The Convent: A Novel (12 page)

The Bishop bent down but saw nothing. ‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said and stood up again.

‘Maybe there is something elsewhere–in one of the other rooms. I searched them already but perhaps you could be more thorough.’

Bishop Estrada had seen that exasperation many times, that determined stony face, that relentless struggle against the rest of the world: a lost soul. He turned away and looked at the broken furniture and the plaster that was peeling away from the damp walls. ‘Let us go now, Sister,’ he said. ‘I have seen enough. It is a long time since God was last in this place.’

The nun stood up and cleaned her hands.

‘Could it not be one of the dogs, Sister?’ the Bishop asked.

‘A
dog
, Your Excellency? In here?’

‘Yes. One of the late lamented dogs. They were free to go anywhere in the convent.’

‘Yes, Your Excellency. But the mopped floor, the—’

‘Was it really mopped? No person in their right mind would come in here.’

‘There is blood on the sheet, too.’

‘It could have been lying buried for years. Besides, what does it prove? Do you have any idea whose blood it is? Has there been a crime?’

‘I believe it was a ritual, Your Excellency.’ And the woman added with fear: ‘A dog was sacrificed.’

‘Have you asked Sister Carlota if any of the dogs had gone missing? She will tell you–unless she is behind all this. But this is very unlikely, don’t you think? She loved those dogs like her own family.’

‘I am not accusing Carlota. The poor woman is innocent, of course. But there has to be an explanation.’

‘Perhaps you were a little too eager to draw your conclusions,’ the Bishop said. He patted her on the arm to temper his criticism and spoke in a tone that implied his last word on the matter: ‘Demons or not, it was right to let me know about the child. I thank you. Now I have to make up my mind what to do about him.’

He could tell that she was very disappointed. They walked with care on the unstable floorboards, keeping well clear of the holes through which they could see the floor below, and came out of the derelict building. The other nuns had gathered in the courtyard to wait for them. Bishop Estrada said nothing about the search. He thanked the sisters for their help and honesty, told Sister María Inés that it would take him a few days to deliberate on the matter of the child and drove off while it was still day. He could see the tiled roofs of the city when he realised that, confused by so many speculations, by the bitter venom of so many accusations and by his own desperation to get away, he had in fact forgotten that he had promised the Mother Superior to say Mass in the convent that evening.

F
irst to leave were the storks that had been born in the convent that summer, but Sister Beatriz did not realise the birds were leaving until, some days later, the older birds also began to join the flocks that were gathering in the salt-water marshes near the sea for the journey to Africa. They were taking off from the rooftops throughout the day, from early in the morning, when the nuns crossed the courtyard to go to the chapel, until dusk, each pair leaving together, heading south in a straight path. By the end of the week all the nests were empty, several days earlier than in any of the previous years. The nuns did not give it any more thought until Sunday morning, when the Bishop was late for Mass. Then they began to suspect that the departure of the birds had been a bad omen and gathered on the steps outside the convent to wait, afraid that something might have happened to him. Only the Mother Superior remained in her room.

It was almost noon when they saw a man on a mule coming up the road. He was urging the animal on but was obviously a bad rider and the mule continued to walk at a leisurely pace. When he came closer, the nuns saw that he was a young priest in a cordovan hat and a buttoned-up cassock, but the strangest thing about him was the stick with a carrot tied to its end that he held in front of the mule’s head. He stopped in front of the steps, got down from the mule and straightened his cassock in a self-conscious manner under the stares of the women. After he had rewarded the mule with the carrot, he took his hat off to the nuns and said: ‘His Excellency sends his apologies. It wasn’t possible for him to come.’

His name was Father Mateo and the nuns took an instant dislike to him despite his modesty. He had neither the Bishop’s importance of manner, which inspired respect and trust, nor his good looks and elegance. They looked at his pitted face, his long nose and big ears, which were exaggerated by his hair being cropped very short, and dismissed his humility not as a virtuous choice but as the inevitable fate of any ugly man. Without welcoming him, they asked after the Bishop and he reassured them several times in his timid voice that he was in good health, that as far as he knew his car had not broken down, that he had no bad feeling towards them but, on the contrary, loved them and missed them as always. Then he said that His Excellency had entrusted him with a letter addressed to the Mother Superior, whom his eyes searched for among the nuns. Sister Beatriz told him to wait and went to fetch her. When Sister María Inés appeared at the door of the convent, she was no more friendly towards him than the nuns. ‘You are not who you should be, Father,’ she said.

