The Vatican Games

by Alejandra Guibert

  The afternoon prior to Alina’s death, Vera had let her mother know that the two hemispheres of her brain had already closed up. Several little slaps on the rubber helmet had been enough. So Alina had removed the cap and placed it on the altar. Like a bell, covering the Polaroid of her smiling with her hand on the belly which had protected Vera for nine months. She had no idea how long she sat beside the cot. By evening only the darkness had come in through the window. She sought the moon where she knew it would be.

  ‘Where’s your moon, Vera? The moon’s gone. Let’s go and find it.’ Alina picked Vera up in her arms. Standing next to the window, Vera, with her bare head smiling, while her mother showed her the stars in the black, moonless sky. That night the stars made up for its absence. When she had given birth there had been a diaphanous full moon. Now the waning moon had completed its cycle. When it began the next one Vera would no longer have her mother by her side. Alina fed her baby until she was satisfied in the darkness of the starry sky. She gazed at her for hours under the street lamp. She wanted to seal the image in her pupils and take it with her in her final sleep. She had kissed her on her forehead before lying down next to the cot. Nine months on from Vera’s birth, Alina never got up again.

  As if by a miracle, a long-forgotten droplet rolled down from the old lady’s red eyes into the furrows of her cheek while she stroked the baby girl’s translucent skin with her dry fingers and waited for Sister Benedita. When the old lady had called the convent, the nun had no hesitation. She agreed to take the child, even without having consulted her community. Benedita was well aware of convent rules and the clause on abandoned children. Technically speaking Vera had been abandoned by her mother. They could not deny her authorisation to take charge of the baby until she was adopted.

  Vera arrived at the convent with pallid skin and huge eyes. In spite of their reservations the nuns passed her from arm to arm in a game she took to with glee. The more she was passed around the more she laughed and kicked in excitement, as if her energy grew in each restorative embrace. She ate her food with an inspiring appetite. There was nothing she did not like and nothing that Benedita did not give her for the sheer pleasure of seeing her grow. She was no longer pallid and her eyes shone healthily. Benedita had seen that light.

  ‘Are you sure it won’t interfere?’

  ‘I promise, Reverend Mother.’

  ‘We rely on the vegetable garden.’

  ‘You won’t notice any difference.’

  ‘Most of them object. And those who don’t, well, you know, it’s as if they did. If you want to look after the child, you’ll have to do so on your own.’

  ‘Yes, Reverend Mother.’

  She had thought it through. There were only two problems to solve; she needed a pram and a high chair. She called the newspaper to place the usual advertisement during the months of shortages, when the diocese was forced to skip some of the monthly payments. Readers were familiar with the heading ‘Request for donation to the convent’. When Dugati first suggested the idea, Benedita could not refuse. Months later it had become the normal thing to do. While she waited, she did what she knew best: she improvised. Every morning she wrapped Vera in a blanket and took her to the vegetable garden in the wheelbarrow she used to transport plants and tools. She would put her under a tree if it was too sunny. If it rained, Benedita would entrench Vera on the bunk between her pillow and a couple of old habits while she worked on the convent’s accounts on the computer which had also been donated. All she had to do was call Dugati for him to place an advertisement for free. She had convinced the Mother Superior that they should keep up with the times. By hand the accounts took days, with an accounting program, she explained to her, it was like putting coins in a slot machine. The machine made the calculations directly. She knew it was not the best analogy but could think of no other. The strictest nuns looked aghast at one another and then glared at the Mother Superior. Not all the sisters agreed with her methods. They abhorred publicity now that the convent had returned to normal monastic life, leaving behind the scandal of past decades. Every time disapproval surfaced Mother Teresa reminded those most prone to scolding that Benedita was the youngest, that her intentions were always pious and the results satisfactory.

  For the first week of Vera’s arrival, the Mother Superior had excused her from prayers in the chapel while she adapted to the new circumstances. When donations came the following week, Benedita did not think that resuming morning and two evening prayers in the chapel would be an even greater problem. She sat in the last seat at the back near the exit. She would leave Vera in her pram in the corridor where the baby could be heard. Although Vera only cried if she was hungry, the refusal to allow her to be present during prayers was categorical. The annoyed looks of some of the sisters who insisted on sitting near the altar as usual, leaving her isolated at the back, convinced her that she had to settle all differences. It had taken a huge effort to get them to accept Vera in the dining hall, even during vows of silence, three days a week. She prayed each night next to Vera’s cot for the sisters to open their hearts just as she had done. Although it seemed to her that the atmosphere improved bit by bit, the third advertisement asking for a donation to the convent was too much for Sister Eulalia.

  ‘Reverend Mother, how far are these adverts going to go? Next time it will be a television to distract her or a washing machine to cope with the nappies…’

  ‘I’ll have a word with the sister.’

  ‘Donations have always been voluntary. What will people think? That we’re taking advantage of the war.’

  ‘I hear you. I’ll talk to her.’

  ‘We don’t want any more scandals in this house…’

  ‘Do I have to tell you again?’

  ‘Forgive me, Reverend Mother.’

