by V. Cobe
CHAPTER 14
A More or Less Beneficial Investigation
“Good afternoon, Ms. Sá.” The only watch guard frantically touches the crucifix on his chest.
Down below, at the base of the hill, the lights that outline the Faithful Crosses on top of all the churches and chapels of Carmel light up at the same time as the sun sets over the ocean.
“I’ve come to talk to the bishop. Can I enter?”
The guard, who’s well aware that my son disappeared from the monastery, smiles and pushes a button to open the gates.
I walk up the stone path until the fountain where the paths intersect, my heart beating rapidly. I wonder if he’d realize if I didn’t leave after curfew. I can say that I went to Alem’s room and realized the time only after it was already past curfew, so I spent the night. Or that I fell asleep, that I was lying on his bed, weeping, and fell asleep. It doesn’t matter.
My eyes run across the exterior in search of surveillance signals. It seems to me that there are some cameras but only at the back, at the end of the land, pointing outward.
On the side of the monastery building, to my right, are a few rectangular windows with small square wooden panes. At the center of the façade is a red iron door, which I push. A cold air and the smell of rotten food fill my nose, but it’s only a narrow stone corridor crammed with garbage cans.
I rifle through the garbage looking for any hints of Defectio’s presence in the monastery, but I find only food waste, packaging and dust.
Down the hall is a door I don’t take long to reach.
The floor of this new corridor is made of oak and covered with long red carpets, and the walls, of the same wood, display paintings of Jesus Christ.
I continue to the last door. I open it and see a huge wall at the back, after several rows of wooden pews in the dark. I’m in the church to the left of the altar.
Someone groans somewhere.
The painted friars in the stained glass windows that flank the organ observe me with irony stamped on their lips and eyes. The sun has set completely; sunlight no longer permeates the stained glass windows, only a slight lunar aura, the only source of light in the church.
A silver basin rests on the credence, behind which dark figures move. One of them repeatedly places and removes something off the basin in short intervals.
I can see almost nothing around me, but it’s quite clear that the moans are coming from the altar. Groans of pain, interspersed with short cries.
I take off my dress so that I’m wearing only the tight black jumpsuit I wear below it, crumple it into a ball and hide it inside a large brown antique china vase perched on a stone pillar in the corner. I’m better camouflaged like this; it’ll just be a little more difficult to justify myself if they find me dressed in this color.
I blend in with the rows of pews, squat and crawl toward the center. There are two rows separated by a wide corridor that connects the altar to the entrance of the aisle. As I approach this central corridor, the moaning becomes clearer.
A woman complains of pain. Another woman coldly tells her to endure it and be silent. A third voice, also female, speaks words that I don’t quite understand. It seems to be of another language, perhaps Latin.
“…Zazgaha…”
Zazgaha. Defectio are here.
The voice that’s speaking in Latin is repeating the same words. It’s Sister Ada.
The cold voice is of Sister Sara. She says, “It’s over.”
Ada shuts up.
A figure rises behind the desk, picks up something in its hands and drops it into a bowl with the sound of water splashing around.
“You know the procedure; let’s take her to the infirmary. Then we’ll come back to deal with this,” says Sara. And another figure appears at her side.
They bend and pick up the body, one by its feet, the other by its arms, and stagger out of the altar through the right.
I get closer. I smell an awful odor, a little acid and a little sour. I climb the steps of the altar. I don’t want to turn on the flashlight, and there’s ample moonlight entering through the stained glass windows, enough for me to see what’s on the altar table if I get close enough. I bend to observe the basin. The table is covered with a towel that’s completely stained. Blood.
I blink a few times and smother a cry of terror. Inside the basin, in the middle of a lot of liquid—a mixture of water, blood and some other viscous fluid—float solid, dispersed bits of something, like pieces of meat in soup. There’s a part that stands out in the center: beady black eyes and a large curved head, hands and feet like a frog’s, on a body smaller than the human ear and bent over itself. It’s a fetus. There are metal instruments placed at its side.
Noises coming from a door to the right compel me to run down the hall and out through the church doors.
An abortion. The nuns were performing an abortion. It would be strange enough without them mentioning Zazgaha. I brought my son to the mouth of the wolf, into the hands of Defectio. If the bishop hears about this, Carmel will fall. Or maybe he already knows.
I feel sick. I lean against a wall and vomit.
I have to get out of here. I hurry through the corridor, and for a while there’s no door or window. It’s like a tunnel. Then finally a staircase emerges, and I climb it. I make it to the church’s inner balcony and approach the border, a long horizontal bar made of oak, with small vertical pillars and details engraved from top to bottom. I can see the altar and the figures down there. They are cleaning up everything and talking to one another, but I can’t decipher what they’re saying.
A bracelet on my wrist tinkles on a piece of iron engraved on the wood and echoes through the church. I retreat my hand, but it’s too late: the nuns stopped what they were doing and are facing the balcony.
I squat behind the wood, hands clutching two pillars and my head peering between them, trying not to move in the dark.
I spend a few seconds of terror in silence and immobility. It’s as if time’s standing still, for me and for those down there.
Finally, one of them says, “Someone’s on the top balcony.”
A nun begins to take fast and spaced steps while speaking. It disappears from one side of the altar while another goes to the main exit of the church.
They are looking for me.
I get up and run to the opposite side from where I came. I find a door. I don’t know whether there’s any more but I can’t go around looking, so I push it. It doesn’t open.
A figure appears on the stairs from where I ascended and advances toward me. I take a step back and throw myself forward to the door that opens wide. I cross corridors, doors, windows, more doors, more corridors, turning right and left or intersecting others, climb another flight of stairs, run through a few more corridors and step through a few more doors until I reach a corridor with numerous doors that have nameplates in the center at eye level.
