The Loud Silence of Francine Green by Karen Cushman Page A

member of the International Federation of Professional and Technical Engineers, and his union dues were the only bill he ever paid without grumbling. My mother did the laundry made martoonies, and cut out coupons to save money. For fun they played canasta and listened to
Fibber McGee and Molly
on the radio. I didn't want to be like them.

    The question of my future had been on my mind ever since Vocation Day when our class was visited by student nuns from the Order of Mary Help of Sinners, to which our Sisters belonged. They visited eighth-grade classes all over Los Angeles every year to share with us the joys of nunhood, joys so great we would want to be like them—living together all their lives, never getting married or having babies, singing and praying and working in eternal poverty, chastity, and obedience.
    The student nuns were young and perky, not at all the type I would imagine wanting to be nuns. They wore short skirts and tiny white veils that left their hair mostly uncovered. One called Miss O'Hara giggled a lot and had wavy red hair that fell to her waist. I couldn't imagine why she'd want to hide in a convent all her life.
    After the visitors left, Sister Basil had asked us, "How many of you girls aspire to join the Holy Sisterhood?"
    The Perfect and Admirable Mary Agnes Malone was the first to raise her hand, of course, and then most of the girls raised theirs, too. Susan, Gert, Sophie, and I were the only ones with our hands still folded on our desks. Sister stared

at Susan until her hand went up, and then Gert's followed. It was just Sophie and me. Unlike most Catholic girls, I'd never wanted to be a nun. I thought about being a saint sometimes—it seemed the highest calling to which a Catholic girl could aspire, since Mother of God was already taken—but never a nun.

    Sister walked a little way down the aisle and stood next to my desk, looking right at me, her black eyebrows like a slash across her white face. When she raised her left eyebrow, I could feel my hand begin to rise, as if a string were tied from that eyebrow to my arm. Slowly, slowly, up it went. And Sister nodded.
    She looked at Sophie for a minute but shrugged and walked away. Even Sister Basil could only do so much.
    A note was waggled at me.
A nun? You don't really want to, do you?
    Jeepers, no. I didn't want to raise my hand, but it was like I couldn't help it. I think Sister Rotten has magical powers.
    Could you believe the part about poverty, chastity, and obedience?
    No money, no men, and no mind of your own. Sounds a lot like my life.
    Suddenly Sister was standing beside me, so close I could smell the slightly sweet and soapy nun smell of her. She was swinging her rosary beads and smiling. "Francine, would you care to share with the class what you find so interesting?"
    My heart jumped and a shiver ran through my body. Sophie stood up, pocketing the note. "It was not Francine but me, Sister," she said. "I was being rude, impertinent, and

blasphemous, as usual. Do you want me to go stand in the trash can?"

    "Sit down," Sister growled.
    Since that day a week ago 1 had been wondering about my future. And now Sophie had asked, "What about you?" Well, what about me? Could I really be an actress? I imagined myself on a movie set with Montgomery Clift or Clark Gable, starring in some romantic drama, tingling with excitement, opening my mou—...That's as far as 1 got. Even in my daydream I couldn't open my mouth. It would take some sort of miracle to turn
me
into a movie star.
    "I suppose I could work in a pet store," I told Sophie, "feed the hamsters or something." Yes, that sounded more like me.
    The afternoon drifted away. And the whole week. Still no letter from Monty. On Saturday we went to the movie. Mr. Mandelbaum played a friendly shopkeeper named Mr. Smiley. He still seemed like Mr. Mandelbaum, only in a white apron. I don't know if I'd call that
acting.
    I was nervous, but no communists tried to kidnap me. It was