"Okay, we've got a date," said Gisele. "Since you are staying here, you can drive to Lourdes with me in the morning. You'll have time to
take the baths, and after that have lunch with Edith Moore. Okay with
you?"
"Okay by me," said Tikhanov trying to sound like Talley. "I'll be ready to go when you are."
• • • August 14
"What's it like?" Natale Rinaldi asked as she clung to Aunt Elsa's arm.
They were going into the hotel, she knew, but this was her first visit to Lourdes and unfamiliar territory.
"It says the Hotel Gallia & Londres in two places out in front, and it looks like a very nice hotel," said Aunt Elsa. She described the entrance, the reception lobby, and the public rooms beyond, then asked, "How do you feel, my dear?"
"It was hot outside," said Natale. "I could feel the heat all the way from the airport." They had taken the train from Venice to catch their plane in Milan, an Aer Lingus jet chartered especially by a Roman pilgrimage for Lourdes which they were allowed to accompany on the flight, although they were not a part of the pilgrimage.
"There are some people checking in at the reception," said Aunt Elsa, "and I think—yes, it's Rosa Zennaro, probably inquiring if we've arrived yet. Wait here, Natale, let me make sure."
Natale stood in darkness, and tried to remember Rosa Zennaro, her aunt's friend from Rome who came each year to Lourdes to serve as a nurse's aide and who had agreed to be Natale's helper after her arrival. Natale remembered Rosa vaguely, a tall, spare woman, maybe fifty, with straight black hair. A taciturn, competent woman, a widow
with enough to live on, and one not given to small talk. Natale felt safe in her keeping. Since Natale had come from darkness into darkness, she had to tell herself that early this morning she had been in Venice, later in Milan, and now she was in a hotel in Lourdes, a site of holy salvation that she had thought about unceasingly for the past three weeks. She felt safe in Lourdes, too. It was a good place chosen by the Lord and His Mother the Virgin to work wonders on deserving people.
She hoped that she was one of the deserving. She had never, in the last three black years, hoped for anything as much.
"Natale." It was Aunt Elsa's voice. "That was Rosa at the desk, and I have her here beside me. You met her a few times before your trouble."
"Oh, yes, I do remember." She put out her hand. "Hello, Rosa."
A strong smooth hand had gripped her own. "Welcome to Lourdes, Natale. I'm so happy you came." Natale felt the other's warm breath, and felt Rosa's dry lips touching her cheek, and she tried to return Rosa's kiss. She heard Rosa's voice again. "You've grown into a very pretty young woman, Natale."
"Thank you, Rosa."
Aunt Elsa broke in, taking Natale by the arm. "We mustn't lose any more time. I've checked you in and have your room key. It's number 205. I'd better see you up there, make sure your bag has been delivered, and then take off. I'll barely catch the flight back to Milan, and the last one to Rome. I did promise your parents I'd be at work tomorrow morning. But you'll be in good hands with Rosa." She tugged at Natale slightly. "We're going to the elevator now, Natale. It is to the left of the reception lobby when you come in, and beside it I'm told there is a staircase going down to the dining room. There will be a table reserved in your name, and three meals a day are prepaid."
Leaving the elevator, Natale felt Rosa take her hand. She could hear Aunt Elsa call back. "Here's the room, the fifth door on the left from the elevator."
Natale moved confidently up the corridor with Rosa, and allowed herself to be guided into the room.
"Is it a nice room?" Natale asked.
"Nice enough, and clean, thank God," responded Aunt Elsa. "From the doorway, there's a writing table and chair on the left against the wall. Just before the table, the bathroom. At the far end of the same wall, a bureau with five drawers, more than enough. The wall straight ahead has a good-sized window. On the right-hand wall, a closet with a clothes rack and hangers. There are two narrow beds pushed against that right-hand wall. I'll take the spread off the bed nearest the window,
the one you'll probably use, Natale. There's a nightstand beside the bed, and I'll place your travel clock on it. I'll put your suitcase on top of the other bed for now. I have enough time to unpack you, and put your clothes in the bureau and closet. I'll tell you where everything is as I put your clothes away. But Rosa will be with you every day until she brings you back to Rome. She can refresh your memory on anything, should you forget."
