![]() Their voices were low, their syllables staggered, and everything sounded like scuffling feet. ![]() Then Father Mulligan, who had the habit of dropping in without warning, stood at the door and the children scrambled to attention beside their desks and greeted him. She called out questions, and Angie mouthed the words inside the murmurings of the other children. It was catechism hour, and Sister Patrick Marie swept up and down the aisles of the classroom, impossibly quiet in her heavy black shoes and voluminous black drapes. They were in second grade, preparing for their First Communion. Angie spoke it softly, enjoying the roominess of the word, its multiple, mysterious syllables that would teach her how to be good. ![]() ![]() “Tran-sub-stan-ti-a-tion,” the children repeated. “You are at the age of reason,” Sister said, “ready to understand the mystery of transubstantiation.” She cued them with her ruler. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |