‘My lips would have given you the same answer.’
‘Who knows?’ the doctor said. ‘Sometimes malaria impairs the brain.’
With a stubbornness that defeated his reassurances, she insisted that they could no longer be friends or even work together, for she could not look at him again knowing that when he was examining her he was thinking of other things than the health of her liver. And so, with a heavy heart, she decided to leave the mission, although he offered to go instead. A month later she was back in Europe, where she joined the convent of Our Lady of Mercy and gave herself over to her perpetual mourning, which only ended the day she held the orphan in her arms.
In the evenings, when she retired to her room, her mind always drifted to the past. As soon as she blew out the candle on her bedside table her room filled with the armies of demons she had read about in the medieval books kept in the library: demons of fate, goblins, incubi, familiar spirits which offered to serve her, shape-shifting spirits which crept into her room through the cracks in the door and tried to possess her. A couple of times a year, she still suffered from sudden shivering followed by high fever, and then sweating which finally brought down her temperature and left her feeling exhausted. It felt like malaria but she could not believe that she still suffered from a disease which she had caught so long ago. Instead she thought that it too must be another battle in the unending war between angels and demons over her tormented soul.
Sister Ana’s theories upset Sister Beatriz. She left the other nun’s room trembling from what she had heard about satanic ceremonies and blood sacrifices. She had listened with dismay before starting to say that she did not believe in all that, but Sister Ana had looked at her with suspicion and so Sister Beatriz had rushed to reassure her that she was on her side in her fight against the Mother Superior. She walked in the dark, keeping close to the wall and counting the doors along the loggia until she came to her room. She locked the door behind her and dropped onto her bed without taking off her habit. On the afternoon she had spotted Sister Ana searching in the courtyard, a sense of foreboding had driven her to follow the older nun from a distance across the grounds of the convent. Her intuition had proved correct. She had seen her pick up the bloodied cloth that the dog had dug out of the ground. She continued to shadow her and a few days later, holding her breath behind one of the pillars in the cloister, she saw Sister Ana walk into the derelict school for novices. She wanted to know what the other nun had discovered, but had been unprepared for the incredible theories that Sister Ana had just confided to her.
She stayed in bed all night, but did not manage to get a moment’s sleep. She could not get what she had heard out of her mind. The silence turned every noise into a portent: the creaking of the floorboards, the windows rattled by the wind, the calls of the owls. A sinister thought made her shudder: perhaps Satan was truly in the convent and would not go away until he had destroyed them all; he had not been summoned by dark ceremonies, as Sister Ana imagined, but by the arrival of an innocent baby. She began to see how it could have happened. She always thought of the Mother Superior as a sensible woman and benevolent leader, but had struggled to explain her behaviour since the discovery of the newborn. The Mother Superior did not simply want to keep it, but had gone much further than that: she behaved as if the child were hers and doubted the loyalty of the nuns who, apart from Sister Ana, wished to help her.
When the bell rang in the middle of the night, Sister Beatriz lit her lamp and went to nocturns, where the Mother Superior led the prayer with the child in her arms. The same thing happened at dawn and again at prime, so Sister Beatriz decided to speak to her and try to make her see sense. She found the Mother Superior in her room, sitting at a window and soaking up the sun. After a night of having tried to carry out her religious duties and at the same time take care of the child, she was tired and melancholy. Sister María Inés made a vague gesture and the young nun approached and bowed. She said: ‘I have come to offer you my help, Mother.’
The Mother Superior looked at her through her lethargy. ‘Very kind of you,’ she said. ‘But everything is under control.’
The cradle was in a corner of the room. Sister Beatriz walked up to it and looked at the sleeping child. The Mother Superior shut her eyes and leaned her head against the window. When the young nun turned round and saw her, she said: ‘Mother, you seem very tired.’
The Mother Superior opened her eyes again. ‘I am fine.’
‘Let me help you with the baby.’
‘No. I can take care of him alone.’
The nun looked straight at her. The Mother Superior’s white habit glowed in the sun but her black veil obscured her face like a shadow. Sister Beatriz said: ‘But, Mother—’
‘Be quiet. The child is asleep.’
