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Show 15 all the Latin prayers of the mass. By the time I was five years old, I was serving as altar boy to the priest who came each day from a neighboring village to say mass. The most strenuous duties I had, other than serving on the altar, were to pick fresh flowers for the altar and to feed the convent cats. Sister Thecla was as tiny as a sparrow, but she cooked good meals from the small amount of food the nuns were able to raise. "Eat, Albert, eat," she would urge me. "God gave me the barley to make this gruel just for you, Albert. A boy needs hearty food to grow big and strong." Then she would hug me to her bony chest, and I'd put my arms around her musty robes and hug her tightly in return. Although she was the oldest. Sister Perpetua's eyes were still good. She spent her days embroidering vestments with gold and silver thread to earn a little money for the convent. She loved to have me sit at her feet and hand her the threads, and she always managed to find enough cloth to make me soft, warm shirts. While she sewed, she told me stories of the saints, but if I coaxed hard enough, she would recite long poems about kings and knights, monsters, trolls and beautiful ladies. I suppose I loved Sister Perpetua most of all. My happy life ended with nightmare suddenness. One day the Director General of the Order came to inspect the convent, which he was obliged to do every ten years. He was a gruff, middle-aged abbot, and when he discovered that an eight-year-old boy was living with a group of nuns who were supposed to be devoted only to spiritual matters, he was scandalized. |