Behind the loquat trees lies the spacious catholic monastery. I await Sister Anderson’s smile after school. Her bright laughter always stirs a bit of awe from my heart. I timidly walk into the garden through one of the side doors. I love those sisters’ starched white robes; it gives me a sort of comfort.
On every Wednesday afternoon, when I’m not out in the forest with other playmates, I am always in the garden of the monastery, helping to pull some weeds, and watering the sweet potatoes and cabbages. My reward would be picking those purplish grapes and golden loquats when they are ready for harvest. And I’m usually the first one who tastes this out of the world fruits!
I don’t really speak any English because I’m only six years old. But I am fond of the intonation given off from the utterances of Sister Anderson and other nuns. Many a time, I would daydream myself speaking fluent English but actually just muttering gibberish.
The second floor of the monastery is a big library, full of foreign books and biblical documents. The old books in the darker corner emit a pungent and stale smell, which makes me dizzy every time I enter the room. However, I like to spend my afternoons in there because there is a little world, filled with wonders. I haven’t told anyone about this wonderland, not even my dear Sister Anderson…
To be continued…
No comments:
Post a Comment