Lovers in Enemy Territory

by Rebecca Winters

  So, thought Jeffrey. Catherine had arrived in Portugal. Thank God! That was three days ago. Possibly she was installed at the priory by now. In less than two months they'd be together, but the waiting was unbearable. He looked up and shook the man’s hand fervently. “Thank you, Captain.”

  "Sure, Commander.”

  Later in the day Jeffrey made stops at the other bases located further south to be sure things were getting on. At the third camp he discovered that one of the Sunderlands on routine patrol had spotted a torpedoed ship and picked up twenty-three survivors suffering from burns received during the explosion.

  They were all but dead. Twelve others had perished in the explosion, and a team of medics was busy setting up a hospital when Jeffrey flew in. He assessed the situation and radioed Gibraltar for special supplies. The word was out that things were getting hot in the South Atlantic as he’d predicted at his meeting with the Air Command.

  What if the Sunderland hadn't been out cruising? Every day there were more Luftwaffe crowding the sky from here to Sicily, and more and more U-boats appearing as if by magic. They were in for it. From here on out, it was going to get sticky. The place was a hot box in more ways than one, he muttered, cursing the blazing sun which mercilessly scorched everything as soon as the rains stopped.

  In another week he'd begin vital reconnaissance work over Spain. They'd go out in a Hudson. There'd be Dudley, Doherty and Friedling, the best navigator in the business. He could find anything blindfolded. Sometime soon they'd fly over the Pyrenees and take a good look. He had every intention of including Saint Theresa's in his flight plan.

  *****

  The first morning after the arrival of the sisters from England, Catherine was summoned along with the other nuns to the office of the Mother Superior, After Matins, she was surprised to see a dark, handsome young man of about her own age seated near the Holy Mother's desk. His eyes were black as obsidian and his hair was long and straight with skin the color of coffee.

  When Catherine came into the room, he stood up. They were the same height, she and this dark eyed Basque. Most of the men she'd met on the journey were shorter than those of Anglo-Saxon background. The Mother General was not present. She’d probably left the convent after a much needed night's sleep to be about her business on her way to Rome.

  Catherine's eyes strayed about the small room and she noticed the absence of pictures and statuary. Only one niche in the wall held a Madonna and child. Like the office at Our Lord of the Lamb, the room was somber, owing to just two small windows placed high up in the wall. Little light could filter through.

  Sister Angelina gave Catherine a timid smile. They all felt uncomfortable in these foreign surroundings. Finally the Mother Superior made her appearance in her flowing black robes. The head nun was an attractive, fresh-faced woman of about sixty with eyes the color of rich loam.

  She was graceful in her movements as she took small, unhurried steps to her desk, bestowing a warm smile on each sister. Catherine liked her immediately. Last night she'd been too tired to notice much of anything.

  "Sisters, I hope you’ve been refreshed with your night's sleep and I hope the food was not too unpalatable. I don't have to tell you we’re in the middle of a famine which has grown worse over the last month. Bless you for making this sacrifice, for leaving your motherhouses to come to the aid of a war-torn land. Whatever our nationality, we’re all one family beneath this roof. This is a house of God, and all are welcome who work here, or find refuge here.

  "I don't know how much the Mother General has explained to you. This country has been in the throes of a violent civil war for many years. The casualties have reached the one million mark." The sisters eyed one another in disbelief. "There isn't a family which hasn't lost a relative or a loved one. Death has touched everyone one way or another.

  “Our country continues to be pulled apart by political factions and it grows worse day by day, threatening our very civilization. We not only look after the French refugees who are sick and wounded and come to us for aid and sanctuary, but we care for our own people in the low lying villages and in the mountains for typhus and dysentery are running rampant and there’s no help from any other source.

  “We also open our doors to the Basque and Catalan men who would otherwise be imprisoned by the Franco regime in the larger cities. There were at last count approximately 300,000 men who fled the country last year to escape prison or death."

  Catherine felt the blood drain from her face. "These men are political outcasts and have a difficult time finding work. Many come to our doorstep daily seeking refuge, food and comfort. They stay a few days, then must move on. You can't possibly comprehend what this country has been going through, nor what it has yet to face. Franco intends to be a Gauleiter to Hitler, and there are eighty thousand Germans or more within our boundaries at the present time.

  “I fear civil war has only been a prelude to what is going to happen. We must depend on God for courage and strength. He is our only salvation," she said fervently.

  I’m saddened to report that many of our own sisters have fallen ill from exhaustion and are unable, themselves, to be of assistance.

  “That’s why the Mother General brought you here. The sisters from priories on the continent would have a much more difficult time than you from Great

  Britain in obtaining traveling papers. The borders are so heavily guarded that even the Mother General has difficulty passing through. We’re thankful you’ve

  arrived here safely without incident.

  “We’re not a large convent. We house forty sisters, but at the present time, only half that number are carrying the load. The majority of our sisters are elderly and too weak in body for the work here. We simply cannot handle all that needs to be done on our own. Those who can help have been running the hospital we've set up in the back of the convent. The children need constant supervision. That’s the area where most of you are needed.