  The baby monitor was the answer. Benedita prepared sweet potato purée, which Vera loved so that her stomach would be full before leaving for the chapel. She would leave her sleeping in the sacristy. From there the little sounds she made while asleep -and which provoked hidden giggles among the prayers- were amplified. Benedita never imagined that in those moments in which the monitor was on, the sisters were taking it in turns to check that Vera was all right. Sometimes they even took her a piece of bread or a biscuit to suck on. In time the little signs left among the blankets or on the floor showed just how far she could push the limits within the community. Weeks went by without Benedita preparing the adoption advertisement. The interval between her confessions became a cause for alarm. The presence of the baby girl had drawn more attention than ever to her eccentric behaviour. She had managed to make herself busy during the two hours the confessor had available each week. Never before had she accumulated so many sins of omission. Father Tito, who came each Sunday to say mass and take the nuns’ confessions, had no choice but to send her a message through the Mother Superior. He had already imagined, on seeing Benedita kneel down in the confessional, that it all had to do with the baby. Benedita did not mind about the penance as long as the little lies she would tell Mother Teresa were limited to the priest’s ears as a confessional secret. This time Sister Eulalia knowingly contradicted herself when she suggested to the Mother Superior that Benedita should speak to her friend at the newspaper. Placing the advert to find a new home for Vera could no longer be postponed.

  ‘Benedita, you either place the notification and begin interviewing couples as we had agreed, or I will call the adoption agency.’

  ‘Right away, Reverend Mother. My friend has been sick. If you don’t mind my calling him next week…’

  ‘Give me his name and I’ll call him myself.’

  ‘I’ll do it now, Reverend Mother, I’ll call him without delay.’ With her head bowed Benedita acknowledged that she should not cross that limit.

  Although the couples who began to arrive left delighted with Vera, many gave up in the face of an overwhelmingly long and complicated questionnaire with some very strange clauses. Benedita was also unable to find a suitable
home among those couples who presented meticulously completed questionnaires. She knew Vera inside out. The home chosen had to be as special as the baby. Months went by and couples interested in adopting her came at increasingly longer intervals.

  ‘Benedita, don’t you think this questionnaire is a little overly elaborate?’

  ‘Reverend Mother, with all due respect… You surely realise that Vera is not like any other child. Only a special couple could understand her.’

  Benedita was familiar with the altruistic desire of so many couples to adopt children orphaned by the cataclysm and by war.

  ‘Vera is the easiest child to look after that I have ever come across.’

  ‘Reverend Mother, with all due respect… How many babies have you seen in this convent?’

  By the time Vera was two years old, it was no longer a matter of Benedita’s exclusive affection for the little girl. The other sisters also began to boycott interviews with applicant couples. Eventually the notification disappeared from the chapel anteroom. It was by chance that Mother Teresa found it with the day’s crumbs among Vera’s blankets minutes before public mass on Sunday.

  ‘Reverend Mother, you know I’ve never lied to you… Reverend Mother, this time… I can assure you it wasn’t me!’, Benedita’s categorical tone and the absence of respect in it were reason enough not only for the Mother Superior to believe her, but also for her to see that the sisters no longer held an objection to Vera staying.

  Every Sunday the ritual of returning the notification to the notice board after general mass was repeated. Without any further exchanges with Mother Teresa, Benedita knew she could call Dugati so that he stopped publishing the announcement. Even though couples no longer came and Benedita no longer printed requests and questionnaires, it was an implicit tradition that on Vera’s birthday each year the Mother Superior asked the same question.

  ‘Sister Benedita, where is the notification for Vera’s adoption?’

  Benedita would pull out from the pocket of her habit the yellowed paper folded in four. The Mother Superior would again put it up on the board with pins until the following Sunday.

  Vera was already learning to walk. Benedita could hardly refuse when it was insisted that she and the girl should move to the room next to the unused parlour. On the ground floor they would be more independent and Vera would not be subjected to the unfortunate habits that the nuns had acquired over time. To Benedita the spacious drawing room with vast windows onto the garden and white shutters seemed like a luxury. Once she had cleaned up the windows, their bunks were lost on the now shimmering parquet. Mixing kerosene and used candle wax, Benedita had polished the floor beyond recognition. She hardly dared confess it to Sister Leopoldina, who giggled and forbade her from telling Sister Eulalia. Benedita would not let her come into her new polished room for fear that it would seem insolent that the candles that had once been burned in worship, plea or penance had ended up on the floor. At night, each in their bed, Benedita could hardly get to sleep as she surveyed it all. Although the new room was almost empty, she could not stop admiring the space. Buzzing with contentment, she was the happiest nun in the world. She felt blessed like no other, especially as she contemplated Vera sleeping soundly and safe. Vera, whom from a young age Benedita had sat in front of the computer, soon became a regular user. Firstly with games that entertained her, later on to do the homework her mentor would prepare for her. She would look into Benedita’s spreadsheet showing her contemplative duties, mealtimes, meetings, chores, so that she could exchange a few words or laughs from their room over the baby monitor.

