Read Online Three Brothers by Peter Ackroyd - Free Book Online

later gave an exultant report to anyone who cared to listen. “ Ave genetrix ,” Mother Placentia had said. “You give birth to quarrels and dissensions, do you? You fight like sows in a sty?”
    “No, madame ,” Sister Delecta replied. She was the youngest, and supposedly the demurest, of the nuns. “We had a difference of opinion.”
    “There will be no differences in this place. All are one. On your knees.”
    They fell to their knees as Mother Placentia, standing before the portrait of the Virgin, began to pray in a loud voice. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women.” The two nuns joined in the prayer, murmuring in low voices. When it was complete she turned to them. “Leave this place on your knees and creep to the cross in the chapel. There you will prostrate yourselves for an hour, before rising and resuming your duties in a cheerful spirit.” So the nuns painfully and slowly made their way towards the chapel in another part of the building. Sam had seen them. He had entered the chapel in order to mend a broken transom light,when he glimpsed them lying on the chilly tiled floor. He backed out of the door. He gathered later that there had been much recrimination between Sister Idonea and Sister Prudentia, conducted in frowns and grimaces rather than words. The whole convent had taken sides. Salt and pepper were not being passed down the table; bread was in short supply for one or two nuns; there was much coughing and clearing of throats whenever certain nuns sang the divine office.
    Yet the days passed tranquilly for Sam. He would arrive at the convent early in the morning, and would begin work at once; he hardly spoke to anyone in the course of the day, and would eat whatever food Sister Idonea had left him for lunch. In the evening he visited the young man in the park; he rarely spoke to him but gave him the crisps and sweet drink, which he could afford from the small wage the convent paid him.
    It came to the attention of Mother Placentia that there were what she called “poor men and women” in the vicinity of the convent; she said that they were drawn to the place as to a shelter. If she could not accommodate them, she could at least nourish them. So she instituted an afternoon meal to be distributed at the gate of the convent. Sam volunteered to hand out the bread and soup or stew. He felt at ease in the company of tramps and wanderers. He was even comforted by their presence. He was not shy, or awkward, with them. They had looked with mild curiosity at this young man among the nuns, but soon he was expected. That is what he had always wanted—acceptance. He did not want to be singled out, to be looked on with pity or condescension.
    He soon learned that no one vagrant was like another. They were all in one sense touched by misery, but it manifested itself in different ways. In some of them it was not manifest at all. These were the cheerful ones who, in the extremity of failure or distress, still laughed at the absurdity of the world. One of them wore an old and heavy coat, in the pockets of whichhe kept a surprising variety of objects. He would pull out a trowel, or a chipped cup, with all the delight of a conjuror successfully performing a trick. One old woman, the creases of her hands and face lined with dirt, would sometimes dance in the middle of the road. She called Sam “sweetheart.” Yet others remained gloomy and silent. These were the ones who most interested Sam. He tried to speak to one middle-aged man, whose head was always covered by a hood, but the man had merely sighed and walked off.
    Some kept themselves apart. Where the others would form groups, or pairs, they would sit by themselves on the pavement—their backs against the convent wall—or stand alone a little way off. The reason for this solitariness was clear to Sam. He had experienced it himself. It was the fruit of pride and introspection. Pride is possible even in misery. In his