“More or less,” Ana replied with an awkward smile. Sister Josepha was obviously tired, and it would’ve been appropriate for Ana to leave at that point, but she remained where she was, her sense of propriety suspended by her worry. “I wonder what you would advise…,” she muttered.
“What was that, Ana? I’m sorry, my hearing isn’t what it used to be.”
Ana leaned against the wall, her small face contorted by the great suffering that made her look older than her forty-two years. “Sister, what would you advise someone who must choose between honesty and love?”
Sister Josepha’s eyebrows came together in a sharp V. “I’m afraid that I don’t really understand your question, dear. You’re going to have to be a little bit more specific.”
Ana tried to find the words to articulate the tangle of thoughts and feelings tormenting her, and all the while she hesitated, fearing that it was a mistake to have brought up the issue at all, but she valued Sister Josepha’s opinion greatly. “What if…what if the only way you knew how to express your deepest love for someone was to be dishonest with him or her, what would you do?”
Sister Josepha lowered herself down to the edge of her bed with a sigh and placed her cane on the bed next to her. “Ana, are you in some kind of trouble?” she asked, her lips pursing in nervous little spasms.
Ana shook her head, feeling suddenly faint. “I have a difficult decision to make and it’s hard to explain it all right now.”
“I see,” Sister Josepha said as she fingered the hooked handle of her cane. She took a deep breath. “Well you know as well as I do that under normal circumstances love without honesty is impossible, but my guess is that you’re not dealing with normal circumstances, am I right?”
Ana nodded.
“Then you should remember that with God nothing is impossible.”
“Thank you, Sister,” Ana replied with palpable relief.
“But you must be careful, Ana,” Sister Josepha continued. “If you’re contemplating dishonesty, then perhaps you are the one who is being deceived.”
“Yes,” Ana muttered. “I know I must be careful.”
“You know,” Sister Josepha said, smiling fondly, “when you left the order all those years ago, something told me you wouldn’t be returning, yet I had no doubt that you’d find your way. The same is true now, my dear. When life takes us beyond the path we’ve envisioned, we are reborn.”
Ana considered the older woman dubiously. “I hope you’re right, Sister,” she said.
Sister Josepha clasped her hands together and lowered her head for a moment. When she raised it again, her eyes were shining. “I know that it’s been hard for you to separate from the Trellis family, but perhaps the time has finally come for you to leave here and work with me in New Mexico.”
“You know I’ve always dreamed of working with you,” Ana said, allowing herself to get momentarily swept up in the thought. “Yes, perhaps you’re right. I’ll think about it and pray about it.”
“And I have no doubt that your prayers will be answered,” Sister Josepha replied so cheerfully that in spite of everything, Ana couldn’t help but smile.
Four
ANA WENT OUTSIDE TO collect Sister Josepha’s small bag that she’d left against the gate earlier. It had probably been too difficult for her to manage on the gravel with her cane and bag at the same time. As Ana walked across the garden, she became aware of the clear brilliance of the morning and the birds’ sweet chorus signaling that it would be a glorious day. Already the sun had risen high enough to settle itself within the highest branches of the oak tree, like a glowing owl watching her. In an hour or so it would hover over the camellia tree, but Ana didn’t intend to linger. She knew that Adam would soon be awake and she wanted to be by his side when he opened his eyes. The mere thought that he would wake and find himself alone was unacceptable to her, and she hastened her stride.
After leaving Sister Josepha’s bag by her bedroom door, Ana immediately returned to her beloved’s side. Sun spilled in through the open window, making the room far too bright, and as Ana drew the curtain she was startled by her reflection in the mirror. She stepped in closer, cautiously, as though approaching a ghost, and then all at once the illusion was lost. This woman with silver framing her thin face and deep shadows beneath her eyes was far too old to be her mother. Her mother had been a vibrant, sharp-eyed woman with astounding reflexes and strength to match. Ana imagined that had her mother lived to a ripe old age, she would’ve kept herself busy sewing dresses to sell at her store, and decorating the front window with the prettiest of her creations. She would’ve swept the front steps several times a day while waving to passersby. Perhaps this was her heaven.
