Bay of Secrets (24 page)

In the foyer of Santa Ana was the portrait of a devout nun, her eyes turned to God in ecstasy. In her hands she clutched a crucifix, in the background was a library of edifying books. It had been commissioned by the nun’s rich family, some years before Sister Julia had joined the convent. That family was clearly proud of their daughter. But what did Sister Julia’s family think of her? She often reflected on this.

Her mother and sisters had visited her at Santa Ana only a few days earlier. It had been a shock, for Sister Julia had not seen them for two years and it was a full six years since she had learnt of Paloma’s forthcoming marriage to Mario Vamos. The last visit had been a hurried one and her mother had come alone. But Sister Julia understood. Family visits were not encouraged and besides, she was so often working at the clinic. In some ways it was almost easier not to see them.

‘Julia.’ Her mother’s eyes filled but she did not embrace her.

‘Mama. Sisters.’ Sister Julia bowed her head so that her
emotions would not spill out and overflow. For they had changed. Mama, once strong and upright, seemed bent and tired, Matilde was dressed smartly enough but her eyes were so cold. And Paloma … The sight of Paloma was what affected her the most. Her sister seemed to have lost the light of life that had made her Paloma. How could that have happened in just six years?

They sat as usual in the room adjoining the foyer, upright and apart as they exchanged their items of news. A cousin she had hardly known had died. An old work colleague of her mother’s had lost her husband. Sister Julia, though, was quiet. She had grown accustomed to listening to others, she supposed. Even at the clinic she spoke little – and never of herself.

But, ‘How is Papa?’ she asked at last.

‘His health is not what it was,’ her mother admitted. ‘But some of his burden has eased.’

Paloma snorted. ‘Now that he has no daughters to worry over,’ she remarked.

Matilde looked straight at Julia. ‘You were the lucky one,’ she said.

Sister Julia bowed her head. Her sisters were both clearly unhappy. And so perhaps this was true. Though no one had thought it at the time.

‘It is not so bad for you, Matilde,’ Paloma shot back at their older sister. ‘At least your husband adores you.’

Sister Julia glanced at her in surprise. It was Paloma, after all, who had married for love. ‘How is Mario?’ she asked gently.

Paloma looked away. But there was no light of love this time in her eyes. Indeed, Sister Julia feared that she might weep. Life under the new regime with the handsome and charming Mario Vamos had clearly not turned out to be what her fun-loving, pretty sister had hoped for.

‘There are no children,’ their mother said, as if that explained everything.

Sister Julia was confused. Paloma had been married less than six years. Was it so urgent that she and her Mario should immediately start a family? They were still young. Was it a reason for the love to fade between husband and wife?

Paloma shrugged her slender shoulders. ‘And so already he strays.’

She made it sound as if she did not care. But Sister Julia knew her sister. Her looks and her ability to command slavish devotion were her very identity – without them she was lost. And Sister Julia thought of the way Mario Vamos used to watch her when he was a boy. No doubt he watched other women in that way too. It did not sound as if he had changed so much.

Matilde was examining her fingernails. They were long, painted red and perfectly manicured. ‘Perhaps you should be grateful he no longer wants you,’ she said to Paloma.

Glory. Sister Julia tried to conceal her shock. Had it been so long since she had listened carelessly to such talk? Clearly it had. She lived in a world so apart from her sisters that it seemed almost as if they spoke another language.

‘Matilde … ’ their mother gently admonished.

‘Well, why should I not say it? Miguel is repulsive!’ Matilde shuddered. ‘You know it. Any fool can see it. My life is just rules. What I must say, how I must behave, when we should have dinner or take a walk. You do not know what it is like. And in the bedroom. You have no idea what I have to do … ’

Sister Julia blushed. She hoped Matilde would go no further or she would have to ask them to leave. There should not be such talk in God’s house.

‘Hush,’ said her mother. ‘We have all made sacrifices. It is the world we live in.’

Indeed, thought Sister Julia. It was indeed the world they lived in.

‘But look at you, Julia,’ Paloma said.

