Bay of Secrets (14 page)

Sister Julia thought about this. Since she had been living here, she had wept and she had felt anger. Why her? Why had she been banished from her home in this way? Why was she now destined for a life that meant she would never have a family of her own, no husband to love her, no child to care for? She would never know what it felt like to lie in a man’s arms, nor to give birth to a son or daughter.

But what was the use of raging against it? It was, she realised, a matter of perspective. And if she was going to serve God, she must learn to see the positives. She must learn to live without
her family and the things that would remind her of home. She must embrace the discipline in order to be fulfilled by it. Somehow. Perhaps this was why her family did not come.

*

After only three weeks in the convent, Sister Julia was summoned to the mother superior’s rooms.

The reverend mother wasted no words. ‘You wish to do God’s work, my child?’

Perhaps it did not matter to her why Sister Julia had entered the sisterhood; that her family were not staunch believers. It was a commitment, and whatever the reason, the reverend mother assumed it to be a wholehearted one.

Chastity, poverty and obedience
 … Sister Julia bowed her head. Anything that took her out into the world, that allowed her to do something useful, something that would stop her brooding and her loneliness. Anything would be better than this. ‘I do, Reverend Mother.’

The reverend mother nodded. Although the order was enclosed, and enclosure was considered the most appropriate condition for contemplative retreat, there was still public work to be done, she explained. And Sister Julia had as yet only taken simple vows. ‘There is much work remaining,’ she said. ‘It is good work. It is a rebuilding of our land and of our people. We will send you to the hospital, my child. It is God’s will.’

*

At the hospital Sister Julia volunteered for long hours; many people no longer worked there and so there was much to do.

The reverend mother had warned her that she must keep her own counsel. But people talked, and one of the nurses – who talked more than most – told her more about what had happened to the Church during the Civil War. Sister Julia knew already that fifty churches had been gutted in Barcelona alone, though the cathedral had been spared, but now she learned that General Franco had restored all the Church’s wealth, power and privileges. Perhaps she should not listen. Perhaps it was a sin to be curious. But old habits, Sister Julia found, died hard.

‘Very kind of the general, do you not think, Sister?’ the young nurse asked. ‘Very worthy?’

‘Indeed.’ Sister Julia would have liked to say more – to ask more. But those times had gone. Her position in the world had changed.

The nurse laughed – but without humour. ‘And what – I wonder – does he want in return?’ She put her hands on her hips and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Sister Julia knew what she was implying – that there had been an unspoken condition attached to Franco’s generosity. And perhaps she was right.

‘Obedience from your church perhaps?’

That the Church was to serve the State in all things? Sister Julia kept calm on the outside, but on the inside she felt a tremor of fear.

‘But you’ll know about that,’ the nurse said. ‘Being a nun.’

Sister Julia said nothing, just turned away to her duties.

Perhaps someone had seen them talking; she did not
know. But she did not see that nurse again. It was as if she had vanished into thin air.

*

Back at the convent the reverend mother surprised her further by telling her of some of the Republican atrocities that had occurred during the war. Nuns who had been raped and made to swallow their own rosary beads, priests who were castrated or forced to dig their own graves. ‘It was unspeakable, my child,’ the reverend mother said, even while she clearly thought it necessary to speak of it to Sister Julia. But why?

The following week, Sister Julia was moved to obstetrics, to the maternity ward. The beds were narrow and quite close together on both sides of the long room, and were made up with white sheets and hairy brown blankets, although there was a movable screen that could give the women some privacy. As in the other part of the hospital, the overwhelming smell was of disinfectant. Sister Julia wrinkled her nose. But it was tolerable; certainly more bearable than the smell of blood or disease. At one end of the ward was the kitchen area and nurses’ station; at the other, the sluice.

A middle-aged nurse in a crisp white uniform showed her around.

‘This is Dr Lopez, our specialist obstetrician,’ she said as they approached a short but important-looking man with a shock of dark hair. He was wearing a white coat and had a stethoscope slung around his neck. ‘Doctor, this is Sister Julia.’