"I won't forget," said Natale.
It was twenty minutes later, Natale learned, when Aunt Elsa finished her unpacking.
"I hate to leave you, Natale, but now I've got to run. I'll see you in a week or so."
"Maybe in a week I'll see you," said Natale.
"I hope so."
Natale thought that her aunt's voice sounded doubtful, but she felt and enjoyed her aunt's hearty hug and kiss, and hugged and kissed her back.
"Aunt Elsa, thank you for everything—for the wonderful time in Venice, for going to the trouble of bringing me here, for getting Rosa to help me."
"God bless you," said Aunt Elsa and she left the room.
Briefly, Natale felt terribly alone, until she heard Rosa's voice nearby. "Well, Natale, here we are. Would you like to rest or walk about the city?"
"I'd like to go straight to the grotto. I'd like to walk in the city another time. Right now, I want to spend as much time as possible at the grotto offering my prayers to the Virgin. You don't mind?"
"Whatever you wish, that's what I'm here for, Natale. I think the grotto is a good idea. It'll give you a real lift. It's just a few minutes distance from the hotel."
"There's where I want to go."
"It's still hot out. Do you want to change those jeans for something cooler?"
"I think so. There's a silk print dress in the closet."
"I'll find it."
Natale heard Rosa walk to the closet. She said, "Rosa, this need only be a short visit. I'd like to make a longer one to the grotto after dinner—"
Putting the dress in Natale's hands, Rosa was apologetic. "Tonight I cannot help you, Natale. I'm sorry but I'm committed to report to the Hospitality Center every evening for an assignment to push a wheelchair in the candlelight procession. But I'll be available to help you
every morning and afternoon. Also, I'll skip eating with the other volunteers so that I can join you for dinner in the hotel. But right after dinner, I must leave you in your room and hurry back to the domain. You won't mind, will you? You'll have had a ftill day at the grotto, and after dinner you can rest, listen to your radio, get some sleep."
Natale hoped that her disappointment did not show. Putting down the silk dress, she unzipped her jeans and pulled them ofif. "Don't worry, Rosa. I understand. I'll manage." She would manage, she told herself, as she drew the light silk dress over her brassiere and abbreviated panties. She had learned to manage alone in Rome, and she would learn to find her way to the grotto and back alone every late evening. Difficult as it might be, she would not miss her nights of solitary prayer at the grotto. That was why she had come here. To be attentive to the Virgin. Yes, she would learn to do it alone. From the instant that they left this room, she would count the steps to the elevator, find the buttons to push for descent and ascent, learn the way out of the hotel, remember which direction to turn when she reached the street, and bear in mind each subsequent turning that would lead her to the grotto. She was adept at this, had done it before, and as an actress she excelled in memorizing.
"If my dress is on all right, I'm ready," she said. She felt Rosa's hand on her elbow. Rosa said, "We'll go now."
Leaving the room, Natale began counting the steps and storing them—so many steps to the elevator, so many steps after leaving the elevator and going through the reception lobby and the arcade to the Avenue Bernadette Soubirous. Turn right. Steps along the street to the comer. Stoplight. "There's usually a police station wagon, a red
car with a white stripe around it, and a blue flashing light on top, standing at this comer until ten in the evening, or if not the station wagon, then one or two policemen on foot," Rosa was explaining. Policemen, Natale memorized, to help her across the street to the other comer. Steps past Le Royale cafe, steps past more shops to a souvenir shop, very busy, called Sainte-Therdse/Little Flower. "Here we turn right and cross the avenue leading to a long ramp that will bring us down to the domain."
Natale continued counting and storing. Steps across the avenue to the ramp. Steps descending the ramp. "We are at the foot of the ramp now, Natale. To our left, a short distance, rises the Basilica of the Rosary, and around it to the right, on one side, is the grotto. Do you want to go into the basilica?"
"Not now, Rosa. I'll be attending Mass and confession tomorrow. Now I want to go to the grotto."
