The Sands of Time (5 page)

The man was looking at it, puzzled. “What can you do with that?”

“This.” Lucia swung the candelabrum against his head, and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

The three nuns stared in horror.

“Move!” Lucia said.

A moment later Lucia, Megan, Graciela, and Teresa were outside in the front courtyard, hurrying through the gate into the starry night.

Lucia stopped. “I’m leaving you now. They’re going to be searching for you, so you’d better get away from here.”

She turned and started toward the mountains that rose in the distance, high above the convent.
I’ll hide out up there until the search cools off and then I’ll head for Switzerland. Of all the rotten luck. Those bastards blew a perfect cover.

As Lucia made her way toward higher ground, she glanced down. From her vantage point she could see the three sisters. Incredibly, they were still standing in front of the convent gate, like three black-clad statues.
For God’s sake,
she thought.
Get the hell out of there before they catch you. Move!

They could not move. It was as though all their senses had been paralyzed for so long that they were unable to take in what was happening to them. The nuns stared down at their feet. They were so dazed they could not think. They had been cloistered for so long behind the gates of God, secluded from the world, that now that they were outside the protective walls, they were filled with feelings of confusion and panic. They had no idea where to go or what to do. Inside, their lives had been organized for them. They had been fed, clothed, told what to do and when to do it. They had lived by the Rule. Suddenly there was no Rule. What did God want from them? What was His plan? They stood huddled together, afraid to speak, afraid to look at one another.

Hesitantly, Sister Teresa pointed to the lights of Ávila in the distance and signed,
That way.
Uncertainly, they began to move toward the town.

Watching them from the hills above, Lucia thought:
No, you idiots! That’s the first place they’ll look for you. Well, that’s your problem. I have my own problems.
She stood there a moment, watching them walk toward their doom, going to their slaughter.
Shit

Lucia scrambled down the hill, stumbling over the loose scree, and ran after them, her cumbersome habit slowing her down.

“Wait a minute,” she called. “Stop!”

The sisters stopped and turned.

Lucia hurried up to them, out of breath. “You’re going the wrong way. The first place they’ll search for you is in town. You’ve got to hide out somewhere.”

The three sisters stared at her in silence.

Lucia said impatiently, “The mountains. Get up to the mountains. Follow me.”

She turned and started back toward the mountains. The others watched, and after a moment they began to trail after her, one by one.

From time to time Lucia looked back to make sure they were following.
Why can’t I mind my own business?
she thought.
They’re not my responsibility. It’s more dangerous if we’re all together.
She kept climbing, making sure they stayed in sight.

The others were having a hard time of it, and every time they slowed down, Lucia stopped to let them catch up with her.
I’ll get rid of them in the morning.

“Let’s move faster,” Lucia called.

At the convent, the raid had come to an end. The dazed nuns, their habits torn and blood-stained, were being rounded up and put into unmarked, closed trucks.

“Take them back to my headquarters in Madrid,” Colonel Acoca ordered. “Keep them in isolation.”

“What charge—?”

“Harboring terrorists.”

“Yes, Colonel,” Patricio Arrieta said. He hesitated. “Four of the nuns are missing.”

Colonel Acoca’s eyes turned cold. “Find them.”

Colonel Acoca flew back to Madrid to report to the prime minister.

“Jaime Miró escaped before we reached the convent.”

Prime Minister Martinez nodded. “Yes, I heard.” And he wondered whether Jaime Miró had ever been there to begin with. There was no doubt about it. Colonel Acoca was getting dangerously out of control. There had been angry protests about the brutal attack on the convent. The prime minister chose his words carefully. “The newspapers have been hounding me about what happened.”

“The newspapers are making a hero of this terrorist,” Acoca said, stone-faced. “We must not let them pressure us.”

“He’s causing the government a great deal of embarrassment, Colonel. And those four nuns—if they talk—”

“Don’t worry. They can’t get far. I’ll catch them and I’ll find Miró.”

The prime minister had already decided that he could not afford to take any more chances. “Colonel, I want you to be sure the thirty-six nuns you have are well treated, and I’m ordering the army to join the search for Miró and the others. You’ll work with Colonel Sostelo.”

There was a long, dangerous pause. “Which one of us will be in charge of the operation?” Acoca’s eyes were icy.

The prime minister swallowed. “You will be, of course.”

Lucia and the three sisters traveled through the early dawn, moving northeast into the mountains, heading away from Ávila and the convent. The nuns, used to moving in silence, made little noise. The only sounds were the rustle of their robes, the clicking of their rosaries, an occasional snapping twig, and their gasps for breath as they climbed higher and higher.

