How I Became A Nun Read Online Free Page A

weren’t just knocking: they were trying to get in … Why would they
     want to do that, if not to kill me? And I was alone …! They must have known
     … they knew perfectly well; that was why they had come … At best, they
     were burglars … The security of the house was in my hands, but my hands were so
     feeble. I was shaking like a leaf, on the other side of the door … Why had they
     left me on my own? What was so important that they had to abandon me?
    The worst thing was … it was them … it was Mom and Dad knocking at the
     door! The monsters had taken on the appearance of my Mom and Dad … I don’t
     know how I saw them, through the keyhole, I guess, standing on tiptoe … I got
     goose-pimples from head to foot, I froze … the likeness was amazing … they
     had stolen their faces, their clothes, their hair … not much hair from Dad
     because he was bald, but all Mom’s red curls … They were perfect
     imitations, flawless … The trouble they had gone to! Those beings who had no
     form, or wouldn’t reveal it to me … those simulacra … with their
     sinister intentions … Terror froze my blood, I couldn’t think …
    They were thumping at the door in a frenzy; I don’t know how it withstood the
     onslaught … They were shouting my name, they had been shouting for hours …
     with Mom and Dad’s voices … Even the voices! But slightly different,
     slightly hoarse … They had drunk cognac at the wake, and they weren’t used
     to it … they were going crazy … They had lost the key, or left it
     somewhere … some story … their lying was so transparent … They were
     insulting me! They were saying awful things! And I was crying, horrified, dumb,
     transfixed …
    Dad jumped over the wall into the yard, he went to the kitchen door and started beating
     on it, kicking it … I walked through the darkened house, like a sleepwalker,
     stopped in front of the kitchen door and prayed to God it would hold … and my
     prayer was answered, for once … he went back to the front door …
    Even if I’d wanted to let them in, how could I? I was locked in. I didn’t
     have the key … Or did I?
    That was beside the point. Did I want to let them in or not? Of course not. They
     hadn’t fooled me … Or had they? How could I tell? They were exactly like my
     parents, more real than the real thing … I kept my eye to the keyhole, hypnotized
     by that unreal scene … But there they were in the midst of that unreality, my
     parents, it really was them … Not just their masks, but also their expressions,
     their tics, their style, their stories … That was how I saw my parents,
     especially Dad … it was different with Mom … I didn’t see
     Dad’s outward appearance as other people did … I saw the way he was, his
     past, his reactions, his reasoning … it was the same with Mom, now that I think
     of it … not that I was especially insightful, but they were my parents, so they
     had no form, or didn’t reveal it to me … or wouldn’t … that
     was the tragedy of my childhood and my whole life … My vision couldn’t be
     satisfied with what was visible, it had to go rushing on, beyond, into the abyss,
     dragging me along behind …
    The blows were deafening, the house was shaking on its foundations … the shouts
     grew louder … they were telling me in no uncertain terms … without words
     now … but I could understand anyway … But can’t you see it’s
     us? Can’t you see it’s us, you idiot? Idiot!
    No! My parents wouldn’t talk to me like that … they loved me, respected me
     … and yet … sometimes they lost their temper … I was a difficult
     girl, a problem child in a sense … and the assailants knew that, they were using
     it … all the world’s evil was the clay from which they had molded those two
     ghastly dummies …
    What would become of me? Would I fall into their hands? Would they get in? Would I open
     the door in a reckless moment, without thinking,