by Terri Kouba
“How long have you known me, Buck?”
“You brought me a Bible my first night here. Almost eight years ago.” Buck made his opening move: white pawn to king-4. He pointed with his head to where the bible sat alone on a bookshelf, unopened since their first meeting. Buck couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. “You’re the only one who stayed with me.”
“God was with me while I was with you. So God has been with you for these eight years too, Buck.”
She opened with black pawn to queen bishop-4. Her sleeve brushed against the bishop. She rolled the wide sleeve of her habit up and tucked it in tightly.
“We are never alone,” she said.
Buck glanced at the watch she had placed on the table near the chess board. He moved his second pawn to queen-4.
“In less than an hour I will be alone.”
She moved her pawn to king-knight-3.
“No, Buck, in less than an hour you will be with God.” She fingered an ancient wooden crucifix around her neck. The curve of Christ’s feet was worn smooth.
“Sister Mary, you know I don’t believe that shit. You’ll go to heaven, but you won’t see me or any of these sorry-ass inmates there. We’ll be rottin’ in hell.”
Buck moved his knight to king bishop-3.
“As we should be,” he said.
Sister Mary took Buck’s pawn with her own.
“If you take God into your heart before you die, Buck, God will accept you afterwards.”
“I keep telling you, God doesn’t exist!”
Buck took Mary’s pawn with his knight. He slammed his conquest on the table. The pieces rattled.
“If God existed, he wouldn’t of let me rape that woman.” Buck closed his eyes. His voice fell.
“And he wouldn’t of let me go back and kill her when I found out she was preggers.”
“But the child lived, Buck.” Mary moved her knight to queen-bishop-3. Her thumb worried Christ’s feet.
“And what kind of life did that child have? An orphan, shuffled from one abusive foster home to the next. She probably ran away when she was old enough, just like I did.” Buck moved his knight to queen bishop-3. “Did you find her yet?” It was the tentative voice of a scared child.
“The child walked with God, Buck.” Mary moved her bishop to king-knight-2. “She had the best life a person could wish for.” Mary reached up and unclasped her habit at the throat.
“You found my baby?” Buck’s eyes widened. “Is she here?” He looked at the nun across from him. His eyes narrowed. “What’cha doing, Sister Mary?”
“The doctors were able to save the child because you called 911, Buck.” She removed the white throat piece and set it on the box for the chess pieces.
“Sister?” Buck backed away from the chess board. He squeezed his fingers under his arms.
“She was sheltered in the Sister Magdalene Orphanage. She never knew a foster home, Buck. Only the loving home of Christ.” She unpinned the long black veil that hung down her back and folded it neatly onto her lap.
Buck watched the nun from the side of his right eye. The left kept a lookout for the night guard.
“She took her vows at seventeen and began visiting prison inmates a year later. She liked working with the men on death row. Especially one.”
Mary removed the cap that covered her cropped hair. She straightened the matted mess with her fingers.
“Especially you, Buck.” She cornered his king with her queen.
“Checkmate, Father.”
Buck jumped as if he had been hit. His foot knocked the chess board off the table. The pieces rattled around the small cell. A white queen and a black rook bounced between the bars and into the walkway. Buck fell heavily against the wall. The ten by ten cell closed in on him, pushing air from his lungs. A tiny woman stood in front of him, her visage shadowed by the hallway light streaming through the bars behind her.
“Jesus Christ! You look just like her!” Spittle ran down his chin and he brushed it away with trembling fingers.
“How come I didn’t see it before?”
Mary smiled. “People tend to see the habit, Buck, not the person. A bride of Christ’s should be invisible to others. Especially to other men.”
Mary picked up the errant board and set it softly on the table. She looked at the clock. Thirty minutes remained before they would take her father away.
“How long have you known?”
“I’ve always known. There are no lies in God’s house. I requested a transfer to an order near San Quentin the day I took my vows.” Mary sat on the edge of her chair, her back straight and rigid. Her eyes sparkled.
Buck ran his fingers roughly over his face. “Why didn’t you tell me? All those years you pretended to search for my daughter…”
“Things happen on God’s time, Buck, not ours. I told you in time to save you. So you, too, can walk with God.” She ran her forefinger along the back edge of the crucifix.
Buck leapt to his feet. “How can you not hate me? I killed your mother!” He turned his back on her and leaned both hands against the only bare wall.
“God has filled me only with love for you, Buck, not hate.”
She rose and went to him. “You are my father and I will always love you. No matter what you may see, remember that.” She placed her hand on his hard shoulder.
Buck turned and collapsed into her arms. Mary toppled under the big man’s weight and they fell to the floor. They held each other like two people lost on a wild sea, clutching to a lone life preserver. Tears streamed down Buck’s face.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated over and over.
Mary rocked her father in her lap. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks dry. Her lips moved silently in the Lord’s prayer.
The guard’s key rattled in the cell lock. “It’s time.”
Buck’s strong arms tightened around the small woman. “No! I need more time.”
Sister Mary gripped his broad shoulders, strength emanating from her thin fingers.
“Walk with God, Buck, and I will always be with you.”
Buck turned away from his daughter as he was shackled. His face burned. When they escorted him into the hallway he turned and asked, “Will you be there?”
His daughter, conceived in violence, was once again hidden within the folds of her habit. She nodded.
“You promise?”
“It won’t happen without me.”
It was one minute before midnight and still he did not see her. The guards had removed his shoes and strapped him into a hard chair with a straight back. They opened the curtain but Buck couldn’t find her eyes in the sea of grinning faces before him. The guard started to put a black hood over Buck’s head.
“No, we have to wait. Sister Mary’s not here yet.” Buck struggled against the restraints. He heard the click of the P.A.
“I am with you, Buck.”
Buck turned and saw his daughter. She wasn’t in the audience. Sister Mary was in a side room. One hand caressed the worn crucifix around her neck, the other clutched the handle of a large red circuit switch.
Darkness enveloped him as a guard put the hood over Buck’s head.
“Walk with God, father,” was the last thing he heard.
The End
Vega One