The Kingdom of the Damned

by Mario Garrido Espinosa

  Then Mario Toulon reconsidered a bit.

  “Maybe I should apologize. Is she your wife?”

  “Oh no! Joseph “The Bull” replied, laughing. “She...” And he stood up to admire her for the umpteenth time in his life, “...she's nobody. She is independent and I can assure you that she does what she wants.”

  “That’s weird! I cannot believe that a woman like that does not have a husband...”

  “So that's it. As far as I know, she had a lover who must have died in a storm in the middle of the sea... Although she still thinks he is alive and that, eventually, they will meet again. Because of that, she would be able to kill herself before another man touched her...”

  "What a waste!" The thief thought, with his usual stupidity and foolishness.

  "That's the way she is," Joseph said, scratching his neck. “She is the strongest woman I have ever met. Stronger than most men who have passed by my side.” He paused. “She is not look anything like the ones from our land, for example, so prim and so flirtatious, or so coarse if they are poor... You have to know her; otherwise, you cannot get to know if it is true what I say.

  The big man turned his gaze to the person lying on the ground, who, due to the great effort he had made in the last few minutes, was again unconscious.

  "The talk has not lasted long," he muttered, seeing that the conversation was over.

  Seconds later, the giant of the earring left the shack. Soon, he returned with a vessel full of seawater, as clean as possible. He emptied the container into the shell of the shellfish, which waved in relief, but then went on top of the embers left by the fire, from which some flame still came. After a while, he began to cook the seawater and it did not stop until the giant removed the pan, just when he noticed that the lobsters were turning a reddish color.

  CHAPTER 15

  Convincing an idiot

  1

  T

  he little time that the convent's occupations left her free, Irene Lopezosa spent it locked up in her cell, up on an old, ramshackle slope, looking through the small window to the outside, through the rusty bars. Right next to the walls of the building there was a path —almost never passed by anyone— and on the other side of it, the tall pines belonging to the Black Pine forest. In front of the cell, it could be seen a trough full of water. This made Irene hope that some rider would stop at some point, but always passed by or when they stopped, she was not there.

  After five months, Irene Lopezosa began to think, with uncontrolled rage, that her plan of revenge could not be carried out because the first step would never come true. Then a man with huge waxed mustaches brought his white mare with spots to the trough.

  Irene Lopezosa was totally unprepared, because nothing ever happened. Even so, she knew how to react and threw a pebble at the water, although she hit the rider on the nape of the neck, just as he was removing the sweat with the sleeve of his fine camisole. The nerves made her fail because for days she had rehearsed with other stones, until she got none outside the pool of water. She collected these stones from a small arsenal that she had been extracting from the paved floor of her cell, using as tool one of the iron crucifixes that hung on the wall. The cross, from scratching it on the floor, remained in the fifth part of what it was at first. The hole produced by the excavation, as well as the little mountain of stones, were hidden under the uncomfortable bed that had given her so many sleepless nights.

  The mustachioed looked in the direction in which the pebble had come and saw, with the greatest of astonishment, as through a window, a nun moved her arms between the bars.

  “Something wrong?” He asked, as he brought his docile mare to the wall.

  “Do not shout, sir!” Irene Lopezosa warned, trying to prevent the other sisters from listening to the man. She did not want to take risks, even though she knew that it was very difficult for the rest of the convent dwelling women to find out about something that happened in her cell, since their dwellings were located on the opposite side of the building. In fact, the images and crosses had been stored in that little room, because they were old, were no longer used or perhaps because of grief or nostalgia, they were not eliminated. When Sir Higinio sent Irene there, that room was conditioned for the new inmate, cornering even more all that waste material. And so, still piled up in a corner, two iconographic representations divided in half, showing Holy Katherine from Alexandria and Holy Ines, collected dust. There was also, in the most absolute oblivion, the Helpless Virgin image with her head brutally decapitated by a clash against the ground, a Portuguese carving of St. Peter in which the hand was missing, where the keys must have been and two half-erased paintwork, made with hand-made paints, which had now been half diluted giving inopportune ghostly nuances to the canvases. In their good times, they had to represent, in a lot of detail, Holy Ursula with the eleven thousand virgins and Jacob’s dream.

  "Good sir, I would like you to come up to make love with this body that man has never known," Irene Lopezosa said, going straight to the point.

  “Holy God!” the man with the mustache exclaimed.

  “Don't panic, gentleman. It may seem strange to you.”

  “If it seems weird! For the Holy Cross! But you are a nun, how could you have proposed such a thing to me?”

  “I'm not really a nun...”

  “You are”

  "No, it's the truth," she said quietly.

  “Well, much worse then... Besides, if I'm not mistaken, there's closure here. I should never have spoken with you.”

  “Wait, let me explain...”

  Nevertheless, the rider departed like a soul carried by the devil, spurring wildly on his noble mare. Undoubtedly, he was afraid lest some spy of the Holy Office call him a heretic for chatting with a cloistered nun, thus attracting her to the corrupt outside world.

