The Convent: A Novel (5 page)

S
ister Ana walked along the cloister contemplating the statues of saints in the niches of the wall. She was alone and heard no sound other than her shoes on the flagged corridor but still looked over her shoulder from time to time. Beyond the colonnade was the courtyard and across the courtyard was the chapel. Its presence offered her a hint of strength. She had little doubt that the recent events were the work of the Devil. The clock on the bell tower said a few minutes past ten in the morning. At this time she should have been busy with her duties but she had asked to be excused from work, saying that she had slept badly. The Mother Superior had consented, but with a stony glare that made it clear she had not forgiven the nun’s outburst in the chapel. Sister Ana did not regret what she had said the evening before: she had done her duty. She sat on a bench in the shade of the cloister and thought how she would defeat the Devil.

She had come to the convent of Our Lady of Mercy with the simple purpose of serving God as best she could, but had not escaped the ill fortune that had pursued her from childhood and condemned her to loneliness. By now she was beginning to think that perhaps she should not feel sorry for herself, for the life that she led could simply be what God had decided for her: His truest servants were always the hermits. She had nothing but scorn for the other sisters, who did not understand her. She believed that their light-heartedness was inappropriate. She thought of them as lazy and even doubted their devotion to God.

She took the rosary in her hands and began the Apostles’ Creed: ‘
Credo in Deum patrem omnipotentem, creatorem caeli et terrae…
’ Her fingers moved along the beads while she prayed in a low voice. On the bell tower a stork flew off with slow flaps of its wings and circled the convent a few times before heading away. Sister Ana felt pity for the world suffering from poverty and sin. She had great plans for the convent if only she were in charge. She wanted to turn it into a refuge for women who had been ill-treated and those who regretted their sins. The land for miles round belonged to the convent, and she was convinced that if there were more sisters they could farm it and make a big profit rather than just earning enough to feed themselves. It was the Mother Superior who stopped her from doing these things. She finished praying the rosary and came from the cloister to the courtyard, where she stopped at the well to drink. Then she went for a walk round the abandoned buildings, daydreaming about making the convent the best in the country.

Only the Bishop she considered capable of understanding her, but she had very few opportunities to talk to him. The only time they were alone was in the confessional once a month when he came to the convent. He was the person whom she admired more than any other in the world, and she looked forward to his visits. After Mass he sat down to lunch with the women. In summer they carried the long refectory table into the garden and ate under an overgrown muscatel vine, still fecund enough, despite its age, to produce white grapes with a superb fragrance and a very sweet taste. When the Bishop had first suggested that they eat outside, the Mother Superior had been unsure. He had made light of her objections. He had said: ‘I understand that the Holy Father himself is very fond of eating alfresco,’ and she had relented. Standing at the head of the table, he would say grace, and then they would sit to eat the baked fish with vegetables from the garden prepared in his honour. The Bishop updated them on the news from the world, told them amusing stories, brought them confections made with almond paste and flavoured with rose-water, which he offered to the nuns at the end of their lunch, going several times round the table with the box. The Mother Superior always declined but the nuns welcomed them with delight. The Bishop did not eat sweets either, not out of the fear of indulgence that stopped Sister María Inés but because of his teeth. He often joked that one of these days he would excommunicate his dentist, for having failed to save him from the curse of caries despite stuffing his mouth with more gold than there was in the city of El Dorado. After lunch he followed the Mother Superior to her office, where they discussed the affairs of the convent in between sips of coffee with a drop of milk. Then he blessed the nuns and climbed into his car to drive back to the city.

Sister Ana never told anyone how sorry she was to see him leave. His kindness had prompted her once to speak to him about her ambitious plans. She had been the last nun to confession and afterwards waited for him. He came out of the confessional, put on his amaranthine biretta and smiled at her. Sister Ana bowed and kissed his ring. ‘Your Excellency,’ she said. ‘There is a matter I have been thinking a lot about lately.’

The Bishop took a glance at his watch and spoke in a friendly way. ‘We could discuss it at lunch?’

‘I’d rather not speak in front of the sisters.’

‘If it is something you forgot in your confession we’d better go back into the box.’

The nun shook her head. ‘It is not related to my confession, Your Excellency. But it concerns me greatly.’

The Bishop took off his biretta, sat with her on a pew and arranged his cassock with a noble hand. Then Sister Ana spoke to him of her various schemes to improve the income of the convent and ended with a solemn remark: ‘This place could become a beacon of hope again.’

The Bishop nodded. ‘I see you have thought carefully about this.’

‘You have no idea how many ideas I have, Your Excellency. If only I had the chance to implement them.’

