WEBVTT

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""So," Sister Ursula said sadly,
"I was writing what you call

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a fictional story after all."

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It was now mid-December,
my grades were due,

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and I was puzzling over what to
do about Sister Ursula's still.

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She had not turned in a final
portfolio of revised work

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to be evaluated, nor had
she returned to class

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after her final workshop.

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And no matter how hard I tried,
I couldn't erase from my memory

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the image of the old nun that
had haunted me for weeks.

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Of her face coming apart
and the terrible recognition

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of the willful lie that she had
told herself over a lifetime.

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So I decided to pay her a
visit at the old house, where

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she and five other elderly
nuns have been quartered now

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for nearly a decade, in
anticipation of their order's

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dissolution.

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I had brought the gift of
a Christmas tree ornament,

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only to discover that
they had no tree.

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Unless you counted
the 9 inch plastic one

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on the mat in the living room.

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Talk about failures
of imagination.

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In a house inhabited by
infirm, elderly women,

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who did I suppose would have
put up and decorated a tree.

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Sister Ursula seemed surprised
to see me standing there

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on her sloping porch, but she
led me into a small parlor

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off the main hall, "We must be
very still," she said softly.

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"Sister Patrice has fallen ill.

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I am her nurse, you see,
I am nurse to all of them."

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In the little room, we took
seats opposite each other

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across a small gate-like table.

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I must have looked uncomfortable
because Sister Ursula said,

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"You have always been
very nervous of me,

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and you should not.

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What harm was in me has wasted
away with my flesh," she said.

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"it's just that I was bitten by
a nun as a child," I explained.

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[LAUGHTER]

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Sister Ursula, who had said
so many horrible things

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about nuns, looked
momentarily shocked,

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and then she smiled,
"Oh, I understand.

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You made a joke," she said.

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"I thought you
might be, what was

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that word the boy
in our class used

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to describe those like me?"

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I had to think a minute.

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"Oh a misogynist?"

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I said.

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"Yes, that," she said.

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"Would you tell me the
truth if I asked you,

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do you like women?"

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"Yes I do, very much,"
I said, "And I men,"

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she said, "so we are the same.

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We each like the
opposite from us."

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Which made me smile.

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And perhaps because she
had confided so much to me

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about herself, I felt the
sudden irrational urge

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to confide something in return,
something terrible perhaps,

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something I believed to be true.

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That my wife had left
because she had discovered

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my involvement with a woman I
did not love who I had taken up

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with, I now realized,
because I felt cheated

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when the book that I published
in spring had not done well.

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Cheated because my publisher had
been irresponsibly optimistic,

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claiming that the book would
make me rich and famous.

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And because I had
been irresponsibly

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willing to believe it.

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So that when it provided
neither fame or fortune,

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I began to look around
for a consolation prize

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and found her.

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I'm not a good man, I might
have told Sister Ursula.

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I have not only failed, but
also betrayed those that I love.

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If I said such things
to Sister Ursula,

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maybe she would find
some inconsistency

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in my tale, some flaw.

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Maybe she would conclude that I
was judging myself too harshly

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and find it in her heart to
say, you don't mean that.

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But I kept my truths to
myself because she was right,

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I was nervous of her.

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After an awkward moment
of silence, she said,

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"I would like to
show you something

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if you would like to see it."

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She struggled heavily to
her feet and left the room,

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returning almost immediately.

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The old photograph was pretty
much as described, browned

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and curled at its
scalloped edges.

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The womanly image at
its center faded nearly

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into white, but still beautiful.

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It might have been a photo
of young Sister Ursula,

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but of course, it wasn't.

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Since there was nothing to
say, I said nothing, merely

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put it down on the small table.

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"You," she said, "You
had loving parents?"

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I nodded, yes.

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"You are kind," she said.

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"This visit is to make sure that
I'm all right, I understand,

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but I am wondering
for a long time,

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you also knew the
meaning of my story?"

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I nodded, yes.

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"From the beginning?"

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She said.

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"No," I said, "not
the beginning."

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"But the young
woman was correct,

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based on the things
that I wrote,

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there could be no
other interpretation?"

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"Not that I could see," I said.

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"And yet I could
not see," she said.

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There was a sound
there, a small dull

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thud from directly overhead.

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Sister Patrice, Sister
Ursula informed me,

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and we got to our feet.

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I'm needed, even a hateful
nun is sometimes needed.

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At the front door
I decided to ask,

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"One thing," I said, "the fire
that destroyed the school?"

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Sister Ursula smiled
and took my hand.

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"No," she assured me,
"all I did was pray."

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[LAUGHTER]

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She looked off across the
years though remembering "Ah,

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but the flame," she
said, her old eyes

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bright with a
young woman's fire,

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"they reached almost
to heaven."" Thank you.

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[APPLAUSE]

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