Aside from art, Religion was mandatory, as were the six other subjects. It had been quite a jolt for her when she started there. Even though she'd been raised Ukrainian Orthodox and was quite familiar with Ukrainian Catholicism because of St. Sofia's, the Roman Catholic tradition was even more different from the religion she was familiar with. She kept on saying things that made the teachers look at her in an odd way — like the day she mentioned in Religion class that she babysat the priest's children.
"Your priest has children?"Mrs. Reynaud had asked, her brown eyes peering over half moon tortoiseshell eyeglasses. "He was widowed and then became a priest?"
"No," responded Kat in confusion, "His wife is alive. She works in accounting at the Ford plant."
"You shouldn't lie," said Mrs. Reynaud sternly. "And it's an especially bad sign when one lies in Religion class. About a priest, no less."
Her face flushed hot as she remembered the giggles that rippled through the class.
The next day, Mrs. Reynaud asked her to stay after the bell rang and apologized to her. "I didn't know that Ukrainian Orthodox priests could marry," she explained.
Kat rolled her eyes in disbelief. Even Ukrainian Catholic priests could marry. Did this woman live in a cave? And it didn't sit well with her that Mrs. Reynaud had jumped to the conclusion that she had lied. As her grandfather, or Dido, always said, a thief always suspects others of stealing.
That first incident was still fresh in her mind when the second happened. The major Religion assignment of the year was worth 50% of the term mark. Mrs. Reynaud explained that they could use any medium that they wanted.
"A mural, a newspaper that you've written and designed yourself," she said. "Use your imagination. The theme is the crucifixion and resurrection."
Kat decided to do a papier mâché sculpture.
As the project evolved in her mind, Kat got more and more excited. Kat knew that she and Mrs. Reynaud had got off to a bad start and she wanted to prove to the woman how brilliant she was. Mrs. Reynaud had told them to use their imagination, and imagination was something that Kat had in spades.
Kat pored over the scriptural accounts of the crucifixion, and the image that burned in her mind was of the Virgin Mary at the foot of the Cross, mourning the loss of her son, and feeling the pain of her son. Kat knew how her own mother flinched in pain every time she saw one of her daughters hurt. She remembered how greatly Dido had suffered from the cancer that had killed Baba. Was seeing a loved one in pain worse than experiencing the pain itself? What must it have been like for the mother of God to witness her own child nailed to a cross?
As Kat bent and twisted the wires into shape and then mounted them onto the wooden stand, she felt love and pain and passion tingle through her fingertips and fashion the wire into unexpected shapes. She mixed the paste and tore the paper into thin strips, and as she applied the paper to the wire frame, the form that evolved surprised even her.
Once the rough image was formed, Kat left it to dry for a few days, and then she lovingly shaped it and smoothed it with a fine grit sandpaper, then painted the flesh tones, the blood, and the sky blue of the robe.
Her mother drove her into school on the day it was due because it was too awkward to take on the bus. Kat had the base nestled securely in a box, and the sculpture itself was carefully wrapped in a soft baby blanket.
"Don't I even get to see it before you hand it in?" asked her mother.
"You can see it when I bring it home," said Kat.
It was too unwieldy to fit in her locker, so Kat took it with her to French class and then to art class.
Mr. Patrick, her art teacher, was very curious at what she had been up to. She had already handed in a remarkably realistic clay sculpture, and an excellent pen and ink still life, so he looked forward to seeing her new works. She let him feel the shape through the blanket. "I can feel the head and the shoulders and a flowing robe ..." He looked up at her and winked. "Grade nine Religion is supposed to be the Crucifixion, not the Virgin."
Kat just smiled.
Religion came right after art, and when Kat walked into class, she noticed all sorts of projects sitting on students' desks. Maria had pulled together a last-minute newspaper that looked suspiciously parent-inspired. Another four students had worked together to make an impressively detailed mural showing the seven days leading up to the Resurrection. It was so big that it took up half the length of one wall. Other people had stuck to the tried and true: essays.
Mrs. Reynaud came over to Kat's desk and peered over her tortoise-shell half moons at the covered mound in front of her. "What do we have here?"
Kat could feel her heart beat with anticipation as she unfastened the duct tape that held the baby blanket around her precious creation. As the blanket fell from the sculpture, Kat caressed the back of it lovingly — a flowing blue robe covering the head, shoulders and back of a woman whose arms were outstretched beseechingly.
The outline of the papier maché sculpture resembled a classic standing, robed saint, but instead of the hands being held together in prayer, they were outstretched wide. A closer look revealed that the sculpture was actually two people, not one.
In the foreground was Christ nailed to a crucifix, but the crucifix itself was the Virgin Mary — an outstretched figure directly behind Christ. The nails in her son's hands pierced her own. Mary's head was held straight and high in the background, and her son's head was cradled in the crook of her neck, the thorns from his crown piercing the skin of her arm. His bare feet were nailed onto hers, and the wound that pierced his heart pierced right through her chest behind him. Christ wore a ragged loincloth, but Mary was naked with only her son to cover her.
"What have you done?" shrilled Mrs. Reynaud. "This is blasphemous." All eyes turned in Kat's direction. There were a few gasps of surprise, then chuckles of laughter, as some of the students realized what the sculpture was. The teacher quickly grabbed the baby blanket from Kat's hands and roughly threw it over the sculpture before more students could see.
"You're coming with me, young Miss. And bring that thing with you."
Kat stumbled out of her desk in confusion, feeling her face getting hot with embarrassment. She felt a dozen pair of eyes bore into her back as she gently lifted her precious creation and followed Mrs. Reynaud to the vice-principal's office.
Dr. Sage-Brown was an inch shorter than the shortest student at St. Paul's, but every inch of her was packed with authority. She ushered Kat and Mrs. Reynaud into her office and closed the door.
"What's the problem?" she asked in the manner of someone faced with a myriad of crises on a moment by moment basis.
"See for yourself," said Mrs. Reynaud, lifting the blanket from Kat's creation.
Dr. Sage-Brown suppressed a gasp of shock and delight at what stood before her. Dr. Sage-Brown could see why Mrs. Reynaud was upset with this sculpture, although she herself did not consider this blasphemous. She considered it brilliant.
"Let me deal with this," Dr. Sage-Brown said to Mrs. Reynaud. "Why don't you get back to your class?
Once the door clicked shut behind Mrs. Reynaud, Dr. Sage-Brown locked eyes with Kat. "Surely you knew that such a work would provoke that poor woman?" she asked.
Kat was taken aback. Deep down, she had to admit that she did know the sculpture would create a ripple of excitement, but she hadn't expected Mrs. Reynaud to be so upset. "She told us to use our imagination," said Kat defensively, reaching out and gently caressing the flowing robe of the sculpture. "Once the idea took shape, all I could think of was how wonderful it would be when it was finished. I thought Mrs. Reynaud would have no choice but to find it brilliant."