Deel 3 A Nuns Testimony... I gasped in horror as I peered inside the cells to see white, ravaged and drawn faces of little nuns with whom I had eaten, prayed and worked. Each had disappeared suddenly and without any explanation. One in particular I recognized and asked her how long she had been there and other questions. Her dull, lifeless eyes were glazed with awful terror, but she would say nothing at all. Paralyzing fear rules the convent and these prisoners did not know where the Mother Superior might be hiding. None would speak lest worse things come upon them. I went from one to the other but always the response was the same, frightened silence. Toward the end of the hall, several cells emitted a sickening stench and I became violently ill and nauseated when I peeped inside. All of the captives here had long chains wrapped around their waists, which prevented them from being able to sit or lie down. They were slumped in the chains, reeking with their own urine and body wastes, for they had been condemned to a slow death, with little water and no food. Some were already dead and the awful smell of death was there. Their crimes consisted of persistent infractions of convent rules or they were unfortunate enough to have had a nervous or mental breakdown because of the pressure of the cloistered life. This was the way such matters were handled, a hidden garbage dump for the wreckage of the convent. Violently ill, my head swimming and mind reeling, I staggered from the chamber of horrors and relocked the door. Hurriedly I went back upstairs to my charge, who was still sleeping peacefully. I was relieved to find that her blood pressure and respiration were still normal. She slept late into the next day and I remained with her for three more days. Mother Superior felt so much better that I was rewarded with a six week assignment to kitchen duty. This was a rare privilege for it was on the first floor. Kitchen walls were lined with peep holes and there was no way to know when some nun or priest was peeping through them. With this constant surveillance, the slightest infraction of the rules, especially stealing food, could be discovered and dealt with quickly and harshly. This contributed to the overall sense of being in a hostile prison at all times. Still I was glad to be there. There was a double locked outside door in the kitchen which opened onto the courtyard. On a landing by the door was the spot where we kept the garbage cans. On the third day of my assignment there, someone rattled a garbage can. The six of us were startled and jumped. When you work and live in an atmosphere where silence is constantly required, you become very sensitive to even ordinary sounds which others would never notice. We whirled around and saw a man who was replacing a full garbage can with an empty one over in the corner. Quickly recovering our composure, we dropped our eyes and busily returned to our work, fearful that we might have been observed. We were taught that the bodies of the priests and bishops were sanctified and holy. However, all other men were unsanctified and if we were caught looking at them we could receive severe punishment for this sin. Suddenly my mind stirred with an exciting but dangerous idea. Perhaps I could smuggle a note to this man! This presented many problems however, I had no pencil or paper, for these were not allowed, but hanging over the work table in the kitchen was a pad with a pencil chained to it. This was used to list items running in short supply in the kitchen. I managed to snatch a scrap of dirty paper and at odd moments would scribble a few words on it with the pencil. By the end of the day I had only been able to write about two and a half lines, appealing for help. I was terrified at the thought that I might have been noticed and reported. However, I had gone too far now to turn back. At the end of the work day, I slipped out to the garbage can, put the note on top of garbage, and left the lid off the can. I then removed my crucifix and, although it was difficult, I managed to break it and deposited it on the shelf. After the kitchen chores were finished, we walked out and paused for our regular, daily inspection by Mother Superior. She carefully examined our skirts to be sure we were not smuggling out bits of food. When it was my turn I said, Mother Superior, I broke my crucifix and put it on the shelf over the work table. May I go back and get it, please? She queried me about how it happened and finally crossly told me to go quickly and get it. After all, a nun could not be found without her crucifix! I flew to the back door and looked under the garbage can where I had asked the man to leave a note. There was a piece of folded paper, a note! My hand shook so I could scarcely read it. My breath was coming in gasps, excitement mingled with fear. As I managed to make out the writing my heart really leaped, pounding so hard it seemed to thunder in my ears. It said he was leaving the outer kitchen door unlocked and also the big, barred, iron gate in the high wall around the convent! Escape! I could hardly draw my breath as I cautiously tried the outer door. Sure enough, it swung open and I eased my foot out on to the cement stoop. Suddenly I froze, paralyzed with fear, and grew dizzy with nausea. I leaped back inside. I was remembering the dread sound of the buzzer which sounded the alarm when a nun attempted to escape. I also shuddered when I recalled how quickly the priests would capture the forlorn runaway and drag her back. Then began an endless round of penances and inhuman torments to bring