And all three of them looked at her. How did she appear to them? It was impossible to say. But at least she was not invisible to her own family. They did not seem to expect her to say much, but at least they addressed her. At least over the years they had come occasionally to visit.

‘
Si, si
 …’ Matilde nodded her agreement. ‘You have been given a social role so much more important than looking after a man and bringing children into the world.’

Had she? Sister Julia considered. She thought of the women in the clinic and she thought of the life she led. Yes, perhaps her role was more important than she had sometimes perceived it to be.

‘All right for you to say it is not important to bear
children,’ Paloma retorted. ‘When you are not married to a man who thinks it is the only thing that matters.’

Matilde shrugged her shoulders. She got to her feet and wandered over to the arched window which looked out on to the courtyard. ‘Who would want to bring children into this world anyway, when it is a world of war and poverty and heartbreak?’ she asked. Her voice was almost expressionless, her dark eyes inscrutable. Sister Julia’s heart went out to her.

And she thought again of the women in the clinic. It was strange that she and her family should be talking of this, when the subject was so close to her heart. And the answer to the question? The answer was that many women still wanted to bring children into the world, whatever that world was like. It was an urge buried deep within them.

Their mother nodded sadly. ‘I fear that you are right, my daughter.’

And the three of them looked again at Sister Julia. Was she the lucky one? It was true that entering the sisterhood had given her security. It had in some ways been a relief to retreat into a world away from the atrocities she had witnessed as a girl during the Spanish Civil War. She had a refuge, she did not want. The sisterhood had also given her an identity outside marriage. When she was not working or praying, Sister Julia was able to continue her English and history studies; her reading. She had found some solace in her growing faith. And as for her work in the clinic … This was demanding and difficult – physically and emotionally. But it gave her a purpose.

‘Are you content in your life, my child?’ her mother asked her as she had asked her some years before.

Sister Julia saw her mother’s sadness. She had given her daughter up to another world in much the same way that many of the
madras solatas
gave up their children – in the hope that they would have a better life than the one their own mother could provide.

How could she be the lucky one? How could she be content? She had lost her family and she had lost the chance to live the life of a woman in the outside world. But Sister Julia did not need to say such things. She did not want to hurt the mother who had sacrificed so much. She could not undo the loss, but she could ease the burden of guilt. So. ‘I am content, my mother,’ she said.

*

At least, Sister Julia thought, as she made her way to the Canales Clinic, her work gave her the freedom to walk in the city of Barcelona, which might be a greater freedom than that enjoyed by her two married sisters. To walk and to observe and to think – probably much more than she should. Was she a rebel? She smiled to herself. Perhaps in her own small way.

As she walked, she passed by grand houses and she also passed the pensions rented out by landladies – no doubt of varying repute. She had seen them outside talking with their neighbours or cleaning their windows. And wondered. What were these rooms like? Damp and grimy? A naked light bulb swinging in a bare hall? Broken floor tiles, window sills thick with dust? Threadbare sheets and old wormy furniture? She
could well imagine … So perhaps Matilde and Paloma were right. Perhaps Sister Julia was the fortunate one.

Yesterday, she had left the clinic early, for they were very quiet and something had compelled her to visit Montjuïc cemetery. She still remembered her father’s stories of the men who had been imprisoned and even executed there. She took the bus at Pasea de Colon, a bus which went around the Montjuïc mountain and then up the road to the eastern gates of the cemetery.
Dear God in heaven.
Even from here she could see the rows of tombs; the highways and byways of gravestones and mausoleums. The tombstones continued up to the very top; the avenue of the cemetery lined with a regiment of cypress trees silently watching over the dead. Thousands upon thousands of graves, it looked like. It was a cold and empty place which seemed to echo with the horrors of what had gone before.

Sister Julia continued her walk to the clinic with a heavy heart.

*

Dr Lopez’s waiting room was full that day, with women with appointments to see him. Sister Julia often remained to assist during the examination, or simply stayed in case she was needed during the consultation – for so often the women became upset and emotional. The doctor was always professional but it was rare to find sensitivity and empathy in a man, let alone a man as busy as Dr Lopez, and here again Sister Julia felt that her contribution was worthwhile.

