Love in Revolution (18 page)

Miren said, ‘Gosh, isn’t it
cold
?’

I shifted from buttock to buttock, trying to warm myself up. Over on the other side of the schoolyard, Ana Himyana was flirting with the guard, fiddling with the red band she’d tied her plait with. He grinned, leaning on his rifle, and then checked his watch. None of them liked the schoolyard shift, out in the cold; Ana Himyana was probably the only thing keeping him from shooting someone out of sheer boredom.

Miren said, ‘Maths next. I’m so
sick
of maths. Honestly, no Spanish, no history, no literature, no catechism . . . Not that I miss catechism . . .’

‘Stop going on, Miren,’ I said, without looking at her.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ she said, putting the leaflet down on the bench next to her. ‘You haven’t been nice to me for
months.
’

I looked at her, taking in her red cheeks, the clear drop trembling on the end of her nose and the expression on her face.

I said, ‘I’m sorry. I just . . . Sorry, Miren.’ I glanced over at the guard again, wishing he could stand somewhere else, out of sight. It was stupid; they were supposed to be here to check on the nuns – to make sure no one taught us ‘imperialist fictions’ instead of the truth – so why did he have to be outside with us? To prevent a counter-revolution by a bunch of schoolgirls? To stop us escaping?

Ana Himyana said something, and he laughed, throwing his head back.

Miren turned her head to follow my gaze, and said, ‘My papa says there isn’t anything else for them to do, and the government just wants them to feel important. So they get rifles and badges and then they stand around flirting with people like Ana.’

I clenched my teeth. ‘Miren. Stop saying things like that. He might hear you. Or . . .’ Or someone else might; it didn’t matter who. I didn’t know why she made me feel so jumpy, but there was something about her voice, flat and earnest, as if no one could possibly disagree with what she said . . . I shut my eyes again, wishing I could shut my ears as well.

There was a shout from the schoolhouse – a male voice, followed by two women’s voices, overlapping into a mess of vowels without any words. I opened my eyes and turned to look. A guard – the oldest one, with a paunch and a grey beard – was pulling one of the nuns into the schoolyard, in a flurry of black and white. She had her head down, so I couldn’t see who it was, but behind her was Sister David, her face flushed, raising her voice. She said, ‘Let go of her at
once
! How dare you lay hands on her like that! Get
off
 –’

I felt Miren stiffen, and the noise in the schoolyard faded.

The guard dragged at the nun’s arm, pulling her upright. She was shaking; she fumbled with her veil, pushing it away from her face. It was Sister Paul, one of the youngest nuns. She used to teach the catechism classes, and gave us sweets if we got all the answers. She said, ‘I only – thought that – it wasn’t
right
 –’

‘You know it’s not allowed! I’m here to make sure none of your subversive politics gets – none of your bloody
religion
 –’

‘This is a convent school! I’m a
nun
!’ Sister Paul said, her voice high and breathless. She jerked her arm out of his grip. ‘I refuse to cut these children off from the love of Our Lord, simply because evil has taken over the country and –’

‘That’s enough,’ Sister David said. She said it quietly, but somehow it cut through everything, leaving a silence with sharp edges. ‘Sister Paul, please control yourself. Mr Aznar –’

‘
Comrade
 –’

‘Comrade Aznar. Please excuse my sister-in-Christ – she is still learning to appreciate the glory of our new revolutionary government. I assure you she won’t be any more trouble to you.’

He chewed his bottom lip, licking strands of his beard away from the corner of his mouth. Finally he looked Sister Paul up and down, and said, ‘Yes, well, don’t do it again. The Ministry of Education would have my balls –’ He stopped himself, as if he’d realised he was talking to a nun, but Sister David only smiled at him.

He turned and rolled his shoulder, adjusting the rifle strap. ‘All right, well . . . Bloody hell, it’s cold out here –’

‘The glory?’ Sister Paul said, and took a step towards Sister David. ‘The
glory
of our revolutionary government? The
glory
?’