  Days before Vera’s fifth birthday Benedita felt anxious. People’s resilience during the following years of conciliation and reconstruction, the results of which were beginning to be seen on streets all over the world, filled her with an overriding anxiety. It was true that the community had been blessed to the point that destruction had not visited them in the flesh; nor had the prophecies Dugati had told her about resulted in the predicted end of the world. She was concerned about the dramatic changes occurring in a world of which Vera would soon be a part. She wanted to ensure Vera’s well-being within the walls of the convent. Above all, she wanted to preserve Vera from an unworthy universe. For no reason, she felt the need to have Vera’s permanence officially confirmed. This was her place. At the same time she was apprehensive about seeking a direct answer from Mother Superior to her wish of bringing up Vera at the convent.

  She had no option but to use a dishonest and unspeakable strategy.

  It was not her intention to make Vera cry, although she knew it would happen inevitably when she revealed to Vera that the Mother Superior had intended to have her adopted.

  ‘Darling, none of us want it but the only one who can decide is Mother Teresa,’ she had said knowing that once Vera was aware all doubts would be dispelled.

  The Mother Superior had already experienced personally Vera’s exceptional nature. Conversations with her, though brief and intense, revealed the girl’s lucidity. She was also amused by the foibles Vera had acquired from her mentor. There was a knock on the door. Mother Teresa was amused rather than surprised that it was Vera who had come along to ask for an audience. She gathered it would be either something extremely serious or just peculiar. Vera had never entered her office alone. Neither did she show any sign of consternation or shyness. Indeed, she had a self-assuredness about her that Mother Teresa had never seen among the congregation.

  ‘Reverend Mother, with all due respect, I can read what it says on this paper.’ With no need to approach Vera’s extended hand, the Mother Superior recognised the notification which had been knocking around the convent for years.

  ‘Who gave you that paper, Vera?’

  ‘Nobody… No… It was on the floor.’

  ‘Let me explain something to you…’ the Mother Superior set about dealing with what seemed to her a challenge, but was cut short.

  ‘Reverend Mother… with all due respect… My family is here. I don’t want to go and live with anyone else.’

  The insolent interruption and Vera’s tight arms clasping her thighs as she buried her head in her lap left Mother Teresa unable to reply or explain. Vera’s crying sealed the silence which became official on her fifth birthday. The Mother Superior never again asked about the notification and life carried on as usual. There was only one condition to which Benedita could not object.

  A few months later Vera began attending the technical school a few blocks from the convent. Even though Benedita wanted to school her at home and had a syllabus outlined, she did recognise that the world outside was undergoing changes remarkably fast. However familiar she was with contemporary life, more so than the sisters, who were enclosed in their own bubble. Vera would be better off at school. At the suggestion of the Mother Superior, Benedita made an effort to smooth the difficult path of school life for the new student. The initial enthusiasm Benedita had passed on to Vera did not prevent Vera from feeling constrained for the first few weeks. It was a different world, open and noisy. She found the busy space much more restrictive than the cloister, where the silence let her listen to other sounds. When Vera could not respond to the racket she withdrew into her own inner space. Her deep, measured breathing, which began on closing her eyes or staring into space took her to the same place she had known when from the sacristy she could hear the prayers repeated like a mantra. The litanies that were taught led her to a place unknown to the nuns which was beyond any prayer or mystery.

  Now that Vera spent all day outside the community, Benedita alone in her room missed the routine. She was hoping that at any moment Vera would whisper a question to her by bringing the baby monitor closer to her mouth. She performed her duties with more determination than ever; the vegetables from the garden had never grown as big or been so plentiful. The fruit trees were bursting with fruit which the nuns would sell on Sundays after mass. They could afford the luxury of eating chicken once a week and pig’s liver, a favourite with Mother Teres
a. Now that there was less time for fun, Vera’s presence became ever more necessary for the nuns. They anxiously awaited her arrival home from school. The system of little notes they passed on to one another had already become a habit in the chapel at four o’clock sharp.

  ‘Has the girl arrived yet?’

  ‘Who’ll open the door?’

  ‘Don’t fret…’

  Invariably the same questions and phrases were passed around as a series of notes until the final message.

  ‘She’s home, thank God.’

  Vera not only was no bother to the community of Poor Clares in their austere lives, she irradiated something the nuns could not put a name to. It resembled on earth what they sought with their eyes turned towards the sky.

  It was a sky that had begun to clear thanks to recent measures restructuring a new geographic and human landscape. A world in safe hands.

  Unintentionally the cataclysm had seen the demise of most of those prone to violence, while the Third World War had then dealt with the remaining few who survived. A few corrupt regimes had disappeared almost immediately, toppled under their own weight or that of an irrefutable reality. National representatives in the World Government enforced regulations with little disagreement from each state. International conflicts were resolved by lawyers in complicated procedures at the International Criminal Court. The World Government imposed order through new laws, in some cases complied with through fear of financial or commercial penalties. Fear of extinction had become ingrained even in the minds of fanatics and nonconformists. The steady creation of millions of jobs bestowed purchasing power on everyone for the first time. The well-being of the majority had pushed aside that of the privileged minority. Citizens adapted easily to their good fortune.