The Vatican Games

by Alejandra Guibert

  Climbing the convent’s bell tower was the only secret Vera kept from Benedita. As soon as she got in from school she would slam the door, which let the nuns in the chapel know she was back. Then she would run to the bell tower where nobody could see her climb to the top. She knew she had at least fifteen minutes before one of the nuns would cross herself and go and find her to ask how she had got on at school. Like a magnet, the height lead to that open space where the wind cleansed her. It was as essential to her as the long moonlit walks in the vegetable garden. In the bell tower, about to be taken over by a revelatory force, the beep of her watch alarm brought her back downstairs to the corridors of the convent that led to the dining room where she would have her tea. The rush left her breathless.

  ‘You don’t need to come running from school. Look at you, red as the tomatoes from the garden.’

  Vera not only ran through the corridors but also through the complex meanderings of digital technology. Mathematics held the same fascination for her as the energy she felt was released on a starry night. She studied science and at the same time experienced the phenomena she studied with a particular intuition that extended beyond the facts.

  The time had come when not even Benedita was able to keep pace with her progress. The nuns had to make do with keeping up with her exam results. The content of the syllabus seemed as complicated to them as an astronomy or quantum physics textbook. Her adopted mothers were lost in shock at her sudden growth. Astonished as though they had had no childhood or had not advanced from that into puberty, which Vera was approaching with a new glow.

  Vera no longer had time to help Benedita in the vegetable garden. From the huge windows she watched her and sister Leopoldina prepare the new seeds with their knees firmly on the ground. As she studied in front of the old computer, Vera did not know that she watched them with future nostalgia.

  Curfews and restrictions on natural spaces had just been lifted when the technical school organised a picnic on the outskirts of Bari. Mesmerised by their electronic games, the children crowded together after lunch in the shade of the trees. Vera sat in front of the lake, watching the diminutive life on the shore, which was oblivious to the solar panels and wind turbines surrounding it. Without being withdrawn or distant, Vera was the quiet girl who excelled in class. She was unexpectedly serene. She absorbed her surroundings with a calmness that inhabited her effortlessly.

  Like an oasis in the middle of the desert, the woods surrounded the lake at the end of three converging roads cutting through vast fields sown with metal spikes and huge terrestrial windows pointing to the sky. Even though it was hot, the children did not have permission to bathe in the lake. Precautions had been trebled in the natural environment. To the world’s eyes nature had become the bearer of potential disasters. Its utilitarian use was strictly controlled without causing it any irreversible damage, like milk extracted to the last drop from an inseminated cow, distanced from her calf. The afternoon had passed almost unnoticed with the monotonous buzzing of the turbines, the occasional bird flying past.

  ‘Children, children. Look, a bird. Quick! There! There it goes.’

  The children hardly ever looked up but this was a special occasion.

  ‘Look! A bird!’

  They returned to their games unaware of the presence of nature all around them, one ignoring the other. The school curriculum stipulated that children devote the greater part of their free time to electronic games, using technology on which they would depend for leisure and, later, work. Now and then Vera was allowed to withdraw from the group. Being always ahead of the rest, it was a benefit she appreciated. The other children barely noticed her absence. They had already collected their little lunch boxes and dumped them in the recycling container. They had closed the portable food and drinks vending machine. The assistant stood in place to count the fifty-five children sitting in a row on the vinyl carpet under the trees at the edge of the lake. The head teacher also counted them. Fifty-four.

  ‘I’m one short.’

  ‘So am I.’