repentance. Was I ready to risk all this? I shivered, took a deep breath and stepped out once again, this time closing and locking the door behind me. Now I could not turn back so I darted to the iron gate. Just beyond this was glorious freedom from the charnel house of horrors where I had been imprisoned for twenty-two long years! Freedom was worth any risk. Although I had despaired so often, I still longed for it. At last it was within my grasp, and overwhelming emotions swept over me as I raced to the gate. I arrived at the iron gate and pulled gently. Raw terror knotted my stomach as I pulled and then jerked as hard as I could. It was locked! I sobbed silently and almost fainted when I remembered that I had foolishly snapped those kitchen door locks. I was locked out in a forbidden area with no excuse which would be acceptable. Panicking, I thought of all the tortures Mother Superior would use on me to break this rebellion. I shook uncontrollably and my mind was spinning. Why, why was this gate locked? In desperation I began climbing the high, wrought iron gate. We were kept half-starved and worked almost to death with heavy labor, to say nothing of the regular, draining bouts with the torture chamber. A frail, wasted body, little more than skin and bones, has no reserve energy. I slipped often, skinning hands and bare feet on the rough metal bars. It was sheer misery, but finally, panting and bleeding, I clawed my way to the top ledge which was lined with long, sharp spikes. I paused, my lungs painfully strained by the exertion. My heart sank as I gazed down in dismay from the top of that twenty foot gate. I only hesitated a moment for there was not turning back possible now. I must go down the other side. Hindered by my three, long heavy skirts and knee-length veil, Awkwardly worked one foot between the spikes and decided to chance jumping. I pulled my heavy clothing up over my head with one hand, took a deep breath, and leaped for the ground. Two of my skirts snagged on the gate spikes and I was suspended in the air and swung back against the gate. Now I was more afraid than ever and rocked frantically back and forth until I could get a fresh grip on the gate bars. With my free hand I managed to pry loose two or three heavy snappers which fastened my skirts around me. Suddenly I plummeted down, hitting with a sickening, crunching thud and my skirts fluttered down upon me. Later I discovered I had an arm and shoulder with compound fractures. Because I was so skinny, the shattered bones were exposed through the flesh. Waves of pain engulfed me and mercifully I swooned into unconsciousness. I dont know how long I lay there piled in a heap, but it was probably only briefly. After regaining consciousness, flashing pains seemed to be shooting all over my body, especially through my mangled shoulder and arm. I moaned softly, and, biting my lips, I struggled to my feet. The terror of being recaptured overcame bodily pain and drove me to stagger along as swiftly as I could. I was in a foreign country. Where could I go? What would I do? I was a wreck physically, I had no money, no friends and only the desire to be free kept me going on. I walked, then ran, then walked again. Schooled to quietness in the convent, I kept thinking the rustling of the leaves behind me were the sounds of pursuit. Sheer exhaustion was making it increasingly difficult to keep moving for I was so nauseated, numb and sick. I spotted a tiny storage building and painfully crawled in and tried to get some sleep. I must have been delirious and may have dozed a bit, but eventually I was hurting so badly I decided I might as well be moving on. I gasped with fresh pain and stiffness as I laboriously crawled out and walked the rest of the night. With a determined effort I pushed myself to move away from my convent. One thing I had been forced to learn in the cloister was to continue to function in spite of agonizing pain and suffering. Miraculously, my escape was not discovered very quickly, and this gave me an advantage. The second day I hid under a pile of boards and sheets of tin. The boiling sun baked my hiding place as I tossed and turned feverishly, attempting to snatch some rest for my drained and broken body. I was a mass of shooting pains, and was weak, thirsty and hungry. I probably lapsed into unconsciousness a number of times during that long, hot day. When night came I dragged myself out and managed to get moving again. I was very fearful of knocking on doors of houses, lest some devout Roman Catholic family report me to a priest who would haul me back to the convent. The thought of this possibility forced my aching legs to take me deeper into the countryside, and hopefully to safety. I had decided that I would rather die than to return to my unmerciful tormentors and jailors. By the third day I felt certain I was going to die. I had a high, raging fever, was horribly nauseated and my hand, arm and shoulder were swollen and throbbing. Even the ends of my fingers had now turned blue and green. Like a wounded, dying animal I crawled under a fence and despairingly burrowed into a haystack. Most of the day I lay there but the combination of pain, hunger and thirst finally drove me out again. I came upon a small and obviously very poor home. Throwing caution to the winds, I knocked on the door. When a man answered, I croakingly begged him to give me a drink of water. I must have been a frightful sight, but he said nothing. When he called to his wife, she immediately opened the door and brought me into the house. It was the first time I had seen real