The Convent: A Novel (18 page)

A long drop, a current of cold air and the heavy pull of the rope: light went out but she could still hear the tolling of the bell, first on its own, then mixed with screaming voices. Was it possible that she could hear all that? For a moment her heart beat with the hope of eternal life: she had been forgiven at the last moment. But then the bell slowly stopped tolling, the rope became tighter around her neck and she felt weightless like a feather. With the last drop of her senses, she could tell that
now
was, in fact, the instant when one passed through the threshold and joined the legion of souls, good and bad alike, which roamed blindly in the dark no longer plagued by memory.

Father Mateo had heard the tolling of the bell but not the screams when, a little while later, he knocked on the door of the convent.

D
espite its load and the difficult terrain, the animal climbed the slope without a pause, putting down its hooves in the gaps between the jagged rocks, which were wet and slippery. It had been raining all morning but Sister Beatriz had pushed on out of fear that they might be coming after her. She sat astride the donkey, holding the saddle and covered with a large piece of canvas that fell over her body and the baby, who was cradled in the sling tied to her front. The rain soaked the thick canvas and dripped down Midas’s back. Over her habit she wore her coat but it was very thin and she still shivered with cold. She did not wear her veil but a straw hat that was no good against the wind and the rain. She had followed no trail as often as she could, cutting across the forested slopes to make it harder for whoever pursued her to track her.

When she had gone to see Sister María Inés in her room to discuss the Bishop’s decision to give the child to the orphanage, Sister Beatriz had been surprised to hear the Mother Superior deny the bad news. The way the Bishop had spoken to Sister Beatriz in their meeting earlier that day, the tone of his voice, his detailed plans for the future of the child, his promise to look after him as long as she gave him up, had convinced the young woman that the Mother Superior had not been telling her the truth. So Sister Beatriz had observed her carefully, pretending to listen to her reassurances and trying to hide her mistrust, until she had figured out that the Mother Superior had been planning to run away from the convent with the child. Sister Beatriz had returned to her room and quickly decided to act.

They left the pine forest behind and began to cross a large plateau of red earth and rock surrounded in all directions by the peaks of the sierra. Travelling slowly across the barren stretch of land, she felt tired and lonely. Even a solitary bird of prey now circling in the sky made her fear that it might lead her pursuers to her. When she reached the edge of the plateau, she stopped and looked back in the direction she had come from; she saw no one following her. She told herself that it was unreasonable to expect that they would: the sisters could neither come after her on foot nor go to the city and call for help. She had made sure the damage to the Ford was impossible to repair with the tools at the convent. The thought calmed her down and she looked for somewhere to rest. At an abandoned mine she left Midas to chew at a thorn bush while she and the baby sheltered from the rain inside. The darkness of the mineshaft unnerved her. She took off her canvas cloak and stood listening to the rain a few steps from the entrance. Although the child was asleep, she unbuttoned her coat and, shivering, gave him her breast. He was used to it and began to feed without opening his eyes.

Outside, the rain tapped against the trees and the fallen leaves. After years in the daily company of the other nuns, she was now alone in the world. The ancient walls of the convent had protected her from the influenza epidemic but failed to save her from the machinations of love. The child came off the breast and she covered herself, put him in the sling and mounted Midas again. The rain had stopped when they entered an oak forest and began to climb once more. At the top of the highest crest, she stopped and studied the valley ahead dotted with villages, then pushed the animal in the direction of the village that was not closest but easiest to get to. Some time later she came to the first farmhouses and dogs came barking. She ignored them–she was more afraid of people and the Guardia Civil. She continued towards the pointed roof of the bell tower in the middle of the village. Somebody came to the door of a house and she greeted him casually, but he stared at her, saying nothing. In the square she got off the donkey and led him to a fountain where a mule was also drinking. Then she entered the church to rest and decide what to do away from the villagers’ stares.