I stop and breathe. I’ve been here before. Somewhere here is a door that has a sign with the inscription Alemeth Ricardo Sá.
I turn my head from side to side until I notice my son’s room. I didn’t need to look very carefully: the door has a horizontal tape of the Brigade, marking a crime scene and prohibiting access to those who aren’t part of the investigation that is, supposedly, taking place.
I know I have to shove myself into a dark hole and hide, but I can’t resist. Curiosity is stronger: I have to see the room, who knows what I might find.
Behind the Investigation Brigade tape, Alem’s room is that of a perfectly normal boy. It’s dark in there. The bed against the wall is made, and a pair of dirty trainers are underneath it.
I loosen the tape from the door, enter the room and press the light switch, but the light doesn’t turn on, so I have difficulty seeing beyond the little that is illuminated. The desk is against a wall that’s perpendicular to the bed and is piled with papers and books. I pick one and bring it closer to my eyes, struggling to decipher it. It’s a small text on a Bible passage.
“So this is where you were,” says a voice from behind me.
I turn startled and face Zalmon, who’s staring at me from the door. I can’t see his face well enough; the light from the hallway that flows into the dimly lit room creates only a black silhouette.
“What are you doing here, Bethel?” he asks, in a serious and inexpressive manner.
I say nothing and so does he. I’m waiting for him to do something, but he doesn’t move. Long seconds of silence follow.
Finally, he draws a phone from his habit’s pocket and slowly advances toward me.
“I’m sorry, but this impertinence ends here. You should be at home, waiting for the Brigade to contact you, not snooping secretly.”
Impulsively I lean forward and grab the phone from his hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks angrily.
“Bishop, the nuns…. I know what’s going on here.”
“Shush. You know nothing, Bethel.”
“I know about the abortions! What kind of monastery is this, bishop?” I shout.
He comes at me to take the phone, but I throw it. He grabs my arms and shakes me.
“You witch!” he screams. “You’ll burn in Hell next to me!”
I push him back hard and he strikes the wall. He lunges at me, but I grab the desk lamp instinctively and toss it at his head, throwing him to the ground, unconscious.
I’m panting. I’m afraid I might have killed him.
I let out a muffled cry and storm out down the hall.
I speed away, feeling only the air cutting my face. Everything’s spinning around me.
I don’t know how far I’ve run or how long, but I reach the outside, on top of a tower.
The sky is now completely overcast, the stars or moon can’t be seen, and my hair violently flutters around my face. In the distance, lightning strikes.
I’m on one of the bell towers of the main building and can see the meadows, the lake and the forest in the background, all lost in a black blur. A lantern in the darkness, on what I suppose is the roof of the monastery, just below the maximum height of the towers, points to every site. Another two join it.There are unintelligible cries in the middle of the wind.
I have to hide quickly. I escape down a spiraling staircase on the outer side of the tower. I cling tightly to the steps but nearly slip a few times. At the end of the staircase, I jump to a grass terrace, just one floor above the ground. I could jump down there if I wanted to because there are no walls, but it’s too high.
More lightning hits, and I can hear voices nearby. Thick drops of rain slowly begin to fall.
Maybe if I cling to the wall and drop my body, it won’t be that high. I have no choice anyway. I turn my back to the abyss, squat and grab the stone ledge of the wall, gain courage and let my body fall. I hit the floor with my feet and feel an electric pain up my legs, and soon after, I bump my hands and tumble. The pain was immediate and consumes me, but it’s gradually fading.
Rain is pouring and soaks my clothes.
I can’t stand here. I get up and run into the forest. At this time, the guards must already be alert to my presence; it would be pointless to try exiting through the main gates. But before attempting the rear perimeter, I have to keep quiet and wait for them to give up looking for me. I hide in the forest.
The screams behind me don’t stop. There are flashlights surveying the air in all directions. I’m afraid they’ll unleash the dogs.
I can barely see where I set foot because the rain forms a thick curtain in front of my eyes. Nevertheless, I run for a long time and get lost in the forest. It’s not very big but offers a good hiding place. I pass by tall pines, jump over huge rocks and halt.
I hear whispers amidst the rain, coming from nearby, from inside the forest around me. I see nothing but trees, rocks and water. I turn on my flashlight but it fails after blinking a few times. I’m practically blind, and terrified.
I seem to see a small light coming from the middle of some trees ahead. I walk there, trying to hide behind thick trunks. The light is dim and stagnant.
I get close enough to realize that it’s a candle. Rain falls violently on it, but it doesn’t extinguish or tremble. Around it is a circle formed with what appears to be tiny bones.
Suddenly I feel calm. The rain stops and a cool breeze caresses my face. I have never felt this before, but it feels like love sprouting from the ground through my feet and then my legs. I smile. I know I did what I could to save my son and I know he knows it.
A hand behind me grabs my throat, blocking the air. I’m hit with something hard against my head and almost faint. I lose the strength in my legs but don’t fall because the hand is still holding me by the neck. I’m asphyxiating. They release me, and I fall on my knees, coughing. I try to get some air. I feel another blow on my back, shooting me to the ground, sprawled. I stay here, lying face down, but try to turn to see my aggressor. As I try, I hear two shots, and my outstretched body bounces twice with them and remains lying on the ground. I feel a burning sensation growing rapidly at two points in my torso, becoming stronger. The blood emerges near my face, coming from under my chest. It flows like a river as it passes through the pebbles scattered on the ground, through the rain puddles and soaked earth. I try to turn over again but can’t.
The light fades until all I see is black. But it’s from inside me that the switch is turning off, gently, as if someone was shutting down the dim light of the moon.
Behind me, I hear a voice that sounds distant and obnoxious, with a touch of loathing.
“You shouldn’t have stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong, Cev.”
Another shot and another sudden movement of my body.
I sigh.