A Sister’s Comfort, 1944

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“What happened to you, my son?” asked the nun.

“We were ambushed by German forces. We’d taken cover behind a fort when the German planes came to take out our Yugoslav tanks from the air. They blew every one of them to pieces. My regiment lost over a hundred men, then the Nazi ground troops showed up and gunned down everything in their path.”

“Heaven preserve us! How awful. My prayers are with you. For now you may rest in this hospital. You will have to return to the front in five days. I have been assigned to take care of you.”

“Sister, it is awful. I don’t want to go back to the war. Please, let me stay here.”

“Do not worry, my son. The Lord’s will is stronger than you can know. He will protect you; of that I am certain.”

“Sister, isn’t there anything you can do for me? You could write on my chart that I’m lame...”

“I cannot! That would be a lie, and you must return to the aid of your brothers in arms. Do not worry; I shall pray for you, and God’s will is greater than you can know.”

“Please, sister. Those Nazis are crazed. They kill without mercy. There are too many of them, and their guns are powerful. We’re no match for them.”

“Have an apple. You need rest. The night will bring you solace, I am sure of it. The Lord will give you the strength to fight until the end. Do not forget, nobody believed that God’s only son would rise from the dead upon the third day to inherit eternal life.”

“Please, sister. I don’t want to die. I am afraid.”

“There is nothing to fear in death. Only Jesus can raise us from the dead. Only Jesus can give eternal life to those who believe in him.”

“My sister. I don’t believe in God. I don’t believe this war will end.”

“Soon the Americans will join the front. Europe will be freed of its demons. Do not worry.”

“I want to see my mother. Please. I beg you, say that I am lame.”

“This I cannot do,” the nun insisted. It would be a lie. I must go and tend to the others. Take this apple. Are you not hungry?”

“Please, sister, stay with me just a few moments longer.”

“I am always here. Should you need anything, ask for Sister Frivulia.”

“Sister Frivulia. I like that name. It makes me think of heaven.”

Sister Frivulia returned to the small office of the field hospital that had been hastily erected when the fighting broke out. She took the soldier’s chart and wrote: Requires convalescence. Ready to return to active duty in three days. She signed her name: Sister Frivulia. Then she went to visit the soldiers who’d been gravely wounded in combat to give them reassurance. Some of them had had their limbs amputated with saws or lost their eyes; others were racked with fever, and others had lost their minds entirely, howling like wolves in the night. But Sister Frivulia did not fear the horrors of war, for she knew that the Lord was just and that He would whisper to her the words of comfort those poor men needed to hear. Before turning out the lights, she returned to visit the Yugoslav soldier. He was sleeping soundly, snoring under his sheet. She worried for him, hooking the chart to his bed and leaning over to kiss him on the forehead. “Do not worry,” she whispered. 

Alan Alfredo Geday