The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (44 page)

Chapter 40

M
arta walked up the steep hill and at the rise caught her first glimpse of the large austere building that was her new home. There it is, the commanding fortress housing the soldiers of God, she thought. The main convent building had a turret on each corner, and their early Christian design spoke of a timeless, untouched era that even now had the power to conjure up some medieval fantasy. The mother superior’s orders had been precise: Marta’s parents could accompany her no farther than the train station in Valencia. There they would say goodbye, with no further contact, until instructions arrived from the convent and the mother superior alone. Marta wished now that her parents were here with her to take her final steps into her new life. She was sure that this momentary loneliness would pass, that she would soon be filled with Jesus’ love, and that she would need no one but him in her life; but for now, she felt the loss of her family.

Marta wore a black dress and coat with sturdy walking shoes. She carried a small black suitcase containing her undergarments and prayer books, which was all the mother superior said she would need, and a letter of acceptance clutched in her gloved hand. The ground was still thick with frost. It was so much colder here, Marta thought, as she continued on her last walk in the outside world. On the train, she had passed sparse villages, orange groves, vineyards, and cherry trees shrouded in pink blossom; but the landscape outside the monastery gates was barren, flat, and colourless compared to the lush greenery of home. Home, gone forever.

At the entrance to the great walled garden, a nun appeared and ushered Marta inside. Marta walked silently and reverently behind until she was shown into a room that looked more like a small chapel than a reception area. In the stone walls sat arched windows, stained with gold, cream, and red glass, and as the afternoon sun shone through them, it bathed the room in a soft pink glow of warmth. Wooden benches lined the walls of the room, and Marta thought it looked like the village dance hall, with the dance floor in the centre and young girls sitting around its edges, waiting to be asked to dance.

After being seated, the heavy doors opened again to admit four more new postulants. They sat next to her, and still no one spoke. Silence was a virtue there, Marta was reminded by a whispering girl to her right. After half an hour or so, twenty girls were crammed onto the benches, with not a centimetre separating them. There was an air of silent questioning and a nervous shuffling of feet. Everyone waited for something to happen, for someone to speak.

The door opened loudly, making a loud creaking noise that echoed around the room. Two nuns swathed in black robes walked briskly to the front of the pews and turned to face them.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” the smaller of the two said. “I am Sister Teresa, and this is Sister Juan. We are the postulant mistresses, and it is our duty not only to instruct you but also to welcome you to your new family. Lunch, I think, Sister Juan.”

How strange, Marta thought. Was that it? Was that all they had to say after all the waiting? She thought they’d at least tell them what was going to happen to them, but lunch… It was all so normal.

In the great hall, nuns shuffled between the lines of wooden tables, serving a soup that looked like coloured water with chickpeas floating on top, and as she ate, she noticed that the nuns watched but didn’t eat with them. She nudged the girl next to her and whispered softly, “Why are they not eating?”

The girl told her. “They don’t eat with us because we’re not religious yet. To eat with anyone who’s from the outside world means that they are sharing something with the world they’ve left behind, and that’s just not done. They have to remain separate. They’ve turned their backs on all life outside these walls, and that includes us. We’re not like them, yet.”

“I see,” Marta said.

There were too many names for Marta to remember, but she did get along well with the two girls sitting next to her. One was called Mercedes, and there was a small skinny girl called Christina.

The first few days were going to be the most difficult, they’d been told. The hooding ceremony, which was when they went into the Church to be blessed with short white veils worn by all new postulants, was to take place at eight o’clock, but first they had to find their cells.

“Cells, such a strange word to describe our bedrooms, don’t you think?” Marta said to Christina, who shrugged her shoulders in response.

“I suppose it’s because in a way, this is a prison. Oh, don’t get me wrong. It’s a very welcome one for me, but nonetheless, it is a place from which we’ll never leave.”

Marta nodded. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I certainly don’t ever want to leave here. I feel quite at home already.”

