Novella: Sister Aloysius Beauvier’s Mortal Sin, Chapter: 3 Candy, By Another Name
Title: Sister Aloysius Beauvier’s Mortal Sin
Chapter: Three, Candy, By Another Name
Author: halfsquat (aka Half Squire)
Fandom: Doubt
Pairing: Sister Aloysius/ Sister James
Rating: PG 13
Genre: Romance/Drama/Suspense
Spoilers: Doubt
Disclaimer: All characters from Doubt belong to their creators. I claim no ownership and intend no copyright infringement. Everything unrelated to Doubt and all divergence from their script is my doing. Much of the dialogue comes directly from the script.
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“Sister Aloysius Beauvier’s Mortal Sin”
a fan fiction novella
by Half Squire
inspired by the film Doubt,
and, respectfully, drawn heavily from it
***
Chapters:
I. The Dragon Is Hungry
II. My Concerns Are My Own
III. Candy, By Another Name
IV. Farther From God
V. Doubt Presses Her To The Bed
VI. Cat, Kitten, Rat
VII. The Cat And The Kitten
VIII. A Serpent In The Garden
XI. Caged
X. Questions Of Taxonomy
XI. Madonnas
***
***
III. Candy, By Another Name
***
Outside of the school, William London walks down the sun-streaked street. Cars leisurely pass him. A bloody handkerchief presses his nose. As he pulls the handkerchief away, he smiles. The bleeding has stopped. He lights up a cigarette and walks on. He props it between two yellowed fingers. One contrived bloody nose has afforded him a day off of school.
***
In the school cafeteria, which is also the gymnasium, the subdued student body eats lunch. Light cascades through large windows. The rickety tables assemble in two long, rectangular rows. Near the basketball hoop, the nuns are seated together at a circular table. Sister Aloysius rises, firmly reprimands a child, and then reseats herself. Sister Veronica sits to her right; she eats with fervor. With her own lunch tray, Sister James appears and glides down the walkway between the tables’ rows. Timidly, she edges towards Aloysius; although, other seats are open, she stands near the one closest to the stern nun.
“May I join you, Sister Aloysius?” she asks, her voice only wavering slightly.
“Yes.” The woman almost sounds happy, and she eyes Sister James as she sits. Attempting to be discreet, Aloysius turns her head and presses two Aspirin into her mouth. She drinks from her water glass to ease them down. Sister James seats herself and stares at the food with distaste, but tries to keep her expression neutral.
“Chicken Chow Mein,” Sister James states, as she tries to infuse her voice with pleasure, but it comes out sounding almost questioning. With a smile, Sister Aloysius looks at Sister Veronica.
“Sister Veronica’s favorite.”
“It’s very good,” the elderly nun says. Because of her age-bowed back, her head closely hovers her plate. She is so small; she is almost childlike, but her deeply etched wrinkles remind otherwise.
“I like the noodles.” Sister Teresa, an equally elderly, but spryer nun, adds. “I like the crunch.” James gives a tight smile.
“What happened to William London?” James questions Sister Aloysius. With her eyes, she takes in the fact that Aloysius is abstaining from any Chow Mein. James is reluctant to taste her food, and only shifts her tray a centimeter to one side, and then a centimeter back.
“I sent him home.”
“Oh dear. So he’s still bleeding?”
“Yes.” Aloysius says with a shrug. Sister James looks at the other nuns, as she opens her mouth to explain.
“His nose just let loose and started gushing during the Pledge of Allegiance.” Her mouth frowns slightly, at the word gushing.
“Was it spontaneous?” With an edge on her tone, Aloysius questions. James looks baffled.
“What?”
“His nosebleed.”
“What else would it be?”
“Self-induced,” she states matter-of-factly. She pulls back slightly in amazement as Sister James’s eyebrows furrow.
“You mean you think he might’ve intentionally given himself a nosebleed?” James stutters.
“Exactly.”
“No!” There is a pause where the two ladies lock eyes, both trying to measure the other.
“You are a very innocent person, Sister James.” Aloysius’s head tilts in an almost affectionate manner, as she addresses James, but she quickly rectifies that. “William London is a fidgety boy. If you do not keep right on him, he will do anything to escape his chair.” She pauses in exasperation and eyes the young nun. “He would set his foot on fire for half a day out of school.” As Sister Aloysius looks to the side, she notices Sister Veronica’s sleeve has gotten food on it. She dips a napkin in water and moves toward the bow-backed woman.
“Here. Sister, allow me to help you. Your sleeve.” She rubs the sleeve with the wetted napkin.
“Uh-oh.” Sister Veronica dully says, without looking at her sleeve. The other nun continues rubbing.
“Mm. Let’s see.” Aloysius mutters to herself, as she eyes her handiwork, then deems it acceptable.
“Oh thank you, Sister.” Veronica says with genuine warmth. Sister James eyes the scene, with the same quiet curiosity from last night’s dinner. The same timid smile tugs softly at her lips. So, this is the woman they call the dragon?
***
Sister James and Sister Aloysius mount the steps. With one hand, Aloysius leans heavily on the ornate, wrought iron railing. James’s hands are folded neatly in front of her pelvis, as she walks.
“Sister Veronica is going blind,” the older nun states.
“Oh how horrible!” She sounds childlike in her exclamation.