Sometimes, however, her presence was not required and
the doctor would indicate this with a wave of his hand or a curt dismissal. Sister Julia had no idea why some women did not need her to be present during their physical examination. But she would watch these women coming for later appointments, observe the changes in their body as their pregnancy advanced. And again, she would wonder.

This afternoon, she took in a woman who was wearing a loose coat but otherwise had no visible signs of pregnancy. This time it was she who asked to see the doctor alone.

Dr Lopez raised one thick dark eyebrow and nodded for Sister Julia to leave them. She did so, waiting a little way down the hall in case she should be called.

Instead, several minutes later, the woman suddenly burst out of the doctor’s consulting room and hurried towards her.

‘Are you quite well,
señora
?’ Sister Julia asked. She was behaving rather strangely, and a woman with child must be cared for.

‘
Si, si
 …’ The woman was heading for the front door.

‘Please wait a moment.’ Sister Julia could not allow her to race away from the clinic before she had collected herself and become calm. Indeed, the woman’s face was quite flushed and angry.

The woman spun around to face her. ‘I am well, Sister,’ she said.

Had something happened in the consulting room with Dr Lopez? Sister Julia took her arm. ‘Please, won’t you rest a while?’ she asked. ‘Can I fetch you some water, perhaps?’ She looked back towards the consulting room but the doctor had
not yet called her. Perhaps he was making notes or writing up a report?

The woman shook her head. She was definitely overheated, at the very least. ‘Such things, Sister,’ she said. ‘Such things.’

Sister Julia knew she shouldn’t, but she wanted to hear more. So she took her into the quiet room opposite the waiting room, reserved for the more emotional women who needed a few moments alone. She fetched her a glass of water and sat with her for a moment until Dr Lopez should call for his next appointment.

‘Children should be with their mothers,’ the woman said. ‘It is an offence against civil liberty.’

Warning bells sounded in Sister Julia’s head. She rose to her feet. What should she do? She wanted to hear more but she dare not.

But the woman did not talk of the clinic. ‘The children are taken from their own families,’ she said. ‘They cannot stop them. How can they?’

‘Surely not,’ Sister Julia soothed, for the woman seemed to be rambling. ‘Why should children be taken from their own families? Who do you speak of?’

‘Those who they suspect to be Reds. It is how things are. It has happened to my own sister.’ The woman took a handkerchief from her bag and wiped her eyes. ‘When the parents are suspect – why take a chance on what they might teach their children? And brainwashing can be very effective, you know, Sister.’

Sister Julia crossed herself. ‘But how can this be?’ She knew that she should not engage the woman in conversation, and she hoped that Dr Lopez would not emerge from his consulting room and find them talking. But again, she remembered her father’s words in those first weeks after the end of the Civil War. About what they had lost. About how things were. What was happening to their country? What would become of them all?

‘But where do the children go?’ she whispered.

‘They send them to orphanages. Religious institutions. Run by Falange or Church, what difference?’ She named a couple of these places, both in Catalonia. ‘Thousands of them are taken,’ she said. ‘To be indoctrinated with nationalist beliefs. Some are even adopted – against their mothers’ will.’

Adopted? Sister Julia was shocked. Children who already had parents living who had always cared for them? Forcibly taken from them and adopted? And yet – was this so different from what they were doing at the clinic? Yes. For at the clinic the mothers wished their babies to be adopted. It was their choice. Many were poor and also unmarried. They did not want to care for them. They had neither the will nor the means. And if Dr Lopez put pressure on them? This was to ensure that the right thing was done. It was an entirely different situation.

Still … Why had the woman come here? ‘You must go,’ she said to her, ushering her out. She could hear Dr Lopez talking to someone in his consulting room. Thank goodness he had been distracted.

Here at the clinic it was not a political matter. Dr Lopez was not a political man. He was only interested in helping people, in carrying out what he saw as the will of God. His methods might be dubious at times, but his motivation was surely sound. Still, Sister Julia reflected on what the woman had told her. Had those child abductions also been carried out in the name of God?