A small dog limps over to their table. After Kate slips the mangy creature a crust of bread, it whines and slumps beneath her chair to wait for another bite. Sheila and Diane seem not to have noticed the beggar.
Sheila glances at Kate, then goes on. “I signed up for the Peace Corps the week before graduation, when all my friends were signing contracts for low-level jobs with big corporations. My parents think I’m wasting my time, although secretly I think it gives them a little cachet among their friends to have a daughter doing something so bizarre.”
When Sheila flicks back her long, straight brown hair, Kate notices the delicacy of her hands. “So are you working with Diane?”
“Right now I’m teaching English at the Instituto with Diane. That’s about all we liberal arts people are good for.”
“But she’s also keeping a journal,” interrupts Diane. “She’ll probably write the great Peace Corps novel someday. Okay Sister, it’s your turn. We can’t wait to hear about your life!” She wriggles eagerly in her chair, a wide grin showing perfect white teeth.
Kate wonders suddenly what her life would have been like if she had not been a nun. Would she have been like the two women before her? This is not a question she has ever let herself ask before, and she is stunned to think it has taken her so long to come to it. “Well, I grew up in St. Louis, went to Catholic schools, and entered the Dominican convent in Chesterfield the summer after my graduation from high school.”
Diane stops eating, and gazes at Kate with her fork in mid-air. “Why?”
“Let her finish,” Sheila says, lighting a cigarette.
“It’s hard to explain. It’s what I thought I was supposed to do. Anyway, I majored in English at the convent’s junior college and then finished up my last two years at Fontbonne, a small liberal arts women’s college in St. Louis. Then I taught for a year at one of the grade schools there.”
The waiter removes the plates. Diane asks for another beer, and Kate nods when he asks if she’d like more lemonade. The heat and spicy food have made her thirsty. Sheila stubs out her cigarette and leans back in her chair. “How did you get down here?”
“When I was in the novitiate, they asked us if anyone was interested in being sent to the missions in Latin America or the Philippines. I raised my hand for Latin America. I never really thought about what I would do when I got here.” As she says the words, Kate realizes how true they are. What did she think she would be doing down here—a twenty-four-year-old American who barely spoke Spanish and had never traveled before in her life? Kate looks up and finds Sheila staring at her intently. She goes on, “Well, they took me up on my offer. So, about a year ago I came down to Lima, then spent five months in Cochabamba at the Language Institute, and now I’m working in Santa Catalina in Juliaca, with our sisters and the Maryknoll priests.”
“Where are you headed now?” Sheila’s question hangs in the air.
The two girls smoke quietly, waiting for Kate to explain. Ah, that is the question, isn’t it? Where would she head now? Kate raises her eyes. “I don’t really know,” she whispers finally.
Diane and Sheila look at each other.
“What do you mean?” Diane leans in, lowering her voice.
“I really don’t know. I just sort of . . . left. I’ve been struggling with a problem,” Kate says slowly, choosing her words carefully, “and I felt as though I needed to get away, take some time to think it out.” Kate looks at them helplessly, aware of how foolish she sounds.
“Do the other nuns know where you are?” Sheila asks, watching her carefully. She seems much more interested in Kate now.
“Not really, although they have a vague idea of the general direction I’m traveling in.”
The three women sit in the nearly empty restaurant in silence for a few moments.
Suddenly Diane bursts out: “Wow! A nun on the run! This is so neat! Wasn’t there a movie years ago called I Leap Over the Wall, or something like that—about a nun who escaped?”
Sheila frowns at Diane. She looks at Kate, “Listen, we’re going to stay in Ica for a few days. It’s supposed to be lovely. Why don’t you share a room with us for a day or two? We’ve already paid for it. Take a little rest, and then figure out where you’re going next.”
Feeling tears spring to her eyes, Kate tries to laugh them off. “Oh, just what you wanted on your vacation—a nun tagging along.”
“Don’t worry. We’ve both had it with men right now,” Diane assures her. “All we want is some warm sand to lie in, a couple of trashy novels, and plenty of beer and wine. Come on, Sister, it’ll be fun—sort of an advanced slumber party.”
Sheila is inspecting Kate’s habit, dusty and smeared from travel. Her eyes travel to the man’s jacket Kate is holding, and Kate is sure that she’s noticed that she has no luggage. “This would give you time to wash your clothes and freshen up a little,” she says casually.
Kate blushes at the thought of how dirty she is. “Okay, I’ll stay one night with you—really, I’m very grateful.” She swallows hard, thinking of the ticket to Lima in her pocket. Maybe she’d be allowed to use it later. She is becoming more comfortable with not planning everything.
Both women appear immensely relieved, as if they have rescued a dangerous mental patient from the ledge of a skyscraper. Sheila pays the check, talking to the waiter in efficient, clear Spanish. As they leave the restaurant, Kate feels the eyes of the few remaining men on them.
In late afternoon, after a short ride, the bus pulls up at an elegant plaza. Ica. After months in