“If they find out in the rectory, she’ll be gone. So, if she looks unsteady, take her hand,” Aloysius instructs. With her leading, the two nuns enter James’s classroom. There are still lessons scrawled on the blackboard. “Ordinarily,” she begins, as her hand scrapes the desk for any signs of grime or dust. “I assign my most experienced teachers to eighth grade, but I am working within constraints.” Wincing, she sits down in Sister James’s chair. She rubs her knee for a quick moment, and then rummages through the woman’s desk’s drawers. “Are you in control of your class?” she asks sternly, but idly. Sister James pales, and cannot look the other nun in the eyes. She gazes out at the empty desks that fill her classroom.
“I think so,” she replies, with uncertainty and a small smile.
“Usually more students are sent down to me.” With a disinterested air, Aloysius continues her rummaging.
“I try to take care of things myself,” James ventures. Aloysius huffs slightly and pulls a framed picture of a now-dead pope from James’s desk’s drawer.
“That can be an error. You are answerable to me, I to the Monsignor, he to the Bishop, and so on up to the Holy Father. There is a chain. Make use of it.” Upon the last words, she discovers a small box within the desk. “Candy?”
“Cough drops.”
“Candy, by another name.” she says, with distaste, and throws the offending box into the wastebasket. She rises. “How is Donald Miller doing?”
“Steady.”
“Good.” Aloysius pauses, then points to a desk in the back corner. “That girl-Noreen Horan.”
“I’ve seated her as far away from the boys as possible. Doesn’t do much good.” James sighs and nervously smiles. She gazes imploringly at the other nun. Sister Aloysius walks to Horan’s desk. With a deep frown, she picks up a silver barrette and muddles over it with her fingers. Sunlight glints over the two leg-like pieces as they open and close.
“Just get her through.” A pause. “Intact,” she adds with emphasis. A gust of wind barrels through an open window and spills leaves into the room. She rushes to the window and closes it. “What’s this? The wind is so... peripatetic this year. Is that the word I want?” she questions, as she peers onto the ground below. Father Flynn is chatting with the Monsignor on the street. Their voices are too faint to catch their meanings, but the tone is jovial. With compassion, the old man pats Flynn’s shoulder twice. Aloysius eyes them with intense interest, as well as dissatisfaction. Time edges by, as the stern nun’s ear strains for their words. Sister James wrings her hands, and looks nervously at the older woman.
“Is something the matter?”
“What?” Her interest swarms the street below; none can be spared for the sweet, timid voice. James nears and looks over her shoulder.
“Is something the matter?” she repeats, and edges closer. As she stands on her tiptoes, her front nearly presses into Aloysius’s back. Attempting to see what has garnered the other woman’s attention, she is a hairsbreadth away from her. She is surprised to feel warmth emanating from the older woman; she had expected her to be as cold as her expression. Or, perhaps, scalding like an enflamed dragon. But, she is only a pleasant warm. Sister Aloysius’s gaze remains on the two men. But, she stiffens slightly, as James brushes against her back, when the young woman’s footing falters.
“No. Why? Is something the matter?” the stern nun broaches.
“I don’t think so.” James says, with uncertainty, but she stays motionless against the other woman. Her front delicately touching Aloysius’s back, James lets out a small sigh. The thick fabric of their habits’ separates them, but the warmth permeates. The chill wind outside rattles the window.
“Well, then, nothing’s the matter then.” Aloysius withdraws. Silence enfolds them. Sister James doesn’t know what to do.
“Yes,” she affirms, late, with a nod. Aloysius’s eyes drop to the ground. The silence continues on, eying them both and waiting for something.
“What’s this?” Aloysius says, as she bends to retrieve something from the floor.
“A pen?” Her voice is childlike. Despite the other woman’s harsh tone, she almost believes she doesn’t know what she has found.
“A ballpoint pen,” the older nun corrects. With disgust, she looks the pen over. “The students are not using them for assignments, I hope?” James visibly flusters.
“No, of course not.”
“I’m sorry I allowed even cartridge pens into this school. Always the easy way out these days.” She twirls the pen in her fingers. “Every easy choice today will have its consequence tomorrow.” Aloysius eyes the woman from head to toe. James fidgets in her formless habit; she can still feel the older woman’s warmth, although they pulled away. “Mark my words,” the stern voice says with finality. James flushes and picks up the scattered leaves from the floor.
“Yes, Sister.” With her head at waist-level, she mumbles.
“Ballpoints make them press down.” Aloysius motions for emphasis. “When they press down, they write like monkeys.” She spits her words.
“I don’t allow them ballpoint pens,” the young nun defends meekly.
“And, yet, here one is. Penmanship is dying all across this country.” She waves her hand about the room, as if to address said country. With leaves in hand, James peers from under her bonnet.
“I hope not.” James stands very still. Sister Aloysius makes to walk to the blackboard, but then stops, and examines the top of a desk. It looks as though a student began to etch something into it. There is a long pause. James looks expectantly at the older woman’s back.
“You should frame something. Put it up on the blackboard.” In long strides, she makes it to the desk, and picks up the framed photograph from earlier. “Put the Pope up.” Trying to find the ideal position, Aloysius holds the frame against the board, and moves it from side to side.
“That’s the wrong Pope. He’s deceased.” Peering from her bonnet, James shifts from leg to leg. The other woman waves dismissively.
“I don’t care what Pope it is. Use the glass to see behind you. The children should think you have eyes in the back of your head.” James edges towards the blackboard.
“Wouldn’t that be a little frightening?” Her own tone sounds frightened. She can see Aloysius’s reflection, peering at her, as though in demonstration of her own point. The eyes travel up and down, though James can only guess up and down what. A blush of nervousness gathers, in her usually pale cheeks.
“Only to the ones who are up to no good.”
***