  "But our duties extend beyond these walls, as I’ve pointed out. There are many more refugees who’ve been given temporary shelter by the Basque people up in the mountains, some of whom are too ill or wounded to come down to the convent. We must go to them. I've asked you to meet this morning so I can introduce you to Dr. Ortzi. He will decide which of you will work with him."

  Catherine looked at the dark young man and blinked. He seemed so young to have such heavy responsibilities. She admired him instantly for being willing to sacrifice everything for the good of mankind. Then she remembered that Jeffrey had told her the same thing when she explained about her life's work, and she smiled in understanding. "Dr. Ortzi lives here at the convent and divides his work between the priory and outside our walls. He makes daily trips into the villages and mountains.

  “Recently Sister Nina who assisted him, passed away. Now he needs another helper. There’s one problem. He doesn’t speak English; therefore, he needs an assistant who is fluent in both Spanish and French. He assumes that all of you have had some medical training, but he's particularly concerned about the language problem.

  “The people here do not look kindly on foreigners at this point, and since you come from across the Channel, I fear your presence will only add to their suspicions. Some of our people trust no one. Which one of you feels most qualified to help him?"

  Catherine looked at the other five sisters, but it was apparent that none of them felt equal to the task, and certainly Catherine wasn’t qualified. Not only was she untrained in medical matters, but her Spanish was limited to book study alone.

  The Holy Mother spoke in Basque to the doctor. Their conversation was lengthy. He seemed to have a great deal to say. Finally she turned to the sisters. "How many of you are trained nurses?"

  Sister Maria raised her hand. "I’ve worked in a hospital this last year, Holy Mother."

  "Do you speak French or Spanish?"

  "No, Holy Mother. Not a word."

  She looked perplexed. "Sister Margareta, you have no nursing experience?"<
br />
  "No, Holy Mother. When the Mother General came to the convent, I was the only one who volunteered. The others were concerned about coming to Spain at this time.”

  "I see. Is that true of the rest of you? Were you all chosen because you, alone were unafraid? If that’s true, it’s very commendable."

  The sisters said nothing, but their eyes betrayed their thoughts. She turned to the doctor and said something else. Finally she looked at Catherine. "I see from the Mother General's report that French is your native tongue, Sister Catherine."

  "Yes, Holy Mother, but I've had no medical training. My work has been in history and literature in preparation for becoming a teacher. I would be of no value to the doctor," she said and avoided his eyes.

  "The doctor says you can learn, Sister." Catherine looked up, startled.

  "But Holy Mother, he needs a trained nurse.” It was the first time in Catherine's life that she had actually taken exception to anything said by a superior.

  "The doctor will help you. Your record indicates you've studied Spanish extensively as well."

  "But I have no speaking knowledge, Mother."

  Catherine could see that her arguments were going nowhere. She didn't like hospital work, and worse, she didn't feel comfortable with the young man watching her so intently.

  “Sister—“ There was warning in the Holy Mother's voice.

  She bowed her head submissively. "Yes, Mother."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The doctor spoke in French. It had been a long time since anyone had conversed with Catherine in her native tongue. He spoke with a charming Basque accent. "Sister, I’ll teach you.” He smiled, his black eyes alive. "Sister Nina wasn’t a nurse, either, but she could communicate with the people. Sometimes that is more important. The war broadens your education amazingly fast."

  Catherine had no more arguments and nodded.

  "Good," he turned to the Holy Mother. "We’ll go down into the village now. We should be back at noon. Sister?" he turned to Catherine. She rose reluctantly and glanced at Sister Angelina, whose face was still peaked. Then she followed him out the door with some misgivings.

  This was going to be a hard test. Medical work had never appealed to her. She wondered if she had the strength. The Holy Mother smiled encouragingly at her once more and the door shut behind them.

  Dr. Ortzi walked quickly out the front doors of the convent. She had to almost run to keep up with him. They soon came upon a mule-drawn cart, piled high with straw.

  "When we get back tonight," he began, "we’ll fashion that straw into mattresses. We do not have enough beds at present for the sick children and babies." Catherine nodded. He climbed into the cart and indicated she was to sit at his side.

  "We haven’t been properly introduced.” He smiled broadly. His white teeth were a surprise. Generally the men she'd seen in this country were minus a few, and the ones remaining were stained by years of tobacco. "I'm Miguel de Lorca Ortzi.”

  "How do you do. I'm Sister Catherine."

  He studied her exquisite face and was lost for a moment in the depths of her violet-blue eyes. He sighed inwardly. Never had he seen such great beauty. She was so young to have given herself to God.

  "I'm not really a doctor, so you can call me Miguel. The Holy Mother introduces me that way so the sisters will not lose heart.” He laughed. Catherine's eyes opened wide with surprise. "Actually, I've had two years of medical study at the University in San Sebastian, but when the civil war broke out, I escaped to France for a year with other Basque students.

  “When I returned six months ago, I was put into prison with hundreds of others. A guard became ill one night and I told him what to do to get better. I was released after that to work for him." He paused. " With a little money, many of my friends could be out of prison now because the guards accept bribes like candy.

