Masipa and Ankti looked fearful.
“As we told you, Father. The Woman of the Desert gave it to us last night. For you.”
Friar Juan fell to his knees, submerged in a strange state of hysteria, laughing and crying at the same time. The Franciscan felt among the corn leaves and grasped the object inside. There was no doubt about it: here was a rosary with black beads, all of them perfectly round and glistening, from which dangled a delicate silver cross. An object such as belonged to old Christians, possessing a rare beauty.
“Most Holy Virgin!” de Salas thundered.
Who but the Virgin could be behind these visits?
Friar Juan remembered the story he had heard during his religious training in Toledo, and which at the time had seemed outrageous to him. It was said that Saint Dominic de Guzmán, founder of the Dominicans, had instituted the saying of the rosary in the thirteenth century after the Virgin herself had given him one. Was not this a similar prodigy?
FORTY-SIX
BILBAO, SPAIN
Tucked away in a remote corner of the city, far from the estuary, the Plaza de San Felicísimo turns out to be a simple traffic circle of stone and mortar around which the Passionist Fathers have taken up their principal residence. The two main buildings on the plaza belong today to the order—founded in 1720 by the Italian missionary Paul of the Cross, now sainted—which answers to the high-sounding Congregation for the Barefoot Clergy of the Most Holy Cross and Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ. And yet its most striking peculiarity is not its name but the rule that obliges its members to take a fourth vow before their entrance into the order. To poverty, chastity, and obedience, the order adds: an initiate must agree to propagate the cult of the passion and death of the Nazarene.
When they showed up at the foot of the stairs leading to the Passionist residence, José Luis and Carlos were ignorant of that historical detail. Instead, they carried with them a thin folder with a few bits of information pertinent to their objective. To wit: Amadeo Tejada had entered the order in 1950, pursuing studies in psychology and the history of religion, and had occupied, since 1983, a seat as professor of theology at the University of Deusto in Bilbao. He was furthermore considered to be an authentic expert on angelology.
“Father Tejada? One moment, please.”
A Passionist, whose hair was rapidly receding and whose simple black robes had a cloth heart stitched onto the chest, asked them to take a seat in the cramped waiting room.
Three minutes after they sat down, a burly giant flung open the glass door and entered the room. Father Tejada must have been about seventy. His clerical robes accentuated his height and his white hair and long beard, along with his tone of voice, conferred on him the beatific aspect that had so impressed the nuns in Ágreda.
“So you’ve come to ask me about Mother Ágreda,” Father Tejada said with a smile, after offering his hand to the two visitors.
“Well, we had no choice after speaking with the nuns. They assured us that you are very learned on the subject.”
“Oh, come now! I’m only fulfilling my obligation. Ever since I began studying Mother María Jesús’s life, they’ve held me in the highest esteem.” He smiled pleasantly. “The feeling is mutual. In fact, that monastery was the site of the most extraordinary case of bilocation I have ever encountered. And that is why I have dedicated so many hours to it and spent such long periods of time there.”
“Forgive my diving right in, Father, but we don’t want to take too much of your time. Have you arrived at any conclusions about the authenticity of her bilocations?”
Tejada pulled on the lobe of his left ear before answering.
“I don’t know if you are aware that actually there are various types of bilocations,” he said to Carlos, with one eye on José Luis. “The most simple can basically be distinguished as mere clairvoyance. In that case, the bilocated subject sees things that are occurring far from where she is, even if it is not her eyes that enable her to do so. It is her psyche. Here we are speaking of a very basic and not so interesting sort of bilocation.”
“Please continue,” Carlos urged their host.
“On the other hand, the most complex kind of bilocation, and the one that interests me, is one in which the subject physically doubles and is capable of interacting with others in the two different places she inhabits. She lets herself be seen by witnesses to whom the prodigy can impart faith, as well as touch objects and leave traces of herself behind. That class of bilocation is, on its own merits, the only sort we can call miraculous.”
Father Tejada stopped speaking long enough to let his guests make notes on the various categories of bilocation. When they were finished, he went on.
“I believe that between the one and the other there exists a wide range of states in which the subjects materialize to a greater or lesser extent in the places where they appear. Of course, the most interesting cases are those of ‘total materialization.’ The others could be mere cerebral experiences.”
“And Mother Ágreda fits in the second category?” Carlos asked with all the tact of which he was capable.
“Not always.”
“How so?”
“Perhaps her bilocations did not always pertain to that second category,” the Passionist reiterated patiently. “You ought to know that when this nun was interrogated by the Inquisition in 1650, she confessed that she had visited the New World on more than five hundred occasions, although not always in the same manner. She didn’t always fully materialize. At times she had the impression that she was an angel who disguised herself as a nun and revealed herself to the Indians; on other occasions, a second angel accompanied her while she flew through the heavens at terrific speed; but on the majority of occasions, everything took place after she had fallen into a trance and was being cared for by her companions in the monastery.”
“An angel?”