  Irene could not help but emit a cry of rage, while showing the veins of her entire body about to explode. Shee had been too direct. No man ever resisted her when she asked them, clearly and with no qualms, to make love with her. It was almost always enough for the man to imagine her impressive figure, her large, straight breasts, her flat stomach, her round thighs... but now she was disguised as a nun and behind the walls of a convent. Next time she must be more skilled and take advantage of all the weapons of her anatomy. She must have managed to show her phenomenal body.

  Later, when the anger passed, she feared that some sister had heard her scream, but nobody showed signs of it.

  2

  "Sister Irene, I've decided to name you as an assistant in the kitchen," Sister Lorenza Justinian told to Sir Higinio's daughter one morning in May. “Given to your flawless behavior, I think it is the most appropriate. This is a position of responsibility. More than the one you have had so far in the garden. I hope you know how to appreciate it.”

  "Will I be under Sister Cipriana's orders?" Irene asked with horror.

  “Exactly. You must feel very happy, sister. Thanks to Sister Cyprian, you will learn many useful things and, in a few years, maybe you will be the new head chef.”

  "But I do not want to take away Sister Restitute’s position," Irene said, trying to get the superior to leave her with her current job.

  “It is very humble for you, Sister Irene, to think of poor Sister Restitute. The job is over for her. I have decided today. She has been the assistant for sixty years and has outlived several female head chefs. I do not know how old she is, but I guess she is more than a hundred years old. The poor thing is very old and you can see it little in the kitchen. She is usually sick in bed and Our Lord has seen fit to pay her for all the services rendered in her life as a nun, leaving her almost blind, so that she does not have to see the atrocities of the world and of men.”

  Irene wondered how Sister Restitute had been able to see something from the outside while her whole existence was locked in a convent. The sister superior continued:

  “Sister Cyprian needs someone who can always be available. You are ideal for your youth.”

/>   That turned out to be a terrible blow for Irene. Cooking every day for the sixteen nuns, including herself, who formed the congregation, was a task for titans.

  At first, she hoped to get hold of one of the kitchen knives. In particular, one made it ideal for accelerating the revenge plans that her astute ailing mind had devised many months ago. However, Sister Cyprian, the human mountain chef, kept them under lock and key, using only her, with the superior's license, because in the end those tools needed in the kitchen could become the Evil One’s most terrible tools.

  Sister Irene had to learn basic notions of gastronomy, since she had not set foot in a kitchen in her life. In fact, she was shocked to see the amount of components that had some dishes that, when she ate them before developing her new occupation, she had thought they were simple. She discovered ingredients that had never imagined existing, despite having tasted them on multiple occasions mixed with others, in her father's mansion and in the convent. She pelted potatoes until her hands were wrinkled, she cleaned pulses and vegetables as if for a regiment of halberdiers, she cooked in pots and pans as big as the fountain in the cloister... and over time she managed to have some mastery in the culinary art.

  One of the nuns who most hated Sister Irene was Sister Cyprian, and having to spend many hours of the day with her, and on top of her orders, took her out of her wits. Sister Cyprian also did not hold Sister Irene in high esteem, so, with the excuse of instilling tricks and useful teachings, she made her work more hours than usual, in the kitchen and outside of it.

  "Almost every week there is little to do in the kitchen on this day," said Sister Cyprian on a certain occasion. “From now on you will dedicate Thursdays to the task of candles.”

  “What is the task of candles?” Irene asked, expecting an absurd and heavy task.

  “We call this all the work that must be done with the candles of the convent.”

  "But that has nothing to do with the kitchen," she protested.

  “It is true, but I have spoken with the superior sister and it is good that you are the one in charge. You are young and must channel all your energy towards the good of the community.”

  “And what should I do?” Irene asked, tired of the fact that under the pretext of being the youngest, she was always the best person for all chores.

  “It is very simple: you will put a few grains of salt in the base of the flame of each candle so that it takes longer to consume...”

  “But there are hundreds of candles scattered everywhere.”

  “Exactly two hundred and forty-two. That is why you will dedicate all Thursday if necessary," Sister Cyprian replied quietly. “Besides, you will change the candles almost consumed by new ones. The remains of the candles will be kept for rubbing in the drawers of the kitchen furniture and the office of the sister superior when we ask for it. This way you can slide it better.” The sister's eyes twinkled and she smiled evilly. “When placing new candles, keep in mind that, in general, they do not fit in the support. You already know that they are usually, in addition to heavy and unwieldy, also very thick.” Her eyes shone again. “In this case boil water and introduce the candle there, checking from time to time if you can adapt it to your support... Have you understood everything?”

  “I have. I think so," Irene Lopezosa replied resignedly.

  "Well, in any case I will supervise your work every Friday," Sister Cyprian said, making it clear that she would not allow Irene to neglect the candle task. “You know where we keep the ladder. Start”

  3

  One cold morning, before going to the kitchen, Irene Lopezosa had to spray the three old cupboards of the Sister superior's office with black peppercorns. "That's how we'll put moths to flight," Sister Cyprian had said. While she was doing this task, she was thinking about the happiness she was going to experience when, once her plan of revenge had been completed, the sister chef was dead. Thinking about how she would give the worst of the end came to the kitchen. The sister was not there. She heard her speak right behind a door that was always closed. She approached it and looked through the wide eye of the lock. There was a large hall and another door that overlooked the Black Pine Forest. Sister Cyprian spoke with a man with a slim figure, delicate manners and long blond hair. His name was Bernabé Parrondo de Cachavera and a boy, who was not his son, accompanied him.

