Bay of Secrets (20 page)

Sister Julia hardly knew what to say to her. How could she even begin to describe the work she did? And indeed, she must not, as she had been sworn to secrecy from the start. And was she content? No. It was not contentment she felt as
she walked to the clinic each day, as she held flannels to the brows of women in labour, as she did what she could to ease their pain. It was not even acceptance – since she still felt keenly all that she had lost. What she had, what she had always had, was understanding. That was all. So she did not answer. She merely bowed her head.

‘But never mind all that,’ said Paloma in her usual direct fashion. ‘For we have come to bring you wonderful news!’ She clapped her hands.

She was still such a child. Hands folded in her lap, Sister Julia waited. Gone were the days when she too could shout and jump and run and feel the life blood flowing through her veins. Although perhaps she had never been like that, she thought. She had never, she knew, possessed the vitality of Paloma.

‘I am to be married!’ Paloma shrieked.

‘Quietly, child.’ But their mother was smiling.

Sister Julia could not help smiling too. As always, Paloma’s happiness was infectious. Life might be still hard for them all but there was still Paloma’s joy to brighten the world. ‘That is wonderful,’ Sister Julia agreed. ‘I am happy for you, my dear sister.’

Paloma waggled her left hand in front of her and Sister Julia saw the ring. It was small but pretty. ‘Don’t you want to know who is the lucky man?’ she teased.

‘Indeed I do.’

Paloma leaned forwards. ‘Mario Vamos,’ she whispered.

‘Our neighbour?’ Sister Julia said it without thinking. It
was a long time since she had watched Mario Vamos as he laughed with the other boys, since she had seen that look in his thoughtful eyes. She considered the news. Cocksure and arrogant, even as a youth, he was just the sort of young man she would have imagined Paloma falling for. And she had clearly fallen. The light of love was shining from her dark eyes.

‘Paloma is fortunate,’ Mama said quickly. ‘She is marrying for love.’

‘Oh, yes,’ breathed Paloma. ‘I love him, Julia, I really do. For so long, I have loved him.’

And Sister Julia was glad for her. For that look Mario Vamos had once shot her was a long way in the past. And perhaps the conditions of post-war Barcelona had made him a better man.

*

There were more cars and motorbikes now in the streets of the city and it was noisy, even in the early morning before many people were up and about, the air already heavy with exhaust fumes. Down Las Ramblas the bootblacks and lottery sellers were already setting up their stalls and street sweepers were clearing the debris of the day before. The milk bars and cafés were busy too with the early morning trade and the fruit and vegetable stalls were open and ready for business. Sister Julia glanced up at an advertisement hoarding, at a picture of what was described as the wondrous machine of the future – the television. Would people want it? Her family had always loved to listen to the radio. It
would be like that, she supposed. But with pictures too. Would there be nothing left to the imagination?

Sister Julia knew now more than ever that her family lived in a different world. Her world was Santa Ana and the clinic – nothing more. But she still loved this city of her birth – though it was changing. As she turned the corner she heard the conductor’s bell and saw the blue tram pulling away; some things did not change. Barcelona still carried the scent of the sea in the breeze, but if you looked closely, you could make out the bullet holes in church walls from machine-gun fire. The heart of her city had been damaged. And perhaps it had to change to survive?

Sister Julia passed a newspaper vendor and slowed, straining to catch a glimpse of the headline. She caught the name of Hitler. Ah, yes. It seemed that the other war – the world war – was finally coming to an end. And that wasn’t all.

Yesterday she had lingered outside a café on the way back to Santa Ana, listening to a conversation between two men sitting at a table outside. She might be a nun, but she still wanted to know what people were saying about Spain – just as she had back home when she used to listen to her parents from the top of the stairs. Spain was still her country, was it not, even though she had given her life to God?

‘Bad times,’ the man had said to his companion. ‘Have you heard about this latest appointment?’ He glanced furtively around.

Sister Julia tried to melt into the very stone wall against
which she was standing. But she needn’t have worried – to all intents and purposes she was invisible in her nun’s habit and the man seemed satisfied that no one was listening.

Still, his companion dropped his voice. ‘Every day, more government posts are going to Catholic politicians,’ he muttered. ‘
Si, si.
And we know what that means.’

