Chapter 2: Chapter 2

The pitiless harmattan wind and the ailment combined to make Reverend Grace’s week − the abbess of Saint Luke’s Convent − extremely unpleasant. Since she felt ill last week, Pius − the convent’s doctor − have visited the convent severally, and have given her several injections. The injections have caused severe pain and swelling on Reverend Grace’s buttocks throughout the week. Stoically, she had borne the pains without letting her prayer life slid into mediocrity. She was the abbess of the convent, and so, she must lead by example. To Reverend Grace, her mortal body was nothing more than a mere clothing that have been supplanted with an immortal one that was only thirsting for God and the things of heaven. So it was living in the flesh and yielding to its hedonistic and worldly ways, should she ever succumb to the badgering and fleshly demands of it. She could do all things through Christ who always strengthens her, and surrendering to her ailing body was a no-no.

The thin light of morning was beginning to slice through the mist of the cold morning, when Reverend Grace rose from sleep and stared at the clock. It was almost time for morning prayers and she had overslept again. The woozy effect of the drugs and pains of the injections were still telling on her. Yet she wanted to be at the chapel and sing some Psalms before the bell would chime for the morning prayers. She rose from the bed with a groan, and began to prepare. When she finished, she stepped out of her room, shut the door and walked into the morning, as the cold harmattan air pierced into her bones. She cringed and grated her teeth, just as a rooster crowed from a distance. She walked stealthily towards the chapel. When she reached the chapel, she opened the door and scurried into it; the sweet-smelling chapel offering her some warmth from the morning cold. She switched on the light and genuflected before the Blessed Sacrament of the Lord and settled on the pew, at the right-hand corner, leaning forwards. She closed her eyes and knelt before the Lord and began the slow mumbling of words.

Halfway in her deeply immersed prayer, she was distracted by the unfamiliar sound that seemed like the whimpering of a child. The convent as everyone knew was not the place for babies. The women at the convent, though very fertile, have chosen to live the sacrificial and celibate life, offering their motherhood in exchange for God’s work. The life they lived was altruistic and plain. They knew nothing of the pleasures of this world or the bliss of falling in love with a Prince charming. And most times, in her quiet moments, Reverend Grace have wondered how she have come this far, in all these years and have convinced herself and fought the trillion sexual craves that badgered her ceaselessly, and challenged her womanhood. It had not been an easy journey choosing the lonely and celibate life, and neither had it been sweetness and light, being the abbess of the convent. With sober reflections, she had sometimes, also tried to know why the cravings of the flesh hassles the spirit, and constantly push it into surrendering to its fleshly desires. If man is flesh, is it then the reason why the flesh wields such a burgeoning influence on the spirit? Yet we say that man is a spirit. Her eyes were itching, when she withdrew momentarily from her prayer and rubbed her hand on her left eye and pulled at the brows, as she shifted her posture on the pew. She exhaled and closed her eyes again. She was about to count the last beads of her rosary, when she heard the whimper again floating into her ears. She rose from the pew, her eyes scouring the chapel. This time, she was certain of what she heard; it was no show of a ventriloquist. She could tell with utmost certitude that a child was somewhere around the convent.

She rose from the pew with a groan. She stood there silently, and tried to make out the direction of the sound. A screaming silence filled the chapel as the wind whooshed past her ears. In the deafening stillness, the whimper came louder this time, breaking the silence. It was indeed the cry of a baby.

‘Yes! It’s coming from behind the fence!’ she gasped, as she hurried towards the gate with a sense of urgency. ‘James! Please open the gate and come with me with that torch of yours,’ she said, as she reached the gatekeeper. James sprang to his feet and hurried towards the gate and opened it. He looked steadily at Reverend Grace’s face; there were strong emotions etched on her face. Her face was lined with anxiety.

‘Good morning, Reverend Grace, I hope all is well?’ James asked.

‘I am not very sure,’ Reverend Grace replied, ‘I am hearing something like a child’s cry from behind the fence. I’ve to make sure of it. Please come with me and let’s see what it is.’ James followed Reverend Grace and they walked towards the fence, in a fit of curiosity and anxiety. Their eyes were on the cusp of beholding the marvel of the divine, and the cruelty of human. With the strong thumping of the heart, Reverend Grace slunk quietly towards the direction of the sound. Just a step closer, the baby whimpered again.

‘It’s a baby! Reverend Grace; you are right!’ James said, in a stream of emotion that oscillated between delight and surprise.

‘Yes, indeed it is. I was sure of it,’ Reverend Grace said, wiping her eyes with the back of her fist. ‘My eyes have seen my ears. How did this happen?’ she asked, her voice tinged with pity.

‘How could the child have survived this cold?’ James asked, petrified.

‘Indeed, it’s a miracle. Nothing in the world is worst than this!’ Reverend Grace said.

Mercy was right. She had adjudged that the world would condemn her; that they would call her names and say she was stone-hearted. They would say there were no grounds that justified the abandonment of such a beautiful child; such was a dastardly act. But she had given it the right to life. Also, she was giving it the chance to have the kind of life it deserved. The end, therefore, should justify the means. Reverend Grace picked up the baby from the pile of rubble, and overwhelmed with waves of emotions, tears welled up in her eyes and streamed on her cheeks. She sniffled and wiped the tears on her cheeks with the back of her fist. It was not a secret that she was a very emotional and avuncular woman.

‘Please light the way,’ she said to James. James lit the way, and Reverend Grace stared hard into the baby’s face, and snuggled it in her arms. And in that briefest moment, she could feel the otherworldly telepathy between her and the child. She strolled into the convent, as the bell chimed for the Angelus; just as other nuns crowded her.

‘It’s a baby,’ she told them. ‘I found it behind the fence. It was abandoned,’ she said grimly.

‘Are you serious? Who could have done that?’ one of the nuns asked.

‘Its mother of course,’ Reverend Grace replied, wearing a long face. ‘In my opinion, this is worst than abortion.’

‘What is the sex of the child?’ Reverend Joy asked concernedly.

‘I haven’t even checked,’ Reverend Grace replied, ‘I will do that now.’ Shifting the baby to her left arm, she unclothed the pubic region and stared at its little penis. ‘It’s a boy!’ she purred excitedly.

‘Wow! A beautiful boy,’ a nun said, giggling. Reverend Grace sensed the nuns’ excitement and covered the baby’s penis with the shawl. The baby was extremely beautiful; and he had warmed his way into the hearts of the nuns. She went inside her room and laid the child on the bed. She could not believe how hale and hearty she had suddenly become, and how strongly she had come to love and desire the child. She sat at the edge of the bed, smiling and staring at the child all morning, just as she contemplated, in fact, wished above all things to become its mother.