They reached a plateau of the Guadarrama mountains and walked along a rutted road bordered by stone walls. They passed fields with sheep and goats. By sunrise they had covered several miles and found themselves in a wooded area outside the small village of Villacastín.

I’ll leave them here,
Lucia decided.
Their God can take care of them now. He sure took great care of me,
she thought bitterly.
Switzerland is farther away than ever. I have no money and no passport, and I’m dressed like an undertaker. By now those men know we’ve escaped. They’ll keep looking until they find us. The sooner I get away by myself, the better.

But at that instant, something happened that made her change her plans.

Sister Teresa was moving through the trees when she stumbled and the package she had been so carefully guarding fell to the ground. It spilled out of its canvas wrapping and Lucia found herself staring at a large, exquisitely carved gold cross glowing in the rays of the rising sun.

That’s real gold,
Lucia thought.
Someone up there is looking after me. That cross is manna. Sheer manna. It’s my ticket to Switzerland

Lucia watched as Sister Teresa picked up the cross and carefully put it back in its wrapping. She smiled to herself. It was going to be easy to take it. These nuns would do anything she told them.

The town of Ávila was in an uproar. News of the attack on the convent had spread quickly, and Father Berrendo was elected to confront Colonel Acoca. The priest was in his seventies, with an outward frailty that belied his inner strength. He was a warm and understanding shepherd to his parishioners. But at the moment he was filled with a cold fury.

Colonel Acoca kept him waiting for an hour, then allowed the priest to be shown into his office.

Father Berrendo said without preamble, “You and your men attacked a convent without provocation. It was an act of madness.”

“We were simply doing our duty,” the colonel said curtly. “The convent was sheltering Jaime Miró and his band of murderers, so the sisters brought this on themselves. We’re holding them for questioning.”

“Did you find Jaime Miró in the convent?” the priest demanded angrily.

Colonel Acoca said smoothly, “No. He and his men escaped before we got there. But we’ll find them, and justice will be done.”

My justice,
Colonel Acoca thought savagely.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

T
he nuns traveled slowly. Their garb was ill equipped for the rugged terrain. Their sandals were too thin to protect their feet against the stony ground, and their habits caught on everything. Sister Teresa found she could not even say her rosary. She needed both hands to keep the branches from snapping in her face.

In the light of day, freedom seemed even more terrifying than before. God had cast the sisters out of Eden into a strange, frightening world, and His guidance which they had leaned on for so long was gone. They found themselves in an uncharted country with no map and no compass. The walls that had protected them from harm for so long had vanished and they felt naked and exposed. Danger was everywhere, and they no longer had a place of refuge. They were aliens. The unaccustomed sights and sounds of the country were dazzling. There were insects and bird songs and hot, blue skies assaulting their senses. And there was something else that was disturbing.

When they had first fled the convent, Teresa, Graciela, and Megan had carefully avoided looking at one another, instinctively keeping to the rules. But now, each found herself avidly studying the faces of the others. Also, after all the years of silence, they found it difficult to speak, and when they did speak, their words were halting, as though they were learning a strange new skill. Their voices sounded strange in their ears. Only Lucia seemed uninhibited and sure of herself, and the others automatically turned to her for leadership.

“We might as well introduce ourselves,” Lucia said. “I’m Sister Lucia.”

There was an awkward pause, and Graciela said shyly, “I’m Sister Graciela.”

The dark-haired, arrestingly beautiful one.

“I’m Sister Megan.”

The young blonde with the striking blue eyes.

“I’m Sister Teresa.”

The eldest of the group. Fifty? Sixty?

As they lay in the woods resting outside the village, Lucia thought:
They’re like newborn birds fallen out of their nests. They won’t last five minutes on their own. Well, too bad for them. I’ll be on my way to Switzerland with the cross.

Lucia walked to the edge of the clearing they were in and peered through the trees toward the little village below. A few people were walking along the street, but there was no sign of the men who had raided the convent.
Now,
Lucia thought.
Here’s my chance.

She turned to the others. “I’m going down to the village to try to get us some food. You wait here.” She nodded toward Sister Teresa. “You come with me.”

Sister Teresa was confused. For thirty years she had obeyed only the orders of the Reverend Mother Betina, and now suddenly this sister had taken charge.
But what is happening is God’s will,
Sister Teresa thought.
He has appointed her to help us, so she speaks with His voice.
“I must get this cross to the convent at Mendavia as soon as possible.”

“Right. When we get down there, we’ll ask for directions.”

The two of them started down the hill toward the town, Lucia keeping a careful lookout for trouble. There was none.

