The Sands of Time

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

The two of them started down the hill towards 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, ‘Villacastin’. 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 Lucia. 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.

The 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,’ 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.

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.

The women, except for Lucia, who was already dressed, were totally naked. Carrillo watched as they awkwardly put on the new underclothes. Then they finished dressing, clumsily buttoning unaccustomed buttons and fastening zips, hurrying to get away before they were caught.

Time to get to work, Carrillo thought happily. He got down from the chair and walked out into the shop. He approached the women, studied them approvingly, and said, ‘Excellent. No one in the world would ever take you for nuns. I might suggest scarves for your heads.’ He selected one for each of them and watched them put them on.

Miguel Carrillo had made his decision. Graciela was going to be the first. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. And that body! How could she have wasted it on God? I’ll show her what to do with it.

He said to Lucia, Teresa and Megan, ‘You must all be hungry. I want you to go to the cafe we passed and wait for us there. I’ll go to the church and borrow some money from the priest so we can eat.’ He turned to Graciela. ‘I want you to come with me, Sister, to explain to the priest what happened at the convent.’

‘I– very well.’

Carrillo said to the others, ‘We’ll be along in a little while. I would suggest you use the back door.’

He watched as Lucia, Teresa and Megan left. When he heard the door close behind them, he turned to Graciela. She’s fantastic, he thought. Maybe I’ll keep her with me, break her in to some cons. She could be a big help.

Graciela was watching him. ‘I’m ready.’

‘Not yet.’ Carrillo pretended to study her for a moment. ‘No, I’m afraid it won’t do. That dress is all wrong for you. Take it off.’

‘But – why?’

‘It doesn’t fit properly,’ Carrillo said glibly. ‘People will notice, and you don’t want to attract attention.’

She hesitated, then moved behind a rack.

‘Hurry, now. We have very little time.’

Awkwardly, Graciela slipped the dress over her head. She was in her panties and brassiere when Carrillo suddenly appeared.

‘Take everything off.’ His voice was husky.

Graciela stared at him. ‘What? No!’ she cried. ‘I – I can’t. Please – I –’

Carrillo moved closer to her. ‘I’ll help you, Sister.’

His hands reached out and he ripped off her brassiere and tore at her panties.

‘No!’ she screamed. ‘You mustn’t! Stop it!’

Carrillo grinned. ‘Carita, we’re just getting started. You’re going to love this.’

His strong arms were around her. He forced her to the floor and lifted his robe.

It was as though a curtain in Graciela’s mind suddenly descended. It was the Moor trying to thrust himself inside her, tearing into the depths of her, and her mother’s shrill voice was screaming.

And Graciela thought, terrified, No, not again. No, please – not again …

She was struggling fiercely now, fighting Carrillo off, trying to get up.

‘Goddamn you,’ he cried.

He slammed his fist into her face, and Graciela fell back, stunned and dizzy.

She found herself spinning back in time.

Back … Back …

Chapter Six

Las Navas del Marqués, Spain 1950

She was five years old. Her earliest memories were of a procession of naked strangers climbing in and out of her mother’s bed.

Her mother explained, ‘They are your uncles. You must show them respect.’

The men were gross and crude and lacked affection. They stayed for a night, a week, a month, and then vanished. When they left, Dolores Pinero would immediately look for a new man.

In her youth, Dolores Pinero had been a beauty, and Graciela had inherited her mother’s looks. Even as a child, Graciela was stunning to look at, with high cheekbones, an olive complexion, shiny black hair and thick, long eyelashes. Her young body was nubile with promise. With the passage of years, Dolores Pinero’s body had turned to fat and her wonderfully boned face had become bruised with the bitter blows of time.

Although Dolores Pinero was no longer beautiful, she was accessible, and she had the reputation of being a passionate bed partner. Making love was her one talent, and she employed it to try to please men into bondage, hoping to keep them by buying their love with her body. She made a meagre living as a seamstress because she was an indifferent one, and was hired only by the women of the village who could not afford the better ones.

Graciela’s mother despised her daughter, for she was a constant reminder of the one man whom Dolores Pinero had ever loved. Graciela’s father was a handsome young mechanic who had proposed to the beautiful young Dolores, and she had eagerly let him seduce her. When she had broken the news that she was pregnant, he had disappeared, leaving Dolores with the curse of his seed.

Dolores Pinero had a vicious temper, and she took her vengeance out on the child. Any time Graciela did something to displease her, her mother would hit her and scream, ‘You’re as stupid as your father!’

There was no way for the child to escape the rain of blows or the constant screaming. Graciela would wake up every morning and pray: ‘Please, God, don’t let Mama beat me today.

‘Please, God, make Mama happy today.

‘Please, God, let Mama say she loves me today.’

When she was not attacking Graciela, her mother ignored her. Graciela prepared her own meals and took care of her clothes. She made her lunch to take to school, and she would say to her teacher, ‘My mother made me empanadas today. She knows how much I like empanadas.’

Or: ‘I tore my dress, but my mother sewed it up for me. She loves doing things for me.’

Or: ‘My mother and I are going to the pictures tomorrow.’

And it would break her teacher’s heart. Las Navas del Marqués is a small village an hour from Ávila, and like all villages everywhere, everyone knew everyone else’s business. The lifestyle of Dolores Pinero was a disgrace, and it reflected on Graciela. Mothers refused to let their children play with the little girl, lest their morals be contaminated. Graciela went to the school on Plazoleta del Cristo, but she had no friends and no playmates. She was one of the brightest students in the school, but her exam results were poor. It was difficult for her to concentrate, for she was always tired.

