The most difficult part is keeping the vesicles intactâno small matter, Nati, when you consider how restless our little boys get confined to a small area on a small ship. Inside each vesicle is the precious limpid fluid that must reach full potency before it can be harvested to the next set of carriers. What I still cannot decipher is how long that maturation takes.
“Excellent question, Doña Isabel!” Don Francisco had praised me when I had asked. How I loved to hear him say so! The vesicle had to be fully engorged, the grain at the center beginning to sinkâas few as seven, as many as ten, days. “In science, theory must be ruled by observation, and, of course, necessity.” As in life, I thought, but I did not offer my opinion.
I am happy to report that so far all of the boys we so carefully selected have reacted to the vaccine. From TintÃn's and Bello's vesicles, we have gone on to vaccinate Pascual and Florencio at sea. On land, the two oldest boys. I do hope that none of our little carriers will fail us â¦
Nati, of course, knew about Benito, but I dared not allude to him in writing. What if my letter should fall into the wrong hands? Several times I had come close to confessing to our director. I had forgiven him his enthusiasm. Would he forgive me mine?
You are no doubt wondering how I have fared on a ship surrounded by so many men (thirty-seven in total, not counting our boys). In truth, I barely noticed them those first days out of La Coruña. Oh, Nati, I thought I would die of seasickness. Nothing helped settle my stomach or quiet my pounding head. Not the smelling salts the captain had given me before setting off, not the wine of ipecac that Don Francisco urged upon me. Of course, it did not help that my berth was with the boys down in the lower deck (“orlop,” the sailors call it). Captain del Barco, a former Armada officer, more used to a ship full of mariners than of passengers, would not allow a
woman
in his officers' quarters where the cabins are located. He pronounces the word as if it had a bad taste. How to describe him? Think of our porter, another of those burly-type little fellows whose muscles resemble nothing other than sausages packed with far too much meat.
But I suppose our captain owed Don Francisco a favor. Remember the substitute boy who was to replace our little Carlito? (I hope he has fully recovered?) He is none other than the captain's young cabin boy, a sweet, cherub-faced child, Orlando, no older than our own Francisco. There is some rumor that he is the captain's son and a darker rumor that I will not repeat. A ship is not unlike our own city of La Coruña, full of gossip and hearsay.
The captain finally conceded to Don Francisco's petitions. But the true kindness came from the first mate who offered his own cabin for the lady's use. I was moved “aft,” as the back part of the ship is knownâa whole new language is spoken on board. At the time, I was too sick to properly thank the kind lieutenant. But a few days into our sail when I had grown more accustomed to the rocking ship, I made a point of finding him out. The tall, taciturn man stiffened and stammered so painfully, I had to cut my gratitude short. I can see why the captain might not want a woman in the midst of his officers if such is the effect of a pocked female of ripe age upon his right-hand man.
From my upstairs window, I could see the bay to the east, the ships posed as if in a painting, their sails slack, such a pretty picture! Of course, I now knew how unwelcome this very sight was to the captains of each of those outbound vessels, cursing the stillness that kept them from plying their trade. And though, I, like them, was eager to reach our destination, I was reluctant to board a rolling ship and be seasick once again.
“Virgen MarÃa,” I prayed, not knowing what to ask for.
Below, in the square, the line already stretched past the marble cross and down the narrow streets. Knowing that our expedition would soon be leaving, larger crowds had been showing up. The captain-general had published an announcement that a local board was being set up, staffed by physicians trained by Don Francisco and his assistants, who would continue vaccinating after we were gone. But, still, many came from inland towns and other islands, wanting to be vaccinated by one of “the king's men.”
This Saturday afternoon would be the last vaccination session until Monday morning, if we had not left by then. Tomorrow, Sunday, this same square would fill with traders from many nations come to sell and buy African slaves. I had watched the scene from my window and seen it up close as we returned from mass, a veritable Tower of Babel loosed in Santa Cruz: Dutch and French, Danish and British, Portuguese and American traders, and of course, our own Spaniards; and then the slaves, barely clothed, men and women and children, fetters at their feet or around their necks, their eyes wide with terror. I did not want to look at them and yet I could not help but look at them in wonderment, as the traders inspected them, prodding them to turn and show what they were made of.
