I need fresh
air, water, and a bathroom, she thought, and wiped the moisture from her
forehead.
She turned
to Sister Teresa, "I feel faint, my friend. I'm taking a stroll to clear my head."
"I'll
come with you."
"No,
no. Don't worry. I'll just return to the
cafe where we ate breakfast. Meet you
there." She quickly turned before
Teresa could object again and wended her way back through the throng.
Once free,
the nun briskly strode along. She loved
to move, see the sights, and observe the different types of people who visited
the Eternal City.
As she
neared the cafe, she heard drumming… African drumming. She walked faster. Around the next corner she spotted a band -
resplendent in bright yellow and purple patterned shirts. She joined the small group
that surrounded the musicians.
As she
listened, her knees began to bend, her hips slightly swayed and her arms moved
with the beat. The main drummer looked
over at her and grinned. He aimed a
staccato explosion in her direction. She
smiled her thanks.
When did I
last hear these rhythms? she asked herself.
Ah yes, back when my cousin married.
I was dancing with the women of our village. Step, sway, step, sway ...
Before I left for the convent. My mother
cried. What am I doing here in
Rome? Why do I want to watch an old man
in fancy robes bow to an altar and drone prayers over a loudspeaker? The shaman at home was better
entertainment.
The drummer
and his band moved into a drum pattern she recognized as a Congo rhythm. She added a few steps to her sway, then
closed her eyes and thought of her mother's face...and the hills around her
village.
I'm going
home, she decided.