The doctor gave a little bow of his head. But when he looked up at her she felt a small shudder inside. He was perhaps only five years or so older than Sister Julia herself. And yet he seemed so much older. His eyes were so cold, and yet his gaze so hypnotic. She felt immediately pulled in. And trapped by it – as if she was a small animal or a bird.

‘We have been expecting you, Sister,’ he said. ‘We have an important task for you.’

Glory … Sister Julia tried not to look as terrified as she felt. Was she ready for an important task? She did not think so.

‘You are to help look after the fallen women,’ he said. ‘As a daughter of Christ, it is your duty.’

‘Yes, doctor,’ Sister Julia murmured. Fallen women. How was she – a mere novice with no experience of such things – to look after the fallen women?

‘They have taken the wrong path,’ Dr Lopez said sadly, shaking his head. ‘It is up to us to help them make amends.’

And as he continued to instruct her on her duties, Sister Julia realised what her role was to be. She was to provide moral support, comfort, and – more importantly – show the women the right path, the path of God, the path which Dr Lopez wished them to follow.

After the doctor had gone, the nurse went off to supervise the rosters and the cleaning of the sluice room and Sister Julia was left alone with one of the women.

She was dark and slight of figure and in the first stage of labour, having regular contractions which made her gasp and
grip Sister Julia’s hand – hard. Her brow was filmed with sweat and Sister Julia instinctively laid a cool dampened flannel on to it and smoothed the young woman’s hair from her face.

‘
Madre mia.
Thank goodness you are here,’ she muttered. ‘Otherwise I should be alone.’

Sister Julia’s heart went out to her. Nobody in her situation should be alone. Dr Lopez had advised her to discourage the women from talking to her. ‘You must be firm with them,’ he had said. ‘The lesson they must learn is a lesson from God.’ But this was a fellow human being, a woman who was suffering and who needed her. She had to help her through the traumatic experience of childbirth, not just talk to her of God.

‘Be still, my sister,’ she said. ‘The pain will pass. And then you will have a beautiful child.’ And she held her hand and rubbed the woman’s back when the contractions came.

‘If only my husband were here … ’ the woman gasped.

Sister Julia stopped in the action of dampening the flannel from the bowl of water on the trolley beside her. ‘Your husband?’ she said. Hadn’t she been told that this woman had fallen from virtue? If she had a husband, how could that be? Unless ..?

‘He is imprisoned,’ the woman muttered. And then she gripped Sister Julia’s wrist so tightly that she feared it might snap. ‘He is lost, perhaps tortured, perhaps dead. How can I know?’

Sister Julia thought of what had happened before with the
young nurse and how careful her parents had taught her to be. She looked quickly down the ward of narrow beds to check that no one was listening. No one seemed to be paying them any attention and none of the nurses or doctors were around. It was something, Sister Julia thought, when a novice and untrained nun was left to tend to a woman in labour while the nurses and doctors were doing who knew what elsewhere.

Swiftly, she pulled away from the woman and drew the screen around the bed.

‘What do you mean?’ she whispered. She remembered her father’s faltering voice back home in the dead of night when he had spoken of Fort Montjuïc and the prisoners there. His words, his voice – they were branded into her mind.

The woman looked straight at her. ‘He was a Republican, Sister,’ she said. ‘Too proud to run away. They came for him in the dead of night.’ She moaned, as another contraction gripped her body.

‘Shallow breathing now,’ Sister Julia urged. She might not know much but she knew enough. Hadn’t she helped boil the water when their neighbour had been in labour during the Civil War, while her mother had stayed with the mother doing more or less what she was doing now? ‘Deep breathing as the pain recedes.’ Which would at least ensure a good supply of oxygen to the foetus, she hoped. The woman was undernourished; there was practically nothing of her. What was wrong with a country that could not even look after its own?

Later, the woman was taken away to the delivery room.

Sister Julia searched for Dr Lopez. She found him at the nurses’ station at the end of the ward, joking with one of the nurses.

‘Please may I speak with you, doctor?’ she asked.

His face clouded. ‘Yes, Sister Julia,’ he said. ‘What is it?’

