William Kienzle: Masquerade

“Come on, why did you sleep all afternoon?”

“Because I’ve got a cold,” McNiff tried tentatively. He wasn’t sure whether it was this statement that the others had found humorous. It was something he’d said, he just wasn’t sure what. No one laughed. This wasn’t it.

“So,” Sklarski pursued, “what do you do when you’ve got a cold?”

“Actually, I haven’t got a cold. I’m coming down with one.”

“Okay,” Sklarski was getting impatient, “what do you do when you’re coming down with a cold?”

“Go to bed.”

“That’s not what you said.”

By process of elimination, McNiff concluded, the second part of his statement had to be it. “I don’t remember.” He would not play the fool. Not knowingly, at any rate.

Koesler looked inquiringly at Sklarski. It was evident McNiff was not about to cooperate. It was also evident that Sklarski would not let him off the hook.

“You said,” Sklarski supplied, “that whenever you were coming down with a cold, you always tried to curl up on a couch for a few hours with an African.”

Laughter renewed.

McNiff’s eyes darted confusedly from one to another of his confreres. “It helps,” he explained in bewilderment.

“I’ll bet.” Sklarski guffawed, and spilled his drink.

“C’mon,” Koesler said, “it’s getting late.” On the way home, he would explain the difference between African and afghan and hope that McNiff did not become so testy he would get flip with an officer at the border. Koesler did not want to spend this night justifying his existence to customs officials.

Koesler was positive that any given moment, customs officials could out-testy even McNiff.

They did not appear to be nuns, certainly not in the traditional sense.

One carried a large suitcase. She was dressed in a beige summerweight business suit. The clothing neither accentuated nor disguised her figure, which, while mature and full, was firm and feminine.

She was Sister Marie Monahan, a member of the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary religious order, and a graduate of Marygrove College. She was also author of Behind the Veil , a recently published and fairly successful mystery novel.

Her companion, Sister Janet Schultes, also a member of the IHM order, was coordinator of the writers’ workshop that would begin tomorrow. Shorter and slimmer than Marie, Janet wore a light topcoat over her dress uniform. Both dress and coat were the deep shade recognizable to the practiced eye as IHM blue.

She also wore what was known as a modified veil, which sat well back on her head, revealing her nearly white hair. Sister Janet carried a black attache case that contained Sister Marie’s conference papers.

Since Janet had met Marie’s plane at Metro Airport, the two nuns had been chatting nonstop. Classmates and best of friends, they had been separated by many miles for many years now.

The two were about to enter the Madame Cadillac building at the center of Marygrove’s campus. Before climbing the steps, they paused to study the cornerstone.

Marie read the words aloud. “‘Arbor Una Nobilts’- the one and only noble tree. Remember, Jan, from the Good Friday Mass-the hymn?” She recited from memory. “‘Faithful Cross, among all others/One and only noble tree/Not a grove on earth can show/Such leaf and flower as grow on thee.’”

Janet joined in with the original Latin, “‘Crux fidelis/Inter omnes/Arbor una nobilis/Nulla silva talem profert/Fronde, flore, germine.’”

“You remembered! The Latin!”

“It’s a meditation for me,” Jan replied. “I try to recite it each time I enter the building.”

Marie shook her head. “Good Friday, the Mass of the Presanctified-a little bit of history.”

“It is history, Marie. The toothpaste is out of the tube. We’ll never get it back in. That era, that liturgy, that hymn, that language-all gone!”

“Yes, I fear we’ve thrown the baby out with the bath water.” As she said it, Marie winced inwardly, but, other than a slight shudder, gave no indication of what she felt.

“Come on,” Janet urged, “let’s get inside. You’re not dressed for this weather. You’ve forgotten what autumn’s like in Michigan.”

They hurried up the stone steps into the building, and headed toward the elevator.

“Seem familiar?” Janet pushed the third-floor button.

“Frighteningly. Of course I wouldn’t have expected these immortal and sanctified stones to change. They built this place for the ages.”

Janet smiled. “The stones are about all that hasn’t changed. You and I certainly have. . let’s see, how long has it been now?”

“Oh, dear. .” Marie grimaced. “I’ve been gone from Detroit for. . what? Almost fifteen years. Add another five to that and I’ll have been gone from Marygrove for about twenty years!” She smiled. “At our age one does not want to total up the years too frequently.”

“Remember when we went coed?”

“Barely. The first young men were arriving on campus just about the time I left. And now you’ve got. . what?”

“Actually still not all that many.” Janet held open the elevator door as they exited on the third floor. “Our enrollment is about 80 percent female.”

“So your football team is not headed for the Rose Bowl.”

They laughed.

“Nor are the pickup teams of volleyball and basketball players going to post-season playoffs. The major interest of Marygrove is still study and learning,” Janet added.

“Good,” Marie said emphatically. “But. .” She hesitated. “How do you attract them? I mean, I may have been away from Detroit for a bunch of years, but it’s still near and dear to my heart. And I’ve bled for the city. I read about it almost every week. The drugs, the violence, the murders, the children killing and being killed! I would have assumed any student would have to think several times before enrolling here. After all, Marygrove is smack in the middle of Detroit almost.”

“Marie, what did you expect-an armed camp?”

They entered the private residence wing.

“Is it much further? This bag is getting heavy.”

“Just down the hall.”

“What did I expect?” Marie picked up the thread of their conversation. “Some security. I haven’t seen any security people. If you’ve got some, I’d like to know where they are.”

“Well, there are four or five on duty nearly all the time.”

“Four or five? For all these buildings? For all these-what is it-sixty-eight acres, isn’t it? Mostly woods, just the way God made it. Why, we drove right in here off McNichols Road. There wasn’t anyone at the gate to screen or challenge us. Anybody could drive in here.”

“There was talk of putting up a gatehouse,” Janet sounded apologetic, “but it was deemed too expensive. Besides, just as you said, the campus is heavily wooded. Even if there were a gatehouse and a guard at the entrance, there’s nothing to stop someone from climbing the fence at some secluded spot and getting in here.”

Janet indicated they’d arrived at Marie’s room. They entered. Marie looked around before setting down her suitcase. “Quite nice. You do it?”

“Uh-huh. There’s so much of the college that isn’t used anymore, it’s fun making something out of nothing. This used to be dormitory space.”

“I remember.”

“I had it remodeled. Six private rooms. Just enough for the workshop faculty.”

Marie began to unpack. Janet sat on the one, single bed.

“So,” Marie said, “no one at the gate, and the whole place accessible to anyone who can climb the fence: Is all that supposed to make me rest easy?”