Ecole des Soeurs

Korero (AEWS), Volume 2, Issue 14, 17 July 1944, Page 9

Ecole des Soeurs

By

★ This sketch was awarded second prize in its section in the recent Services literary competitions.

She was waiting ; continually her dark eyes sought the gates to the playground, while her foot shaped a useless pattern on the gravel. When the nun spoke to her she glanced up with an eye which was resentful and sullen. “ You, Arlette, must lead the altos, and make sure, you others, that you keep in time with her, over the ‘ vole, vole, vole.’ ” The girl nodded. “ Oui, ma soeur.” Then she glanced at the gate and at the ground again. Taller than any of the others, she had a poise which did not quite belong to the schoolgirl. She had southern beauty —dark skin, soft brown hair, and eyes that flickered in a brown lustre, like pools of a river. Moreover, she was conscious of her beauty, and often her delicate fingers would stray to a curl that had escaped under her broad-brimmed hat. But her maturity went no deeper than her looks, since she obeyed the black-gowned nun blindly, and, when she moved, she moved as a child, loosely and diffidently. “ We’ll try it again, then,” said the nun, and, raising her hand in the air, she gave them the first note of the song. It was barely finished when a small khaki van edged through the gate and rolled across the playground. Obviously, the girl had but waited for this. The faint creak of the brakes as the van paused at the gate had first drawn her attention ; now she did not take her eyes away. As it rolled nearer, she examined the two men in the front seat, but, apparently unsatisfied, she searched the back, and

when, after a moment or two, two men jumped down, she gave a scarcely audible sigh, and, unwittingly, her left hand began to toy with a string of beads over her bodice. The younger girls flocked round the van, gazing curiously at the large packingcases which held the recording unit of the nearby army base. The men in the unit had come to make a recording of the French children singing. With the van came the two officers of the unit, and two others, one a driver, and the other an interpreter —this latter being hardly more than a boy. The two officers climbed out, and one commenced to open up the boxes containing the apparatus, whilst the other came up with the interpreter, who asked the nun whether they might see the Sister Superior. “ Mais oui, attendez un moment,” she replied, tilting her white panama back wearily. “ Arlette, watch the children for a moment, while I go and get the Sister Superior.” “ Oui, ma soeur.” The girl had never taken her eyes away from the young interpreter ; she spoke meekly, with a fulness of tone, which showed the volume of her emotions. Happening to glance up, he caught her eye, and smiled swiftly. She blushed under her brown skin, and turned away to her companions, who whispered, “ C’est lui, n’est-ce pas ? ” She said nothing. Her thoughts fled tumultously back to her first meeting with

Ronnie, as she called him, twisting the ” r ” so that the name sounded like a charm. Now the Sister Superior, an inwardly happy, girlish person, with silver-rimmed spectacles, came bustling up from another class, her black robes spurting in front, as her feet kicked beneath. “ Bonjour, messieurs,” she said hurriedly, “ I hope that everything is ready. The girls have been practising for hours.” “ Merci, ma Soeur,” replied the interpreter politely. Turning to the mechanician he asked, “ Ready, Jim ? ” " Sure, let them go,” the latter answered. “ But they’d better give it a trial run-through first.” " Good, I’ll ask them to try it now.” Turning to the nun in charge of the class, he asked, “ Ma soeur, do you think that we could try it through once, so that we could test the machine ? ” " Bien sur, M’sieur,” said the nun. She raised her hand and the girls sang. Arlette sang with her eyes on the ground, but every few seconds she cast them up through the screen of her dark lashes, and looked longingly at the interpreter. He smiled briefly once or twice, and then, being embarrassed, looked away. Finally, in distress, she kept her eyes fastened on the ground. " C’est tres bien,” encouraged the nun when the trial was over. “ Sing as well as that next time, and it will make a lovely record.” The Sister Superior smiled approvingly. She was very benign and lovable. “ Are they ready ? ” whispered the officer in charge to the interpreter. ” Yes.” “ Well, tell them to start when I lower my hand,” and he lifted his right hand in the air, and looked at the stop-watch in the other. All those eager faces were turned to him, except two, as the table started revolving ; then the hand fell. " Douce Caledonie, pays baigne d’azure,” they sang, their lively faces concentrating on making the beautiful sounds, their eyes flickering to and fro among the men opposite them. Again Arlette sought the eyes of her lover, but he smiled only briefly, and then his glance passed on over the others.

The girl began to feel oppressed, even miserable. “ Why can’t he look at me ? He ought to smile. Oh, darling, smile,” she said, and to her, it sounded almost as though she had spoken aloud. Now her lithe body was quivering with her longing and her misery. She moved from side to side, like a bow. She touched her hair, and her hand wandered over her dress. She felt like a spring which cannot release itself. Again and again her lover’s eyes passed over her without any expression in them. The song finished, and they commenced another with the same procedure. It was a delightful melody called " L’Hanneton,” the cockchafer, and three girls, among them Arlette, sang as altos. ■ On that white plateau of a playground, it was a pure and lovely thing to hear the contrasting voices rising in the air like differently toned bells. " Hanneton, vole, vole, vole, Va par ci, va par la,” they sang, while Arlette kept her eyes lowered. “ Why doesn’t he look at me ? ” she moaned. They came to the end of the song, and the rapt faces changed and became curious and playful. The mechanician made a few adjustments, and then said to the interpreter, “ Tell them that we’ll play it back.” “ Ma soeur, we will play the record now, and you will see how well the children have sung.” The sister nodded excitedly, and explained to the children, and then composed herself to listen. Down came the needle and the strains of the first song came floating back. The girls gaped for a moment in wonderment, and then collapsed in giggles. “ Ecoutez, ecoutez ! ” they whispered. “ Hanneton, vole, vole, vole,” they heard and even the nun was in fits of laughter, but it was suppressed in accordance with her position. Arlette felt a sudden desire to giggle with the others, but could not, and the result was almost to cry. She saw the Sister Superior, so kind and benign, laughing with the nun who had led the singing ; she saw the other girls turning among themselves, and giggling. She felt some of them nudge her. Once,

furtively, she looked up at Ronald. He and the officer were laughing at the children. “ Va par ci, va par la,” . . . . The giggles of the others echoed the song, but Arlette did not move. She was entranced, as someone is who is faced with a sudden fear. Through her body had run a slight stir ; it had been ecstacy and it had been pain. Above all it was unknown. Now she was left void and waiting, but with a knowledge that

filled her and overflowed, like one’s arms in a fever. It made her blind. There was no happiness in her soul, no smile on her face. In her thoughts there was a painful confusion, for she knew that she was a mile above these giggling children, and yet, simultaneously, she felt that they had all turned against her ; even the face of the kind Sister Superior had become a mask of iron which detested her. She wanted the song to end.