compassion in human eyes for years. Tears started in her eyes as she looked at me and said tenderly, Come in and sit down here my dear. That was the most beautiful music I had ever heard. She made me sit down at a table and rushed to fetch a cup of cool milk. Remember I had not even seen whole milk for years and I was ravenously hungry. Rudely, like a wild animal, I snatched the cup and greedily gulped down every drop. When it hit my gnawing, empty stomach, predictably I regurgitated it violently and made quite a mess. Automatically I recoiled and cringed, for I was conditioned to expect that each mistake had to bring recriminations and punishment. The kind woman said nothing but tears glistened in her eyes as she cleaned up the mess. She understood what was needed and moments later had mixed some sugar in a cup of warm water. This time she fed me slowly with a teaspoon, a sip at a time. This revived me and tasted so good. Later she warmed some milk and gave me just a bit. Deeply concerned, the man stared at my helpless, bloodstained arm lying on the table and asked how I had gotten hurt so badly. It is hard to express what a relief it was to talk with someone who genuinely seemed to care about me for a change. I explained how I had climbed over the gate and fallen to the ground. When he announced that he would have to call a doctor, I went wild and bolted for the door. Hysterically I shrieked, No! No! I have no family; I have no money; I cannot pay a doctor bill; I will run away; I must go now. This outburst had so drained me that I swayed dizzily, almost fainting from the exertion. The old man tenderly eased me back into the chair and soothingly reassured me. Now, now, you need help and I must go for the doctor. However, you need have no fear for neither we or the doctor are Roman Catholic. I so wanted to believe him but was still trembling violently with fear. I hoped they meant me no harm, but I had been conditioned to trust no one. For all those years in the convent I had been surrounded by treachery, deception and lies of all kinds. Actually, I was much too sick and weak to do anything but settle back and wait. I had no choice for I had no strength and was quivering uncontrollably. The lady of the house moved so quickly to my side to calm me. It had been years and years since I had been shown any kindness or consideration. I just dissolved into gushing tears, for my nerves had been thoroughly frayed by all I had endured. Both these strangers seemed to understand and were exceedingly kind to me. The old gentleman hitched his horse to the buggy and drove nine or ten miles to the nearby town. A doctor came out in his car and after a cursory examination, shook his head very angrily. I was terrified and refused to tell them who I was or where I came from. I was afraid of everyone, dreading a betrayal which would return me to the prison house of the convent. After the doctor examined me he kept walking around me, staring in utter unbelief. Gazing at the shattered hulk of what was supposed to be a human being, he swore softly and angrily under his breath until he noticed he was frightening me. He was furious, not with me, but with the inhuman treatment which had been inflicted upon me. Gruffly, but kindly, he said, I must put you in the hospital without delay. I began to protest weakly and sob that I did not want to go to a hospital. There, I was sure my enemies would find me and take me back. I pled with him not to force me to go. He replied that he was not going to hurt me but would have to take me where I could receive the treatment I required. When he admitted me to the hospital I weighed in at 89 pounds (over 80 pounds under my 1968 weight). First I went into surgery where they attempted to reduce the awful swelling and infection in my arm, hand and shoulder. It was over two weeks before the swelling subsided and the bones began to knit. Because they were crooked, later they had to be rebroken and once again put in a cast, a very painful procedure. The doctor and all the hospital personnel were extremely understanding and gave me the very best of care. After the many years of starving, torture, constant condemnation and being degraded and treated like an animal, it was almost too good to be true. I was there over a year, very slowly recuperating in body and mind. After six months my kind doctor friend walked in, pulled up a chair and took my hand. Well girlie, he said, We have done everything in our power to get you well and on your feet. Now we must know who you are and where you are from and I will try to locate your people. He knew I was a foreigner and wanted to contact my parents. His kindness so touched me that I melted into tears and gave him the information. Ten weeks later he had finally located my parents. Both were living, but mother had been a paralyzed invalid for over seven years. Of course I knew nothing of this for, as I discovered later, they had received none of my letters. My jailers did not allow any communication with outsiders. Because I had undergone an operation for tuberculosis of the bone, I was unable to walk. When I recuperated enough to sit in a wheelchair, the doctor felt I needed to change from the hospital environment. He carried me to his home in the suburbs where his gracious wife bought me my first civilian shoes and clothing. During all my time in the hospital the dear old couple, who had taken me into their home that dreadful night, visited regularly. Almost every day they came, bringing a bouquet of wild flowers to brighten my hospital room. I anticipated their trips to see me