After they’d been allocated their cells, which were no more than small spaces with a single bed surrounded by a curtain, the sisters arrived with two second-year novices, each holding bundles of clothes.

“You will all change now,” Sister Juan said. “Wash first. You’ll find a basin under your bed and water outside in the ablution hall.”

Marta carefully laid out the robes handed to her and smiled with excitement and a joy she could only describe as heavenly. She had been waiting for this moment. She looked forward to getting rid of everything to do with money, possessions, and vanity. First she scrubbed her body and face with the hard cake of soap that smelled like disinfectant, and barely lathered when she rubbed it with her hands in a bowl filled with cold water. Then she rinsed the small amount of soap off her, and dried herself with the towel that had been supplied. It felt as rough as sandpaper, but she scrubbed herself dry until her skin was red and tingling all over.

“Just think, this time next year you’ll be doing the same thing for someone else,” the second-year novice outside the curtain whispered to her.

Yes, Marta thought, but she had a long way to go before she’d reach such an exalted position. She pulled on the long black woollen stockings first, followed by rough cotton bloomers that reached past her knees. Next was the tunic that fell over the bloomers, and then there was an ankle-length serge petticoat. She thought the layers of clothing would never end. From where she stood, she could hear the other postulants nervously giggling, probably thinking the same, and that made her feel better. They would all look like penguins! After the petticoat came a black cotton blouse and black pleated skirt that just about covered her ankles. The final piece of the outfit was a black cape that hung precariously across her shoulders. She was glad there was no mirror, as she just knew she’d die laughing if she saw herself.

At eight o’clock exactly, Sister Teresa came for them and told them to line up for inspection. Once in position, they were led in procession to the outer courtyard where the Gothic chapel sat, surrounded by tall weeping willow trees and palms swaying in the cold breeze.

“Thank goodness we’ve got these warm bloomers on. It’s freezing!” Marta remarked to Christina with stifled laughter.

They marched on in a small disciplined line until they were told to stand still at the threshold of two chapel doors. Sister Teresa passed each of them, and her eagle eyes missed nothing.

As soon as they’d stepped over the door, they could hear the organ playing a soft melodic hymn. Marta thought she’d die of contentment; she was totally at peace with the world. The pews were already full of nuns who sat with their heads bowed in prayer, each one consumed in her own conversation between herself and God. They neither looked up nor registered any interest in the new arrivals. As Marta neared the altar, she passed four pews that were filled with white-veiled novices, and her excitement grew in the knowledge that she’d soon be wearing the same. She waited for the ceremony to begin, looking with curious eyes around the small chapel. The biggest crucifix she’d ever seen stood in the centre of the altar on a wooden tripod.

The altar itself was surrounded by stained glass windows and was undoubtedly the main focus inside the building. She twisted her neck to the side and noticed that unlike other small chapels, this one did not have the statues and effigies that one often saw in the purpose-built alcoves. The alcoves were bared of all such beauty. There were no flowers, no Virgin Mother smiling sweetly, no candle altar of remembrance. There wasn’t even a holy water font.

They were ushered silently to kneel at the iron altar rail just in front of the tabernacle. Marta’s dream was realised. She felt so close to God that she could almost touch him:

“I’m here. I’ll always be here with you,” she whispered.

For the next half hour or so, prayers were offered for the new postulants. Marta, with eyes squeezed shut joined in the great wonder of her new life of complete obedience and unwavering devotion to God’s will. She heard ‘Ave Maria’ being played at the back of the chapel, her mother’s favourite hymn. She tried to block out the pain and hurt she must have caused her parents and her sister and wondered what they would be doing right now. Would they be comforted in knowing that she was serenely happy? Could they imagine her feelings of complete joy at this very moment? She felt the white veil being placed on her head. This was her family now, her family for life. This is where she would die.

