I'm going to kill her, Ricardo Mellado thought. I could strangle her with my bare hands, throw her off the mountain, or simply shoot her. No, I think strangling her would give me the greatest pleasure.
Sister Graciela was the most exasperating human being he had ever encountered. She was impossible. In the beginning, when Jaime Miro had assigned him to escort her, Ricardo Mellado had been pleased. True, she was a nun, but she was also the most ravishing beauty he had ever laid eyes on. He was determined to get to know her, to find out why she had decided to lock up all that exquisite beauty behind convent walls for the rest of her life. Under the skirt and blouse she was wearing, he could discern the rich, nubile curves of a woman. It's going to be a very interesting trip, Ricardo had decided.
But things had taken a totally unexpected turn. The problem was that Sister Graciela refused to speak to him. She had not said one word since their journey began, and what completely baffled Ricardo was that she did not appear to be angry, frightened, or upset. Not at all. She simply retreated into some remote part of herself and appeared totally uninterested in him and in what was going on around her. They had traveled at a good pace, walking along hot, dusty side roads, past fields of wheat, rippling golden in the sunlight, and fields of barley, oats, and grapevines. They skirted the little villages along the way and went by fields of sunflowers with their wide yellow faces following the sun.
When they crossed the Moros River, Ricardo asked, "Would you like to rest awhile, Sister?"
Silence.
They were approaching Segovia before heading northeast to the snow-capped Guadarrama mountains. Ricardo kept trying to make polite conversation, but it was completely hopeless.
"We will be at Segovia soon, Sister."
No reaction.
What could I have done to offend her? "Are you hungry, Sister?"
Nothing.
It was as though he were not there. He had never felt so frustrated in his life. Perhaps the woman is retarded, he thought. That must be the answer. God gave her an unearthly beauty and then cursed her with a feeble mind. But he did not believe it.
When they reached the outskirts of Segovia, Ricardo noted that the town was crowded, which meant that the Guardia Civil would be even more alert than usual.
As they approached the Plaza del Conde de Cheste, he saw soldiers strolling in their direction. He whispered, "Hold my hand, Sister. We must look like two lovers out for a stroll."
She ignored him.
Jesus, Ricardo thought. Maybe she's deaf and dumb.
He reached over and took her hand in his, and her sudden fierce resistance surprised him. She pulled away as if she had been stung.
The guards were getting closer.
Ricardo leaned toward Graciela. "You mustn't be angry," he said loudly. "My sister feels the same way. After dinner last night when she put the children to bed she was saying that it would be much better if we men didn't sit around together smoking smelly cigars and telling stories while you women went off by yourselves. I'll bet - "
The guards had passed. Ricardo turned to look at Graciela. Her face was expressionless. Mentally, Ricardo began to curse Jaime, wishing he had given him one of the other nuns. This one was made of stone, and there was no chisel hard enough to penetrate that cold exterior.
In all modesty, Ricardo Mellado knew that he was attractive to women. Enough of them had told him so. He was light-complexioned, tall, and well built, with a patrician nose, an intelligent face, and perfect white teeth. He came from one of the most prominent Basque families. His father was a banker in the Basque country in the north and had seen to it that Ricardo was well educated. He had gone to the University of Salamanca, and his father had looked forward to his son joining him in the family business.
When Ricardo returned home from college, he dutifully went to work at the bank, but within a short period of time he became involved with the problems of his people. He attended meetings and rallies and protests against the government and soon became one of the leaders of ETA. His father, after learning about his son's activities, called him into his huge, paneled office and lectured him.
"I am a Basque too, Ricardo, but I am also a businessman. We cannot foul our own nest by encouraging a revolution in the country where we make our living."
"None of us is trying to overthrow the government, Father. All we're demanding is freedom. The government's oppression of the Basques and the Catalans is intolerable."
The senior Mellado leaned back in his chair and studied his son. "My good friend the mayor had a quiet word with me yesterday. He suggested it would be to your benefit not to attend any more rallies. It would be better if you expended your energy on bank business."
"Father - "
"Listen to me, Ricardo. When I was young, my blood ran hot too. But there are other ways to cool it off. You're engaged to a lovely girl. I hope you will have many children." He waved his hand at their surroundings. "And you have much to look forward to in your future."
"But don't you see - ?"
"I see more clearly than you, my son. Your prospective father-in-law is also unhappy with your activities. I would not want anything to happen that would prevent the wedding. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Father."
The following Saturday Ricardo Mellado was arrested while leading a Basque rally in an auditorium in Barcelona. He refused to let his father bail him out unless he also bailed out the other demonstrators who had been arrested. His father refused. Ricardo's career was ended and so was his engagement. That had been five years earlier. Five years of danger and narrow escapes. Five years filled with the excitement of fighting for a cause he passionately believed in. Now he was on the run, a fugitive from the police, escorting a retarded and mute nun across Spain.
