1805, Corneria.
At Almighty Father life was simple, you only had to abide by two rules: Never go up to the third floor of the chapel and never look the Missionary Regent in the eye. Those who defied them only God the Father will know what happened to them.
The orphanage had been standing for fifteen years amid strikes, mistreatment and curses. The locals tended to be rather hard on abandoned children because of the bad omen they had carried for thousands of years.
It had a small granary, where they kept the few provisions sent by the Royal House, from rice grains to straw for the malnourished mules; an outdoor washing place, the stable and the chapel. The latter was enormous, occupying half of the allotted land and had three floors. On the first, the area for prayer and mass, used three times a week: Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday; on the second, the tiny rooms for the homeless, usually newborns and children from three to eight years old, but also travelers, the homeless, women abandoned by their husbands or families, young idiots, as everyone called them, and the elderly; on the third, the Grace Priests, the Women of God and the Missionary Regent.
As was customary, during the cold season, the Royal House forgot about the hospice and with it, the sending of provisions, opening the doors to the grim reaper who, without fail, took three to five children every year. And this would be no exception.
At the back of the dormitories, a Woman of God passed the wet cloth over Maripaz's inert body, around the bed, children mourned their dear friend, accompanying the sound of the hands of the clock. With her, the sacrificial rate was completed. Some adults also shed a tear or two, regretting not having been them, having an advanced age, they considered that they had enjoyed life, while that little girl was just beginning to take her first steps. Others thought it was for the best, because the only thing they had come into the world to do was to suffer.
The Curate of Grace, Juan Manuel, crossed himself after hearing the bell of the Woman of God, he did it to announce the end of the holy cleansing, as well as the little time there was to begin the farewell mass.
He turned on his heels and gave a warm smile to the little girl who sat obediently waiting for him.
-Come, Alba. Help me get the bread from the kitchen," asked the young Father.
-May Maria go? -The little girl raised a wooden doll with straw hair.
-You can break it, better leave it there, on the bench, and run for the holy bread.
Little Alba laid the ugly doll down with so much love that she looked like a mother leaving her newborn child, then ran excitedly to take Juan Manuel's hand. He led her to the door, urging her to pick up the tray on the table, while she went to change. Since the Missionary Regent was not present, he had to take care of the farewell. The girl accepted, going into the battered kitchen.
Seeing the overflowing illusion in Alba's eyes gave him a sense of peace. If it weren't for her, he would have left the place years ago.
He remembers very well when he arrived, the name of the place had nothing to do with the practices, the existence of children was null and void and only travelers were catered for, like a hotel. As soon as he noticed such disrespect towards God the Father, he went to the Missionary Regent at that time and expressed his dissatisfaction, to which he responded with an invitation to leave without making a fuss, incredulous, he returned to his small room, took the suitcase that was waiting to be emptied and, just before leaving, he heard expletives and bellowing from the window. He looked out. Near the sinks, a woman, with an irate expression and dazed movements, alluding to her state of drunkenness, was kicking the boy off the floor, he just hugged his head and shrieked, waiting for someone to intervene, but it didn't happen, no one came, everyone just watched the show and mocked eagerly. Juan Manuel's disbelief turned to fury. His impulse to leave changed to desires to protect the innocent souls, no matter where they came from; taking into account that he would never again express his discontent with the situations in the hospice, he would hold on to stay there, it was the only hope those children would have to survive.
Between thinking and doing there was a huge disparity, understanding it was even more difficult and Juan Manuel did it by means of mistreatment and reality checks. Kind actions ended up turning into nests of snakes; to remain on the sidelines in the face of aberrant decisions, due to the mischief of the little ones, was counterproductive; conscience was his worst enemy. Tired of seeing no change, he decided to write a letter to the Pontiff, describing everything in detail and pleading for a change of command. It was a long wait, perhaps three or four years, for the White Raven and servants of the Royal House to be sent. They observed the place, verifying that everything written was true, the White Raven ordered to take the heretics before the Pontiff, being judged for their lack of morality and punished according to the law of God the Father.
Juan Manuel approached the Cuervo Blanco. He asked about the restructuring of the hospice and the time in which it would take place, he was worried about the possible closure of the place and, above all, the helplessness of the children, and he got a simple answer: "Soon". And that soon extended to a year, the supplies no longer arrived, they were forgotten or punished for someone else's sin, how to be sure? By intuition, perhaps.
He went every day to the city market in search of leftovers, to his luck, the vast majority gave him the best of vegetables when they saw his attire. In Corneria they were very devoted. Everything changed the day they learned where he came from. Even the garbage wouldn't let him pick up.
He wandered the next few days in the Black Thread, a poor suburb of Corneria. Sometimes he found pieces of bread to serve to the children and sometimes they slept on empty stomachs. Frustration and helplessness consumed Juan Manuel further, and he knew that waiting would bring death in the hospice; determined, he enlisted the children, would resort to pitying the wealthy women. He was no longer the hope for the helpless souls, now they were.
You knew you would soon reach the Lion's Garden by the more pronounced details in the houses around, and the style of the buildings, not to mention the material they used. On one of the corners, a young woman with ashen skin and black hair carried a basket full of red roses. Juan Manuel was struck by her beauty.
During his training as a priest he met many ladies who attended mass, all of them from different cradles, he thought they were pretty, but too fussy. They only cared about their appearance, achieving a moderately acceptable one for society, the rest was a piece of cake, any man would want to make them his wives, without them imagining that they would become a trophy to show off or, mostly, one more decoration in the residences of such distinguished aristocrats, if they attracted a good match. They all seemed to be cut from the same cloth, and he even thought they were the new destructive plague on good men. All of them, until he saw her: humble clothes, sparse eyebrows, sad eyes and heartbroken lips.
