Rock Me Gently Read Online Free PDF Page B

had to answer her immediately, but the what’s-it’s vacant now if you’re still in need of it, child.” , Everyone burst out laughing again.
    We returned to our polishing. My hands were getting sore from holding the boot and brush so tightly as I scrubbed. Ruth held her nose over a pair of boots complaining that if Jesus had washed twelve pairs of the nuns’ feet instead of the disciples’, the crucifixion would have seemed like a pushover. Janet put a gleaming pair of boots back into the pigeonholes, and pulled out another pair. ‘Come on, Frances, sing something for us.’
    ‘Yes, c’mon, Frances, c’mon!’ eager voices seconded this, and Frances needed no further bidding. She put her boot down and began to sing in a voice of pure silver. I felt my eyes widen as the brush slowed and stilled in my hand. She sang with her eyes closed, sitting back on her heels. ‘Magnificat . . . anima mea . . .’
    The mysterious song soared and echoed between the narrow walls. Her voice rose and fell and caught in her throat with such pure sadness that I was surprised not to see tears running down her face. As she sang, the other girls stopped polishing, basking in the melancholy song.
    ‘What’s that she’s singing?’ I whispered to Janet. I wanted to know.
    ‘The Magnificat. We sing it in the choir, don’t you know it?’
    I took a deep breath, blew out my cheeks and puffed. ‘No, I don’t understand the words.’
    Janet looked momentarily puzzled. ‘Well, that’s because they’re in Latin. We don’t understand them either.’
    Frances stopped singing. Turning to me, she said all in a flood: ‘Deposuit potentes de sede, et exaltavit humiles. Esurientes implevit bonis: et divites dimisit inanes ...’ *
    How could she do that? How was that done? How could anyone reel off the words so quickly and confidently? It sounded magical.
    ‘Yes, but what does it mean?’
    ‘Well, the nuns don’t tell us that, do they? But I know it off by heart,’ said Frances.
    ‘Sing it again,’ I said.
    ‘Yes, out with it again,’ the other girls demanded.
    Frances grimaced and rolled her eyes. Then she opened her mouth and her voice rose loud and proud through the hush of air. It sounded better the second time. It soared; a bird, it held its flight. It tugged at something deep within me. I turned away to put more polish on my brush to hide the tears she brought to my eyes.
    Frances finished on a high, wavering note.
    ‘Well sung!’ Everyone clapped. Clap-clip-clap. Her song finished, Frances’s voice turned matter-of-fact again. ‘Someone else, now. Ruth?’
    One by one they took their turn to sing a song. They sang ‘Greensleeves’, ‘Ave Maria’, ‘Danny Boy’ and lots of other old ones. Whenever a song had a chorus the other girls picked it up until a full choir of voices was singing. The songs were sad, the voices thin. I was too shy to join in, and terrified that they’d pounce on me to sing something. I stared down at the boots I was polishing, stiffly humming and nodding my head as though I were having a wonderful time.
    ‘Now it’s your turn, Judith,’ said Frances.
    My stomach kicked in apprehension. I looked at the ten expectant faces surrounding me, all of them waiting for me to sing. Ruth’s eyebrows were drawn together in a smirk. I remembered Frances’s advice to fall in with everything. Imitate, I told myself. Act. Mimic.
    ‘Go on then,’ ordered Ruth.
    I struggled to my feet and closed my eyes. What should I sing? I opened my mouth and let out a wailing sound. My voice went up and up, thin and reedy, like a bird’s. I tried to imitate Teresa Brewer, but I’d forgotten the words to ‘Put Another Nickel In, In That Nickelodeon’. Improvising, my song had no beginning and no end. I felt a bit lost. I began in the middle and made up the words, moving my arms about like a sultry singer.
    I opened my eyes to several smiling faces rocking in time to my song. Ruth seemed to be choking badly. Then a