"We'll go this way," he said to Sister Graciela. He was careful not to touch her arm.
They turned off the main street onto the Calle de San Valentin. On the corner was a store that sold musical instruments.
Ricardo said, "I have an idea. Wait here, Sister. I'll be right back."
He entered the store and walked up to a young clerk standing behind the counter.
"Buenos dias. May I help you?"
"Yes. I would like to buy two guitars."
The clerk smiled. "Ah, you are in luck. We just got in some Ramirezes. They are the best."
"Perhaps something of not such a high quality. My friend and I are only amateurs."
"As you wish, senor. What about these?" The clerk walked over to a section of the store where a dozen guitars were on display. "I can let you have two Konos for five thousand pesetas apiece."
"I think not." Ricardo selected two inexpensive guitars. "These will do nicely," he said.
A few moments later Ricardo walked back out to the street, carrying the two guitars. He had half hoped Sister Graciela would be gone, but she was standing there, patiently waiting.
Ricardo opened the strap on one of the guitars and held out the instrument to her. "Here, Sister. Put this over your shoulder."
She stared at him.
"It isn't necessary for you to play it," Ricardo said patiently. "It is only for effect."
He shoved the guitar at her, and she reluctantly took it. They walked along the winding streets of Segovia under the enormous viaduct built by the Romans centuries earlier.
Ricardo decided to try again. "You see this viaduct, Sister? There is no cement between the stones. Legend has it that it was built by the devil two thousand years ago, stone piled on stone, with nothing but the devil's magic to hold it together." He looked at her for some reaction.
Nothing.
To hell with her, Ricardo Mellado thought. I give up.
The members of the Guardia Civil were everywhere, and whenever they passed them, Ricardo would pretend to be in earnest conversation with Graciela, always careful to avoid body contact.
The numbers of police and soldiers seemed to be increasing, but Ricardo felt reasonably safe. They would be looking for a nun in robes and a group of Jaime Miro's men, and they would have no reason to suspect two young tourists carrying guitars.
Ricardo was feeling hungry, and even though Sister Graciela had said nothing, he was sure that she must be hungry also. They came to a small cafe.
"We'll stop in here and have a bite to eat, Sister."
She stood there, watching him.
He sighed. "Right. Suit yourself."
He walked inside the cafe. A moment later Graciela followed him.
When they were seated, Ricardo asked, "What would you like to order, Sister?"
There was no response. She was infuriating.
Ricardo said to the waitress, "Two gazpachos and two orders of chorizos."
When the soup and sausages came, Graciela ate what was put in front of her. He noticed that she ate automatically, without enjoyment, as though fulfilling some duty. The men seated at other tables were staring at her, and Ricardo could not blame them. It would take the young Goya to capture her beauty, he thought.
In spite of Graciela's sullen behavior, Ricardo felt a lump in his throat every time he looked at her, and he cursed himself for a romantic fool. She was an enigma, buried behind some kind of impenetrable wall. Ricardo Mellado had known dozens of beautiful women, but none of them had ever affected him this way. There was something almost mystical about her beauty. The irony was that he had absolutely no idea what lay behind the breathtaking façade. Was she intelligent or stupid? Interesting or dull? Cold-blooded or passionate? I hope she's stupid, dull, and cold-blooded, Ricardo thought, or I won't be able to stand losing her. As though I could ever have her. She belongs to God He looked away, afraid that she might sense what he was thinking.
When it was time to leave, Ricardo paid the check and they rose. During the journey he had noticed that Sister Graciela was limping slightly. I'll have to get us some kind of transportation, he thought. We still have a long way to go.
They started down the street, and at the far end of town, on the Manzanares el Real, they came upon a gypsy caravan. There were four colorfully decorated wagons in the caravan, pulled by horses. In the backs of the wagons were women and children, all dressed in gypsy costumes.
Ricardo said, "Wait here, Sister. I'm going to try to get us a ride."
He approached the driver of the lead wagon, a burly man in full gypsy regalia, including earrings.
"Buenas tardes, senor. I would consider it a great kindness if you could give my fiancee and me a ride."
The gypsy looked over to where Graciela was standing. "It is possible. Where are you headed?"
"To the Guadarrama mountains."
"I can take you as far as Cerezo de Abajo."
"That would be of great value. Thank you."
Ricardo shook the gypsy's hand and put money in it.
"Get in the last wagon."
"Gracias."
Ricardo returned to where Graciela was waiting. "The gypsies are going to take us as far as Cerezo de Abajo," he told her. "We'll ride in the last wagon."
For an instant he was sure she was going to refuse. She hesitated, then started toward the wagon.
There were half a dozen gypsies inside and they made room for Ricardo and Graciela. As they climbed aboard, Ricardo started to help the sister up, but the moment he touched her arm, she pushed him away with a fierceness that took him by surprise. All right, to hell with you. He caught a glimpse of Graciela's bare leg as she lifted herself onto the wagon, and he could not help thinking: She has the most beautiful legs I've ever seen.
