immediately admonished. “No, I’m sorry, Sister, I didn’t. But she’s been so unhappy since she lost her baby that I was worried about her.”
She moved to the bathroom door. “You’ll have a lot more to worry about if Sister Claire hears about this little outburst. Now go back to your bed and I’ll look to see if she’s in here.”
As I moved away I heard a muffled cry and turning saw Sister Joan step back out of the bathroom, her face ashen and wearing a look of shocked disbelief. “Go and fetch Sister Claire,” she said.
“What’s the matter, what’s happened?”
“Just do as I say, Ruth.” She looked straight at me and shouted. “Now, girl, do you hear me, now.”
I immediately sensed it was my friend and that something bad had happened. I ran to the bathroom pushing Sister Joan aside as I threw open the door. As I entered so my heart stopped and I caught my breath in both shock and stunned surprise. It was Susan: she had hung herself from one of the overhead water pipes with a strip of towelling.
As I stood in the doorway trying to absorb the full horror before me I could hear Sister Joan’s voice behind me talking to some of the other girls who had been woken by our shouting. “Jennifer Riley, go and fetch Sister Claire and Sister Margaret as quick as you can. Get along with you now.”
I heard another girl scream having glanced over my shoulder through the still open door and seen my poor friend hanging there, her face red and bloated, her eyes bulging in their sockets. I slammed the door shut behind me and screamed. “Go away, all of you, go away.” I slid to the floor, tears cascading down my face.
I could hear Sister Joan telling the other girls to go back to their dormitories and get dressed and to stay there until one of the other Sister’s came and told them what to do. I felt the door push against me as she forced it open and entered beside me.
“You should go back to your room, Ruth, there’s nothing to be done here, not by you anyway.” She spoke gently and crouched down beside me putting her arm around my shoulder.
“But she’s my friend.”
“I know, child, but there really is nothing you can do, and sitting here looking at her will only upset you all the more.” She stood up and smiled down at me. “Now come along, let’s get you a cup of tea, you’ve had a terrible shock. We’ve both had a shock.”
As I struggled to my feet I heard Sister Claire’s voice loud and unsympathetic as she shouted at the other girls who were still standing outside the bathroom; the shocking truth of what had happened now passing between them like wild fire.
“I want you girls back in your rooms now, there’s nothing to be seen here, at least not by you.”
I could hear the rumblings of discontent and gossip being shared amongst the other girls as they slowly moved away.
“Did you hear what I said? Get along with you, now!”
Sister Claire entered, still in her nightclothes along with Sister Rosemary who put her hand to her mouth in shock as she saw Susan’s body hanging limply from the water pipe. Sister Claire glanced briefly at Susan and then towards me.
“I might have known you’d be here.”
Sister Joan stepped in front of me. “Sister, it was me who found her. Ruth came in after me. She’s very upset, Susan was her friend.”
For once I felt Sister Claire’s demeanour soften a little. “Thank you, Sister, I’m well aware of their relationship.” A hand touched my arm.
“Ruth, why don’t you take yourself off to my study, it will be quiet there and you can be alone with your thoughts.” I looked up to see Sister Claire smiling at me; it was a smile of affection, something I’d never witnessed before. I didn’t know what to say or how to respond.
“I’ll come and talk to you in a little while, there’s nothing for you to do here. Sister Rosemary, perhaps you’d like to accompany Ruth downstairs?”
“Of course, Sister.” Tears filled my eyes again as I felt Sister Rosemary gently take my arm and guide me towards the door. As we left the room I glanced back allowing myself one last look at Susan.
“Come along, Ruth, there’s nothing more you can do for her now.”
“I know, Sister, I just wish that…”
“I know, dear, I know.”
I berated myself for not having done more to sense the full pain that Susan had obviously experienced in losing her baby; also as to what else I might have done to stop her taking her life. Sister Rosemary and I didn’t speak again as we made our way despondently towards the study; there were no words to describe the feeling of utter misery and desolation churning inside of me, nor I suspect were there any real words of comfort the young nun could have offered that would have made me feel any less wretched about myself or what had happened. As we walked together I think we both sensed that silence was the only language which, at that moment, expressed exactly what we both wanted to say as our hearts cried out to God appealing for him to care for dear Susan and to help make sense of what we had just witnessed.
I sat for some time in Sister Claire’s study staring at the cup of sweet tea Sister Rosemary had made for me.
“You drink that while it’s hot, Ruth, it will do you good. I’ll leave you with your thoughts but if you want me just ring the bell and I’ll come straight back. Sister Claire will be here shortly.”
Time seemed to stand still as sadness and confusion vied for precedence in my thoughts. I picked up the cup but made no move to drink from it, instead gazing blankly at its contents as a myriad of images and memories raced through my mind. How often had I witnessed death in Birkenau, and how many times had I convinced myself not to let it overwhelm me? What could be worse than knowing your own father and brother had been gassed and that you had witnessed your mother being shot, dumped on a hand cart and taken away to the ovens for cremation? I had observed the journey from life to death played out at its worst so why was Susan’s passing bothering me so much now? Perhaps I had committed the cardinal sin in such cases of dropping my guard and allowing another human being to touch me again, and made the further mistake of calling her friend as I had done with Sarah in the camp? But if I had made that seemingly fatal error of trusting my heart to someone else once more was that really so terrible? Maybe I had actually learned the greater lesson life has to teach us, that unless we truly love another we will never know nor fully understand the absolute joy and elation that our hearts find in such a relationship. Conversely, and as I was now discovering, to my cost yet again, we are also condemned to experience the numbing pain and grief also associated with those same emotions when we lose that loved one or are betrayed. But without experiencing that very real anguish surging through our being we will also never truly understand what it means to have given our hearts in the first place. Surely that would be the greatest sadness and betrayal of them all?