“Well, you shouldn’t be too puzzled by that. The Bible speaks of them frequently and says they much resemble ourselves. Even other, more recent mystics, such as Ana Caterina Emmerich in the eighteenth century, said her bilocations were provoked by angels, in whose company she ‘crossed the oceans faster than the mind can imagine.’ A lovely expression, no?”
Father Tejada smiled briefly before continuing.
“Don’t make it seem stranger than it is,” he said in a jocular manner. “What is there to prevent angels from making a woman appear in America? If we accept what is said about them in the Scriptures, they could be seated here with us and you would never notice it at all.”
Tejada winked at them complicitly, a gesture Carlos did his best to avoid noticing.
“Would you consider them a species of . . . infiltrators?” he asked.
“Let’s say they are a ‘fifth column’ who control certain aspects of human evolution from inside. Do you understand the comparison?”
“A ‘fifth column’? Of course.” The journalist snapped to attention. “The term was used during the Spanish Civil War to refer to a group of resistance fighters working secretly inside a city or a country.”
“Precisely what I refer to, young man.”
“Well then . . . since you’re an expert in angelology, you must know what you’re talking about.”
José Luis’s barbed comment struck home.
“Don’t make a joke out of it,” Tejada snapped back. “If you want to get to the bottom of the mystery of the Lady in Blue and her connection to Mother Ágreda, you’re going to have to take angels very seriously.”
The police officer remained unfazed and Carlos continued with his questions.
“Getting back to specifics, Father: do you believe that the nun in Ágreda at any time transported herself physically to America?”
“It’s difficult to say. But in truth, nothing prevents me from believing it. Many others have lived through the same experience and have left us sufficient evidence of their instantaneous ‘voyages,’ in soul and body.”
José Luis shifted in his seat.
None of these circumlocutions gave them the slightest clue as to the whereabouts of the manuscript. Summoning more tact than he usually employed, he sought to bring the conversation around to his concerns.
“Excuse our ignorance, Father, but does there exist, or did there exist, any documents or chronicles from that period which offer details about these voyages?”
Father Tejada regarded the policeman with affable condescension.
“There you are! A practical man. I like that.”
José Luis accepted the compliment.
“The answer is yes. A Franciscan by the name of Friar Alonso de Benavides wrote the first report in 1630, in which he collected clues to what today can be interpreted as bilocations by Madre Ágreda.”
“Clues? Is that all there is?” he inquired.
“Not only. Four years later, the same friar wrote a second, expanded version of his report. Sadly, I have never been able to examine it. It was never published, although it is rumored that Philip the Fourth himself was so fascinated by the document, it became one of his favorite books.”
“Do we know why?”
“Indeed”—he hesitated for a second—“what I am going to tell you is by no means official, but it seems that in the margins of his text, Benavides appended the formulas that Madre Ágreda utilized in order to bilocate. And those notations entranced him.”
“Fantastic!” Carlos blurted out. “An instruction manual!”
“Something like that.”
“And do we know if anyone made use of it after the king?”
“From what I heard, the later report never left the hands of the royal family, although in the Vatican they possess a written copy. Friar Martín de Porres, a Peruvian of mixed blood and a Dominican, also experienced numerous bilocations around the same time as the nun in Ágreda.”
“Are you insinuating that this friar read . . . ?”
“Absolutely not. Friar Martín died in 1639, before news of this could have reached him in Lima, and by the time of his death he had achieved the status of a saint. They called him ‘Friar Broom.’ Did you know that? His ‘double’ was seen preaching in Japan sometime before the Memorial was written in 1634.”
Father Tejada suddenly lowered his voice.
“He even at times went so far as to leave flowers on the altar at Santo Domingo, flowers not from Peru but Japan.”
“Do you believe things like that?” José Luis asked with a certain distaste.
“It is not only a question of faith, although that influences it. Have you ever heard about Father Pio?”
Of the two, only Carlos nodded.
The journalist knew that Padre Pio, whose real name was Francesco Forgione, was an extremely famous Italian Capuchin who had lived in Pietrelcina during the middle of the twentieth century. There he played a leading role in a great number of mystical prodigies, from the physical appearance of Christ’s stigmata on his body to displaying the gift of prophecy, and after his death continued to inspire great popular fervor throughout Italy.
“Indeed, a number of celebrated bilocations are attributed to Padre Pio,” Tejada went on. “The best known was witnessed by Cardinal Barbieri, who was at the time Archbishop of Montevideo. He saw Pio in Uruguay on several occasions, although he only identified him later, when he visited Italy. And Pio recognized Barbieri despite the fact that he had never been physically present on the other side of the world.”
“Do you suppose Father Pio controlled his bilocations?” Carlos was fascinated.
“Not only him. Madre Ágreda did as well, although I’m only acquainted with two or three other instances throughout history. What sets them apart from the others is their great gift of controlling the distance of their bilocations.”
“What do you mean by the ‘distance’?”
“Exactly that. Both Father Pio and María Ágreda were the active agents in bilocations over distances both short and long. In local manifestations, they traveled outside the walls of their respective monasteries or to nearby homes. But they also traveled over great distances, letting themselves be seen on other continents.”