  After counting twice more, the assistant took roll call to identify who was missing. Once identified, the head teacher sounded the alarm and called the school to inform them. The children knew the meaning of the high-pitched whistle, the implications of which they feared. Even if it was simply because of the disappearance of a hand control or the special signal prior to an important announcement on the general screen. The children would be startled by the break in routine. This time it was more serious. Galo had disappeared. The head teacher glanced accusingly at the assistant. He should be aware of the whereabouts of every child. They should not move from the vinyl carpet without being authorised to do so. It was ultimately his responsibility. Only Vera had been given that permission. Like the rest, Galo had collected his lunch box. He had not returned to the carpet like everyone else but had entered the woods to watch Vera without being seen. Galo wanted to be like her. He wanted to be different and to be allowed to sit facing the lake. He knew he could not justify that wish. Sitting on the edge of the forest, quietly observing Vera, Galo heard a rustling noise behind him. He turned to find a rabbit only a few meters away. Although he had never seen one in the flesh, he recognized it straightaway from cartoons and games. It looked and behaved very differently from the virtual alternatives he was familiar with. As soon as Galo stood up to take a closer look, the rabbit ran away and hid in a bush. He followed. It was Galo’s first year at school but he knew the sound of the whistle well. Hearing it cut short the fascination which had pulled him deeper into the woods in chase of the rabbit. The whistle paralysed him. Not so the mischievous rabbit which did not react to the piercing sound in the same manner and ran away. ‘Wait!’ The rabbit didn’t stop. Alone and confused by the echo among the treetops, Galo did not know which way to go. From a fantasy of tales lost in time, the woods had become a strange, inhospitable place.

  The head teacher subjected not only the assistant but also the children to intense questioning. Vera had already rejoined the group as they were disposing of their empty boxes. None of the children had seen Galo. The sense of danger made a number of them cry, holding hands as they repeated ‘Cataclysm, cataclysm!’’. One could feel the disquiet in the air, which circulated thickly and made it difficult for the head teacher and her two assistants to breathe as they waited.

  Absorbed in communications with the school and the police, the head teacher and her assistants did not notice Vera’s temporary absence. When Vera found Galo he was sitting beneath a tree in silence, being brave, trying not to burst into tears. Vera took him by the hand and led him back to the group. The police had just arrived when they appeared hand in hand leaving everyone puzzled.

  Nobody asked her how she had found him or how they had found their way out of the woods unaided. They did not even notify the convent. Unable to classify the event, the school committee could find no reason to scold or praise. Vera had disobeyed the rules so she should not be praised even though she had managed to rescue Galo from the woods. If she were to be praised, they would risk consenting to dangerous behaviour. In trying to understand this contradiction, the arguments back and forth in the lecture hall eluded the question which for a few moments left them in silence.

  ‘How can this nine-year-old little girl have been able to find a seven-year-old boy in the middle of the woods without the aid of technology?’

  The most sensitive exchanged brief glances. Others briefly opened their mouths and closed them again, staring at their hands. The more practical-minded agreed that this should not be the subject that concerned them. They should not lose focus. The question remained unanswered. Silence overwhelmed them then diffused into practical discussions about disciplinary measures.

  The event was not even entered in school or police records. For Galo it had been the most important event of his life. At school Vera carried on as usual, although others now perceived her differently, without being able to specify how or why. Galo, meanwhile, reimmersed himself
in his fantasy world. Vera had not only saved him but also become his friend. He, who was two years younger than she, he, who had become lost through carelessness. He, who had not been able to find his way out of the woods, he, who had wanted to be different. From the moment Vera had found Galo, they never separated again.

  They would meet during school breaks. Although they did not seem out of place among the other children, absorbed in their games, Vera and Galo, hardly moving from where they sat, played outdated games – ones Vera had learned in the community and which she now taught Galo I-spy, noughts and crosses, cat’s cradle. Vera surprised him with her ability to enjoy herself in the simplest ways, with no need to enter a manufactured universe not her own. They made up other games. Not only had they developed acumen as a result of bettering themselves through the skills of the other, but their insight had also allowed them to get to know their weaknesses and talents, their souls. Every day Galo went home to the orphanage and Vera to the convent.