and eagerly watched for the little horse and buggy to come up the hospital drive. When the flowers quit blooming, she made blossoms from bits of colored paper to cheer me. I loved them as if they were my own flesh and blood. The day I was released from the hospital they were there and asked if I would like to come to their home. I wept and said I would love to, but was going with the doctor to his house. When the doctor found me crying he quickly assured me that it would be all right to go there. He took me there in his automobile and visited me often, bringing fresh fruit and vegetables. I stayed six weeks and then moved back to the physicians home. I went back and forth between these two families for about a year after leaving the hospital. Because my hair still refused to grow out, I wore dust caps. The day came when I was recovered enough to gather eggs, dust furniture, wash and dry dishes. The doctor contacted the old people and gave them a check to take me shopping for a suitcase and clothing. On a certain day he came to take me on a trip. Many people had given me money which was carefully sewed in my clothing. When my benefactor took me to the train, he cautioned me, Charlotte, dont eat a bite of food or candy; touch nothing except what this one person gives to you for he will take care of you. After the train ride I was taken to a ship and put under the protection of another person with the same strict instructions and precautions. Two weeks later the ship docked in the United States. I was met at the dock by other people who put me on a train, under the care of the conductor. He was very good to me and brought me all the food I could eat. By now I didnt have a penny and he gave me some silver dollars. I spent three days on the train and when we were twenty-five or thirty miles from my fathers home I was quite excited. The conductor brought me a sandwich, two more silver dollars and helped me off the train with my suitcase. My home town was very small but had grown considerably in twenty-four years. The train pulled away from the brand-new depot and I stood on the platform, feeling very alone, fearful and confused. I took a deep breath, walked inside and asked a man for directions to my fathers house. I had been reared in a frame house, but this new one was brick. My heart was beating very fast and I was breathing heavily as I rang the bell. A stooped and wrinkled old gentleman with gray hair opened the door and I asked for my father. When he asked who I was, I gave him my real, not my convent name. Tears welled up in his eyes as he wonderingly and tremblingly said, Hookie? This was the nickname given to me when I was a little girl. We embraced, weeping for the joy of our reunion. When I asked about my mother, he became very evasive, asking me questions. When I kept pressing him he told me she had been very sick and finally took me to her room. My mind reeled with shock to see her lying there, completely paralyzed. Wasted away to a pitiful sixty-nine pounds, almost all her beautiful hair was gone. She looked like a frail skeleton and I could scarcely believe this pale, emaciated creature was all that remained of my beautiful, strong mother I remembered. Waves of nausea and darkness swept over me as I almost collapsed in a faint. My dad gently steered me out and helped me into the next room where I crumpled into a bed, sobbing and soon I went fast asleep. The excitement of my homecoming coupled with the shock of seeing my parents, broken by age and sickness, was too much for me. At 2:30 p.m. I awoke in severe pain. When my father had the nurse check me, she advised him to call the family doctor immediately. He was my godfather and had delivered me into the world and refused to believe I was really Charlotte until he saw the birthmark on my back. I was at once rushed to the hospital where I stayed for fourteen weeks. My father was a very wealthy man and paid all the bills. My godfather reimbursed those overseas who had befriended and aided me. Grateful to those who had saved my life, my dad also sent them gifts as well. While hospitalized I underwent a second operation on my left hip because of the tuberculer bone condition. When the ambulance brought me home I was placed in a reclining chair and my dad instructed me that I was to eat, sleep and recuperate. I was given books to read but try as I might I could retain nothing I read. I became extremely agitated and after two weeks of this my doctor called the family doctor and told him I was having a complete nervous breakdown and should be put in a sanitorium. My father refused, not wanting me to leave again after having been away for so long. I was so thin, frail and hairless that my relatives would shuttle me quickly to the back room, out of sight, when their friends would drop over. They were ashamed of the way I looked and this broke my heart and was a real source of grief to me. Because of this, I was very shy and extremely self conscious. All of my brothers and sisters had received college educations while I had been locked away in a foreign convent, praying for lost humanity, and pouring out my blood for the sins of the world. Somehow it did not seem fair. After I was able to be up in a wheel chair and could walk a little, one of my sisters set up appointments with a beautician for scalp treatments. However, when they put hot towels and oil on my head I passed out, because I was so sick. Months of continued treatments were finally successful and one day the hair began to grow back. After I had become more presentable, my relatives began to purchase expensive