Ana turned away from her reflection, realizing that she looked not only old but unkempt. For the last couple of days, she hadn’t left her beloved’s side even to shower. After making certain that he was still asleep, she quickly showered and returned with a pan of warm water and a washcloth. Adam hovered between sleep and wakefulness as she tenderly bathed, powdered, and changed him into a fresh pair of pajamas. He cooperated silently with what she knew had to be a great indignity, but she also knew it would be worse for him if anyone else performed this duty. He sighed when it was over, but Ana could see he was much more comfortable and alert, as he usually was after his bath.
He looked up at her with grateful and luminous eyes while Ana proceeded to comb his hair, marveling at the beauty of the silver threads gleaming through his dark hair.
“Am I going to a party?” he asked hoarsely.
“Yes, why not?” Ana replied, matching his playful smile. “And when I’m finished combing your hair, I’ll comb my hair as well and go with you.”
He shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid that to this party I must go alone,” he said.
Hearing this, Ana stopped what she was doing. He lifted his hand toward her in a gesture of sympathy, but he lacked the strength to reach her, so Ana came to his side and pressed her cheek to his hand.
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I say foolish things sometimes, and I’m afraid I’ll drive you away.”
“I won’t ever leave you,” she said. “I promise.”
“But you were eager to leave me once.”
Ana stood and resumed combing his hair. “I wanted to leave the situation, not you.”
“Because you were frightened of what might happen between us,” he said.
“Yes, I was,” Ana replied.
At this, his shoulders started to shudder, and Ana became alarmed that he might be having a heart attack. Dr. Farrell had warned her that in his weakened state this could happen. But when she looked into his face, she was amazed to see that he was laughing. The dear man could barely garner the energy for it, but his illness was unable to suppress him.
“What’s so funny?” Ana asked, forcing a smile, even though she felt like weeping.
“You are,” he replied. “When I think of how you used to look at me with those big round eyes of yours.” The smile left his face. “Are you still afraid of me?”
“No,” Ana whispered. “You know I’m not.”
Satisfied with her answer, he eased his head back down to the pillow and closed his eyes. His breathing grew steady and even again, and the muscles of his face became flaccid.
“As long as you’re with me I’m never afraid,” Ana said more loudly, but she couldn’t be sure that he’d heard her. She waited for a moment to make sure that he hadn’t just dozed off for a few seconds, and when it was clear that he’d fallen into a deep sleep, she arranged the blankets up over his shoulders and sat in her chair to wait until he woke again.
The taxi came to take me away from the convent as the bell for morning mass was ringing. Sitting primly in the backseat, I saw my reflection in the rearview mirror and was struck by how different I looked without my veil, like a grim prepubescent boy. I would dearly miss my veil. I felt wise and serene while wearing it, but obviously neither wise nor serene enough. I tho
ught of how smoothly I’d learned to walk through the convent corridors. My movements were always slow and deliberate, so that when I picked up a utensil or a book, it appeared as though the Holy Spirit were lifting the object rather than my mortal hand.
My only hope was that the next six months would go by as quickly as my postulancy and that I’d stand before Mother Superior more chaste, more obedient, and more committed to poverty than ever before. She would see the holiness beaming forth from my body like a light from within. Perhaps I would levitate before her very eyes as I spoke to her of my love for the Lord, or I would be blessed with the holy stigmata. With eyes filled with eternal sorrow I’d show her the bloody wounds on my hands and feet. Surely that would convince her.
I glanced at my bare head again in the mirror and was reminded of Sister Josepha on the night that we ran through the jungle for our lives. As on that night, my body shivered, sweat poured down my sides, and I was unable to calm myself with thoughts of holiness.
