Confession

The sound of the bell woke the nuns and called them to Lauds, the first prayer of the day. Magdalena heard the chimes very well, but she didn't need to be awakened. She had not been able to sleep after the eerie events of that night. She had remained huddled almost motionless on her bed against the wall, staring into the darkness. She was still in doubt as to whether what she thought she had experienced had actually happened. If it had, then many of the foundations on which she had built her life up to that point would be deeply shaken. The consequences of this seemed too terrible, so after much deliberation she decided that she had either experienced a hallucination or had had such a lifelike dream that she could not distinguish it from reality.

But one fact could not be denied. Her body had - however it had happened - exhibited forbidden behavior. She could still feel the echo of the exultant excitement and the sky-high feeling of happiness. And even if she didn't want to admit it, the huge wet spot on her sheet was undeniable evidence of what actually occurred.

Even if she couldn't put it into words, she knew instinctively that she had had a sexual awakening that she would never forget. On the contrary. The memory now lurked behind the already crumbling façade of her chaste life. She tried to pray to the Blessed Virgin to save her from temptation. But the words refused to come to her. She knew she was weak. And she would inevitably fall for the temptation again at the next opportunity.

Even now, every brief thought about what had happened caused her pulse to quicken and an unwanted warmth to spread through her abdomen. She violently tightened her hands into fists to prevent them from doing things of their own accord that she didn't want to burden her conscience with. More and more ****, she tried to suppress these thoughts. But the harder she tried, the stronger her body's instinctive reactions seemed to become. She panted and doubled over. Her vision clouded and once again unwanted moisture spread across her lap. She put a fist in her mouth and bit down with all her might, both to stifle a loud moan and in hoping that the pain would bring her back to her senses to some extent.

Meanwhile, she could hear her fellow sisters getting up and making their way towards the chapel where the communal morning prayer would take place. As if in a trance, she dressed herself in her usual habit. However, the feeling of security and order that usually overcame her when she put on the strict habit with its hood and veil did not materialize this time. She anxiously opened the narrow door of her small cell and stepped out with her head bowed.

To her surprise, no one rebuked her or questioned her about the noise she had made during the night. Not even a furtive sideways glance indicated that anyone had noticed. That was impossible, her unrestrained outburst had been plain to hear. Or had she really just dreamed it all?

Relief flooded through her that she would at least be spared unpleasant questions. She wouldn't have known what to answer. Telling the truth - whatever the truth was - was out of the question. But to lie deliberately and with malicious intent would be another grave sin she would incur. So she crept silently behind the other nuns with her head down, which was not very conspicuous as most of the sisters used the beginning of the day to quietly prepare themselves mentally and spiritually for the day ahead. She also remained introverted and inconspicuous during the service. She mechanically sang along with the psalms, hymns and intercessions, but they did not give her the usual strength and calm.

After Lauds, there was still some time before breakfast, during which most of the nuns engaged in silent prayer and meditation. But Magdalena was too agitated to remain calm. With growing impatience, she waited until the priest who had celebrated the service came out of the sacristy.

“Excuse me, Father,” she spoke to him quietly, ”would it be possible for me to make my confession?”

His eyes wandered a little wistfully towards the refectory, where he usually joined the meal and was the first to be served. But he quickly composed himself.

“Of course, my daughter. Follow me.”

The priest led her to the confessional and took a seat. Magdalena waited briefly, then stepped into the part partitioned off to the side. She could vaguely make out the figure of the confessor through the wickerwork. She sank to her knees and spoke.

“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been a day since my last confession. In that time, I have struggled with deep doubts and fears that have shaken my faith. I come to you to lift this burden from my soul and ask for God's forgiveness.”