by Rosanna Ley
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?
*
Later that same day, there was a minor emergency in the medical ward and Sister Julia had to run for Dr Lopez. He should have been present anyway. Not that it was for Sister Julia to say, but the woman was clearly in some difficulty and considerable pain. And the baby was breeched. The midwife was doing her best, but there was another woman also in labour and the doctor was required.
Sister Julia was so flustered that she rushed into his consulting room without knocking – the first time she had ever done this.
She stopped in her tracks. What was happening?
A woman was standing by the narrow bed where the doctor carried out his examinations. And yet it was not the time for appointments. And there was no nurse in attendance.
Sister Julia recognised her as a regular patient, however. She was one of the women who had been coming to the clinic regularly for some months, one of the women whom Sister Julia had never herself attended during an examination. And now she could see why – though in truth she could scarcely believe her eyes.
‘Sister Julia!’ thundered Dr Lopez. ‘What in God’s name do you think you are doing? You know the rules. You knock before you enter the room. And you wait for my invitation to do so.’
The woman quickly moved behind a screen. But not before Sister Julia had seen what the doctor was doing. He had been attaching some padding to her underclothing – or at least that was what it had looked like. But why? It made no sense.
‘I am sorry, doctor,’ Sister Julia said. She looked down at the brown tiles on the floor. ‘But you are needed in the medical room as a matter of urgency.’
He clicked his tongue. ‘Even so … ’ he muttered. ‘Even so.’
He spoke gently to the woman. ‘Do not worry,’ he said. ‘I will be back shortly.’ And he marched out of the consulting room, propelling Sister Julia along with him.
She did not know what to think. Was the señora not pregnant? And if she was not then why was she trying to appear to be?
‘Do you trust me, Sister Julia?’ Dr Lopez asked on the way to the medical room. ‘Do you trust me in all things?’
Sister Julia looked into his eyes. He reminded her of a bird of prey – he always had. ‘Of course, Dr Lopez,’ she said. Was it a lie? Indeed, she was not sure. She had tried not to doubt him. Over the years she had tried more than she could say. She knew he only wanted to do what was best. And that was why she stayed at the clinic. That and the fact that she wanted to continue her work of supporting the women. She let out a silent prayer. May God forgive me.
He took her hand and patted it. But his touch was not warm as she expected, but cool and smooth as marble. ‘You are a good girl,’ he said. ‘I knew you would understand.’
*
Sister Julia saw that woman a few times afterwards when she came to the clinic. But she did not attend her and was not asked to be present during her examinations.
‘The señora is a personal friend,’ Dr Lopez told her after one such visit. ‘I cannot tell you more. But she is a good woman. Rest assured. She has fostered needy and damaged children for short periods as a favour to the local priest. Many times she has done this for no material reward.’ He retreated behind his desk and grasped the crucifix with both hands. ‘She will get her reward in heaven,’ he muttered. ‘If not before.’
‘Very good, doctor,’ said Sister Julia. She was glad that the señora was a good woman. But it was not her business. Her business was to do all she could to help both the women and the childr
en. This – she hoped – was truly God’s work.
When the time came for what was referred to as the señ-ora’s confinement, she came to the clinic but she did not enter the medical ward, only a private room. Sister Julia was not asked to attend to her. The only person who saw her was Dr Lopez.
The following morning, Sister Julia arrived at the clinic, only to hear that there had been another death. Glory. There were too many infant deaths. What did it mean? She did not want to imagine. She could only suppose that conditions were getting worse in her beloved country, that there was more malnutrition, more disease, a higher fatality in newborns.
Dr Lopez was worried by it too. He had recently decreed that some women should be sedated before they gave birth, particularly those prone to hysteria or who were highly strung. ‘It will make the procedure much easier,’ he said. But for whom?
When Sister Julia arrived at her bedside, the woman who had given birth was still sobbing. She had just been told that her child had been stillborn.
‘We tried to revive him,’ the doctor muttered to Sister Julia, ‘but it was not to be.’
He turned to the woman, who clung on to his sleeve as if he had the power to bring her baby back from the dead. ‘Please, please … ’ she begged. Her speech was slurred. She hardly seemed to know what was happening.
Sister Julia could not bear to listen. She stroked the woman’s hair and tried to comfort her. But she seemed to be performing this duty far too often these days. It scared her.
‘God has chosen him.’ The doctor’s voice shook with emotion. ‘He has chosen him and He has taken him to heaven.’
‘But what shall I do?’ the woman cried. ‘What shall I do?’
‘Do not be anxious, my dear,’ the doctor said. ‘We will take care of everything for you. You will not have to worry about a thing.’
Not worry? Sister Julia supposed that he was trying his best. But surely he could be a little more tactful? The poor woman had just lost her child.