We’d been traveling for ten or fifteen minutes when my mind turned to the prospect of meeting the Trellis family and moving into their home. In my small suitcase I had packed basic toiletries, some undergarments, another blue smock dress (I was wearing the other one), two white blouses, a nightdress, and a navy blue sweater. In a soft voice, I rehearsed how Mother Superior had told me to introduce myself.
“Did you say something, Sister?” the cab driver asked, peering at me in the rearview mirror.
“No, excuse me,” I replied, embarrassed that I’d been caught talking to myself.
“Where are you from, Sister?”
“I’m from El Salvador,” I replied, happy for the distraction from my worries.
“Ah, Salvadoreña,” he replied, and he switched to Spanish. “I have neighbors from El Salvador. They were very glad to get out when they did. They say things are worse than ever.”
“People continue to suffer,” I sadly agreed.
“I hear that aside from the killings, they are stripping the jungles from the mountains and that when it rains the rivers are nothing but mud.” The driver flashed sympathetic eyes in the rearview mirror. “I sure hope you don’t have family there.”
As always, talking about El Salvador and thinking about the past filled me with shame and self-reproach. While other immigrants I knew relished every opportunity to talk about home and remember, for me it was very different, so I answered hastily that I didn’t have any family left and changed the subject. “Where are you from?” I asked.
“I am from Merida,” he replied, lifting his chin so that I could clearly see his murky smile accented by a few gold teeth in the rearview mirror.
“Ah, Merida. They say it is very beautiful there.”
“Yes, it is beautiful, but everyone is very poor,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Do you still have family there?”
At this he brightened up. “Yes, I do. My mother and father are still living but they are very old, and I have five sisters and three brothers, all with children of their own. I have so many nieces and nephews that I lost count. I think there must be about thirty of them.”
“Heavens, and all still in Merida.”
“Yes,” he said, placing his right hand over his heart. “I am the only pioneer.”
During the remainder of our journey the driver told me about the various sins that his brothers and sisters had committed. They included theft, extortion, and copious amounts of adultery and fornication. “I’m not sure,” he said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if my brother killed a man too. They won’t tell me because they know I’ll get angry. I’m the only one who isn’t completely lost to sin, Sister. I never miss mass on Sundays,” he said, looking at me earnestly.
“I have no doubt that God will reward you,” I replied.
He nodded happily. “I hope you’re right, Sister.”
Mother Superior had told me that the Trellis house wasn’t far from the convent, and before long the taxi slowed as we drove down a tree-lined street. We eventually stopped before an elaborate wrought-iron gate, such as I’d seen only at graveyard and church entrances. We turned up the drive and continued on until a grand house came into view. The driver whistled through his teeth.
As we drove closer, we could see that the mansion was of a Spanish style, reminding me of the elaborate haciendas that belonged to the coffee plantation owners of my country. It was flanked by many graceful arches and crowned with an elaborate red tile roof that reflected the soft glow of the morning sun.
All around us the garden exploded with color. Flowers of every kind glistened with morning dew, and the trees stood like sentinels saluting us. All was meticulously maintained. The flower beds were tidy, and the lawn was a flawless green carpet. Although much more expansive and elaborate, it all wasn’t so different from the convent I knew so well. I had no doubt that within this beautiful sanctuary it was possible to forget about the ugliness of the outside world. Thinking about it this way helped me to breathe a little easier.
The taxi fee having been previously paid, I thanked the driver for his excellent services and watched him drive away over the white gravel drive and out the gate, feeling as though I’d seen the last of a dear friend. With my small suitcase in hand, I became aware of the breeze on my bare scalp and exposed ears, and I began to shiver. Feeling smaller than a speck, I turned and walked toward the house, every step loudly crunching into the gravel. I knew that Mother Superior had informed the Trellis family I would be arriving early, but still I feared that I’d wake the inhabitants of this grand house. By eight o clock in the morning the sisters would’ve been up for hours, but this wasn’t the case elsewhere. I suspected that wealthy people slept in late, and perhaps missed the mornings altogether.
