“Very well, but afterward you must allow me to go home with you and examine you, and no complaining about whatever I deem you need.”
“Thank you, Tía.”
Mass was about to begin, and Juliana and Silvia followed Ana to her customary place. At first her worry about Juliana disturbed Ana’s thoughts, but as the priest intoned the beautiful Gregorian chant, she let its grace soothe her. Though one shouldn’t give importance to such things, she was grateful that it was Padre Carrillo who was celebrating Mass today. The lines of the chant, their rising and falling notes surrounding the repeated tone of the line of prayer, seemed to reverberate deeply in his rotund figure.
Ana reflected upon how the rituals of faith contained varied treasures, depending upon the needs of the seeker. Comfort and hope, salvation from eternal suffering, redemption from the silent haunting of a deed repented. For Ana, it was beauty. The magnificent architecture of a cathedral, the delicate invitation of the chapel at her convent, the curve of the jaw of a lovely statue of Our Lady, the brocade of the celebrant’s vestments, her beloved Gregorian chant. Yet Ana knew that these were but the gateways to the beauty of ideas, love, sacrifice, forgiveness. Christ had offered to Peter the keys to the kingdom of heaven, and Holy Mother Church taught that in this act, Our Lord had given us the sacrament of Penance, with its power to wipe clean our souls. But the key was something more. The key was his example and his words “Love your neighbor as yourself,” which would open to us an earthly paradise. Though Ana felt herself no less guilty than others of forgetting this maxim, the idea that man could aspire to such a goal was what struck her with its splendor.
As the church emptied, Juliana joined the line outside the confessional. Neither Ana nor Silvia accompanied her, as all three had received the sacrament only the week before. Ana worried that Juliana’s fervor was excessive at times. There was nothing intrinsically to be censured in devotion, but in the convent Ana had also seen the effects on those who demanded of themselves a too-exacting adherence to pious ways. The least of the dangers was a loss of joy in one’s faith. The worst was a descent into fanaticism, which, while punishing the flesh, could become a kind of perverse pride in one’s own piety.
Ana could not help but notice that Juliana was lingering longer than usual in the confessional, and she hoped that the priest would refrain from showing his irritation at having to listen to the self-accusations of a young girl’s overly active conscience. When her niece emerged from the confessional in tears, it seemed to Ana that her worries had been justified, and by the time she reached Juliana, her indignation at the priest’s lack of patience was complete.
“What did he say to you?” she blurted out, her agitation so great that she momentarily forgot the sacred secrecy of the confessional.
Juliana looked at her aunt with anguish in her eyes but replied only, “Nothing that I did not expect.” In response to her questioning look, Silvia shook her head almost imperceptibly. In testament to Ana’s faith in Silvia’s love for Juliana, Ana simply took her niece’s cold hand and placed it on her own arm. Adjusting Juliana’s manta to hide her face in shadow, she led her niece out into the street. Silvia followed the pair, and on her face was etched a look of fear.
“Juliana, you must go directly to bed, and I will make you a decoction to warm you. You seem so cold, querida. Do you feel weak?” Ana asked upon crossing Sebastián’s threshold.
“Really, Tía, I’m fine. Please, don’t trouble yourself. It is simply that I did not sleep well last night.”
Worried about some imagined guilt, thought Ana. If only she could impart to her niece the simple truth that she herself had learned, that God did not make us perfect creatures, and that to agonize over our faults was to question His wisdom. If the Creator had expected us to be flawless, there would be no need for the sacrament of Penance. Our Lord would not have had to teach forgiveness, both human and divine. How can I impart to her this acceptance of herself, which took me so many years to learn? Ana wondered. But Juliana was Sebastián’s daughter, and he had never learned to accept fault, whether in himself or in others.
“Juliana, I know that I have no right to ask, but are you making yourself ill over whatever it was that you talked to Father about after Mass?”
“It is nothing for you to worry about, Tía.”
“I tell you, Doña Ana, I believe that it is just something that Juliana ate, or the excitement of her attendance at the theater,” Silvia interjected.
“Why would that make her cold and pale, Silvia?” Ana replied sharply. She thought she had again caught a look of complicity pass quickly between the girl and her dueña. “Where is Sebastián? Let’s see what he has to say about this.”
“No! Please, Doña Ana, you know that he would be angry with me for taking Juliana to Mass if there were any hint that she was not feeling well.”
“Please, Tía, don’t tell Papa. I insisted that Silvia take me. I don’t mind Papa’s scolding, but I don’t wish to make trouble for Silvia.”
“Is your father such a tyrant that his displeasure is to be so feared?” Ana asked gently. “I will say nothing to him, if only you’ll rest now, Juliana, and follow my instructions.”
Ana left the room and found that her threat had been an empty one, since her brother had already left the house. She went to the kitchen and prepared the mixture for Juliana, then saw that the girl was put to bed. When her niece drifted into an uneasy sleep, Ana returned home, as she had promised to see the Sánchez child again. She had told Silvia that she would come that evening to check on her niece. She did not go, however, for just as she was about to leave for Sebastián’s home, she received a note in Juliana’s hand.