She felt good in the bare, dark church that reminded her of the chapel in the convent. She placed the child on a pew and knelt down to pray. As soon as she had finished and made the sign of the Cross, a voice behind her said: ‘Excuse me. I believe we have met.’ She turned and saw Father Mateo standing a few feet away with his hands clasped inside the sleeves of his cassock. He added: ‘I’m afraid I can’t recall where.’

Sister Beatriz said: ‘No, Father. I don’t think—’

‘Ah yes,’ the young priest said. ‘The convent–isn’t that right? You’re not wearing your veil, Sister. Is anything the matter? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.’

She thought quickly what to do. ‘I am sorry, Father. I didn’t recognise you,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know this was your parish.’

‘Oh no. I have no parish. The local priest has fallen ill. They send me wherever I’m needed.’ He looked with uncertain eyes at the child sleeping on the pew.

‘This is Renato,’ the woman said. ‘The child you baptised.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Sister Beatriz took the child in her arms and asked: ‘Will you hear my confession, Father?’

‘Of course, Sister. Do you want us to do it now?’

He turned towards the confessional but she touched his arm. ‘We can do it right here, can’t we, Father? No one knows me in this place.’

‘Yes, by all means. The box is not essential.’

‘You’re very kind, Father.’ She unbuttoned her coat and saw that the young man looked at her white habit with a kind of relief. She said: ‘I’m no longer a nun, Father.’

‘What happened?’

Instead of answering him she began: ‘Bless me Father for I have sinned,’ and he immediately understood that she would talk to him only if he promised to reveal nothing. ‘Please go on, Sister,’ he said. ‘It is forbidden for a confessor to betray a penitent in any way and for any reason.’

She smiled at his solemnity, which was unusual for someone of his age, and felt reassured that she could trust him. Then, in a low but unfaltering voice, she told him about the child from the moment of his birth until now, talking in great detail about everything but without ever mentioning the Bishop.

‘This is a very serious matter,’ Father Mateo said when she finished.

‘I’m ashamed of breaking my vows,’ Sister Beatriz said. ‘But I regret nothing that I did once I discovered I was pregnant.’

‘Yes. I understand, of course…And the father?’

‘The father has nothing to do with it,’ the woman said sharply.

The priest blushed. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean…I’m not interested in gossip. If you thought that…I apologise.’ He quickly absolved her and asked her to recite an act of contrition.

When Sister Beatriz finished, she said: ‘Now I need your help with a practical matter, Father.’

‘My help? I prefer not to get involved with something that—’

‘I need clothes.’

‘Oh, I see. There is a woman who cleans the church once a week. Perhaps she leaves her work clothes here.’ He led the way to the storeroom, where they found an old dress. The priest said: ‘I’m afraid it’s not very clean and certainly not warm enough for this weather.’

‘It’ll do. I have a coat. It’s only for another day or two, Father–until I get to a place where I can buy proper clothes.’

He nodded, looking constantly at the door, afraid that someone might come and find them together in the storeroom. He walked out to let her change. A moment later she reappeared wearing the old dress and carrying the child in the sling. The priest felt awkward at her transformation: she was a pretty woman. She looked at him and said with a smile: ‘God has sent you to us, Father Mateo.’

‘I hope that you know what you’re doing, Sister.’

‘Please take this,’ she said and gave him the habit.

He looked at it, not knowing what to do with it.

Sister Beatriz said: ‘I think you should burn it.’

‘No. It isn’t right.’

She shrugged. ‘As you wish.’ She opened her purse and offered him a few coins. ‘For the cleaning lady–to pay for the dress.’

The priest took the money. He tried to think of something to say but came up with nothing. The seminary had not prepared him for a situation like this one. He was guided only by his conscience and the instinct to do good. Sister Beatriz asked: ‘Is there any quick way to get to a big town on this side of the mountains?’

Father Mateo checked his watch. ‘There is a bus,’ he said. ‘But not for a while. Are you being followed?’

‘No. I took care of that.’

He calmed down a little. ‘Ah good, good. And the animal?’

‘Midas? Find a home for him–someone who won’t work him hard.’

