The Sands of Time

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,’ Lucia 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 Saint 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.’

Lucia 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 we must do is get you a change of 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 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, 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 jewelled pendant.

Unfamiliar odours greeted the nuns as they passed a bodega. Nicotine and whisky.

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 cinema. The poster 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 film 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 sweet shop, all closed for the siesta, and at each shop the sisters stopped and stared at the windows, filled with once familiar, faintly remembered goods.

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

The blinds 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 shop 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 multi-coloured cornucopia of dresses and sweaters and bras and stockings, high-heeled shoes and boleros. Objects they had not seen in years. And the styles seemed so strange. There were handbags 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 shop 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 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. She 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 colour. 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 shop 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, and they had proved to be of inestimable value in his chosen profession. He started at the bottom, snatching handbags and shoplifting, and as he got older, his career expanded and he began robbing drunks and preying 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 travelled 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 artefacts would be missing, along with the good friar. Unfortunately, fate had double-crossed him and two nights earlier in Benjar, 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 floor 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.