They did not speak for a while. Suddenly the Mother Superior said: ‘You might think that I have lost my mind, Beatriz…But I have thought carefully about this. The Blessed Virgin did not conceive Our Lord in the normal way. Yet she is still his mother, is she not? God entrusted His son to her. In the same way, I have assumed responsibility for this orphan–with great humility.’ She crossed herself and added: ‘The child’s coming is an act of Divine Providence, Beatriz. I do not intend to explain to you why, for it is a matter between God and me. But do believe me when I say that I have no doubt about it whatsoever.’
Sister María Inés stopped and listened to the child breathing. He slept wrapped in a blanket while all round him hung the charms the nuns had placed to protect him from harm. But no charm could save her from her hallucinations when the icy winds that shook the pine trees on the hillside blew open the windows and announced the end of the world. In her brief sleep the previous night, Sister María Inés had had one of her familiar nightmares. She had heard, coming from far away, the howling of evil spirits, the laments of hermits who had given in to sin, the chants from a witches’ sabbath where the servants of the Devil were dancing naked, trampling the Cross, eating the flesh of children and were being baptised in the name of Lucifer. Lying under her thin blanket and shaking from cold and fear, Sister María Inés had begun, with tears in her eyes, a long prayer to the Virgin and had not stopped until the light of dawn rescued her from her ordeal.
Sister Beatriz said: ‘Reverend Mother, I have to talk to you about a very serious matter.’
It was no secret that the Mother Superior hoped the young nun would take charge of the convent after her retirement. They often went on long walks, just the two of them, and discussed not theology but practical matters that had to do with the running of the convent. Over the course of time, Sister María Inés had come to admire the young woman’s common sense and unassuming manner, which did not show the slightest trace of conceit. She had never asked Sister Beatriz about her life before she had joined the convent of Our Lady of Mercy, where she was born or what her name was; she had only asked her to choose the name that she wished to be known by from then on. The young woman had shrugged and Sister María Inés had chosen one for her.
‘You ought to be careful, Mother.’
‘You are talking about Sister Ana.’
‘She thinks you are possessed by Satan.’
‘Ah yes, Satan. Do not mind her, Beatriz. What lies at the root of her attitude is not malice but her ambition. Perhaps I should suggest she move to another convent.’
The young nun sat down next to her wanting to speak but then lost her courage. The Mother Superior said: ‘If you have something to say, say it.’
Sister Beatriz told the Mother Superior about Sister Ana’s intention to ask the Bishop to intervene, but she did not tell her about the bloodied bed sheet or the evidence of strange goings-on in the school for novices. ‘Her purpose is to undermine His Excellency’s trust in you, and have the baby put in the orphanage,’ she said. ‘I think you should punish her, Mother. Otherwise who knows what the consequences would be for the child.’
The Mother Superior showed her scorn for Sister Ana with a smile. ‘I c
annot punish her,’ she said. ‘This is not a prison. You are all free to do what you wish as long as you do not break the rules of the Order.’ She stopped and looked in the direction of the cradle to check whether the baby had woken up, then resumed: ‘I have no doubt that His Excellency will see through her lunacy, but she could still cause a scandal that would ultimately hurt us. It is this I cannot allow. I do not want Lucía or you driving her to the city. Tell her that you are obeying my instructions.’
Sister Beatriz bowed. ‘It was my duty to inform you, Reverend Mother.’
‘You did the right thing, Beatriz.’
‘The problem could be solved by sending her away.’
‘There would have to be a formal inquest for that. I would have to write to the Superioress, who would then invite Ana and me to the capital to argue our case before her. You and the other sisters might have to give evidence too. It would be very unpleasant. Instead I am hoping that sooner or later Ana will go of her own accord.’
‘The child’s life may be in danger.’
Sister María Inés looked at the young nun with severity.
‘What makes you think so?’
‘She seems to be possessed without knowing it,’ Sister Beatriz said. ‘She goes round talking about demons.’
