VI.

He never heard her laugh.

He recounted the various things he knew about her, almost making a mental inventory of the collection of memories linked to her that had been gathering for a while, and among them, her laughter was not.

Foolishly he thought that laughing was not allowed in a religious sister, that her life had only professional words, prayers, religious songs, and the occasional smile. He did not imagine that she could laugh, and scream, and give encouragement and little jumps that made her look like a girl.

God, she's almost a girl. He looked at his son and could not help feeling guilty, she was almost like him in size and laughed like him and was having fun playing her whistle and watching them practice for the three-legged race.

But he knew she wasn't a girl. She might seem so, but he knew perfectly well that she was a woman capable and full of courage.

"Come on, we have to practice again!" Timothy pulled him to the starting line. She laughed with a mouth full of white teeth like the sound of bells and played with the whistle between her fingers, while taking care that no one cheated.

Then he heard her cries of encouragement and for the first time in a long time, he felt happy. His son kept screaming and smiling, glad his father had time for him, and she was around, lighter, just laughing and enjoying the moment, without worrying about the routine in the little space between her eyebrows. There were other people but they didn't matter, he could see, in all three together, a picture similar to a family.

Of course he was in love with her. There was no point in denying it, lying to himself. He felt the stupidest man on Earth, of all the women there were, it just had to be her, the most forbidden and remote. Anyway, any man who had taken two seconds to observe her would also have fallen in love.

But why did he do it? Why did one day he think it was a good idea to look at her, try to know who she was? Why did he get into such a problem himself?

He couldn't find answers, only one that bothered him a lot: he started looking at her, that cold afternoon when she was the one with the voice of command in Nonnatus, when he thought she was too young to be there, because he had felt something for her so much before, but he didn't know. The feelings were latent, waiting to leave.

If not, why her and not another? All the nuns were a mystery, nobody knew their real names, or where they came from. If he wanted to elucidate mysteries as a low category Sherlock Holmes, why did he choose her, instead of any other?

All the questions led him to solve that he would love her that way, from afar and without disturbing her. He could live with that.

However, things did not go as he wanted. He could see a family with her and his son because hours before he had seen something in her that he never saw.

The topic to be discussed were the needs that could be met with the collection of the summer fair. He asked her, when he could have asked Sister Julienne, that she was also very aware of what was needed. But he went to her, because he liked her and because he was her friend, although he was sure she didn't consider him that way.

So he looked at her while he smoked, tempted to offer a puff, leaning against the counter and relaxed at the sight, calm with his feelings at bay. He loved her, yes, but he could work with her, just look at her, and everything would be fine.

Her accent was thicker when she was stubborn, and that seemed charming. She gathered and accommodated things, her voice had a touch of pride in talking about how capable she and the other women were to cope with what they had. Her white hands were busy with the boxes and he could see her thin wrists and a little blush from the heat and work of the day. He could see her all afternoon, with the sunlight bathing her and making her look ethereal.

He said a phrase that anyone could misinterpret, but she stopped, smiled at the floor, and gave up, starting a list of things that would be useful for the clinic. She even looked dreamy when talking about a water heater, making everyday things special.

He approached her without thinking. This was not in his plans, he wanted to keep watching her from afar. She mentioned that they heated the water so that he could wash his hands and the sudden thought she took care of him in this silent way made him get closer. She talked about spirit lamps and he took one, not knowing why, he knew them perfectly. She was very close, breathing agitated. She looked at the lamp he held in the hands, she was so close that he could, for the first time, notice that her eyelashes were blond. Maybe her hair was too? He couldn't think about it anymore, because she looked up and he looked at her.

In that look that disturbed him other times, he could see something clearly: he was not alone in this. That look asked for help, asked him to love her as he was loving her.

He could never feel more grateful to have a screamed and impolite son. If Tim didn't appear, he would have kissed her. Suddenly, loving her in silence was not a valid and simple path, not when he could see that she felt the same, not when he looked again at his memories and found other similar looks, and smiles, and sweet words. He would have kissed her, he was sure, and so he would have broken the "friendship" he had with her.

Sister Bernadette broke the contact, looked almost embarrassed and hid it by smiling at Tim, asking him about the three-legged race he had just practiced in front of her, who no longer seemed ashamed but happy with her life.

Of course, everything could be his imagination. He was ashamed to be an old man, who had seen so many things in the life, and suddenly to be thinking that a young and beautiful nun could love him. Marianne would have laughed out loud at him.

He thought since when Marianne's memory didn't hurt him cruelly, since when he could think in her laughter and not in her suffering.

Since I started the stupid task of observing Sister Bernadette, he answered. She, again, was helping him without knowing it. How not to love her?

However, he set out to stay away again, letting thoughts about her illuminate him, even when he was in his gray and depressing office attending to children bitten by rats.

He would only think about her, observe her, and that would be all.