"Very well, to the grotto. We are passing the basilicas. Now through an archway beside the churches leading to the grotto area."
Natale walked surefooted beside her helper and friend, silently counting the distance to the grotto area.
"We are going past a bookstore that sells books and pamphlets on Bernadette. We are going past a series of spigots that issue water from the spring, then past a stand that sells candles. Next the grotto, and beyond it another trough with two more faucets, and then the baths with water from the spring."
"Stop me before the grotto," said Natale softly, as she started counting the steps again.
"Here, to our left—" Natale felt Rosa's sure hands turning her. "—is the grotto. There are many people before it on benches, chairs, kneeling on the ground, and some lined up further over to go inside."
"I want to go inside."
Natale counted as Rosa led her into line. With Rosa ahead, holding her hand and urging her forward, Natale walked hesitantly along, again counting.
Once, as they halted, Rosa whispered, "You are on the spot where I believe Bernadette knelt."
Natale nodded, and abruptly knelt, and prayed silently. Rising, she heard Rosa say, "You are inside the grotto. You can touch the inner wall of it with your right hand." Natale's hand groped for the wall, touched it, and realizing it was so close, she leaned over and kissed the smooth, cool surface. Feeling better for the act, Natale continued after her helper, allowing Rosa to guide her in what seemed a semicircle through the grotto and finally outside it once again.
"Do you want me to show you more of the domain?" Rosa asked.
"I want to remain here in front of the grotto and pray."
"There are free benches to the rear. In this heat it is better to sit when you pray."
Once seated, Natale found her rosary and gave herself over to intense prayer and contemplation.
She guessed that perhaps a half hour had passed when Rosa, who had left her alone, returned and said, "People are leaving for dinner. It is time to go. Fll take you back to the hotel exactly the same way we came here."
Natale rose to her feet and, her hand in Rosa's hand, tagged along after her companion to the foot of the ramp that led to the street above, counting, and climbed the ramp, counting again. At the top, pausing for breath, she was able to compare the steps made in her return to the
steps counted upon her arrival, and found that they were almost the same, differing by only several short strides.
Presently, they were back inside the reception lobby of the hotel, waiting at the elevator.
Natale felt renewed and enriched. In the darkness of her mind's eye she tried to make out the Savior and His Mother, the Queen of Heaven.
She heard Rosa addressing her once more. "We'll go to your room. You can rest a bit and freshen up. I'd better do so, too. Then I'll take you down to the dining room, and we'll have a good meal. After that, I'll bring you back to your room, and leave you. I hope you won't be lonely."
"I'm never lonely," said Natale with a smile. "I'll have enough to do."
Across the lobby, facing the elevator, there were two of them behind the reception desk and one of them was staring at the women about to enter the elevator.
The plump middle-aged lady behind the reception desk, busy with her bookkeeping, was Yvonne, the regular daytime receptionist. The other was the recently hired night reception clerk named Anatole, a husky young man with heavy eyebrows, close-set gray eyes, a pugilist's nose, and thick lips. A native of Marseilles, Anatole had been hunting for work in Lourdes and had found this job a week ago. He had just arrived to replace Yvonne for the night shift.
And now Anatole was staring toward the two women entering the elevator.
"That's the first one I've seen in this hotel all week," said Anatole, "that I'd like to fuck good."
Yvonne, who quickly had become inured to her assistant's coarse language, looked up from her papers to follow his gaze toward the elevator. "You want that old lady?"
"No, stupid, the other one. Her back is to you, but watch when she turns around in the elevator. The gorgeous young girl. She looks Italian. Ever see such tits?"
His hungry eyes feasted on Natale as she turned around inside the elevator to face its door. Hypnotized, he studied the small, extremely shapely young girl with her wanton long black hair, provocative dark sunglasses, pert nose, scarlet lips, milky throat encircled by the chain of the gold cross dangling above the cleft of pointed breasts, and the summer dress that seemed to outline every contour of her body.
"Yup, she's for me," Anatole reaflirmed. "That's the one I want to fiick."
Yvonne, staring after him, was appalled. "Anatole, are you crazy? She's blind."