Sister David looked at her, and then turned on her heel. ‘Did you leave your form alone, Sister? You should be getting back to them –’

‘You think – glory?
Glory?
’ It was as if she couldn’t say anything else: as if the word was stuck in her throat and she was trying to get rid of it. She ran after Sister David, caught her arm and swung her round. ‘How
dare
you, Sister? How dare you say such things, when you’re wearing the habit of a religious order? You know as well as I do that it’s evil, they’re murderers and thieves, how can you bear to defend them? You should be ashamed! You’re betraying everything, the Church, Our Lord himself,
everything
–’ She shook Sister David’s arm. ‘You want us all to stay quiet, just go along with it, and it’s
evil
, we have to say something, it’s our duty, how can you
bear
. . . ?’ She ran out of breath. Her eyes were wide and there was saliva in the corner of her mouth.

Comrade Aznar was staring. He cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder at the other guard. No one said anything. Finally, in the silence, Sister David said, ‘Thank you, Sister, that’s enough. Go and compose yourself.’

Sister Paul was crying now. She shook her head.

Sister David took a deep breath. Her face looked calm, but she was shaking, and I didn’t think it was because of the cold, or not just because of the cold. ‘Remember your vows of obedience,’ she said, with a softer note in her voice. ‘We will talk about this later. Now go inside.’ She turned to Comrade Aznar and said, ‘I apologise for her, Comrade. I’m sure you’ll understand that it has been rather a strain for us recently.’

Comrade Aznar screwed up his face, sniffed and said, ‘Well, just make sure nothing like this happens ag–’

But he didn’t have time to finish his sentence. Sister Paul flew at him, her breath catching and squeaking in her throat. He reeled back, swearing, but she went after him in a flurry of black cloth, spluttering tears and pounding her fists against his chest. There were words mixed in with her sobs: ‘Go away, go away, go
away
. . .’

‘Sister – control yourself –’ Sister David tried to drag her away from him, but she wasn’t strong enough. There was the noise of a seam tearing and a yell from Comrade Aznar. Suddenly there was blood running down his face and Sister Paul was laughing in a high, hysterical tone that made my stomach contract. Sister David was grabbing for her arms, but Sister Paul kept throwing her off. Her face was stretched and wet, and her eyes were fixed on Aznar.

‘Get off me – don’t you touch me again, you bitch!’ Aznar had one hand up to his forehead, and blood was trickling down between his fingers. His other hand was on his rifle.

‘Go away – leave us alone – this is
our
school, you don’t have any right –’ She pulled away from Sister David, and tried to run at him again, her fingers curled as if she wanted to claw his eyes out. Her mouth was open. She looked mad, possessed.

He recoiled, and now his rifle was level, pointing at her. He looked scared, even though he was the one with a gun. ‘You take one more step –’

‘Sister, please,
please
stop this –’ Sister David’s voice was high and breathless; I wouldn’t have recognised it.

‘
Get out of our school!
’

And then there was a scuffle, a flap of black and white, and a gunshot.

I felt Miren jerk next to me, and for a strange dislocated moment I thought someone had shot
her
. Then, in the silence, Comrade Aznar stepped backwards, his rifle wobbling in the air as if he couldn’t hold it steady, and I saw Sister Paul kneeling on the ground in front of him, her head bent and her hands clasped over her stomach. She was coughing. Aznar said, ‘Oh . . . hell . . .’

And then the other nun started to cry, and it was Sister Paul, and I realised that meant –

The one who’d been shot was Sister David; she must have tried to get between them, to stop Aznar firing . . .

Slowly the noise in the schoolyard rose. I heard Miren take a deep breath and start to sob. Someone, somewhere, was shrieking. But Ana Himyana was the only person who moved. She crossed the yard to Sister David, bent down and then looked up at Aznar. She said, ‘Call Doctor Bidart, please, Comrade. I’m sure no one will mind if you use the telephone in Sister David’s office. It’s next to the hist– the political-awareness classroom.’