The pounding in his chest quickened and his breathing hitched, alerting the distracted young lady. His gray eyes met her amber ones, shaking him. The tumult of emotions was accompanied by fear, much fear of the unknown. The tension was so great that he squeezed the children's hands unintentionally, and it was because of the whimpering that he realized.
-Are you all right, Father? -he asked. Juan Manuel approached the children to make sure he had not hurt them, ignoring her completely. Curious, she put aside the basket and leaned over with a huge smile on her lips, concealing her concern for the state of the four of them. Are they coming from the north? They say that, at this time of year, food is scarce, you know, the weather's too hot.
-Yes, we came to collect donations," she lied dryly.
The young woman pulled one of the children, turning on Juan Manuel's vigilance.
-Do you want to eat some soup with vegetables? -The little boy's eyes lit up and he nodded immediately. My house is nearby and there is enough soup for everyone. -This time the suggestion was directed at Father, as was his gaze.
The three children tugged at Juan Manuel's tunic and rolled their eyes like dying lambs. He understood them, he wanted to eat too, but that desire had been overshadowed by the nerves of having that woman so close. He laughed inwardly, he was a servant and as such had to look out for the welfare of others.
-I hope she is not a bother to you.
Given permission, the girl carried the nearest infant.
-Call me Lucia....
The lady's gentle gaze began to fade, everything, the children and himself. It was strange to return to a narrow, dark room, with a broken window and old furniture. Remembering was pleasant, only this time it opened wounds he thought he had buried.
The creaking of the door brought him out of his confinement. He looked up, finding Alba's little face. Her golden eyes danced around the room, it was the first time she went upstairs, despite the constant warnings of Juan Manuel, who hurried to put her in the room and close the door. The venomous stares of the Women of God could take away the greatest gift God the Father lent her.
Alba burst out laughing at the spontaneity of the movement, believing that Father would initiate one of his countless games. Innocence was also problematic from time to time. As best she could she covered the girl's mouth and pushed her into the corner without contemplation, in the distance she could hear carefree and, at the same time, confident footsteps. She is not a woman of God, thought Juan Manuel.
Two knocks on the door before a thick, melodic voice rang out:
-My servant, I have been informed that you have the dark robe and I have come for it.
It was Diego de Cevallos, the replacement for the former Missionary Regent.
Juan Manuel motioned Alba to hide and be quiet. She fearfully obeyed, crawling under the bed; unfortunately, the space was so small, leaving part of the cream dress she was wearing out in the open. Meanwhile, Juan Manuel opened the door, welcoming the Missionary Regent.
From the threshold, the jovial face of his authority emerged, the white tunic matched his skin, but contrasted with the mane, similar to a ripe apple; although, none of that mattered when meeting his lion eyes: Taciturn and very intimidating.
-Oh, you were already ready to sponsor the mass. -He caressed the robe that adorned the priest's shoulders, but he never looked at him, only around the room, as if he expected to find the slightest flaw. And it seems you didn't need the help of our handmaids to get ready, why is that, my son?
Diego's tone was gentle, but Juan Manuel knew that behind that gesture of concern there was more. He had no choice but to feign a warm smile and play along, while trying to guess the hidden reason for his visit, because there were many robes.
-It's no big deal, your honor, I have functional hands and the sisters already have enough work to do.
-Your job is to provide for us," replied the Missionary Regent.
-Of course, your honor.
Diego smiled in satisfaction and began to snoop around the place. He ran his fine fingers over the window frame, raising a thick layer of dust; he looked at it and smiled again, only now it reflected indecipherable emotions, surely of a perverse nature.
-Tell me something, my son, being someone so upright and magnanimous, why have you broken one of your sacred vows? -he asked.
Juan Manuel tried to hide his surprise, but he could not with the penetrating gaze in front of him. Nevertheless, he said:
-As Cura de Gracia I have been a Curate of Grace for twenty years and I have never done such a thing, your honor. -He tried to sound as indignant as possible.
Without precedent, Diego hit the frame and bent down, taking a shred of cloth near the bed, Juan Manuel also rushed to stop him, but his movement was in vain, he had already pulled Alba out from under the bed. The girl was trembling, like a puppy in the rain. Juan Manuel's heart sank and he desperately wanted to get Alba out of his hands. Diego was quicker, grabbed him by the hair and slammed him to the floor, a hole formed in Alba's throat with such a grotesque scene and she screamed.
The floor was stained with thick blood and the smell of iron flooded the nostrils of the spectators. Juan Manuel remained motionless, perhaps the impact took his life away. Alba clung to her beloved father's arm between bellowing and trembling; meanwhile, Diego wiped his blood-spattered sleeve with a gentle face, which was again adorned with a gentle smile, very different from the pair of cold emeralds perched on the hysterical infanta. He carried her like a sack of garbage and went to the back window. Once in front of it, he removed the latch and pushed the broken glass. The cold air warmed both bodies, calming the girl's kicking and screaming, after a few minutes he lifted her up, searching for her eyes, with them he would determine her future.
He squinted, scrutinizing every inch of Alba's reddened face. He wanted to understand Juan Manuel's fascination with her, but he found her boring and ordinary, except for her eyes. A dark thought crossed his mind. Perhaps the brat's charm was not in her beauty, but under the clothes, he thought. The effusiveness to find out flooded him, to the point of letting out a deep laugh.
-The truth of my heart will never allow veils in my eyes and mouth to replicate the original sins," he recited one of the most important vows of the Inquisition, while he embraced and patted the Infanta's back, soothing her sadness. Glory to God the Father and to the Son Full of Mercy.
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