Entry #12

Adan,


The infirmary is my second room. I do all but sleep in it, this white space with the clean smell and the occasional cough from a patient tucked against the wall, behind thin curtains. Pepita is always scowling unless her the military lover I mentioned earlier visits her. His name is Lope Romero. He is the head of his unit, and absolutely foul to Pepita. He grabs her roughly, he leaves bruises on her skin that match his fingertips. His words are cold even on my ears, and I want nothing to do with him. Pepita still leaves with him almost every night, though some nights she will remain with him behind a curtain, and I can hear him grunt and push and chuckle.

My class has shrunk, Adan. Many of the children have stopped coming. I wonder if word is spreading through the Tairona village. Why should any of them be so troubled? Carmen was only sick, infected, an ailment Doctor Gil was more than able to mend. Why, just in the last few days color has returned to Carmen’s cheeks, and the three wounds on her back have diminished. Every thing will be fine, and there is no need to fool ourselves into such a fretful state.

Adan, I speak of foolishness, and yet I practice it. Even in the same breath that I have told you we should not worry ourselves so sick, I am fearful. Carmen’s sickness was so sudden and so unexpected. I am still shaken to my core. Sure, she is showing improvement, but I am not sure she has completely recovered.

Let me explain.

The other morning I was helping her eat her breakfast. She was eating slowly. Her sleep had not been completely serene the prior night. When I hear her thrashing under her covers, mumbling through lips that move faster than my feet could ever run, gripping tightly into her sheets, I am at her side, and I lay my hand on her forehead.

And she stops, weeps, and sleeps.

She shifted her food experimentally in her mouth, her jaw a rotating grind that hesitated with each passing thought. What was on her mind? A smile, and she shook her head, matching my bewildered gaze with her probing one.

“You have been so good to me.”

“How else could I be?”

“I am so sorry. I have been difficult.”

“You do not need to apologize.” I thought of the night she spat on me, the mornings her voices were hoarse and layered with groaning and hisses.

“I have been dreaming…”

“You have been fitful in your sleep, this is true. Is there anything I can do?”

“Would you listen to a lost soul like this?”

“You are not lost, Carmen. What makes you say this?”

“In my dreams there is a man. He is very dark, I can barely see him. He comes to me in the jungle. The leaves are so cool around us, and the breeze is warm and summery, but the night is as black as he.”

I leaned forward, I took her hand.

“In my dreams, this man. This man, he touches me. He… kisses me.” Tears bubble in her eyes and stroke crystal, wet beads down her cheeks. “He promises me so much, and his touch is like ten candles touching my waist. My neck. My breasts.” She tugs her slip so tightly around her that the edges of it are drawn taught into her skin, pinching the flesh red and white.

“I am burning. His touch is burning me. Blistering my skin. He tells me I am already his. He tells me the jungle is cool and sweet, that I will find relief with him there.”

“Carmen,” I finally manage to catch my breath. “Do you go?”

“No. No, Nieve, I do not dare. For I would not come back.”

I leave her shortly after this. I have not eaten since breakfast, and the sun is started to creep away from the window over Carmen’s head. I move to my room first to switch into a different habit, to rinse my face. Water streams along my features and sputters back into bowl beneath me. The surface begins to calm, but the whole mass in the bowl is see-sawing back and forth from when my hands disturbed it.

Upon leaving, I hear something that takes me back to my first day in the mission. Surprisingly, the sounds of argument and human disagreement is pleasing to me considering what the last few nights, no, the last few weeks, have brought to me. I recognize the arguers. The rarely seen Captain Gonzalo and the equally secretive Father Leoncio, who always locks himself away in his study after dinner. I make my way slowly down the hall toward Father Leoncio’s door, but stop a ways of and lean my shoulder on the wall.

“I read Lope’s report,” says Captain Gonzalo, that grind always nestled at the back of hit throat. “This Hermana Carmen, this sickness. You have indicated the workers have been sick as well before her? These are poor conditions for my men.”

“The seasons change, and as they do, we are prone to fall ill.”

“Carmen - ”

“Hermana Carmen’s circumstance is atypical, but unrelated to the temperament of your men, as well as their health. I only say this because her sickness has not spread to the doctor, nor to his assistant. I suspect if such an occurrence had transpired, Lope would be the first to know.”

A heavy silence. I can see Father Leoncio now. His gaze is even and set into the Captain’s reddening face. The Captain’s impatience finally gives away.

“I am here with my wife for Christmas mass. Should anything occur. Anything that could endanger her, anything that could endanger my men, I will take my leave to the bishop in Mexico himself. I will have this place sacked, and my men relocated. Sickness. Waning food. Consistent disrepair. It is amazing your congregation - ”

“My congregation, Captain,” Father Leoncio for once spoils his own tempered impatience, and I hear his voice take on a coldness I could never imagine, even in a man like Leoncio, “is best left out of this argument, for your own good.”

“Hmph.” I can hear Captain Gonzalo gather his things, and duck against a door set into a deep wooden frame. “Good day, Father. Until Christmas.”

Footsteps, spurs chiming dully on Gonzalo’s heels, and the footsteps growing louder. Captain Gonzalo passes me, does not see me, and continues stiffly down the hall.

“If only his timing were as keen as yours, Hermana Nieve. You seem to find these fights with a preternatural punctuality.”

I tilted my head out. Father Leoncio was lighting a pipe outside of his study, and sighing smoke through his nose and lips. “I am sorry, Father.”

“His timing is horrible. He is right; we are in constant need of repair - hence the workers - and our food has been difficult to manage as our little town under the hill grows. Carmen’s affliction has taxed us all, and he… Forget it,” Father Leoncio cracked his neck as I stepped out from my little hiding place. “How is she?”

“She has dreams, Father. Terrible dreams. I think,” and I could not believe I was saying this, “the devil has been set upon her.”

Father Leoncio paused in his inhale, and scowled. “That is a bold accusation.”

“I only go by her stories and her actions. She is not herself, and she will admit to this as well. I am no longer worried for her body, Father, but for her soul.”

“She will mend,” Father Leoncio barked, “and she will be playing our music again soon enough.”

Perhaps, considering the argument he had just experienced, it was best for me to agree, even if I did not fully believe him to be correct in any of this. “Yes, Father.”

That night, I was startled from my sleep when I felt something brush my shoulder. I sat bolt upright from my bed, nearly slamming my head into Father Alvarelo’s nose. He put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing, and reached tentatively for me.

“I did not mean to frighten you,” he chuckled, and despite all of the madness and stress I had been feeling, I too managed a smile.

“No. No, of course not. I have been pushed to very edge, I am afraid. Sorry if I - ”

“Please. I should not have snuck up on you. I never figured you such a light sleeper.”

“I did not used to be. They used to ring the bell three extra tolls back at our cloister, just to wake me up.” We shared a laugh, weak as my joke was, I think we were both looking for a chance to smile again.

“Is she doing better?”

“Much,” I said, though I was not sure even I could believe this fully, something told me I was not alone. Father Alvarelo lowered his eyes, but then found my gaze in the dark again and smiled for me.

“I left you some tea and biscuits on your night stand,” he nodded just past my shoulder, and sure enough there was my night treat. “You missed dinner, I figured you would be hungry.”

“Oh, I am starving, Father Alvarelo. Thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

Father Alvarelo left me. I swung my legs slowly over the lip of the bed, and split one of the biscuits. I thought I tucked the first half away in one bite, and my mouth was soon dry and packed with dough. I ignored my hunger momentarily to pace my meal, and recovered with a few sips of tea. When I saw a dark shape, much bigger than Father Alvarelo, standing in the doorway beyond my white curtain… I froze.