What did it mean? Sister Julia frowned. She supposed that it would increase the power of the Church. Or make the government more Catholic. Was that the same thing? She wasn’t entirely sure.
Una, grande y libre
– one, great and free. This was Spain’s new motto. How did it all fit in?

‘We do indeed,’ said the first man. He leaned in closer and Sister Julia had to strain to hear the words. ‘We are living in a world of National Catholicism now, you know.’

Ah. Sister Julia understood his meaning. She had read a newspaper which a woman had left at the clinic in which General Franco was described as ‘the man sent from God, who always appears at the critical moment and defeats the enemy’. Those words – strong words – had stayed in her mind. The newspaper was
Arriba
, admittedly the press of the regime. Nevertheless, Sister Julia had thought. Nevertheless. It was a joining, was it not? The Nationalists and the Catholic Church. Who then was in charge?

Una, grande y libre.
There was another motto heard on the streets these days. ‘From the Empire towards God.’ Had her church become a political animal? And if it had – what repercussions would there be?

At the clinic, two women – both
madras soltoras
, single
mothers – were nearing the end of the first stage of labour and due to be wheeled to the delivery room.

Sister Julia said the morning prayers more hurriedly than usual and Dr Lopez arrived early for his round and took charge, the midwife and nurse also in attendance. Sister Julia stood beside the bed of one of the women, Lenora Sanchez, holding her hand, trying to offer prayer and comfort.

‘Help me, Mother, help me, Mother,’ moaned Lenora.

‘Your mother will not help you now,’ said Dr Lopez grimly. ‘You must ask your forgiveness of God. You must repent your sins and give up your child to God’s good grace.’

So. Sister Julia rubbed the woman’s back as the contraction came. Now the pains were not far apart. Lenora had not then agreed to give up her child for adoption. Had she wanted to become pregnant in the first place? Presumably not. Did any single mother? But it happened and once it had happened … ‘It is a terrible thing,’ the doctor had once said to Sister Julia. ‘But in some countries it is legal to take a child’s life – even before that child is born.’ Not so in Spain. Abortion was deeply frowned upon. What then were women such as Lenora to do?

Dr Lopez shook his head in despair. ‘I must see how dilated you are. Nurse!’

Lenora’s legs were stirruped and spread. Dr Lopez craned over her as he made his examination.

‘Be still,’ Sister Julia murmured. ‘Be still.’ The position she was in seemed to be making the pain worse. When had women been forced to lie down to be delivered so that they
were denied even the help of gravity? When had inventions like the stirrups been introduced so that the doctors might see more clearly and the woman in labour be able to barely move?

Dr Lopez turned to the midwife. ‘She needs to go to the delivery room now. The child is coming.’

Lenora screamed as if to confirm this fact. But she gripped Sister Julia’s hand and she could sense the excitement there too, the passion of childbirth.

‘Hush now,’ said Sister Julia. ‘God is with you.’

‘We shall see,’ snapped the doctor.

But the midwife was busy with the other mother-to-be, a girl giving birth for the first time, a girl not much more than a child herself who wanted nothing more than to be free of it, once her child was born.

‘Stay with her,’ said Dr Lopez, reassessing the situation. ‘Sister Julia will take this woman through.’ He seemed to dismiss Lenora with a wave of his hand.

She screamed again.

Sister Julia did not like the look of her. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was white. ‘Can we give her some pain relief, doctor?’ she asked. She unstrapped the woman’s legs and prepared to move the bed. The junior nurse hurried over to help her.

‘It is too late.’

Another scream, long and piercing.

‘“In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children”,’ Dr Lopez bellowed at her. ‘Genesis.’ He came closer to the bedside and
looked down at poor Lenora. ‘“Because you have eaten the forbidden fruit.”’ Abruptly, he turned from her.

Dear God. Sister Julia was aware of the doctor’s belief that women must suffer pain in childbirth because of Eve’s alleged sin, but was it truly God’s will for women to experience such pain? The doctor – and others – might ask why women like Lenora had allowed their virtue to be taken away so freely. Had they not worried what might happen to them? What position they might find themselves in? Sister Julia thought of Paloma. She was safe now that she was about to be married. But Sister Julia could see how some men might take advantage of a poor foolish girl who was ready and willing to be flattered. Men who were unscrupulous and who showed women little respect; men who used charm and perhaps even force to get what they wanted.