  “What are you bringing me today?” The sister asked.

  “Little thing. Thread and wool, small candles, soap, blankets...”

  “Of all that we already have. Do you have meat or fish?”

  Bernabé Parrondo approached the convent once every two or three weeks and was, without any doubt, the only man to step on the premises. He only dealt with Sister Cyprian and it was always quickly.

  "I have a freshly killed lamb," the merchant said, who, oddly enough, was not armed.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, Have I ever cheated on you? They sacrificed it an hour ago at the most!” Bernabé exclaimed, while he smoothed his hair to be combed perfectly, which seemed very important to him.

  “It's okay. I will keep the lamb. Give me also three sacks of potatoes and the flour, sugar and salt that you carry.”

  “Great! You will leave me without merchandise, Sister. Anything else?”

  “No. Today I can give you lettuce and apples. If it's okay, I'll send some sister to rip out the lettuce in the garden and get clean some apple trees.”

  Irene sensed that the nun in charge of doing this work was going to be her.

  “Don’t. I do not want lettuce and apples. I see in that corner you have some sweets and liquor. I could take everything.” Irene understood that those pastries and sugar-sweetened breads were those that she had made, and they always disappeared from the kitchen the next day without having been consumed in any of the meals. “But, you have, indeed, to add some embroidery of what you do. That is enough for me.”

  “You know that our embroideries are from the Virgin and we do not want you to sell them.”

  "And I'm so tired..." Bernabé said without thinking. Then he corrected, "I'm tired of telling you they're for me. Fernando, go to the wagon and bring the embroidery," he ordered the boy, giving him a nice pat on the buttocks without the slightest hesitation.

  Sister Cyprian did not seem to care much about the behavior of the seller.

  While the boy was searching in the wagon, Bernabe stretched and hollowed out his suit, —which was expensive, good, clean and bright—, to make him more lucid.

  "Here Juanita," the kid said, also without thinking when he brought the embroidery.

  The merchant elbowed him with concern and then took what he offered. The nun head chef did not notice the detail, or simply did not care.

  "Inverted piglets," whispered Irene Lopezosa, who had never liked men who were so effeminate. Then she thought that it had a certain logic that a person of the masculine gender, who had this condition, was the only one in being able to enter the convent.

  Sister Cyprian, after verifying that the three embroideries were indeed those that they had made in the congregation, finally accepted the deal. From her habit, she took one of the Blessed Virgin Mary of all the Faithful Dead praying on her knees and was adorned with a kind of frame that represented sparrows, robins and roses. Sister Graciela had done it. For this, she had used a rectangular frame, a needle topped by a hook and an untold amount of patience.

  “Do you like this one?”

  “Very much. It's beautiful," he said smiling, while adopting with his body a pose certainly mannered.

  After the exchange of goods, Bernabé left and Sister Cyprian closed the door that led to the outside. Then she went into the kitchen and seeing Sister Irene inactive ordered her:

  “Get all that into the pantry.”

  Irene Lopezosa carried the heavy, bleeding lamb on her shoulders. The strong smell stirred her stomach and in one of the arches, she almost nearly thrown up.

  4

  Irene Lopezosa passed a year failing on th
e rare occasions when she wanted to get a man in her cell, until finally a boy brought two cows to the trough. He was red-haired and of normal height. He had no beard, but the fluff that forms before. His face resembled of very few years a boy’s, even though he had already turned seventeen. A boulder thrown awkwardly went to one of the two animals, who moaned complaining. The boy turned around and sighted Irene Lopezosa with her arms in motion, through the bars.

  "Listen," Irene said when the teenager was close. “I have something to tell you and I hope you are discreet, because it is something very important to me.”

  The boy was not surprised, but he was silent. Meanwhile, Irene uncovered her head, throwing the white wimple on the ground and touching it. Her face appearance retained enough of the yesteryear beauty, despite the severe haircut. Many times, she had regretted it, seeing those happy days when she looked extravagant, huge and baroque fontange hairstyles, where all the hair was gathered at the top of her head and held by metal ties and rods, which she knew how to decorate like no one else, with loops, ribbons and feathers, sometimes leaving the top of her head like a spring garden.

  Today, all she could do was cup her short hair with her hands. After that, she got to look like a disheveled man, instead of an insinuating woman.

  “I think you're a good boy and I'll give you a secret: I'm not chaste.”

  The full of freckles boy looked in all directions half hallucinated. He did not know why the nun told him all this and why the whole head had been left on the air.

  “Sister, what do you want?”

  “Let me ask you a question: Are you a virgin, right?” Irene Lopezosa asked before her interlocutor reacted.

  The kid, after such a question, could not articulate a word.

  “I suggest you go to my cell. I will make you the happiest of men...”

  "I do not ..." the confused boy interrupted. “I cannot...”