  In earlier years they waited for each other at the school gate. Later on as teenagers they would meet in front of the big screen that had been erected in the central square, where the World Government had begun broadcasting global news. Every morning, at the request of the local authorities, the population of every city in every nation would congregate before the thousands of screens newly installed in urban centres. Holding hands in the heart of Bari, Vera and Galo witnessed the changes announced in unison to the world’s population.

  Images of the Forty-Day War had long faded away. New screens were installed to show diverse informative clips. The World Government had to ensure that in every corner, however inhospitable, in every room, however private, in every mind, however absorbed, there was an awareness of the new rules and regulations and the success of the system:

  ‘As promised, sustainable agriculture is our priority. We have prevented the disintegration of the food chain. Bee colonies are recovering. We are working towards the total elimination of the use of chemical pesticides. Every new home now complies with environmental regulations and existing buildings are being made greener, adapting them further for the use of human waste for gas production. Our next challenge will be to replace cables with nanotubes throughout a new supply network which will carry electricity with less impact to the environment. We made a promise and we are delivering. Armed conflict has been displaced by ingenuity and industry.’

  At the technical school, once a week Vera and Galo had to attend screenings of World Government documentaries. The importance of young people becoming aware of the benefits of the new order was recognised. They had already learned about the latest events in contemporary history lessons. With a three-degree rise in temperatures in Africa, the Sudan, the Congo and Zimbabwe had become ghost countries. Students saw how US airplanes would arrive in the dust cloud of the dirt runways of airports as though through a mirage. From their airplane seats with expectant faces, those who had never before left their African villages showed off to the cameras their brand new personal electronic cards containing their full profile. Whole populations were being relocated to be trained in technology and factory production. Unwittingly, Vera and Galo saw how the vast halls of American universities were filled with African faces. They weren’t to know that for the first time the highest salaries would go to those often-astonished faces. A few years on these same immigrants had become factory or IT employees. Many achieved what they used to yearn for as they stared at the TV screens of the poor neighbourhoods, shanty towns, slums, small villages; what the new order now offered them as an undeniable aspiration.

  Over 200 million people had to be trained. The desire of taking part in the order and development of the world for the benefit of humanity was greater than ever. It was real. Men and women, all dressed the same in clean white T-shirts and jeans, arrived in American planes. In a succession of journeys from the land to the factory, from poverty to consumption, from local culture to world expansion. Slogans in even the remotest places on huge billboards proclaimed: ‘We improve productivity and eliminate poverty. We offer you the marvels of technology and science for you and your family’s health. Wholly environmentally friendly.’ Everyone signed up to embrace a better life. A desire that now came together as a newly born association. The world also needed to drag them out of their misery. They needed each other. This time ‘the others’ would get their reward.

  It had become as natural as it was expected that each day when they left school Galo would walk with Vera to the corner nearest the convent. Once nobody could see them, Galo would hold up the tablet level with their faces and kiss her on the lips. Together they were getting to know each other in a way that was new but familiar. He would run his hands through the ripples of her wavy brown hair while running his eyes along the soft lines of her cheeks easily tanned from hours spent outdoors. Vera would brush the silky hair on his arms with her open palm. The sense of touch was as primordial to her as was the sense of sight for Galo. Her eyes had an inescapable attraction for him. For Vera, it was Galo’s smile that could move mountains.

  Galo knew that the diligence with which Vera applied herself to her studies would have consequences that gave him concern. He was not yet fully aware that Vera would always be by his side. They talked of plans and dreams. They were so reluctant to part that Vera’s new routine of arriving home late once again worried the nuns. They would be far more worried by her decision to continue her studies in Rome.

  When she heard about Galo, Benedita struggled valiantly to hide her disappointment. More than any of the other nuns, she had secretly hoped that Vera would stay at the convent once she had completed her schooling. She had imagined what she knew to be impossible. Although she desired Vera’s well-being, she had never had such contradictory feelings. These were new sins, unsuspected. Innocent sins that tormented her, as she hoped that her attachment to Vera would not stop her from feeling happy for the girl. While the priest consoled her, saying it was natural she should have these maternal feelings, he bit his tongue to avoid saying he had warned her.