  “I came to Saint Theresa's and began helping the sisters. They gave me food and shelter. It’s the work I like best. After the war I’ll become a doctor, I hope. If it ever ends," he spoke passionately. "I have no right to do half the things I do, but there’s no one else qualified in the area. Many people would die if I did not help them.

  “The Holy Mother is so thankful for any assistance, she just calls me Doctor, but I wanted you to understand before you started to work with me. You see?" He winked. "It's almost the blind leading the blind.” He urged the mule on to a walk. Catherine admired his honesty and dedication, but she was so surprised by his revelation she had nothing to say for a minute.

  "Sister?" he asked. "Have I shocked you senseless?"

  "No.” She shook her head, deep in thought. "I realize war makes everything different. It changes people and lives," she answered slowly. "I’ll do all I can to help, but you’ll have to be patient with me.

  “My work has been with ideas, books, not illness, except for one little boy. I did spend some time with him in a hospital in England when he was very ill with pneumonia."

  She fell silent and Miguel noticed how far removed she was from him right then. He was intrigued. She had an unusual sweetness and maturity. "I'm sure any experience you've had will be of help. If there was just enough food, but there isn't!" He sighed as the little cart moved down the

  treacherously steep mountain road.

  The sky was full of broken clouds and the sun was shining sporadically, warming the air about them. The scenery was even more magnificent in the morning light. It didn't seem possible that a war was going on. In fact, Catherine couldn’t believe she was here at all, sitting next to this young man high in the Pyrenees.

  "I want to look in on Senora Alba. She had her fifth baby last month. Word has come from the village that her husband died in the prison. There’s no money or food. I always keep some supplies and food beneath the straw in the cart. We’ll go by and see if there’s something to be done."

  "The Holy Mother at my convent in Wiltshire told me there was a shortage of food, but I had no idea of the magnitude of the famine here. On the

  train, the children were eating the leftover scraps in the aisles.”

  Her face contorted. He gave her a sharp glance and was troubled. This sister was in for many such shocks. "That is nothing, Sister. Do you realize there is no garbage anymore, anywhere?"

  She stared at him and her eyes filled with tears.

  "Last week I found some children down in the valley eating locust pods. The hunger of these people has turned them into walking skeletons." Catherine shuddered as he spoke on. "In the last few years over a third of the livestock have been lost. And the bread-- I wish you could see. It’s made of sawdust. Only the privileged classes eat white flour," and he spit to show his disgust.

  "Senora Caracas showed me the sack of potatoes she stood in line to get with her ration book. It was half full of stones. Either the Fascist pigs or the army take it all. There’s nothing left to eat. We’re more fortunate here in the mountains because we have gardens. We couldn’t live without them.

  “Be thankful you’re not in Madrid at this moment. The bodies are heaped in the streets." Catherine hugged her arms to her. Miguel was right. She wasn’t prepared for what was going on here. This was going to be the refiner’s fire.

  “Sister, we’re lucky to be here in the mountains. At least we can keep each other alive. That is something!"

  They continued on the road down through the trees till they came to the little town of Irun once more. He turned the cart on to a side road and presently pulled up in front of a tenement whose front had collapsed. The beams which had once supported the floors were splintered.

  The windows had been covered with paper where there was no more glass. There were gaping holes in the walls. Catherine didn’t understand. "Does she live

  here?"

  He nodded with a grim expression. "Last year a delayed action bomb penetrated to the basement before exploding. They live down below. I haven’t been here since the baby came. Step carefully, Sister.” He brought along a canvas bag which he pull
ed from beneath the straw.

  They descended amid the debris and entered a hallway. A child of four or five, whether boy or girl, she couldn’t tell, stretched out an emaciated hand to Miguel. The wretched little creature's skin was like parchment and death seemed to hover like a spectre behind the child.

  Miguel gave him some bread and he disappeared. They went on till they came to a room reeking with the odor of human feces and vomit. Catherine grimaced in horror as she saw a woman and four children lying stark naked on a bed. Their bodies were mere bones, the skin stretched taut on their gaunt

  frames. The new-baby was screaming hysterically at the mother's breast, which obviously had no milk. One child was lying face down, not moving.

  "Sister," Miguel called out when he’d examined the bodies. "Go out to the cart. There’s a blanket beneath the straw. One of the children is dead. We must

  remove the body and then clothe the family. See what you can find to wrap them in. Anything will do. I have milk in my bag to feed the baby. We’ll put this family in the cart and take them to the convent."

  Catherine heard him, but she couldn't move.

  Miguel turned around. The sister was retching violently in a corner. His heart went out to her. Such scenes weren’t meant to be. He was used to it and had to remember that this was her first day.

  "Here, Sister. You wrap the baby in this and I'll go out to the cart." He handed Catherine a filthy rag which lay at the side of the bed. There was human excrement on the floor. She had to step carefully. It was all she could do to draw closer to the bed. Her body was still shaking from her attack of nausea.

  Finally she leaned over to take the screaming infant from his mother's breast. The woman lay there with her large, vacant eyes watching Catherine without a flicker. She was beyond the point of caring, Catherine thought. The baby continued its incessant cries.