clothing for me and I had to learn how to act, how to wear clothes, ect., all over again. When I grew steadily worse, my Dad did eventually consent to my going cross-country over 600 miles, to stay with my Uncle John. For a year I lived there but still had very little hair on my head. This was a source of much shame and embarrassment to me and I became somewhat of a recluse. One day my uncle asked me to visit some neighbors with him but I bolted for my bedroom, fearful of being around other people. However, when I realized this hurt him, I changed my mind, dressed and went with him. A few days later, he asked me to pick up a package from these neighbors and for the first time I went out alone. After walking a couple of blocks, I sensed something was wrong for someone was following me. When I whirled around, there were four big men close behind me. One called me by my convent name, warning me not to move nor make a sound. I was paralyzed with that old terror so much that I could not move. They closed in quickly on each side; picked me up and pitched me into their car between the front and back seats. As they sped away I was forced to lie on the floor and they covered me with a dirty rug when I begged for mercy. As I was held down under their feet and fear gripped me, I listened and realized that these were actually four Catholic priests in civilian clothing. We drove all night and through all the next day and night. The following morning we entered the suburbs of a large city and pulled to the curb. I was aching all over and cramped from being forced to lie prone on the floorboard during this wild drive. I had no idea where we were but when I was allowed to sit up I slowly stretched my cramped muscles and aching back. I stiffened with horror when I saw we had parked in front of a convent. My heart sank and I shook in terror. I wished I had not gotten up at all. Desperately I prayed to the Virgin Mary for a heart attack and then called on St. Jude, St. Bartholomew and every other patron saint I could remember. They dragged me from the automobile, one on each side, and instead of entering the convent, they marched me blocks and blocks down the street. At last, walking on my toes with downcast eyes, I was guided upon the porch of the priests home, next door to a large Roman Catholic church. They hustled me inside, down a hallway, through the kitchen, and then down into the basement. There a secret, locked door opened to reveal a tunnel which led straight back, many blocks underground, to the convent! As usual, they had sneaked me in leaving no trail, in case we were observed. As always, they were out to deceive the world and hide their dark and evil deeds. At the end of the long tunnel there was another door but no way to open it. However, one of the priests knew exactly where the secret button was located and when he pressed it, the big, heavy door swung silently open. Behind it Mother Superior stood waiting. Her cruel face was grim and set as she snapped, Bring her in. I had seen those merciless looks many times before and it was like the rerun of a thousand other horrifying nightmares of pain and suffering. Mother Superior led the way without a word to another room and harshly ordered me to prostrate myself on the floor. I had no choice but to obey, as I had so many hundred of times before. Mother Superior tapped a bell and two nuns suddenly appeared and one set a strange looking object on the floor beside me. She handed the sisters each a piece of rope and they bound my hands and feet securely. They were quiet efficient and obviously had much experience in doing this. The object on the floor was a plumbers blow torch, but I had never seen one and did not know what it was. Mother gave a quick order and a nun lit it. One nun got under my shoulders, the other at my ankles, and they lifted me up. Mother Superior came and stood over me demanding that I say I was sorry for my wickedness, recant for running away from the convent, and promise I would never run away again. I knew I would run away again at the first opportunity and would never make such a promise. From long experience I was aware that I faced hurt and torture no matter what I said or did not say. There was no mercy or escape regardless of promises. I was an old hand at understanding the duplicity, lies, hypocrisy and treachery in a convent. Everything was designed to deceive and entrap the unwary. There was absolutely no way to win a fair hearing or trial. When a Mother Superior dies, they always have three or four replacements, one of which can take her place. Always they are chosen for their hard, cruel and inhuman disregard for suffering and misery and lack of compassion. She must have proven herself totally loyal to the system with all its rottenness and must even relish and enjoy all the gross practices. Mother made her demands three times and I met them with grim silence. She gave the order to lower my body down on the torch. Naturally I screamed and struggled, bucking and pitching, trying to escape the merciless fire on my back. When my clothing caught fire I was writhing and shrieking in agony as the flesh sizzled and blistered while the relentless and emotionless sisters held me firmly over the fire. Finally Mother Superior decided I had burned enough for now and rolled me in a filthy rug to smother the flames. I was like a wild creature, throbbing with unbelievable white-hot pain and misery. After she did this the nuns dumped me roughly to the floor and I screamed even louder as the seared and blistered flesh on my back slipped. I was then carried to the