‘His Excellency has sent me on his behalf, Reverend Mother.’

‘But I assume that he did not tell you to be late.’

The young man had the easy blush of a Virgo. ‘The trip took longer than I expected,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t get the animal to go any faster. When I remembered the trick with the carrot it was already late.’ He searched his pockets and with a ceremonial gesture handed the Mother Superior an envelope bearing the Bishop’s coat of arms. ‘His Excellency asked me to convey his personal regards.’

Sister María Inés received the letter without a comment. She had waited for it all week, had dreamed about it while she slept, had thought about it with dread every time she led the prayers in the chapel. Keeping her calm, she tore open the envelope and read the letter in silence. The nuns observed her. When she finished she pursed her lips and stood for a moment deep in thought. ‘I see,’ she said.

‘Is it about the child?’ Sister Beatriz asked.

Instead of an answer the Mother Superior gave the nuns a quick paraphrase of the letter: ‘His Excellency regrets having to surrender his post of confessor to our convent with immediate effect. His demanding schedule does not allow him…et cetera. He believes the Reverend Father here will prove a more than worthy successor…and he is most grateful to us for our kindness and hospitality.’

It was unexpected because the Bishop had always seemed to enjoy their company. Looking at the young priest of whose abilities they already had a low opinion, the nuns wondered why His Excellency had made this decision that broke their hearts, and they concluded that it had something to do with the child. Sister Ana said: ‘We demand to read the letter ourselves.’

The Mother Superior looked at her with scorn. ‘I am not obliged to show it to you,’ she said, but handed it to her.

At the bottom of the page, below the typed text, a few words had been added in Bishop Estrada’s own hand. Sister Ana read them out: ‘As regards the matter of the orphan, I intend to inform you of my decision in due course. In the interim, I am certain you will continue to care for him with the commendable kindness you have shown him so far.’

She gave back the letter and left the gathering with an icy expression. When the bell rang a little while later, she overcame her frustration and joined the sisters in the chapel, where Father Mateo prepared to say Sunday Mass. It was the first time that he had ever stood in front of a congregation alone, and his fright was obvious in his uncertain voice, his shaking hand, the mistakes that made the Mother Superior sigh with disapproval.

He had been ordained only a month earlier and Bishop Estrada believed that he was a good choice for priest and confessor to the nuns despite his inexperience, or, rather, because of it: a discreet first post before he moved him on to a larger congregation that right now would be too testing for his abilities. Father Mateo had accepted his post without objections. His duties were to say Mass and listen to confessions at the convent every Sunday and at important religious celebrations. Bishop Estrada had reassured him that he would have no problems. He had said: ‘The nuns are very devout. But if you hear anything out of the ordinary I remind you of the Seal of the Confessional.’

‘Of course, Your Excellency,’ the young man said, astonished. ‘I am well aware of that.’

The Bishop fixed him with a fierce glance. ‘Good. Or else I will not hesitate to excommunicate you.’

He put his hand in his pocket and gave the young man a few banknotes from his wallet, less out of generosity than a wish to lighten the mood of the meeting, which had turned oppressive after his warning. ‘Here, Father. Buy yourself a mule that won’t die this year,’ he said and sent him away with a blessing and a final piece of advice: ‘Always do your duty and come straight back. Do not spend the night in the convent even if you have to ride in the dark.’

Sister María Inés came to Mass with the child in her arms. Father Mateo was not surprised. The Bishop had talked to him about the matter that was a headache to him. When the priest ended the service and walked towards the sacristy to take off his vestments, relieved that his torment had ended, the Mother Superior hurried up to him. ‘One moment, Father,’ she said. ‘You also have to baptise the child.’