After tea, the convent’s mother superior visited the girls. She was old, extremely old. She hobbled on two sticks towards the front of the large dining room, where she stopped and looked around her, nodded her head in approval, and sat down. When the meal had ended, she stood once more, adjusted her veil, and then spoke in a voice loud enough to wake the dead.

“Sisters, I welcome you all. Usually at this time of the evening, we allow you an hour of recreation, when you may converse with each other on any subject you choose. However, as it’s your first night, you will forgo this routine and retire now to your cell, where silence will be upheld until prayers tomorrow morning.”

Marta awoke before the morning bell rang. She said a quiet prayer and wondered at the same time what life as a postulant would mean. She would be tested, she was well aware of this. She was also very conscious that not all girls who had the vocation made it to the status of nun; it was going to be a difficult road ahead. She washed in the freezing cold water and decided that in order to get through the probation period of six months and ask for the privilege of the habit and for the honour of becoming a nun, she would have to show every second of every day that she was truly acceptable. During that first week, Mother José and the two postulant mistresses instructed the new intakes in the ways of becoming a good nun, but after the first week, Marta received the hardest test of a postulant yet. Mother José adjusted her veil, just as she always did, stood on the same spot at the top table at exactly the same time as always, and raised her un-nun-like voice, which silenced the room.

“Sisters, I see that you are all settling in nicely and that you have made friends during your daily conversations,” she bellowed.

Marta thought about that briefly. Yes, she had made friends. It was so easy to talk to all of the girls, as they were all in tune with each other and all wanting to reach the same goals. Three of the girls who’d joined with her had left after the third day, unable to accept the harsh reality of what they’d believed would be an instantly beautiful and fulfilling life. Christina was her closest friend. They would have had nothing in common on the outside world, but they had bonded together here with a common joy to serve Christ. Mother José’s voice rang out again, startling Marta.

“But now I must instruct you in the rule of silence. This will require great discipline from all of you, and your need to communicate and express yourself will be, from now on, a limited experience. We are allowed to talk freely twice a day. The first hour will be after the midday meal, and the second will be after supper, when you will have your formal recreation.”

Marta looked around her at the faces of the other postulants. Two of the girls were trying hard to hold back tears. Marta realised that she was homesick for the lively debates in the Martinéz household. She tried to dismiss the questions and thoughts running rampant through her mind and instead wondered how many others were questioning the validity of the rule of silence. Would it be chaos not being allowed to share any feelings but twice a day, when everybody would be so eager to talk? She probably wouldn’t be able to get a word in edgeways. She wasn’t at all as outgoing as some of the others were.

“And another thing: novices and postulants are not allowed to speak to any person outside the religious order,” Mother José said sternly and with an undisguised warning. “They are seculars, and if they attempt to speak to you, you must not reply. It is only by cutting yourself off completely from the world that you can begin to shed some of its values, and in this world there are not very many values left, are there? You will also, on no account, speak to the professed nuns unless you are working with them, and even then the conversation must be kept to a few necessary words that are essential to the work.”

Marta looked about her again and held Christina’s hand. Her friend was fighting back tears and was becoming more and more distressed. Marta was fighting her own conflicting emotions. She had known about the silences, but now that they had actually been given the order to begin them, she was unsure if she could be ruthless enough to reject the world completely. After all, she told herself, the world wasn’t altogether bad. Her family were good people. Why did she have to condemn them? Surely God wouldn’t want her to do that?

The first few weeks were harder than Marta could ever have imagined. Every morning at five, she scrubbed herself with carbolic soap that made her skin itch. She dressed in the cold and damp air that never seemed to get any warmer. She joined the others for morning prayers, fighting eyes that sometimes refused to stay open. Sometimes she thought she’d go mad with the silence that surrounded her. She began to read the faces of the other postulants, imagining what they were thinking, but as always, her imagination was all she had. Cleaning duties were long and strenuous, with never-ending corridors of ceramic tiles to scrub on knees which by now had become hard, grazed, and permanently red.