Dearest Tía Ana,
I am sorry if I caused you any distress this morning. As I am feeling quite well now, you need not trouble yourself to come this evening to check on me. Although I would, as always, greatly enjoy your company, I am afraid that I must finish some reading that Father has assigned me, and do a journal entry. I shall see you soon.
Your devoted niece,
Juliana
Ana slowly refolded the paper. While she was relieved that Juliana seemed to have recovered, the note pained her in a way that went beyond its content or tone. It had brought home to her again the feeling of isolation that she was so often required to combat. She was only an intruder in the lives of others.
Ana told herself that if Sebastián had noted any lingering pallor in his daughter, he surely would have called upon his sister’s advice. Still, it was with a feeling of unease that she opened her husband’s journal to the place she had marked with a ribbon
8
Emilio
Madrid, December 1640
Although my travels for my brother have shown that I have an affinity for sea travel, I fear that I will not be able to go to the New World for some time. I have ascertained that putting on as a ship’s physician with a trade fleet going there is more complicated than I had hoped. It seems that there is more competition for such positions than I imagined. As with all else, one needs connections.
February 1641
I have purchased a book, The Indian Militia and Description of the Indies, by a Spanish captain, Bernardo de Vargas Machuca, published at the turn of the century. On the frontispiece is a print of a man, one would presume the captain, holding a navigator’s compass on top of a globe, the other hand holding a sword. The man’s head looks somewhat large for his body. His ruffled collar perches atop engraved armor. His large eyes look at the viewer with confidence, as though he knows a secret but does not wish to impart it. Below the picture is the inscription:
By the sword and the compass
More and more and more and more.
It seems that this is all that the opening of a new world means to many: conquest. How different are discoveries of the men of medicine whom I so admire. For even if one assumed that their endeavors were merely to satisfy their own intellectual curiosity, or to garner for themselves wealth and fame, the
ultimate result is still a benefit to mankind.
Given the accounts of the horrors we of the Old World have committed in the New, as chronicled by Las Casas in the mid-1500s and as depicted so realistically in the illustrations accompanying the reprint of his work at the end of the century, how can one not shrink from the goal of incessant conquest? To this day, we murder and enslave. Will God forgive us that, when offered such a gift, we could only maim?
June 1641
Nowhere do I find conjectures on how America has changed the European mind. We barely question what we have believed for centuries, and many see the discoveries as irrelevant even to social philosophy. They argue that the ancients knew nothing of these lands, yet look at the wisdom they achieved. But must it not have meaning for us? We can point to this discovery and say, “This we have done. Of this the ancients did not dream.” And if they in their wisdom did not dream of this reality, what awaits us, of which we have yet to dream?
August 1641
I have come across some interesting and related hypotheses in my reading. Some have proposed the theory that the Indians were, and continue to be, passing through stages, as did Europe itself. The end of that progression is what many see as Christianity, though the humanists say it is civilization. Of course, our progress was not unchecked. To our own Spain the Romans eventually brought Christianity, but we were invaded by the Visigoths. The Visigoths accepted the religion of their captured land, but we were then conquered by the Moors. They were not driven from our peninsula for seven centuries. The Catholic monarchs restored the supremacy of Catholicism in Spain, but elsewhere the Church has been torn asunder by Luther, Calvin, and Henry.
The Christianity the Indians “progress” to has often been imposed, but I wonder if they accept it in their hearts. Yet in Europe, also, religion has often been decreed. Perhaps the first who succumb to force only feign belief, but do pretense and ritual finally reach the heart? If a child sees his parents practicing this new religion, will he not accept it as truth? But I wander too far afield, and what would the Holy Inquisition make of all my musings? Yet their occupation is different from the circumstances of which I speak. It has often been said that the Inquisition seeks to bring back to the Holy Faith those who once professed it, but who have fallen into error and might lead others there as well.
Those who speak of a progress toward civilization consider that we have already attained it, yet do not our actions in the Americas undercut our right to that claim? Rather than we leading those inhabitants to civilization, have we not demonstrated our reversion to barbarity? If we speak of their own development, we can never know where that would have led, since their world will never be the same as it might have been, and nor will ours.
On a professional note, old Sor María, who had helped me in my ministrations at the Convent of Corpus Christi, passed on to what I am sure will be her eternal reward. Never have I known a gentler soul. She succumbed to a fever, the cause of which I was unable to determine. The abbess will look for a new assistant for me in my periodic visits to the good sisters.
November 1641
All of my readings have not served to assuage my desire to go to the New World myself. On the contrary, they have sharpened it. Through various avenues, I have made inquiries and requests regarding my desire to put on as a ship’s physician, and finally I have received word from a friend that there might be an opportunity for me with a fleet that will be leaving in May. I will work diligently to extricate myself from my brother’s business dealings. I see no need of my further service. Can it not now be the time to pursue my own desires?