She added that in her opinion Sister Ana would not hesitate to act if she thought that she was serving God. The fact was that she doubted whether the baby was human, and therefore she might do something to free the convent of evil.
Sister María Inés listened, pouting. ‘Does she plan to steal the baby? Is there anything else that you know?’
‘I am only guessing. It’s my impression from having talked to her.’
‘I want you to carry on talking to her. Let me know everything she says.’
The other woman promised to do it. Then she asked: ‘Will you let me help with the baby?’
They looked alike in their white habits and black veils and the rosaries looped over their belts. The child stirred in his sleep and the cradle rocked a little. Sister María Inés looked at him. Her life was devoted to love, but how much easier it was to love the whole world than a single human being. The latter was, in fact, forbidden to them; their vow of chastity even ruled out platonic love. She said: ‘Very well. You can be responsible for his milk. I will show you how to prepare it. You should follow my directions carefully. Keep everything clean–hygiene is very important. Things that have no effect on our stomachs may seriously harm an infant.’
‘How many times does he need to be fed?’
‘The feeding I will do myself for the time being. You will be helping me. Also, you can wash his clothes and bed linen. I will still be changing and washing him myself unless I am occupied when all that needs to be done.’
‘You should let me take him out. The sun will do him good. All that mould can’t be good for him.’
‘But keep him well wrapped. Be very careful he does not catch a cold.’
The child woke up at that moment and the Mother Superior went to pick him up. She came back and sat down, cradling him in her arms. The young nun touched his forehead with her fingertips.
‘This is my private miracle, Beatriz,’ the Mother Superior said. ‘Never doubt God’s goodness.’
The bell sounded for the midmorning prayer but, entranced by the child, neither of the women moved for a few moments. The young nun was first to notice, and told the Mother Superior, who, holding the child, followed her unwillingly to the chapel.
The punishment of the two nuns was perhaps not as severe as it could have been, considering Sister María Inés’s fury. Nevertheless, it was unjust and hurtful enough to change the mood in the convent. Everybody still carried out their tasks with diligence, stopped their work every three hours to pray in the chapel, ate together in the refectory, but a shadow had fallen over whatever they did, and they had lost their cheerfulness. The Mother Superior noticed it and wondered whether perhaps she had treated the two nuns a bit too harshly, but did nothing to show her doubt. She neither called off their punishment nor moderated it, but hoped that the incident would soon be forgotten. A few days later, things were indeed beginning to return to normal, but then something happened that shattered any hope for peace between her and the sisters.
She had left Sister Beatriz in charge of the child and gone to midday prayer. When she returned to her room, she was pleased to find the young nun also kneeling in prayer, with the child on her lap and her head bowed. She had insisted that her assistant should not neglect her religious duties even when she had to care for the child, and had instructed her to recite the canonical hours wherever she happened to be with as much devotion as if she were in the chapel. The Mother Superior paused at the door and waited for the nun to finish. When Sister Beatriz crossed herself and stood up with the child in her arms, the Mother Superior shut the door. The young woman gave a start.
‘I am very pleased with you, Beatriz,’ the Mother Superior said. ‘Your assistance with the child is important to me and your absence from the chapel has not turned you into a heathen.’
‘I’m glad that I can be of help, Reverend Mother.’
‘One day I hope to repay you for all your kindness and good sense.’
She stretched her arms towards the baby and the nun obediently handed him to her. Sister María Inés told her when to have his food ready. The young woman bowed and left the room. In recent days Sister María Inés had been feeling a drop in temperature. Autumn was coming and soon the weather would turn and something would have to be done about keeping the room warm. Winters in the convent were bitterly cold. In the past, she used to welcome them with penitent spirit, but now she had to think less about her soul and more about the child. She opened a drawer in her desk and took out the box where she kept her savings. She counted the money and decided to ask Sister Beatriz to buy her a small stove the next time she went to the city.