This is going to be easy,
Lucia thought.

They reached the outskirts of the little town. A sign said
VILLACASTÍN
. Ahead of them was the main street. To the left was a small, deserted street.

Good,
Lucia thought. There would be no one to witness what was about to happen.

Lucia turned into the side street. “Let’s go this way. There’s less chance of being seen.”

Sister Teresa nodded and obediently followed. The question now was how to get the cross away from her.

I could grab it and run,
Lucia thought,
but she’d probably scream and attract a lot of attention. No, I’ll have to make sure she stays quiet.

A small limb of a tree had fallen to the ground in front of her, and Lucia paused, then stooped to pick it up. It was heavy.
Perfect.
She waited for Sister Teresa to catch up to her.

“Sister Teresa…”

The nun turned to look at her, and as Lucia started to raise the club, a male voice from out of nowhere said, “God be with you, Sisters.”

Lucia spun around, ready to run. A man was standing there, dressed in the long brown robe and cowl of a friar. He was tall and thin, with an aquiline face and the saintliest expression Lucia had ever seen. His eyes seemed to glow with a warm inner light, and his voice was soft and gentle.

“I’m Friar Miguel Carrillo.”

Lucia’s mind was racing. Her first plan had been interrupted. But now, suddenly, she had a better one.

“Thank God you found us,” Lucia said. This man was going to be her escape. He would know the easiest way for her to get out of Spain. “We come from the Cistercian convent near Ávila,” she explained. “Last night some men raided it. All the nuns were taken. Four of us managed to escape.”

When the friar replied, his voice was filled with anger. “I come from the monastery at San Generro, where I have been for the past twenty years. We were attacked the night before last.” He sighed. “I know that God has some plan for all His children, but I must confess that at this moment I don’t understand what it might be.”

“These men are searching for us,” Lucia said. “It is important that we get out of Spain as fast as possible. Do you know how that can be done?”

Friar Carrillo smiled gently. “I think I can help you, Sister. God has brought us together. Take me to the others.”

Within a few minutes Lucia had brought the friar to the group.

“This is Friar Carrillo,” she said. “He’s been in a monastery for the last twenty years. He’s come to help us.”

Their reactions to the friar were mixed. Graciela dared not look directly at him; Megan studied him with quick, interested glances; and Sister Teresa regarded him as a messenger sent by God who would lead them to the convent at Mendavia.

Friar Carrillo said, “The men who attacked the convent will undoubtedly keep searching for you. But they will be looking for four nuns. The first thing you must do is change your clothing.”

Megan reminded him, “We have no clothes to change into.”

Friar Carrillo gave her a beatific smile. “Our Lord has a very large wardrobe. Do not worry, my child. He will provide. Let us go back into town.”

It was two o’clock in the afternoon, siesta time, and Friar Carrillo and the four sisters walked down the main street of the village, alert for any signs of their pursuers. The shops were closed, but the restaurants and bars were open and from them they could hear strange music issuing, hard, dissonant, and raucous-sounding.

Friar Carrillo saw the look on Sister Teresa’s face. “That’s rock and roll,” he said. “Very popular with the young these days.”

A pair of young women standing in front of one of the bars stared at the nuns as they passed. The nuns stared back, wide-eyed, at the strange clothing the pair wore. One wore a skirt so short it barely covered her thighs, and the other wore a longer skirt that was split up to the sides of her thighs. Both wore tight knitted bodices with no sleeves.

They might as well be naked,
Sister Teresa thought, horrified.

In the doorway stood a man who wore a turtleneck sweater, a strange-looking jacket without a collar, and a jeweled pendant.

Unfamiliar odors greeted the nuns as they passed a bodega. Nicotine and whiskey.

Megan was staring at something across the street. She stopped.

Friar Carrillo said, “What is it? What’s the matter?” He turned to look.

Megan was watching a woman carrying a baby. How many years had it been since she had seen a baby, or even a small child? Not since the orphanage, fourteen years ago. The sudden shock made Megan realize how far her life had been removed from the outside world.

Sister Teresa was staring at the baby too, but she was thinking of something else.
It’s Monique’s baby.
The baby across the street was screaming.
It’s screaming because I deserted it. But no, that’s impossible. That was thirty years ago.
Sister Teresa turned away, the baby’s cries ringing in her ears. They moved on.

They passed a motion-picture theater. The marquee read
Three Lovers,
and the photographs displayed showed skimpily clad women embracing a bare-chested man.

“Why, they’re—they’re almost naked!” Sister Teresa exclaimed.