The priest was unprepared for her request. He had received no advice from the Bishop about that. ‘I don’t think it’s possible, Mother.’

‘It is more than a month since he was born. He should have been baptised already.’

‘Yes, but I will have to ask His Excellency.’

‘Are you denying this child the sacrament of baptism?’

‘No, no, what I mean is…’ The priest looked at the nuns pleadingly, but they were silent.

‘Delaying the baptism may put his salvation in danger, Father,’ Sister María Inés said. ‘What if something were to happen to him?’

‘Yes, of course. However—’

‘You have no right to deny it, Father.’

‘No, no, of course not, Mother. I’m not denying anything. I’m only thinking that if we waited a few days…Next Sunday perhaps? By then I will have had the chance to speak to His Excellency.’

‘No, Father. You have to do it today. You are responsible if anything happens to this unbaptised child.’

Father Mateo nodded. ‘Very well.’

It was already afternoon, with a beautiful autumnal sunlight coming through the small windows of the chapel, when Sister María Inés unwrapped the blanket. The child was dressed in a white christening gown. She had sewn it herself and decorated it with satin cherubs and metal sequins taken from one of her old dresses, which she kept in a cedar chest scattered with rosemary and mint leaves to repel the moths. She had been thinking of this moment ever since she had made the decision to keep the child, but the need to baptise him had become even more urgent after the attack of the dog made her fear that something might happen to him and he would be denied salvation.

‘Where is the baptismal font?’ the priest asked.

There had been no need for one in a convent. The Mother Superior called Sister Beatriz and told her: ‘Fetch the baking tray from the kitchen.’

The priest pouted but said nothing. ‘The godparents?’ he asked.

‘Only one,’ the Mother Superior said. ‘Sister Beatriz.’

The nun returned with the tray from the kitchen and took the child in her arms without objection.

‘His name?’

‘Renato,’ Sister María Inés said. ‘The one who was born again.’

The priest poured holy water onto the child’s head: ‘
Renato ego te baptizo in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti
.’

Sister Ana had left as they started, convinced that the baptism was another part of the Mother Superior’s evil plans. The other nuns stayed. When the ceremony ended, Sister Beatriz returned the child to the Mother Superior, who asked Father Mateo to stay for lunch. Remembering the Bishop’s advice, the priest begged to be excused. He took off his liturgical vestments and put them away, asked for a carrot to set the mule in motion and took the road back to the city.

After lunch Sister Beatriz came to the Mother Superior’s room to thank her for making her the child’s godmother. But she was worried about the child’s fate. ‘Do you think we’re going to hear from His Excellency soon, Mother?’

‘I hope so.’

‘I’m afraid of this delay. He might decide against keeping him. Maybe he is waiting for a reply from the orphanage.’

‘Who knows?’ the Mother Superior said. ‘I used to think he was a wise man.’

‘The sisters all agree that he listened very carefully to them.’

‘I think he ought to have listened to what I had to say too. But at least he does not seem to be swayed by Sister Ana’s lies.’

They sat looking at the child dressed in the white gown. Sister Beatriz said: ‘I don’t think His Excellency likes us very much. Otherwise he wouldn’t have abandoned us.’

‘He likes us enough,’ the Mother Superior said. ‘He was our confessor, not our parent.’ In truth, she was as worried as the young nun. ‘Renato has no place in an orphanage. I promise you that, as I promise God.’

She could not tell when the child had become hers,
really
hers, but when she had stood beside the priest and Sister Beatriz at the altar that day for the christening, she had believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had given birth to the child herself. She believed it with absolute conviction despite its implausibility, despite the fact that no one else in the world seemed to believe it, and no argument to the contrary could make her change her mind. She knew, of course, that she had not slept with anyone in order to conceive, nor had she given birth after nine months of pregnancy; the child was God’s miraculous reward for her sincere remorse during all those years. She fed him when he needed to be fed; she kept him warm when he was cold; she had saved him when he had been in mortal danger and would continue to do so for as long as she was alive. She now tucked him up in his cradle and said with her back to Sister Beatriz: ‘You will look after Renato tomorrow. I have to go to the city.’