Sister David said, ‘Thank you, Ana. Would you be kind enough to help me up, please?’ Her voice was tight but the words were clear. I felt a surge of relief: if she could talk, then she’d be all right, wouldn’t she?

Ana helped her up, and in spite of the strain on her face Sister David stood up straight, or nearly. There was a shiny patch on her black habit, spreading outwards from her stomach. She said to Aznar, gasping a little, ‘I think perhaps these children should be given the rest of the day off. If you would see to it . . . and Sister Paul needs to go to the infirmary. May I ask you to see to that too?’

Aznar nodded, without meeting her eyes. He mumbled, ‘Sister, I didn’t mean to . . . you know, it was just that . . . listen, I . . .’ but then he petered out.

Ana and Sister David hobbled back into the building,  and Sister Paul followed them.

Aznar turned round and said loudly, ‘Right, you lot. Go home.’ Then he strode over to the other guard and started a loud conversation about the best place to buy cigarettes, as if nothing had happened. But his rifle was still in his hands, and still shaking.

Miren took hold of my hand tightly. I squeezed back. I felt her turn her head to look at me, but I didn’t want to meet her eyes. If I met her eyes, it would all be real.

After a long time, three girls from the form below me stood up and made their way to the gate. They had their arms round each other, and two were crying. The other one was staring around with blank eyes, as if she’d lost something.

Slowly the schoolyard emptied. Miren and I stayed where we were. In the end we were the only ones left. I could hear raised voices from the infirmary window, and heard someone say, ‘Bidart.’ They were talking about Papa; and right on cue he was there, hurrying through the school gates with his bag in his hand. For a split second I didn’t see him as my father, but a thin, greying stranger. He walked straight past without seeing me, and I wanted to cry. I said, ‘Papa . . .’ but he still didn’t hear. He almost ran into the building, and the door swung shut behind him with a bang.

Miren stood up. She said, ‘I’m going home then.’ She looked at me with a strange expression, as if there was something she wanted me to do.

I nodded. I wanted to say something, but I was scared I’d burst into tears. I wished Papa had just
seen
me.

And Sister David . . . All of a sudden I remembered what she’d said to me, months ago.
Be careful, Esteya. Prudence is as great a virtue as courage. No one –
no one
– gains from unnecessary suffering
. . . But she’d stepped between Sister Paul and Aznar’s gun, hadn’t she? I gritted my teeth. Why had she done it? What a stupid,
stupid
thing to do . . .

‘Are you . . . ? Esteya?’ Miren said. ‘Are you all right?’

It shouldn’t have happened. The revolution was supposed to
stop
people getting shot. Aznar wasn’t a policeman, he was a People’s Guard, he was meant to protect us . . .

Be careful, Esteya
.

‘I’ll be going then,’ Miren said. She sniffed and wiped a drip away from her nose. ‘Um . . . see you tomorrow . . .’

I smiled at her, although I could feel it wasn’t very convincing. I said, ‘Yes, see you tomorrow.’

She walked away. After a while I got up and went out through the gates. I didn’t look back; although later I wished I had, because the next day the school was closed, and it never opened again.

I should have gone home, but I couldn’t bear the thought of it. Martin would still be at school, and imagining explaining to Mama what had happened made my throat tighten even more. But I was too cold to stay where I was.

Skizi. I had to see Skizi.

Just the idea of her helped a little. As I made my way through the quiet streets and out into the open fields I was hurrying, thinking of the warmth when she put her arms round me, the comfort of her hands on my back. I wanted to close my eyes and let her kiss me, blotting out the image of Sister David with that wet patch on her habit, Sister Paul with her eyes wide and ferocious, flying at Comrade Aznar . . .

I trudged up the hill. I could see smoke coming from the chimney of Skizi’s hut and trickling out through the holes in the roof above the hearth. Normally she didn’t light a fire in the daytime in case someone saw; but I didn’t blame her, today.