  She went straight to the point: ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I think that what I feel is envy.’ ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps a little resentment too. Feelings that just come without me wanting them, Father… I’ve been poisoned…’

  ‘Sister, Sister. You are too hard on yourself. I’ve already explained to you…’

  ‘They are forbidden by God, Father.’

  ‘It’s all right, Sister. I will give you your penance. First it is important that you reflect…’

  Each confession was like a therapy session. The patience of the nuns sitting on the pews at the back for Sunday confession was only matched by their deep understanding. They felt the same way, their feelings differing solely in intensity. The convent began to prepare for the unavoidable, although they never imagined it would come so soon.

  It was not long before word reached Father Zillo of Vera’s talents in the classroom. He had insisted on developing Vera’s talent for computers while the convent was not in a position to provide her with a machine suitable for her studies. That was no obstacle for him. Knowing of the weakness the nuns had for Vera, Father Zillo smuggled a laptop to them behind the Mother Superior’s back. He had insisted that it should be a gift from them.

  ‘You can pay me with your lemon tart,’ he had said to Benedita. ‘If you pay me, it’s yours. What’s yours belongs to the community, right?’

  Benedita had warned him. The nuns did not want to put the Mother Superior in a situation where she would have to lie, even if it were a white lie. They had organised a lovely party. To please the nuns, she had at last bent down to whisper to the Mother Superior in her wheelchair.

  ‘Reverend Mother, please don’t be angry. Father Zillo gave us a laptop for Vera. He wants us to give it to her on behalf of the Order. You won’t say anything, will you?’

  There was no reply. The Mother Superior’s seriousness worried Benedita as they sang a farewell song.

  ‘I have something
to say,’ the Mother Superior tapped her spoon against her plate to call for silence after the applause and well-wishing. The nuns paused anxiously. As if hardly breathing. Mother Teresa passed the empty plate to Sister Gloria. The only sound was the squeaking of the worn tyres as she wheeled herself with difficulty towards Vera.

  ‘Vera, we have taken you in like a daughter. That you owe, firstly, to Sister Benedita for her insistence.’ The ensuing laughter relaxed Benedita momentarily. ‘And then to yourself, your good heart. I know we’ll be seeing much less of you. You’ve not long to go now. The world outside this house is a tough one. Don’t lose your soul, child.’

  The Mother Superior gestured to Benedita, who immediately approached with the parcel. When she put it on her lap, Mother Teresa squeezed her hand with a fondness that only she knew how to interpret. When she addressed Vera lifting the parcel like an offering, the nuns appeared to shrink around her.

  ‘Vera, we’d like to give you this present so that you don’t forget us.’

  It was inevitable that Vera would join the Vatican’s IT Academy. On graduating with honours from technical school, the nuns’ joy at Vera’s top grades did not make her departure any easier. Nor did they help relieve their loneliness in the convent. Although the nuns’ fear that she was too young to go out into the world was understandable, Vera was confident they would let her go. This time Galo’s presence would have a positive, reassuring effect on the community. Galo could keep a close eye on her. He had received the acceptance letter to be transferred to the Shelterbase refuge in Rome. Galo had promised to follow her to the end of the world.

  Like a diminutive unnoticed island in the new global ocean, the Poor Clare community understood more than ever the need to safeguard the convent. In the past the difficulties faced by the Church had barely been suspected by the community. Now rumours about the closure of several convents gained greater significance when new information began to appear on the urban screens. There was only one person they could turn to. It was no coincidence that Father Zillo had been withdrawn from their lives for months. The Vatican depended on him more and more for its survival, having had to compensate thousands of victims of abuse with hundreds of millions of dollars. Despite herself, the Mother Superior decided to bother Father Zillo, having read a leaflet that dropped through the letter box. His words to her offered some comfort.