infirmary where I was laid out on a slab of wood. I was placed on my stomach because my back was so dreadfully seared. My agony and torment from the burns was beyond description. Mother and the nuns then walked out, shutting and locking the door. Once again I was a prisoner of those who had no hearts or conscience and who lived to inflict suffering and torture on every helpless victim. I begged and wept, pleading and moaning for water when nuns passed by, but they were robots, programmed to ignore suffering and they did not stop. My cruel captors thought I was surely going to die and I believed it too. When I lived on, Mother Superior called in a doctor. I often wonder what kind of lies she told him to explain the horrible mass of burns on my ravaged body. He came in for several weeks to dress and treat the burns. One miserable day crawled into another. Months dragged by before I was able to walk. The first day I was able to be up I was escorted to the refractory where meals were served. As was customary, each nun had her own place at the tables but there was none for me. Mother Superior ordered me to keep walking over to one corner of the room. There a shelf could be adjusted to the height of a nun and on it sat my tin cup of black coffee and four ounces of bread. I had to stand with my nose in the corner to consume my meager rations. When I was brought back that night the shelf was bare and Mother marched me to another place, past three statues. They had taken all my vegetables out of the tin pie pan and piled them on the floor with the two ounce bit of bread and tin cup of coffee. I was to sit on the floor and eat off the floor and this was forced on me for months. One day I asked permission to speak with Mother Superior. I told her that if she would not make me commit sin I would break no convent rules. She loftily informed me that if I kept all the rules, one day I would be allowed out in the courtyard for a short recreation period. Years ago I had learned never to trust in or believe the lies told by the conscienceless Mother Superiors in convents. They were past masters of deception, manipulation and sadistic cruelty. This one long ago had told me that my life was to be one of constant penance and suffering because I had dared to attempt escape from the convent. Absolutely everything she was big enough to inflict on me, she did with a vengeance, not minding what it was. Hers was an all-out campaign to break me completely, and nothing was too cruel, painful or inhuman for her to devise. One morning, for a penance, I was taken to a long metal horse watering trough which served the nuns as a bathtub. I was ordered to strip off my clothes, slip on a muslin nightgown and get into the tub of water. Mother Superior seized my head and pushed my face forward into the filthy water, then up, then back into the water. I was scarcely able to get my breath and strangled as she kept this up continuously. I became so exhausted I crumpled in the tank, so weak I could no longer resist or even struggle against the fear of asphyxiation and drowning. The mental and physical pressures of such punishments are difficult to describe. Two little nuns pulled me from the tank, limp and half-conscious, gasping, gagging and chocking for breath. They held me firmly while two others began to beat me thoroughly with cruel, cutting, flagellation whips, whose chains and sharp metal teeth bit viciously through and shredded the thin wet muslin nightgown. I was soon soaked with my own blood, badly lacerated all over. In the convent, complaining and murmuring are strictly forbidden and bring swift and harsh punishment; therefore, you learn to bear everything without hope of any relief. I had developed a festering infection on my finger which grew worse day by day. Terribly swollen and painful, it throbbed so I could ignore it no longer. It should have been lanced to relieve the pressure. That day I was assigned to kitchen duty and I knew that I would have my hands in hot, soapy water all day long, scrubbing and cleaning. When I asked Mother Superior for permission to speak to her she glared at me but gave consent. Laying my finger on the kitchen work table for her to see, I explained how dreadfully painful it was and asked if I might switch duties with another nun to keep it out of the water until it was better. She glanced at it and quick as a flash, snatched a meat cleaver and before I realized what was happening, savagely chopped of the side of the infected finger. Although mercifully, unconsciousness caused me to slump to the floor, they quickly revived me. Mother Superior snapped at me angrily and said, Now you quit fooling around making excuses and get busy scrubbing. I had no choice but to obey and slaved away in the hot, soapy water all day long, fainting several times from the endless pain. So life went on, one dreary day after another, with dreadful and agonizing penances being imposed one after the other, limited only by the demonic imaginations and devices of the heartless and ruthless Mother Superior. These awful women have to be totally demon possessed to do what they do. One day I was again taken down into the furnace room where the coal burner was located. It too was used as a torture chamber and as usual, my clothing was stripped to the waist. I was forced to lock my arms around a large hot water pipe and my hands and feet were tightly bound to it. Mother Superior then shoved the poker into the hot coals of the furnace to heat it red hot.
Posted on: Sat, 24 Jan 2015 17:15:50 +0000
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