‘Quite,’ the Bishop said and quoted Archimedes with amusement:
‘Give me a place to stand and I shall move the earth
.’ Stroking the cross on his chest, he regained his solemnity and observed the woman with inscrutable eyes. After a moment he added: ‘I believe you have great abilities, Sister Ana. Perhaps they are not put into their best use right now.’

‘A certain person does not think so.’

The Bishop understood. ‘Do you have any grievance against the Mother Superior?’

‘She has shown no interest in my suggestions. All she has done is place obstacles in my way.’

The Bishop ran his fingers over the biretta on his lap. ‘There are certain practices one ought to make a habit of,’ he said. ‘When one walks by a confessional, it is right to cover one’s ears to show respect for the sanctity of confession even when no one is inside. Similarly the nuns ought to respect their Mother Superior even if they have reservations about her abilities.’ Sister Ana tried to speak but he stopped her with a gentle gesture. ‘That does not mean one should never voice one’s concerns. But this should be made through the proper channels.’

‘The proper channels are too far away to know what goes on in this unimportant corner of the world, Your Excellency,’ Sister Ana said. ‘All my letters to the Superioress General have gone unanswered. I suspect they have been intercepted. Although I should not be making accusations when I have no proof. The truth is that Your Excellency is my only hope. You have first-hand knowledge of our convent and its people. I respect your judgement.’

The Bishop consulted his watch and said: ‘I will think about it and get back to you, Sister. Bear in mind that these things take time. Various enquiries have to be made.’

‘I am grateful, Your Excellency.’

‘In the meantime, I expect you to carry out your duties as usual. Remember you have taken an oath of obedience.’

The nun bowed her head.

‘I hope there is no personal animosity between the Mother Superior and you. That would be very regrettable. I have to tell you that I hold her in great regard.’

‘I only wish to see us do better, Your Excellency. At this rate of decline our convent won’t survive for another generation.’

‘These are difficult times,’ the Bishop agreed. ‘We can’t compete against the storm of progress. But sooner or later things will slow down and we’ll catch up. Christianity has been through worse.’

He stood up and offered her his hand. The nun bowed and kissed his ring. He said: ‘You had better go now. We are late for Mass. The sisters are waiting. Please let them know we’ll be starting in a few minutes.’ He walked her to the door of the chapel. ‘There are other options, of course,’ he said. ‘I hear the post of sister visitatrix will fall vacant soon. The present incumbent is getting too old to travel. It seems to me that someone with your vim and vigour would be ideal for it.’

Sister Ana felt the joy of being given a position that was highly regarded not only within the Order but beyond. Then she would be able to fulfil her innovative plans without having to worry about Sister María Inés.

‘Of course, it is not for me to decide,’ the Bishop said. ‘But the Superioress is a good friend and always asks for my opinion about everything that goes on in my diocese. The next time I am in the capital I could mention your name.’

Sister Ana squeezed her rosary. ‘That would be a great honour, Your Excellency.’

‘I could also ask her whether she has received your letters.’

‘Do not bother the Dear Reverend Mother with that matter. It is nothing. The letters must have gone astray in the post.’

The Bishop said: ‘That would be my guess too.’

‘I can always write to her again.’

‘The post of sister visitatrix involves a great amount of travel across the country.’

‘Your Excellency need not worry about that. Our Lord has blessed me with a very strong constitution.’

‘You understand that I am not promising anything. I’m only mentioning it as a possibility.’

‘I would not presume to say that I deserve such an honour.’

‘It is not that, Sister. There are many issues I have to consider. Sometimes a bishop has to act the diplomat.’

That had been the end of their discussion. The Bishop had visited the convent a few times since but had not mentioned anything to her. Sister Ana understood the delicacy of the matter and waited patiently, convinced that one of these days the letter would arrive from the capital with the news of her appointment.

Lost in contemplation, she found herself near the old school for novices and walked in to assess its condition. The building had two storeys with wooden floors and thick walls made of stone. Despite the fallen plaster, the beams riddled with wood-worm and mould, the broken windows, the school could be restored and reopen to novices. She was certain that she could find many girls to join the convent. She came out of the building and one of Sister Carlota’s stray dogs came wagging its tail. She let it follow her in her walk.

She had been only a child when she had seen the Devil for the first time, in the guise of a tall man in a black tailcoat, a beard without moustache and a stovepipe hat. He was a street scribe sitting at a desk in a funfair where he sold prophecies for a small fee surrounded by a big crowd. She had asked her father for a coin and dropped it in the cup on the desk. The man looked at her, then looked at her father, took a sheet of paper from his neat pile and dipped his pen in an inkwell filled with a thick substance that could only be blood. After he wrote something in crimson letters he took an envelope from under his hat, put the paper inside, sealed the envelope carefully and handed it to her with his long ink-stained fingers and a grin that was missing three teeth. Later, at home, she opened the letter and unfolded the paper, where it was simply written:
One year, six months and eleven days
. The words meant nothing to her then, but the following year, on the day foretold, her father dropped dead at the dinner table.