José Luis shifted anxiously in his chair. He did not seem disposed to lose much more time talking about famous mystics. If he had decided to come to Bilbao, it was to solve a robbery and not to take a class in miracles of the faith.
“Pardon my clumsiness, Father,” he said as he sat up in his chair. “But what do you know about this second Memorial of Benavides that was in Philip the Fourth’s possession?”
Tejada came to a sudden stop. He had not mentioned the title of the second document.
“What exactly is your interest in that document, gentlemen?”
José Luis straightened up still further in his chair. He wanted to be on the giant’s eye level if he could. He felt around in his coat and pulled out his badge. Showing it to Tejada seemed not to have the desired effect, so he delivered an ultimatum. “I am sorry to have to give a slight twist to this conversation, Father, but you need to answer a few more questions for me. The robbery we are investigating is a significant one.”
“So you say.” Father Tejada stared at José Luis grimly. Even Carlos felt his contempt, and he thought to himself, nothing will come of this.
“Did you receive a telephone call yesterday just before five AM?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“There is not a great deal to tell. It was very unusual. Someone called the switchboard and they transferred the call to my room, which woke me. I answered the phone, but nothing. There was no one on the line.”
“No one?”
“No one. I hung up.”
Tejada’s answers gave the policeman enough to go on. He had at least proved that someone had called Tejada from the National Library.
“Any other questions?”
“One more.” José Luis paused as he looked through his notes. “Do you know anything about a certain Order of the Sacred Image?”
“No. Should I?”
“No.”
“Now I have a question for you,” said a very serious Tejada. “May I know why the police are interested in the calls I receive?”
Carlos was unable to hold back. Since his friend was hesitating, he answered for him.
“We already told you, Father, that we’re investigating a robbery. Yesterday morning a manuscript was stolen from the National Library in Madrid. It was Philip the Fourth’s copy of the Memorial as revised by Benavides . . . the second, complete version.”
Father Tejada nearly exploded.
“Yesterday at four fifty-nine AM someone used the phone in the National Library to make a call. It could only have been the thieves.”
“Good Lord! I had no idea.”
“Now you do, Father,” Carlos said in a soothing voice. “But it’s important that if you remember anything, no matter what, or if they contact you again by phone, call us.”
“Do you know anyone in the National Library?”
José Luis’s question sounded almost like an accusation.
“Enrique Valiente, the director, is a good friend. He was a student of mine at the school here.”
“Fine, Father. If we need something, we’ll call you.”
Father Tejada was no longer smiling. News of the robbery had gotten to him.
“I’ll walk you out,” he told them.
The Passionist grabbed Carlos by the arm as they stood at the entrance to the building. José Luis had gone ahead to the car, to make a call to his office on his cell phone. Tejada, meanwhile, whispered something to Carlos that disconcerted him.
“You aren’t a cop, are you?”
“N-no . . . ,” Carlos stammered.
“So why are you interested in Madre Ágreda?”
The giant held such a firm grip on Carlos’s biceps, he felt compelled to be honest.
“It’s a long story, Father. To tell you the truth, I have the feeling that someone has somehow dragged me into this.”
“Someone?” The giant lea
ned in closer. “Who?”
“I have no idea. That is what I want to find out.”
Tejada smoothed the creases in his robes, and began to act like a confessor.
“You know what, young man? Many of us have come to Madre Ágreda thanks to a dream, a vision, or after a long accumulation of chance events that, all of a sudden, deposit us against our will at her feet.”
The journalist’s stomach tightened.
“I know people who dreamed of Madre Ágreda without knowing that it was her,” he went on. “She appears, bathed in a blue light, and takes you where she wishes.”
Carlos swallowed hard. He could still feel the muscle on his arm being squeezed.
“The Lady in Blue is a powerful archetype,” Tejada said. “A symbol of transformation. To the Indians she announced the arrival of a new era, politically and historically; to the friars she revealed wonders that overwhelmed them. And now, suddenly, it seems she wants to emerge from the mist of time once again.”
The priest suppressed a cough before going on.
“Remember that, whatever the task, she always has the help of angels. They organize everything. Everything. Even if her actions are concealed beneath layers of coincidences. Why are you here, if you don’t believe?”
“Exactly, why am I?” Carlos asked himself. He shook hands with the giant, relieved to be able to make his escape, and hurried toward the Renault-19, which was already pulling into the plaza below.
FORTY-SEVEN
And so?” José Luis’s tone was exultant. “A strange fellow, that Tejeda. Did he tell you anything else?”
Carlos shook his head, trying to camouflage his uneasiness about what the priest had said.
“Well, I have news. Big news.” José Luis was clearly delighted.
“What happened?”
“This morning, while you and I were en route to Bilbao, the director of the National Library, none other than Father Tejada’s friend, received a phone call from the United States. And what were they asking about? Benavides’s Memorial.”
“Impossible.”
“It struck him as very odd that anyone should be interested in the contents of that book, so he took the call himself. Then he contacted the police. They just gave me all the details. Enrique Valiente is his name, correct?” Martín said as he browsed through his notes.
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