Friar Carrillo frowned. “Yes. It’s disgraceful what the cinema is permitted to show these days. That movie is pure pornography. The most personal and private acts are there for everyone to see. They turn God’s children into animals.”

They passed a hardware store, a hairdressing salon, a flower shop, a candy store, all closed for the siesta, and at each shop the sisters stopped and stared at the windows, filled with once-familiar, faintly remembered artifacts.

When they came to a women’s dress shop, Friar Carrillo said, “Stop.”

The shades were pulled down over the front windows and a sign on the front door said
CLOSED
.

“Wait here for me, please.”

The four women watched as he walked to the corner and turned out of sight. They looked at one another blankly. Where was he going, and what if he did not return?

A few minutes later, they heard the sound of the front door of the shop opening, and Friar Carrillo stood in the doorway, beaming. He motioned them inside. “Hurry.”

When they were all in the store and the friar had locked the door, Lucia asked, “How did you—?”

“God provides a back door as well as a front door,” the friar said gravely. But there was an impish edge to his voice that made Megan smile.

The sisters looked around the shop in awe. The store was a multicolored cornucopia of dresses and sweaters, bras and stockings, high-heeled shoes and boleros. Objects they had not seen in years. And the styles seemed so strange. There were purses and scarves and compacts and blouses. It was all too much to absorb. The women stood there, gaping.

“We must move quickly,” Friar Carrillo warned them, “and leave before siesta is over and the store reopens. Help yourselves. Choose whatever fits you.”

Lucia thought:
Thank God I can finally dress like a woman again.
She walked over to a rack of dresses and began to sort through them. She found a beige skirt and a tan silk blouse to go with it.
It’s not Balenciaga, but it will do for now.
She picked out panties and a bra and a pair of soft boots, then stepped behind a clothes rack, stripped, and in a matter of minutes was dressed and ready to go.

The others were slowly selecting their outfits.

Graciela chose a white cotton dress that set off her black hair and dark complexion, and a pair of sandals.

Megan chose a patterned blue cotton dress that fell below the knees and low-heeled shoes.

Sister Teresa had the most difficult time choosing something to wear. The array of choices was too dazzling. There were silks and flannels and tweeds and leather. There were cottons and twills and corduroys, and there were plaids and checks and stripes of every color. And they all seemed—
skimpy
was the word that came to Sister Teresa’s mind. For the past thirty years she had been decently covered by the heavy robes of her calling. And now she was being asked to shed them and put on these indecent creations. She finally selected the longest skirt she could find, and a long-sleeved, high-collared cotton blouse.

Friar Carrillo urged, “Hurry, Sisters. Get undressed and change.”

They looked at one another in embarrassment.

He smiled. “I’ll wait in the office, of course.”

He walked to the back of the store and entered the office.

The sisters began to undress, painfully self-conscious in front of one another.

In the office, Friar Carrillo had pulled a chair up to the transom and was looking out through it, watching the sisters strip. He was thinking:
Which one am I going to screw first?

Miguel Carrillo had begun his career as a thief when he was only ten years old. He was born with curly blond hair and an angelic face, which had proved to be of inestimable value in his chosen profession. He started at the bottom, snatching purses and shoplifting, and as he got older, his career expanded and he began to roll drunks and prey on wealthy women. Because of his enormous appeal, he was very successful. He devised several original swindles, each more ingenious than the last. Unfortunately, his latest swindle had proved to be his undoing.

Posing as a friar from a distant monastery, Carrillo traveled from church to church begging sanctuary for the night. It was always granted, and in the morning when the priest came to open the church doors, all the valuable artifacts would be missing, along with the good friar.

Unfortunately, fate had double-crossed him. Two nights earlier in Béjar, a small town near Ávila, the priest had returned unexpectedly and Miguel Carrillo had been caught in the act of pilfering the church treasury. The priest was a beefy, heavyset man, and he had wrestled Carrillo to the ground and announced that he was going to turn him over to the police. A heavy silver chalice had fallen to the floor, and Carrillo had picked it up and hit the priest with it. Either the chalice was too heavy or the priest’s skull was too thin, but in any case the priest lay dead on the floor. Miguel Carrillo had fled, panicky, anxious to put himself as far away from the scene of the crime as possible. He had passed through Ávila and heard the story of the attack on the convent by Colonel Acoca and the secret GOE. It was fate that Carrillo had chanced upon the four escaped nuns.

Now, eager with anticipation, he studied their naked bodies and thought:
There’s another interesting possibility. Since Colonel Acoca and his men are looking for the sisters, there is probably a nice, fat reward on their heads. I’ll lay them first, and then turn them over to Acoca.