I’m a Sheep, But Don’t Call Me Soft - Chapter 2

The children assigned to the sewing workshop had it a bit better. Children with nimble hands and good stitching sense, or children who received the nuns’ favor, were mainly assigned there, where the children took on the work of mending high-end dresses customers had left or weaving lace to attach to dress collars, cuffs, and such.

“You put a hole in high-grade silk? Do you know how much this costs?”

“Ahh! Please forgive me!”

Though of course, if you made a mistake, you were beaten everywhere except your hands and starved all that day.

But how could the convent’s sewing workshop handle clients with high-end dresses? It was because the convent was sponsored by a very venerable noble house, the lion house of Duke Leopardi. With the aspiration of wanting to go to heaven after death, House Leopardi sponsored not just this convent but many other charitable organizations.

Because of that, the golden lion crest was stamped all over the convent as if boasting of their good deeds. In the dormitory where dozens of children slept together, the laundry, the sewing workshop, even the bathrooms!

‘Do I really have to see this crest while I’m doing my business?’

…My story has gone off track. In any case, just because the situation was better than being assigned to the laundry didn’t mean it was easy to eat watery gruel like water and bug-eaten bread for more than twelve hours a day, or to get beaten until near death when you ruined the fabric sewing with bloodshot eyes and trembling hands.

But how could the convent abuse children like this and exploit them until near death, against its own faith? Children even died doing so, didn’t it prick their conscience?

But the convent’s pretexts were plausible.

The convent is the cradle of orphans, but it cannot be responsible for them up to the grave. When a child comes of age, they must leave the orphanage, and if a child cast out doesn’t possess the skills to earn a living, how would they survive in this harsh world? The Mother Superior, who had the lion trait, justified the children’s labor by quoting scripture every Sunday sermon:

“‘Pray as you work,’ said the saint who founded this convent. Our labor is not mere work but the learning of a trade that will take responsibility for your livelihood. It is service to God and a tool for the formation of inner freedom and discipline. Our convent is at once a refuge from the world and a school that teaches you ‘skills of self-reliance.'”

…And so, while the Mother Superior’s thick wrists were adorned with gold bracelets and her chest had ornate rosaries and necklaces with jewel beads dangling heavily, the children coughed ceaselessly and sobbed even while asleep.

And the rumbling in their empty bellies continued. Sometimes there were children who didn’t wake the next day.

Among them were friends who shared the same trait. But there was no time to shed tears when a friend died. Because there was work to do.

I suppose I was luckier than that.

Because my hands were more nimble, meticulous, and very fast compared to the other children, despite my defiant temperament of often talking back to the nuns, I was assigned to the sewing workshop. So from the moment I could form thoughts, I worked fourteen hours a day. Of course, that wasn’t all. Let me also say something good about the convent at this point. To borrow the nuns’ words, the Lord is “One who draws good even from evil.”

‘But there is no God. Because if there were a God, lightning should strike this convent first.’

At the convent, they taught not just basting, backstitching, shirring, and lace-making, but also how to read and sing. Why? Because House Leopardi would regularly and irregularly bring their children to inspect the convent and see the “poor orphans.”

‘They’re all brats who should be struck by lightning.’

On the days the lion family people came for their visit, the nuns would scrub us clean from pre-dawn, dress us in good-quality clothes worn only that day, and when the House Leopardi people arrived, have us read the Bible and sing hymns before them.

Then the Duke and Duchess, especially the Duchess, would dab tears with a lace-trimmed handkerchief and tremble with emotion. As if truly moved by divine grace. And to their child, a doll-like boy with platinum blonde swept back revealing a smooth forehead, dressed in a handsome tweed suit and frock coat, they would say, “When you grow up, you too give charity to poor children as we have done.”