Her teacher would admonish her, ‘You must get to bed earlier, Graciela, so that you are rested enough to do your work properly.’

But her exhaustion had nothing to do with getting to bed late. Graciela and her mother shared a small, two-room casa. The girl slept on a couch in the tiny room, with only a thin, worn curtain separating it from the bedroom. How could Graciela tell her teacher about the obscene sounds in the night that awakened her and kept her awake, as she listened to her mother making love to whichever stranger happened to be in her bed?

When Graciela brought home her report card, her mother would scream, ‘These are the cursed marks I expected you to get, and do you know why you got these terrible marks? Because you’re stupid. Stupid!’

And Graciela would believe it and try hard not to cry.

In the afternoons when school was over, Graciela would wander around by herself, walking through the narrow, winding streets lined with acacia and sycamore trees, past the whitewashed stone houses, where loving fathers lived with their families. Graciela had many playmates, but they were all in her mind. There were beautiful girls and handsome boys, and they invited her to all their parties, where they served wonderful cakes and ice cream. Her imaginary friends were kind and loving, and they all thought she was very smart. When her mother was not around, Graciela would carry on long conversations with them.

Would you help me with my homework, Graciela? I don’t know how to do sums, and you’re so good at them.

What shall we do tonight, Graciela? We could go to the pictures, or walk into town and have a lemonade.

Will your mother let you come to dinner tonight, Graciela? We’re having paella.

No, I’m afraid not. Mother gets lonely if I’m not with her. I’m all she has, you know.

On Sundays, Graciela rose early and dressed quietly, careful not to awaken her mother and whichever uncle was in her bed, and walked to the San Juan Bautista Church, where Father Perez talked of the joys of life after death, a fairytale life with Jesus; and Graciela could not wait to die and meet Jesus.

Father Perez was an attractive priest in his early forties. He had ministered to the rich and the poor, and the sick and the vital, since he had come to Las Navas del Marqués several years earlier, and there were no secrets in the little village to which he was not privy. Father Perez knew Graciela as a regular church-goer, and he, too, was aware of the stories of the constant stream of strangers who shared Dolores Pinero’s bed. It was not a fit home for a young girl, but there was nothing anyone could do about it. It amazed the priest that Graciela had turned out as well as she had. She was kind and gentle and never complained or talked about her home life.

Graciela would appear at church every Sunday morning wearing a clean, neat outfit that he was sure she had washed herself. Father Perez knew she was shunned by the other children in town, and his heart went out to her. He made it a point to spend a few moments with her after mass each Sunday, and when he had time, he would take her to a little café for a treat of helado.

In the winter Graciela’s life was a dreary landscape, monotonous and gloomy. Las Navas del Marqués was in a valley surrounded by the Cruz Verde mountains and, because of that, the winters were six months long. The summers were easier to bear, for then the tourists arrived and filled the town with laughter and dancing and the streets came alive. The tourists would gather at the Plaza de Manuel Delgado Barredo, with its little bandstand built on stone, and listen to the orchestra and watch the natives dance the Sardana, the centuries-old traditional folk dance, barefoot, their hands linked, as they moved gracefully around in a colourful circle. Graciela watched the visitors as they sat at the pavement cafés drinking aperitivos or shopping at the pescadería – the fish market, or the farmacia. At one o’clock in the afternoon the bodega was always filled with tourists drinking chateo and picking at tapas, seafood and olives and chips.

The most exciting thing for Graciela was to watch the paseo each evening. Boys and girls would walk up and down the Plaza Mayor in segregated groups, the boys eyeing the girls, while parents and grandparents and friends watched, hawk-eyed, from sidewalk cafés. It was the traditional mating ritual, observed for centuries. Graciela longed to join in it, but her mother forbade her.

‘Do you want to be a puta?’ she would scream at Graciela. ‘Stay away from boys. They want only one thing from you. I know from experience,’ she added bitterly.

If the days were bearable, the nights were an agony. Through the thin curtain that separated their beds, Graciela could hear the sounds of savage moaning and writhings and heavy breathing, and always the obscenities.

‘Faster … harder!’

‘¡Cógeme!’

‘¡Mámame la verga!’

‘¡Métela en el culo!’

Before she was ten years old, Graciela had heard every obscene word in the Spanish vocabulary. They were whispered and shouted and shuddered and moaned. The cries of passion repelled Graciela, and at the same time awakened strange longings in her.

When Graciela was fourteen years old, the Moor moved in. He was the biggest man Graciela had ever seen. His skin was shiny black, and his head was shaved. He had enormous shoulders, a barrel chest and huge arms. The Moor had arrived in the middle of the night when Graciela was asleep, and she got her first sight of him in the morning when he pushed the curtain aside and walked stark naked past Graciela’s bed to go outside to the outhouse in the yard. Graciela looked at him and almost gasped aloud. He was enormous, in every part. That will kill my mother, Graciela thought.

The Moor was staring at her. ‘Well, well. And who do we have here?’

Dolores Pinero hurried out of her bed and moved to his side. ‘My daughter,’ she said curtly.

A wave of embarrassment swept over Graciela, as she saw her mother’s naked body next to the man.

The Moor smiled, showing beautiful white, even teeth. ‘What’s your name, guapa?’

Graciela was too shamed by his nakedness to speak.

‘Her name’s Graciela. She’s retarded.’

‘She’s beautiful. I’ll bet you looked like that when you were young.’

‘I’m still young,’ Dolores Pinero snapped. She turned to her daughter. ‘Get dressed. You’ll be late for school.’