She explained to him what the woman had told her. ‘Can we not help her find out what has happened to her husband?’ she asked him. ‘He may even be still alive.’

Dr Lopez shook his head sadly. He drew her aside. ‘You have much to learn, Sister Julia,’ he said.

She was aware of that. But even so …

‘Her husband has been punished for his sins,’ he added gravely. ‘It is not for us to reason why.’

‘But at least we could help—’

‘There is only one way to help these women,’ the doctor said. ‘They must repent.’ He looked deep into her eyes. ‘And you, Sister Julia, must understand why you are here. You are here to further God’s purpose, you know.’

Sister Julia could see from his stern expression that this was the end of the matter. But … God’s purpose? Wouldn’t God want the poor woman to know if her husband was dead or alive?

One of the other women – unmarried, Sister Julia was told – gave birth an hour later. Sister Julia was by her side in the delivery room attending her while the doctor and a midwife delivered the child and then the placenta. The woman’s legs were still in stirrups and she writhed from side to side.

‘She is
primipara
,’ Dr Lopez told Sister Julia as he made his sutures. ‘It is her first baby. Sometimes it is not easy.’

And she saw that he had made a long incision, so that she would not tear.

But the woman seemed to be in considerable pain. ‘My God, my God,’ she whimpered.

Sister Julia tried to soothe her. ‘It is all over now,’ she said. ‘Your child has been safely born.’

The doctor shot her a warning glance. ‘She has repented,’ he said. ‘Quite rightly, she has decided not to keep her baby. He must be taken from her.’

But the woman was holding her child to her breast.

Although he was not a tall man, Dr Lopez seemed suddenly to tower over the woman. He grasped the child and firmly removed him. ‘He must now be examined. There will be no delay.’ He strode out of the room, ignoring her cries, carrying the child with him.

The woman grasped now at empty air as she wept. Sister Julia comforted her as best she could. But it was heart-breaking.

*

Dr Lopez waylaid her as she was about to return to Santa Ana. ‘I see that you do not truly understand our work, Sister,’ he said.

Sister Julia bowed her head. She was trying. Indeed she was trying.

‘To give up a child … ’ he said. ‘This is sometimes a necessary part of their repentance. Otherwise what future
will these women have? And what future will there be for the children?’ He was passionate; his dark eyes shone.

Unmarried mothers were stigmatised, it was true. They had fallen from the right path, the virtuous path, and society would know it. Sister Julia knew it too. And as for the children … It would be hard for them, she could see that.

‘How can a woman like that adequately care for a child?’ he demanded. ‘How is it possible?’

Sister Julia did not know. She supposed she had not thought it through.

‘They have no money and no way of making a living – no virtuous way.’

He gave her a certain look and Sister Julia shivered. He was almost saying – was he not? – that if a mother kept her child she might be forced into prostitution simply to have the wherewithal to feed it. And that could not be right.

‘How will the child live, Sister Julia? How will it survive? Can we be responsible for the life of that child?’

Somehow, the doctor was making her feel guilty for the thoughts she had had. He seemed to possess a power – though what sort of power, she could not say.

She bowed her head. The truth was that she could not answer these questions; it was too complex a matter for a girl of barely eighteen. Clearly, the doctor knew best; the reverend mother had told her that he was a good and wise man and should be obeyed in all things. And when Sister Julia looked into his eyes – she could not avoid this although she tried to keep her head bowed at all times – she felt his
strength, the force of him. It would indeed be hard not to obey.

*

So she did as he asked. She cared for the women during their confinement and helped give them moral support and comfort as they gave birth. The pain of this procedure – which Sister Julia would have expected to be a natural event – shocked her, but she grew used to it. She found that a calm and quiet presence by their side helped these women in their hours of need. After the birth she would look after the babies too and after that … It was out of her hands.

After some months, Dr Lopez took her aside. ‘Can I now trust you, Sister Julia, to do God’s work?’ he asked her earnestly.

‘Yes, doctor,’ she replied. At least, she was willing to try her best. She had become involved with these women and their precarious situations. She wanted to help them all she could.