Sister Ana walked on, deep in thought. No one had seen anyone bring the baby to the convent or heard a mule or car. The nearest houses were more than twenty miles away, and nobody could have walked that distance with a baby in a suitcase. The sensible thing would have been to leave him somewhere in the city for the authorities to find. Sister Ana agreed with the Mother Superior that whoever brought the child to the convent wanted to offer him to them alone. The difference was that she did not believe it was God who had given him to them. The dog began to bark. She looked up and saw that it was digging close to the wall that ran round the edge of the convent. It dug out the corner of a piece of cloth and began tugging at it with its teeth. Sister Ana pushed the dog aside, dug up the rest of the cloth herself and saw with surprise and terror that the white piece of cloth was stained with blood that had long dried.

W
hen the storks had first come to the convent, during the previous century, the nuns had thought of them as a good omen and a sign of future prosperity. The first pair had made its home on the top of the bell tower and in the following days more had arrived and built their nests on the chimneys. In those days they stayed at the convent only until late summer, and then flew to Africa, from where they returned again in early spring, their feathers covered in the yellow sand of the Sahara. But over the years they had discovered the rubbish tips round the city; and these days had no reason to leave until the weather turned cold in autumn. Then the nuns pulled down the empty nests to unblock the chimneys and lit the fires, but the following year the storks built them again as big and strong as the year before. Now that the nuns had abandoned many of the buildings, there was no need to destroy the nests, to which the storks added each year, until some were as big as boats. The nuns only stopped the birds from nesting on the guesthouse, where the chimney was always kept clean in case the Bishop wanted to stay the night when he visited the convent and asked them to light a fire. Every October, on the feast day of Saint Francis, they held a blessing in the courtyard for the storks and also the dogs that Sister Carlota brought to the convent. One year, a long time ago, a nun had climbed a ladder to look at the nestlings, but the big stork guarding them had stood up and flapped its wings, and the woman panicked and fell from a great height, dying on the spot. Sister María Inés was a young nun when it had happened. She never forgot the incident and when she became mother superior, she strictly forbade the sisters from going near the birds.

Today Sister María Inés had woken up earlier than usual to collect wood for the steam engine before going to dawn prayer. She put on her habit in the dark, fed the child so that he would not wake up hungry while she was out, put on her boots and lit her way to the woods with her hurricane lamp. She walked among the pine trees in search of firewood, shivering with cold in her thin habit. A few steps ahead, animals hidden in the undergrowth scurried away as they heard her approach. The dew had not yet evaporated and the hem of her habit became sodden, but she was too immersed in her task to notice. She collected as much wood as she could lift and carried it back to the carpentry workshop. She returned to the woods for more and kept going back and forth until it was time for the dawn prayer.

After prayer she resumed her task until she decided that she had enough firewood. She put on her smock, fired the steam engine and worked for a long time before she took a break. With her smock covered in sawdust, she stood at the door of the workshop and watched the storks. Sister Lucía came with a jug of water. Sister María Inés asked: ‘Who is with the child?’

‘Teresa. She asked Sister Carlota to let her have him for a while.’

Sister María Inés drank a glass of water and asked about the mood in the convent that day. All was well. Sister Ana was working.

‘I hope she will be cured of her foolishness soon,’ the Mother Superior said.

The steam from the funnel of the old engine billowed out over the roofs of the convent before it dissolved. The novice observed the strange machine with fear. She said: ‘Sister Beatriz would like to start driving to the city again.’

‘Good,’ the Mother Superior said. ‘It would be better if the two of you took turns so that you have some extra time for studying. You need to study more if you want to take your permanent vows soon, Lucía. Then it might be a good idea to do some missionary work.’

Africa and the mission hospital where she had served in her youth were Sister María Inés’s fondest memories. She had arrived on the coast of Guinea without any idea of what to expect after an eventful voyage during which the ship ran aground and they were almost shipwrecked off the Canary Islands. It took her several days to recover her strength and travel inland to the mission station, which turned out to be a small village of mud huts hidden behind a haze of insects on the banks of the Benito River. Three years there would teach Sister María Inés the fortitude that stayed with her for the rest of her life. When she saw the endless caravans of patients who had travelled many days and hundreds of miles to get to the hospital of the White Fathers, she instantly knew that she could not have found a better place to atone for her sin. The moaning sick, the crocodiles floating in the muddy river, the humid air, the infectious laughter of the children, the calls of the turacos hidden in the treetops, they all merged into a hallucination which one did not escape even in sleep. It was the turn of the twentieth century, when diseases were treated with simple but effective medicines: leprosy with chaulmoogra oil, dysentery with syrup of ipecac, festering sores with mercuric chloride, malaria with quinine. Thanks to these and many other medicines, Africa ceased to be the white man’s grave and colonists began to flood in. Very occasionally some good was done by the foreigners. In French Equatorial Africa, Sister María Inés had met Albert Schweitzer before the rest of the world knew him, and although she considered his Lutheran theology wrong she could not but admire his work.