"Who says you have to see when you're fucking?"
"Anatole, you're gross and impossible. And what you're thinking is absolutely impossible."
"Maybe," said Anatole with a shrug. "But maybe the Virgin's on my side."
It was early evening when the dirt-streaked yellow bus, with a card propped against the windshield reading espagne, rumbled through the streets of Lourdes and came to a grinding halt in front of the Gallia & Londres hotel.
Eight passengers disembarked at this first stop before the bus continued on to other hotels where the remaining passengers of the San Sebastian Pilgrimage were to be billeted. The last of the eight to disembark at this hotel was Mikel Hurtado.
He stood on the sidewalk, stretching his cramped muscles, inhaling the cooling night air, relieved to be free of the claustrophobic bus and his babbling pious fellow countrymen. Actually, tiresome though it had been, the journey from San Sebastian across the Basque frontier into France and then through the countryside to Lourdes had not taken too long. The ride had been no more than six hours, but Hurtado had been eager to reach his destination, do what he had vowed to do, and get out of the town as quickly as possible.
Waiting with the others for the luggage to be unloaded, Hurtado scanned the vicinity around him. There were pedestrians of every na-tionahty and age strolling along both sides of the thoroughfare, many of them browsing amid the displays of novelty and souvenir shops. Across the street, off to the left at the comer of an intersection, a massive gray granite building dominated the scene. A street light illuminated its name: hCpital notre-dame de douleurs.
Hurtado had no interest in Lourdes, except for the grotto. Having been raised in a Catholic family, he had always known something about the Lourdes shrine. He had no idea if the Bernadette story were true, and he did not give a damn. All he knew was that the grotto was Catholicism's major shrine, and that the Virgin Mary was expected to play a long-deferred encore here this week.
It had boggled Hurtado's mind that a revolutionary as hardheaded as Augustin Lopez, leader of the Basque underground movement, could actually have aborted the assassination of Minister Bueno because
Bueno had promised to negotiate Basque autonomy after the reappearance of the Virgin. Whether that peasant child Bernadette, in her day, had actually seen and conversed with the Virgin was of no importance. But to believe, in this day and age, that the Virgin would reappear in the damn grotto was too much to
swallow. Even if Lopez believed in the possibility, Hurtado could not. His determination to end Bueno's stalling tactics had not wavered.
Although his young colleague and sometimes bed partner, Julia Valdez, had tried to dissuade him from his purpose, Hurtado had gone ahead with his plan. He had acted out a charade for his poor, nearly senile mother. He had been infected by a revived religious fervor after hearing the announcement of the return of the Virgin Mary to Lourdes, he told her. He wanted to be on hand in Lourdes to witness the remarkable event. But to obtain accommodations in Lourdes, he had to be a part of an official pilgrimage. There was a pilgrimage being organized in San Sebastian, and he hoped that his mother would intercede on his behalf. She had been thrilled, poor thing, by his revived passion for Catholicism, and she had seen her parish priest and succeeded in obtaining a place for him on the San Sebastian pilgrimage. He would have to use his own name—something against ETA rules -- but he had never been listed by the police, and besides it was a small risk to take for so important a job.
Hurtado noted that his brown suitcase had been set on the sidewalk with the other luggage, and he quickly snatched it up and hurried into the hotel. He was ahead of the others in his party and went directly to the reception desk. Two clerks were conferring, a woman pulling on her sweater and giving some instructions to an openly bored young man.
Interrupting them, Hurtado said, "I was told to ask for Yvonne at the reception desk."
"I'm Yvonne," said the lady receptionist. "You caught me just in time. I was just taking off. What can I do for you?"
"I have a reservation for the week. I'm with the San Sebastian pilgrimage. My name is Mikel Hurtado."
She picked up a ledger, turned a page. "Hurtado, Hurtado," she repeated, running a finger down the page. "Yes. Here you are. We've been holding 206. It's ready. Let me jot it down for you. Anatole, get me the key."
Hurtado accepted the slip as Anatole went off to the key alcove at the entrance.
The Miracle Page 15