They sat near the door to wait for the bus. Sister Beatriz stroked the child in his sling and looked round. It was one of those poor churches built by the community itself, with unadorned whitewashed walls, simple benches for pews and an altar made of wood. She felt safe and calm, as if it were a sanctuary for both her body and soul. She had travelled a long way from the convent of Our Lady of Mercy in a day, much further than she had expected. Suddenly she lost her nerve. She told herself that she would do anything to go back, promise everything, ask forgiveness. She thought that she could simply hand the child over to the young priest with the words: ‘Do what you want with him.’ But whatever she felt only lasted a moment. Saying nothing, she took the child from his sling and cradled him in her arms.

There were footsteps outside, and a boy came to the door. The priest looked at him: ‘What is it?’

‘Sir, my mother asks whether you’ll say Mass this evening.’

‘I will.’

‘And whether she could take communion.’

‘Has she been fasting from food and drink all day?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Is she sick?’

‘No.’

‘Then she can’t.’

The boy stared at him sullenly for a moment and then went away. Father Mateo looked at his watch again. He said: ‘Just a little longer,’ and tapped his foot nervously. ‘The bus is usually on time. It only stays for a moment.’

‘Do we have to go outside?’

‘No. We’ll hear it from in here.’

‘Are there many stops from here to the town?’

‘Only a few.’

Sister Beatriz wanted to kiss his hand with gratitude, but he was much younger than her, too young in fact to be used to reverence, and she would probably embarrass him. ‘Well, Father,’ she said, ‘would you like to hold him?’

He looked at the child fearfully. ‘Oh no, Sister, thank you. I shouldn’t—’

‘Only a moment, Father. Please, I’m a little tired.’

‘Oh yes, in that case…’

He took the child with uncertain hands and sat stiffly on the pew.

‘Not like that, Father,’ the woman said. ‘Like this.’ And she placed the child more securely in his arms.

‘Ah, I see.’

The woman stared at the man holding the child for a while. Then she said: ‘What are you thinking, Father?’

‘Oh, nothing. Just that…It’s strange how a sin…a mistake…could lead to something so good and innocent.’ Father Mateo made an attempt to rock the child but Renato protested and he quickly stopped. ‘Perhaps I’m a bad priest. I see nothing evil in this poor child–or in you,’ he said and went crimson again. ‘Do you have money?’

‘I’ll be fine, Father.’

‘Please don’t worry. I’ll tell no one–not even His Excellency. It’s the Seal of the Confessional.’

‘Thank you.’

Sister Beatriz stood up and went to the door. It was afternoon and the air was warmer, but she was glad that she would not have to travel on the animal any more. There was a train station in the town where the bus went. She thought of the Mother Superior and what she would do now that she had lost the child. But he was not her child and she would simply have to go back to her old life. When they heard the bus coming, Father Mateo jumped to his feet and held the child meekly out to her. Then he followed her out to the square, where a few people were already boarding the bus.

‘You’re a good man, Father,’ Sister Beatriz said.

‘Oh, I don’t know. I try to do what a priest…It comes with the territory, doesn’t it?’

‘Not always.’

Sister Beatriz waited her turn to board the bus. The priest said: ‘One more thing, Sister, if I may.’

‘What is it?’

‘The Mother Superior–I am right in thinking that she was very fond of Renato, isn’t that so? God knows how she must be feeling now…I think if she knew the truth it would help her.’

‘Do you want me to write to her?’

‘Would you, Sister? If you please. Make her see the way things turned out is for the best.’

‘I don’t know. What if—’

‘Oh, not now. After you have settled down. Post the letter in another town not where you live. That way it’ll be impossible to track you down.’

‘Let me think about it, Father.’

She climbed onto the bus and took a window seat, from where she watched the kind young priest waiting humbly with his hands inside the pockets of his cassock. Watching him, she thought again about Sister María Inés and how grateful she ought to be to her. All of a sudden she stood up from her seat and opened the window. She spoke up: ‘Tell the Mother that as soon as I have—’ But the driver had already shut the door and the rest of what she said was lost in the noise of the engine and the cloud of exhaust in which the priest also vanished.