I note here that my occasional work at the convent continues. The illness that began with Sor María’s death spread among the sisters during the autumn months, and I had difficulty with the diagnosis. I am chagrined to admit that I am still not certain what caused the fevers, and I did lose two patients, though they had been somewhat infirm before the onset of the malady. With a combination of treatments, the other stricken sisters improved, and most returned to full health. But perhaps I flatter myself. Though we physicians often like to take credit for recovery, nothing happens without God’s help and the natural recuperative powers He has given to his creatures.
I should not omit mention of Sor Ana, who volunteered to help me upon the death of Sor María. I have come to admire her greatly. She first showed bravery in offering her help, for she could herself have caught the fever, which we had already seen could be fatal. She did not shrink from even the most repugnant tasks I asked of her, and I seldom saw her lose her patience with her sisters, though surely she must have been sorely tried. I sometimes find it necessary to gruffly assert the authority of the physician over a complaining or uncooperative patient, but I never saw her resort to any like tactics.
Add to this that she is quick to learn, much more than other ladies. Though now I think on it, I do not believe that I have ever endeavored to teach a woman anything of substance. She tells me that her father allowed her to be tutored with her brother when she was young, and perhaps this habit of learning enables her to absorb knowledge now. Though she follows my instructions, when I have the time she questions the reasoning behind the treatments and often probes beyond the explanation “Because it is always done so.”
January 1642
I believe that I have secured a position on the fleet leaving for the Indies in May.
April 1642
I am quite distraught. All my hopes for sailing in May are dashed. Another, it must be supposed with better connections, has snatched the post from me. I am told it will be another year before there will be such an opening again.
I have already referred many of my regular patients to other physicians, so my practice is much reduced. I do have savings, which I planned to use at my new destination, so I can make use of those if I must. I will try to build up my practice again quickly, for I do not wish to have to apply to my brother for help, now that I have disconnected myself from his business.
At least now I will not have to bid farewell to Sor Ana and the others at the convent.
July 1642
I try to find whatever means I can to comfort myself, but I must confess to my continued feeling of disappointment that I have not been able to travel to the New World. One argument I have used with myself asked whether I might not be adding to the injustices done to the natives of those lands by being part of the treasure fleet that seeks to bring their riches to our shores. I answer that I hoped to put my curing skills to good use there, and how could my remaining at home help them? Would it undo any injustices already done? If I am a man of good intent, is that not enough?
9
ANA
Ana awoke to darkness and a sharp pain in her back. Squelching a momentary panic, she realized that she was sitting in the chair in her room. In the dim light from the brazier, she saw that Emilio’s journal lay on the floor. She stirred the embers and relit her candle.
She should have simply gone to bed, but she was reluctant to stop her reading, now that she had finally come to a mention of herself. Still, even after the time that they had started working together, he wrote of his bitter disappointment at the posting on the ship having been taken from him, and this exclusion from his hopes and dreams left Ana feeling empty.
She told herself to go to her bed, that tomorrow would be a busy day, but she knew that she would not be able to sleep. She straightened up in the chair and found the page where she had left off reading.
10
Emilio
August 1642
My work at the convent continues. Sor Ana has told me that she entered the convent when she was but seventeen. That seems very young to have made the decision to reject the world, though I know that many girls enter that life at a yet more tender age. I am ever more impressed with Sor Ana’s quick mind and gentle manner. I must admit, if only to myself, that on those occasions when I have arrived at the convent and have been told that Sor Ana has been called to other duties that day, I have fe
lt a sense of most keen disappointment.
September 1642
To some the New World means little more than anxiously awaited cargos of silver to pay off investors, or to be confiscated by the royal treasury. Felipe looks to silver to ease the task of keeping his empire, which spreads to Naples and the Netherlands. To him the Indies are but a chest that holds the means to European power. The silver mines most easily stripped have been depleted, and more mercury is needed to extract less silver, decreasing shipments and profits. Spain does not look to its own rapacity for explanation but blames the new lands themselves, that they no longer contain untouched riches, as a violated woman is blamed because she is no longer virginal.
There are those who say that our experience with the new lands has harmed more than helped us. The tide of silver has steadily increased our prices for many decades, with little recourse for the poor. In matters of trade with the rest of Europe, our position has deteriorated, as we use American silver to buy more goods from other lands, while we produce less to sell in turn. Already at the turn of the century the great arbitrista González de Cellorigo saw the fault of this, believing that the riches won by Spain from conquest should be used to spur agriculture, the making of goods, and the trading of them, but his wise counsel was ignored. Even our great poet of love Garcilaso de la Vega has written of the corrosive effects of a wealth won but not earned.
I do know that the hope of a better life can be found in those new lands for the man who can but muster the means and the courage to embrace it. One of my charity patients showed me a letter from her husband, who left her and their son three years ago to seek his fortune across the sea. He wrote to her from Puebla to join him there now, that together they can live in a comfortable prosperity. Some lament that the New World drains from us those with vision and enterprise, and I fear that it may be so.
The Lines Between Us Page 4