“I no longer go near the plaza on Sundays!” the captain-general's wife had admitted at the Noche Buena celebration she threw for the boys at the palace. “The bishop kindly comes to say Mass in our chapel.” She was a marchesa, the first marchesa I had ever spoken to, richly dressed for the occasion in a silk gown with pearls stitched in the bodice and sleeves; the Spanish rage of dressing like peasant majas had not caught here. “But I am sorry for you, dear, and for the poor Sisters, having to witness such sights, week after week. The slave market should be moved to the docks. I have
been importuning the marquis. But he argues that this is where our good fortune comes from. âLet the Sisters shut their windows!'”
Not that all new sights are pleasurable to behold. We have witnessed several horrid hangings of pirates captured by the
Venganza.
One in particular, a young man, who swore so foully, a rag was stuffed in his mouth to protect delicate ears in the crowd from hearing such uncivil utterings, as if the dangling of a man at the end of the rope were not uncivil and indelicate itself. I took the opportunity to instill fear in my little ones should they persist in their bad habit of swearing. Later, I felt ashamed to have used the suffering of another as the text for their improvement.
On Sundays in the plaza, in front of our lodgings, a slave market takes place. The savages are lined up on a block and bid upon. On the way back from Mass, I saw one African, a woman, naked but for a cloth tied about the waist to hide her sex; she was in fetters, sores where the chains had cut her skin. I could smell her fear, and the look in her eyes when she saw me gazing at her was one of such desolation it took my breath away.
The boys being boys have begun teasing our poor little Moor, threatening to sell him at the market. Needless to say, Tomás Melitón is now in a state of terror. Where does this unkindness in these children come from, Nati? Most of them have been with us from the very day they first drew breath or shortly thereafter, and though we have punished them when deserved, we have never taken relish in their sufferings. Another sagrado misterio to lay before our wise confessor, Father Ignacio. How is he? No doubt glad to be rid of the rectoress with her troublesome questions.
When I asked Don Ãngel Crespo (the kindliest of the nurses; his name well suits him!) if these savages were to be vaccinated, he said they should be, for of those who do not die on the middle passage many are lost to the smallpox once they've crossed the water. But the traders, being fearful lest the vaccination make their merchandise sickly, and so bring in a lower price, prefer to forego this precaution and let the loss accrue to the buyer's account.
Why was I telling Nati such disturbing things? Why darken her day with a letter meant to bring her glad tidings? Why not tell of the sweetness
and light abounding all about me? I could hear laughter now, as two men exchanged greetings and good wishes for the upcoming new year. The vaccination sessions often turned into festive gatherings, with street vendors selling all manner of fruits and sweets and boys piping tunes while a capuchin monkey danced a jig.
Ay, Nati, I should not complain of confinement, for in our three weeks here, I have had more outings than in a year in La Coruña. As I mentioned, I have curtsied before a marchesa and received many visitors and well-wishers at the convent. I have also kissed the ring of a bishop, each time a different one, I noted. You must wonder, no doubt, that I, who always sought the shadows and feared the scrutiny of the public eye, should now yearn to be out and about. But my curiosity once kindled cannot easily be snuffed out. And as I am only “the woman who takes care of the children,” I am of no consequence to the eyes that gaze in my direction. Not once have I had to wield the pin with which you armed me for my protection!
In fact, the pin was stowed among my personal effects in the chest that was ready and packed at the foot of my cot. For days at a time at sea and here on land, I forgot my scarred face, my wounded vanity, my old losses. Only in
his
presence, or sometimes when a stranger's head turned to stare too boldly, was I thrust back into the cramped cell of my own story, and a fury would rise up, a desire to do damage such as the smallpox had done to me. Perhaps I should not be so astonished at slavers trading in human misery or crowds hurling abuse at some poor wretch at a hanging!