She told Sister Lucía: ‘The cradle will be ready tomorrow.’ Then she noticed that something troubled the young nun. ‘What is it, Lucía?’

‘Do you intend to talk to the Bishop about the child, Mother?’

‘Not yet. I have to think this over carefully. But I have no doubt that sooner or later we will need His Excellency. He has influence over the authorities.’

In reality she was not at all confident that he would help them. She considered him a man of sound judgement, but feared she would not be able to convince him that the coming of the child was a miracle unless she told him about the sin she had committed in her youth. Then he, too, would surely see that a miracle was the most likely explanation. But he would not forgive her: admitting such a mortal sin after so many years of not having confessed it warranted her dismissal from the Order. Her only hope was the tolerance for which the Bishop was known across his diocese, although it sometimes went beyond that of an enlightened cleric and came close to heresy. Once at lunch in the garden he had told the nuns: ‘It’s about time we canonised that old fellow Darwin.’

‘There are some things I will need when you go to the city tomorrow,’ Sister María Inés told the novice. ‘Buy a few tins of white paint and a brush for the cradle; also this medicine to put into the child’s milk.’

She gave her a piece of paper, and the novice read the list.

‘What should I tell the pharmacist?’

Sister María Inés gave her a stern look. ‘Only the truth–that is, I asked for them. Nothing more.’

The nun put the paper in her pocket. On the chimney of one of the abandoned buildings a pair of storks stood in their nest. The Mother Superior watched them with her hands in the pockets of her smock, while the steam engine shook noisily, sending billows of steam up in the air. ‘One more thing, Lucía,’ she said. ‘And I want you to be very careful about this because it might upset Sister Carlota. It is about the rats. The traps are not enough. We need poison. Now with the child we cannot afford to be careless. Rodents are carriers of disease. Buy a large amount. But do not tell anyone about it and do not put it in the storeroom. Bring it to me straight from the car. I will keep it safe.’ Then she added, without having to look at the clock on the bell tower: ‘It will be time to feed the child soon. I will walk back with you.’

The steam engine was cooling down, but out of prudence she opened the pressure valve and steam escaped with a hissing sound. She explained: ‘Just to make sure the boiler does not explode.’ She took off her smock and closed the door of the workshop with the intention of resuming her work after lunch.

They walked across the orchard, where the apples were almost ripe. The Mother Superior examined a few with her fingers without cutting them from the trees. She said: ‘Our Lord offered me a gift I do not deserve. It is as amazing as if a broken branch of a tree had borne fruit.’

‘You mean the child,’ Sister Lucía said.

‘A miracle is the only explanation. My window has a clear view of the road and you know how I like to stare out. I would have seen anyone coming from a long way off. But I saw nothing. Miracles are very rare in our time, Lucía. But this does not mean that they no longer happen. And when they do, the evidence is undeniable. The Miracle of the Sun was witnessed by a hundred thousand people.’

People still talked about what had happened some years before in Portugal, after three shepherd children had claimed that a miracle would take place at high noon outside the town of Fátima. When the day came, a heavy rain fell which drenched to the skin the people who had gathered, but then the clouds parted and a dull revolving sun cast the colours of the rainbow across the landscape. A moment later the sun began to drop towards the earth so clearly that many of those present believed it was the end of the world. It lasted ten minutes, during which the three children who had foretold the miracle also claimed that they could see visions of Jesus and the Virgin blessing the crowd.

‘Miracles are specific to place and people, Lucía,’ the Mother Superior said. ‘In the case of the Miracle of the Sun it was seen only by people in Fátima and the surrounding areas. As one would expect, astronomers saw nothing. The laws of nature are suspended only for those humble enough to believe that God has unlimited power.’

A swarm of bees came towards them. Sister Lucía took a step back.

‘Do not be afraid,’ the Mother Superior said and walked on. ‘They never sting nuns, because they cannot stand the smell of incense.’

The young novice followed her cautiously. She said: ‘I always pray that you will live for many years to come, Reverend Mother. And when you leave us that you will be declared a saint.’

‘That is an ambition I am not allowed,’ Sister María Inés said, and bent down to cut some flowers. ‘But what has happened makes me hope that perhaps I could make it as far as Purgatory.’ She stood up with effort, gave the flowers to the girl and they walked along the cloister towards her room.