As I proceeded toward the front door, I tried to stand straight in case someone was watching me through one of the many windows. “Never assume that you’re not being watched,” Mother Superior had always told the novices, “because you are, if not by human eyes then by the angels and saints in heaven, who look down on us from time to time.” And so, mindful of my posture and focusing on how I would introduce myself, I approached the front door, a tangle of nerves.
I lifted my hand to ring the bell, but hesitated when I noticed that the intricately carved door looked like the entrance to heaven itself. My hand drifted away from the doorbell, and I ran my fingers along its multilevel grooves and valleys as though it were a mysterious instrument. Standing so close, I couldn’t make out what it was, but when I took several steps back, I beheld two beautiful peacocks with their tail feathers fanning out behind them. The smaller, more demure female was sheltered by the imposing male, whose great fan of glorious feathers enveloped them both. I’d never seen anything like it and I could’ve stood for quite some time admiring the artistry of the carving, but I couldn’t delay any longer. I stepped forward, straightened my shoulders, and rang the bell.
A series of deep melancholy tones echoed through the house, and I expected to wait several minutes before anyone came to the door. I’d sit on the front step and wait until noon if need be, but I wasn’t about to ring the bell a second time and risk appearing impertinent. Moments later, however, the door was opened by a gray-haired little lady with bright blue eyes that glittered from her ruddy face. She wore a blue velvet dress with a lace collar beneath a white apron, and white tennis shoes and socks. “Are you Ana?” she asked brightly.
“Yes. Sister Pauline, my Mother Superior, sent me,” I replied, completely forgetting my introductory speech.
“Well, I’m Millie,” she said, with a warm and welcoming smile. “I’m the official greeter, but when I’m not greeting visitors you’ll usually find me in the kitchen.” She opened the door wide for me to enter. “Please come in dear. Oh my,” she said eyeing my small suitcase with concern. “Is that all you brought?”
“Yes, but I don’t need much,” I replied.
Her face fanned out into a brilliant smile. “Very well,” she said. “Please foll
ow me, Ana.”
As she led me through the house, she spoke about how much the family had been anticipating my arrival, and how delighted she was that the convent had been able to provide them with someone. This helped me to relax a little, and as she chattered on I admired the hanging portraits of people I assumed long dead, and the massive dark furniture that loomed in the corners. The house looked very much like a church. There were several stained-glass windows as well, but they weren’t made with the typical church colors. These were more delicate, and I actually thought they appeared the way celestial windows should be—filled with more light than color. Against the whitewash interior of the house, shafts of muted color glowed everywhere, and as we walked down one corridor Millie’s gray hair changed from blue to yellow and burnt orange before reverting back to gray again.
“You’re younger than I expected,” she said, glancing back at me. “Flor must be twice your age. She’s the nanny who was here before.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. Was this good, or bad? “I’m older than I look,” I replied, deciding that in this situation maturity would be considered an asset. “But people think I’m younger because I’m small.”
“Really? That doesn’t work for me anymore.” She chuckled, and then stopped to face me, her happy mood suddenly deflated by a sobering thought. “Do you think you can handle an extremely willful child?” she asked.
“That is my gift,” I replied, embarrassed to have complimented myself so boldly. “That’s what they tell me, anyway,” I corrected.
“We’ll see,” she replied with an offhand shrug and then continued down the hall. “I’ll show you to your room first, and then Mr. and Mrs. Trellis would like to meet with you in the study. Teddy’s about somewhere. He wakes up very early. In fact, sometimes I believe the child never sleeps,” she said in an exasperated tone.
“Teddy?”
“Theodore, the child you’ll be looking after,” Millie said. “But everyone calls him Teddy.”
Vigil Page 7