She wrapped the child well with a blanket and went out for a stroll before it was time to feed him. There was no one outside: it was the time when the nuns gathered round the refectory table to parcel the altar breads. Sister María Inés walked across the courtyard, observing everything as if she had never seen it before. The bell tower, the chimneys, the gargoyles on the roofs, the stork nests, the faces on the statues of the saints in the cloister, even the moss on the flagstones and the peeling paint on the old doors fascinated her. For her the signs of decay were not simply reminders of the passage of time but the telltale signs of an undying remorse that trailed back to the Fall of Man.
A stork rising from its nest caught her eye and she watched it fly away with a few easy flaps of its wings. The birds would soon be leaving for Africa. In a medieval bestiary that she had found in the convent library, she had read that if a stork’s nest caught fire the bird would stay and burn in it rather than abandon it. She had no doubt that it was true and often wondered whether she herself would have the courage to do the same if it ever came to it. She wanted to be able to say that she would, but the choice she had made when she was young did not allow her to believe with certainty that she was capable of self-sacrifice.
At the refectory, she pushed open the heavy door just a crack and watched the nuns working. She could not hear what they were saying. She closed the door softly and walked on. Suddenly she had an idea and climbed the steps to the dormitory and walked along the loggia. There were no locks on the doors to the nuns’ rooms, a tradition that dated back to the early days of the convent, when a strict mother superior used to pay unannounced visits in the middle of the night to ensure the sisters were not violating their vows in any way. Confident that the nuns were busy in the refectory and also that the wooden floor of the loggia would give her ample warning if anyone happened to come, Sister María Inés entered Sister Ana’s room.
She never spied on the nuns, but this time she believed that she had to break her rule because the truth could be a matter of life and death. She paced round, holding the child in her arms. A strong smell of t
urpentine was trapped in the room, where the windows seemed not to have been opened in a long time. A canvas with an unfinished picture was on the easel. On a table in the middle of the room were painting brushes and knives, a large palette, many jars with pigments, a pestle and mortar. Sister María Inés did not know what she hoped to find–perhaps a diary, where Sister Ana had recorded her thoughts and evil plans, would be a good reason to expel her. She quickly admitted that her foe was too clever to make such simple mistakes. The gramophone was the only item that aroused her curiosity. She peeked inside its horn, gave the turntable a little push and flicked through the records of the language courses. On one of the covers it read:…a truly natural way of learning a language, a way you first, as a child, learned your own mother tongue. It was a confident statement printed in thick dark letters. She read on: The results of this method are astonishing. Under this tireless tutor, mastery becomes easy… As a child Sister María Inés remembered her father having an Edison phonograph that played wax cylinders–flat records had not become popular until some time after she had taken the veil. She put the gramophone records back exactly where she had found them and came out into the loggia again.
She had found no clue about Sister Ana’s plans. Perhaps, she thought, despite what Sister Beatriz feared, Sister Ana had no plan at all–just hate that sooner or later would burn out. The sky was scattered with clouds that kept the air cool but blocked only a few sunrays. She felt that she ought to ask God forgiveness for having treated Sister Carlota and Sister Teresa harshly. She entered the chapel, where only a few inches of daylight crept in past the vestibule. A few things could be vaguely seen inside: the crucifix, the large candlesticks, the altar table. The nuns celebrated Mass every Sunday, against the rule which stated that only an ordained priest could administer the sacraments. The Bishop, who could only visit one Sunday a month, turned a blind eye on the understanding that the Mother Superior would not consecrate the host. She had promised him not to do it but had disobeyed, every time, convinced that it was far more important that the nuns received the Body of Christ than obey a rule which Sister María Inés was not even certain had a basis in the Holy Scripture. Against a wall was the confessional. She gave it a cursory glance, thinking that she would have to be careful what she would tell the Bishop about the child when he visited at the end of the month. Then she knelt in front of the tabernacle and bowed her head in prayer with the child in her arm, and her eyes shut. She said: ‘O God, I have done wrong. I have been cruel to Carlota and Teresa. Please forgive me. All I want is to carry out Your wish and save this child. Only You know how important he is to me…I wish I could explain this to the sisters, but please help so that I do not have to do it. If I were expelled from the Order, it would be difficult for the child too.’
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