June, December & Everything Else

Chapter 3: A Nun’s Tale


The answers to some questions are unknowable. For example: Who killed Kennedy? Was his death the result of some shadowy conspiracy involving men in black with ties to Communist Cuba, as suggested by Oliver Stone, or was it three shots fired from a former marine’s Mannlicher-Carcano rifle at the top of a Dallas book depository? Another question: What happened in that moment before the Big Bang when the universe was so infinitesimally small that the math of physics becomes nonsensical? Was it simply God’s finger on the button or was it the collision of the membranes of two ancient universes as suggested by the infamous M Theory. Still more puzzling: Why did Sincere Mary Taylor want to kill herself that summer day of 1919 in Greensboro, North Carolina?

A young woman stood by a set of rail road tracks on one of the hottest June day in the town’s collective memory. Little brown babies could be heard crying out in agony as the sun beat down on their tender, supple skin. Dogs lie on the ground breathing heavily, their tongues in the dirt softly whimpering for death to come swiftly and mercifully. It was if the town had ceased movement, conserving the precious energy it takes for one to move from point A to point C, (with intermittent stops to B for a cool glass of lemonade or water) only when absolutely necessary.

However, the woman by the rail road tracks with her white cotton dress and straw sun hat seemed not to notice the heat at all. It was if the breeze blew only for her. A small well traveled leather suit case sat on the ground next to her. Sincere (a name given to her by her wordsmith of a father…the only thing he ever gave her, I might add.) was waiting for her train. Some men sitting on a porch some eighty yards away had been looking at her for the last hour.

“What you ‘spous that gal waitin’ on? I know she ain’t waitin' on ‘dat ole’ train ‘dat come past here eryday…that thang won’t stop here.” said a young gentleman, with a drooping gut that should have been older than him.

“Well, I reckon it’ll slow up a bit...but I don’t thank I’ll slow up ‘nuf fo’ ‘dat gal to jump on. ‘Sides, since last May they gots mens now that cleans out the cars once ‘day makes it over ‘dat ‘der county line.” said an older gentleman who sat applying drops of water from a glass to the top of his balding brown head at thirty second intervals. He continued.

“Hey ‘der Sam, how bout you go down der an' talk to ‘dat der gal. Tell her to git in outta’ du sun. If she pretty ‘nuf we let her sit right on 'dis here poch an' drank some lemonade wit us.” Samuel laughed at this.

Samuel, a tobacco sharecropper, was beginning to worry. It hadn’t rained in weeks and his crop had begun yellowing prematurely. He knew that if they didn’t get rain and get it soon the profits for this year’s crop would certainly be halved; Less for Mr. Codwell’s farm meant even less for Samuel Jenkins pockets.

“Well, I reckon I could go down der an' check on lil’ miss. Somethin’ don’t seem right bout some gal waitin’ by the tracks.” As he approached her he felt a slight breeze pick up. He noticed that by the tracks it was a bit cooler.

“Hey der lil’ miss” said Samuel, as if approaching some wild animal.
“Dis here train ‘dats gon’ be commin’ ain’t like ‘dem fancy passenger trains. ‘Day catch you on dis train here, de gon’ throw you out on yo' head next county over.” Sincere looked over at Samuel. Her eyes seemed to communicate a sadness so entombed in her soul it lacked a vocabulary.

“I’m jus’ tryin’ to go home mista’. That’s all. You can run back to yo’ poch now. Yo’ friends probably waitin’ on ya.” Samuel examined her. She couldn’t have been more than 24 or 25. She was pretty, in an unusual way. Her eyes seemed to sit a little farther apart on her face then he had seen in prettier women, but that slight aberration seemed to make her even more attractive to Samuel. She had almond colored skin and a long rope of jet black hair down her back.

“Maybe she mixed wit ‘dem Cherokees… an’ ereybody know dem mixed womens crazy as hell, anyway.” he thought. “Look, miss. Ain’t no need to be scared of me…My name Samuel…Ereyone ‘round here call me Sam, though. You ken call me Sam if’n you want.” He would make sure that he measured every word he said carefully. She looked at Samuel as if considering if she should speak to him.

“My name’s Sincere. Pleased to meet you, Sam.” She reached over to shake Samuel’s hand. Samuel quickly brushed off his hands on the front of his overalls and took her small hand into his own. It had been a long time since Samuel had been around such a refined woman. She obviously had some sort of education.

“That’s a pretty name, Sincere. I’ve heard that word befo’ but I don’t know what it mean.’

“My daddy gave it to me. I means, like, bein’ honest…with all yo’ heart. You put it at the end of letters sometime like “Sincerely yours”.”

“Yeah, that’s where I seent it. Real nice…that’s real pretty.” said Samuel, nodding. “So where are you commin’ from? Do you got people some where round here that ken brang you home?”

“I haven’t seen my people in a long time, Sam. I’ve been in the service of 'da Lord for the past five years…I’m what you call, a nun.”

“YOU A NUN?” said Samuel in disbelief. “Huh, I knows what a nun is, but I just ain’t never seen no black nun befo’. I didn’t even know black folks could be nuns.”

“Oh, der’s plenty of black nuns you just don’t hear ‘bout ‘um, is all. Before I left my order my name was Mary Elizabeth…but I like my birth name, Sincere, better. It has a nice sound to it, don’t ya thank?” Samuel took off his hat to wipe sweat from his brow. Even with this slight breeze it seemed to be getting hotter by the minute.

“Yeah, I recon it do sound a touch better. Sincere…how ‘bout you let me go on an’ take you back to yo’ peoples in my buggy. Only take a minute to hitch up ‘da mules.”

“Sam, I ain’t gots no people no mo’…I just gots my baby daughter and that’s all.”

“You got’s a baby…but…but I thought nuns kent have chlilens. I thought that was ‘gainst the Lode to do dat”

"I had her befo’ I went into the convent. Gave her up to my momma to raise.” The tracks were vibrating now. The train was making its approach.

“Well, let me take you to yo’ nun convent den. They like ta dun worried sick bout you.”

“I can’t go back ‘der, Sam. The Lord don’t welcome me der no mo’.” The pitch of the train whistle was becoming deafening. It had become more difficult to carry on a conversation.

“Sincere, whatever you ‘bout to do right now it ain’t right! The Lode don’t want dis! Dis ain’t de way to do thangs!”

Samuel was now planning in his mind on how to get her away from the tracks. If her tried to grab her she might run and he figured with those chicken legs she had she may be able to outrun him in a sprint. He could push her into the dirt…but if they landed the wrong way they would both be killed.

“Sam, I’m goin’ home…that’s all. You don’t have to worry ‘bout me. I’m gon’ be all right. He know why and as long as He know why it’s alright.” said Sincere motioning to the sky with her eyes.

The train was about twenty yards away now. Samuel made a leap for Sincere but she managed to dodge him. She ran further down the track and then like that tragic adulteress, Anna Karenina, leapt in front of the train. Her remains were scattered for over half a mile. It was another mile before the train would manage to stop. It was as if she had spit in God’s eye…and now the prodigal daughter was going back to the source. She was going back to the origin of all things…living and dead.

Shortly afterward the sky filled with clouds and it began to rain. It was a soft, quiet type of rain, like God crying. Samuel looked on as the rail workers and sheriff’s deputies cleared the tracks. The same rain that was now engorging the ground of Samuel Jenkins’s thirsty tobacco crops was also washing away the blood of a certain nun named Sister Mary Elizabeth…or Sincere, as she’d preferred to be called.