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the slightest. As they were all Brides of Christ, Christ
Himself would say the Mass and administer the sacraments, through the body of
the Mother Superior. All reaffirmed their vows of poverty, chastity, and
absolute obedience. An additional vow of silence was imposed if not in the
performance of religious duty or dire emergency. To cement them to the new
order, they were also to renounce all worldly ties, including their names and
their nationalities. They were a unit, a sisterhood; henceforth, there would
be no individuals or individualism.
Thanks to some good salesmanship on the part of the Mother Superior with the
nearest town, almost ten miles away mostly down they acquired a few cows and
goats and a rather large number of sheep. The wool from the latter the sisters
made into fine wool garments, and traded their products with the town on a
seasonal basis. The town's lone parish priest, disgusted himself with the
situa-tion but allied in the heart with the Italian Urban, went along with
them and helped them to a degree, thanks to the sponsorship of a local
nobleman who had been caught up in the political and religious turmoil and who
liked to think of his help as a thumbing of his nose at what had become of the
Church. With his sponsorship, however slight, the nuns on Holy Mount were
allowed their pious heresy and enough food and materials to get by.
The townsfolk, of course, were not told of the heresy, just the fact of the
convent and the extreme otherworldli-ness of its occupants. When a local
peasant gave the sisters some fruit as a gesture, and then his wife who'd
borne him two daughters presented him with a son, word got around that these
were holy folk indeed, ones that would bring God's blessing if helped.
It seemed as if she had always been on Holy Mount. Certainly she'd had a life
before it, but it was a total blank in her mind. Only a scar, the remains of
an old but serious burn, indicated that her past had at least terminated in
violence which had driven it from her grasp. She had been brought to Holy
Mount by those who knew of it and thought it the best place for her, but even
that was just a hazy memory. Certainly, she had been a nun, for she retained
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that much as her identity and knew the prayers and rituals.
It was strange for Ron Moosic to recognize brainwash-ing and understand the
nature of a cult even as he was a part of it. Far stranger than being a woman.
He had wondered how Sandoval had adjusted back in
London, but now he understood that it was just like the gay Neumann in Trier.
One was what one was, and had the knowledge and intimacy that being raised
female brought. Even with the amnesia, the result possibly of some war or
being caught in some terrible fire, it was natural and normal to feel your
body this
way, and to know and accept and cope with the periodic cycles of the body.
The routine was simple and automatic. Up before dawn from your straw bed in
the tiny monastic cell, don the simple woolen habit, then make your way up to
the chapel for morning services, which were always the same. Then down to the
kitchen, for her, to knead the dough and bake the simple bread that would be
part of the breakfast meal. The kitchen was a horror by twentieth-century
standards, but familiar and normal to her. She felt a familiarity as close as
to any family member with the others helping her in the kitchen, each doing
her own tasks. She felt no boredom at the tasks, for prayer was joy, and she
was mentally reciting prayers constantly, over and over, in her mind, while
her hands did the work automatically. All except the sounds of the crackling
fire and the clatter of pots and pans was silence.
So unvarying was the routine and the work that there was an almost telepathic
bond between them, and even when more than one pair of hands was required the
other always knew and was there to do it right.
She looked into those smiling faces and knew that she loved them as much as
humans could love other humans, that they were one in total love and harmony.
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