BUDDHA’S BIRTHDAY/1

The crimson lip of the lady curled up as she looked at him.

“Nothing more to say,” she shrugged. “ It is all ended.”

“But aren’t you Sister Catherine?” He shook in his certainty. “ I was only ten…but

surely you cannot have changed so much. You look like my teacher.”

“ Oh, I can teach…..” She left the sentence unfinished.

“ I know you aren’t a nun. Well, not now, certainly. But then you were. And I was

your student.”

“ Where did you say this was?”

He remembered it all in a vivid flash. The fear of her dousing him in rich cold

memory. She had been the youngest and prettiest of the Sisters, her auburn hair just

beginning under the headdress she wore. Her breasts were defined despite the shapeless

blouse. Every boy in the class was in love with her. And half the girls too.

“ I did not say, but it was here. Right here.” He gestured to include the entire

church. They were standing at the back, each having come through a different entrance.

The afternoons shadows sounded hard like the final chord of the organ.

“ I have to say that was another person. My name is not Sister Catherine.”

“ Not in real life,” he thought. She must have left the order. With her winter coat

pulled up around her she looked like a wealthy matron. He could see the crinkling in the

edges of her face.

“ My name is Leslie Kent. I am not even Catholic. I came in to get out of the cold.

Claiming sanctuary.”

“ It’s uncanny,” he relented. “You look so much like her.”

BUDDHA’S BIRTHDAY/2

“ The last person I resemble would be a nun,” she protested.

“ Not just a nun, but HER,” he said in spite of himself.

He did not add that even Sister Catherine in all her habit did not resemble a nun, but

more an actress costumed as one. That’s why they feared her. The children loved her,

but with the knowledge all adults could be deceptive. She might turn them in to the

Priest who carried himself with a certain anger.

“ What did that sister do to you? I hope it’s not a sordid story.”

What did she do? She awoke his hormones. She obsessed him in all his hours. She

caused many an afternoon in the confessional booth asking for his heat to be cooled by

Hail Marys.

He was about to walk away when her voice stopped him:” Shall I tell you whom you

resemble?”

There is was. He knew the glint in her brown eyes was not his imagination.

“Who?”

“ My last lover. A sweet boy. No older than nineteen. He would be amused by

your observation that I am a nun. He came to me four years ago. And left just before my

marriage . I made him cry. Seeing his tears made me cry. But tears are not enough. We

need more than just tears.”

“So…” he weighed his words.”You are looking at your last lover. I am looking at

my first love.”

“ Yes.” She drew her hand up to pat down her wild hair. “ It seems what we are

not looking at is each other.”

BUDDHA’S BIRTHDAY/3

“ Why do you suppose that is?”

“ Oh. Buddha would say it is Illusion. I would call it Memory. Memory can’t be

adjusted to accommodate the memory of another.”

She leaned forward, touching the collar of his coat. “Maybe in my next life I’ll

understand.” Then she was gone.

“ Your next life,” he sighed. “Catholics have no next life.”

The life he was already living closed in over him. He genuflected before the altar.

***the end***