Lenora hung on to the sides of the bed, her eyes wide and dilated. ‘I am a woman,’ she panted. ‘And I am alive.’

‘So we see,’ said Dr Lopez.

Lenora cried out again. And they still hadn’t got her out of the medical room. The other women were becoming distressed now. But Dr Lopez remained as cool as a mountain stream as he moved away to check on the other mother in labour.

Was he leaving Sister Julia in charge? She tried not to panic. ‘Gas and air, doctor?’ she asked. He often administered this late on in labour – when he chose to do so.

‘No need.’ He turned and touched his nose. ‘Doctor knows best, Sister Julia,’ he said, almost flippantly, apparently
oblivious to Lenora’s screams. ‘She is to be a mother. She will manage.’

An unmarried mother. A mother who wished to keep her child. They moved the bed into the delivery room. Sister Julia rearranged pillows and sheets and tried to make Lenora as comfortable as possible. Were they fallen women, as Dr Lopez said? Or were they simply women who had some life in their bones? She fetched some water in a bowl and dipped in a flannel. But it was true that a single woman pregnant with an unwanted child presented a social problem. And if Sister Julia doubted his methods … The clinic and the adoptions encouraged and arranged by Dr Lopez at least provided a solution – for both mother and child. No one could deny that.

It was a difficult birth. Sister Julia did not think she had ever heard a woman make so much noise. Lenora was in pain and she had a streak of wildness in her too. However, Sister Julia comforted her as best she could and Dr Lopez delivered the child. There did not seem to be any complications.

Dr Lopez handed the baby to Sister Julia while he delivered the afterbirth and checked that all was well with the mother.

‘A healthy boy,’ Sister Julia told Lenora as she began to wash him. His cheeks were already flushed with colour, there was a dark fluff of hair on his little head. He was a darling.

‘Indeed.’ The doctor looked up from his examination. ‘But I think I must be the judge of that, thank you, Sister.’

‘Of course, doctor.’ She bowed her head.

When he had finished, Dr Lopez nodded at Sister Julia. ‘As
soon as you like, Sister,’ he said. And then he left the delivery room.

There was a fixed procedure. After a baby was born to a mother, Sister Julia must take the infant to the doctor as quickly as possible, so that a proper examination could be carried out.

‘Let me hold him,’ begged Lenora. She was quieter now and calm. She had that look of peace about her that women wore after childbirth. When Sister Julia saw that, she had to remind herself: this experience was not for her. She would never know what Lenora had known – that passion and pain, that losing of control, that marvellous and momentous feeling of giving birth.

Sister Julia hesitated. Most of the women wanted to hold their newborns to their breast; they wanted to keep them by their bedside and watch over them. But she was not supposed to allow that to happen. ‘Just for a moment,’ she said. ‘Then I must take him through to be examined by the doctor.’

‘Phoof,’ said Lenora. ‘You can see he is as healthy as a young horse. What does he need to be examined for?’ She held him close. ‘My love,’ she murmured. And kissed him softly on his forehead.

Sister Julia was moved by the simple gesture of affection. But, ‘It is procedure.’ And she took him back. ‘However would it be,’ Dr Lopez had said, ‘if there was a health problem with one of these children? How would it look if a baby died before I had even had a chance to examine it? What sort of a reputation would my clinic have in this case?’

And if he were to lose his reputation – Sister Julia did not need to be reminded of this – then he could no longer help these children. He could no longer do what he always referred to as ‘God’s work’.

‘I will bring him back soon,’ Sister Julia promised.

But she did not. She took the baby down to the doctor and then was sent to help in the medical room. It was some hours later when she returned to the delivery room only to see Dr Lopez already standing at the door.

‘Alas, Sister,’ he said. He was holding his crucifix in his hand.

Alas? Sister Julia felt the dread of foreboding in the pit of her stomach. Alas? She followed him inside.

Lenora’s eyes flickered open. She looked at them both and Sister Julia saw the same look of dread on her face that she herself was feeling. She put a hand on the bed rail to steady herself. Surely not?