We went on an outing to the small town of Oratava, where there are many gardens. Our steward had to go to secure provisions and invited us along, no doubt trying to make amends for the loss of some of our cargo. I will not bother you with the details, only to say that some cases with Doña Teresa's treats have vanished into thin air! The steward, whom everyone calls Steward, a red-faced, shifty-eyed fellow, who doubles as our purser, is the one responsible for the ship's provisions. He blamed the loss on rats, but when pressed by the mate he charged the cook, who accused the seamen who returned the blame to the rats! They behave like our boys, do they not?
The outing was a welcomed treat for the boys, who will soon enough be closeted in a small wooden vessel. Ahead of us rose the enormous, snow-covered peak that, if reports are to be believed, spews out fire and pours out a burning river from time to time. The boys' eyes were big with wonder, hearing the stories. They sat in the square in Oratava, waiting and growing impatient. “When is the damned thing going to throw out bloody fire?” (Forgive me for transcribing their very words. Judge for yourself what foulness falls from the mouths of our innocents!)
I'm afraid the outing was a disappointment to them, but I enjoyed seeing such different sights. Palm trees and banana trees, fields of corn, and vegetables such as I had never known before, thriving now in the winter season! The houses are many of them painted a white color and the red tiled roofs become them very well. The people are dusky, as if from proximity to Africa, their skin had darkened. But they put great store on their purity and would rather, I wager, have my scarred white face than a Moor's unblemished dark skin.
I must mention a troubling incident, for my head still spins at the thought, and I have no one in this world but you, Nati, to whom I can confess it. We had to spend the night in Oratava, for though the distance from Santa Cruz is not great, what passes for a road is in very bad condition. As I bid our hosts good nightâthe local authority, something like our alcalde, and his kindly wifeâthe steward followed me to the door of my bedchamber and made a most improper propositionâ
There was a tapping at my door now. One of the boys had no doubt awakened, and there was an end to my solitude. “Yes?” I called out wearily.
Sor Catalina pushed open the door gently. “Some members of your expedition.” She spoke so softly, I could hardly hear her. The little nuns were not used to tending to children, and they walked on tiptoes and spoke in whispers whenever the boys were asleep.
I was surprised. If there was a message to be delivered, one of our expedition was sufficient for the task. Why several members? Perhaps we were sailing this very day and a number of helpers had come to assist me
with rounding up the boys. So much for my letter to Nati. “Is Don Francisco with them?”
Sor Catalina was not sure. The convent had been beset with officials and well-wishers, who came to pay their respects to twenty-one little sons of the king. (Orlando was staying with our captain at the captain-general's palace.) Sor Catalina had met so many people in the last few weeks, she could not be sure who was who. The captain-general had decorated the expedition members with a red satin honor band to wear over their uniforms, which identified them. These men, she explained, were wearing those bands.
In the front receiving room, I found Don Francisco and Dr. Salvany as well as Dr. Gutiérrez, Don Francisco's personal assistant in Madrid whom he had enticed to join our expedition. My own little Francisco was with them.
Of course! Francisco's vaccination must be ripe for harvestingâtoday was already the tenth day. On shore, Don Francisco had been vaccinating only one of our boys at a time in order to conserve carriers in case of any mishap in our crossing. He might have dispensed with vaccinating any of our own boys altogether, as there were plenty of reserves here. But so careful was he of any possible corruption, he wanted to maintain a pure line of continuance from our original number.
“Gentlemen,” I said, giving them each my hand in greeting. “My child,” I added, bending to kiss Francisco's forehead. He was of the age that such womanly affection embarrassed him. He lifted his hand, as if to prevent me, but Dr. Gutiérrez caught him by the wrist. I do not think his intention was to prevent the boy's discourtesy, as much as to protect the big, blooming vesicle on the boy's left arm.
“The boys are napping,” I explained. “Whom shall I fetch next?”
“I would ask you to choose among the sturdiest,” Don Francisco replied. In fact, all the boys were fat and well. We had all been gorging ourselves on the fruits of the land, sweet milk and oozing cheeses, bananas and figs and grapes, every kind of verdura mixed with spiced rice, all of the trea sures of this island of eternal spring, plied upon us by our little nuns and visitors.