They made themselves as comfortable as possible on the hard wooden floor of the wagon and the long journey began. Graciela sat in a corner, her eyes closed and her lips moving in prayer. Ricardo could not take his eyes off her.
As the day wore on, the sun became a hot furnace beating down on them, baking the earth, and the sky was a deep, cloudless blue. From time to time as the wagon crossed the plains, huge birds soared overhead. Buitre leonado, Ricardo thought. The lion-colored griffon vultures.
Late in the afternoon the gypsy caravan came to a stop and the leader approached the last wagon.
"This is as far as we can take you," he told Ricardo. "We're headed for Vinvelas."
Wrong direction. "This is fine," Ricardo assured him. "Thank you."
He started to reach out a hand for Graciela and quickly thought better of it.
Ricardo turned to the leader of the gypsies. "I would consider it a kindness if you would sell some food to my fiancee and me."
The chief turned to one of the women and said something in a foreign tongue, and a few moments later two packages of food were handed to Ricardo.
"Muchas gracias." He pulled out some money.
The gypsy chief studied him for a moment. "You and the sister have already paid for the food."
You and the sister. So he knew. Yet Ricardo felt no sense of danger. The gypsies were as oppressed by the government as were the Basques and Catalans.
"Vayan con Dios."
Ricardo stood there watching the caravan move out of sight, then turned to Graciela. She was watching him, silent, impassive.
"You won't have to put up with my company much longer," Ricardo assured her. "Soon we will be in Logrono. You'll meet your friends there and you'll be on your way to the convent at Mendavia."
No reaction. He could have been talking to a stone wall. I am talking to a stone wall
They had been dropped off in a peaceful valley rich with orchards of apple, pear, and fig trees. A few feet away from them was the Duraton River, filled with fat trout. In the past, Ricardo had fished there often. It would have been an ideal place to stay and rest, but there was a long road to travel.
He turned to study the Guadarrama mountains, the range that lay ahead of them. Ricardo knew the area well. There were several trails that wound through the length of the mountains. Cabras, wild mountain goats, and wolves roamed the passages, and Ricardo would have chosen the shortest route had he been traveling alone. But with Sister Graciela at his side, he decided on the safest.
"Well, we'd better get started," Ricardo said. "We have a long climb ahead of us."
He had no intention of missing the rendezvous with the others in Logrono. Let the silent sister become someone else's headache.
Sister Graciela stood there waiting for Ricardo to lead the way. He turned and began to climb. As they started up the steep mountain path, Graciela slipped on some loose pebbles and Ricardo instinctively reached out to help her. She jerked away from his hand and righted herself. Fine, he thought angrily. Break your neck.
They kept moving upward, heading toward the majestic peak high above. The trail started to get steeper and narrower and the chilled air became thinner. They were heading east, passing through a forest of pine trees. Ahead of them lay a village that was a haven for skiiers and mountain climbers. There would be hot food and warmth and rest there, Ricardo knew. It was tempting. Too dangerous, he decided. It would be a perfect place for Acoca to set a trap.
He turned to Sister Graciela. "We'll skirt the village. Can you go on a little farther before we rest?"
She looked at him and, as her answer, turned and began to walk.
The unnecessary rudeness offended him, and he thought: Thank heavens at Logrono I will be rid of her. Why in the name of God do I have mixed feelings about that?
They skirted the village, walking along the edge of the forest, and soon they were on the path again, climbing upward. It was getting more difficult to breathe, and the path grew steeper. As they rounded a bend, they came upon an empty eagle's nest. They skirted another mountain village, quiet and peaceful in the afternoon sun, and rested outside it, stopping at a mountain stream where they drank the icy water.
By dusk they had reached a rugged area that was famous for its caves. After that the trail would start downward.
From now on, Ricardo thought, it will be easy. The worst is over.
He heard a faint buzzing sound overhead. He looked up, searching for the source of it. An army plane appeared suddenly over the top of the mountain, flying toward them.
"Down!" Ricardo shouted. "Down!"
Graciela kept walking. The plane circled and began to swoop lower.
"Get down!" Ricardo yelled again.
He jumped on her and pushed her down to the ground, his body on top of hers. What happened next took him completely by surprise. Without any warning, Graciela began yelling hysterically, fighting him. She was kicking him in the groin, clawing at his face, trying to rip at his eyes. But the most astonishing thing was what she was saying. She was screaming out a string of obscenities that sent Ricardo into shock, a verbal torrent of filth that assailed him. He could not believe that these words were coming from that beautiful, innocent mouth.
He tried to grab her hands to protect himself from her raking nails. She was like a wildcat under him.
"Stop it!" he shouted. "I'm not going to hurt you. It's an army scout plane. They may have seen us. We've got to get out of here."
He held her down until her frantic struggling finally ceased. Strange, strangled sounds were coming from her, and he realized that she was sobbing. Ricardo, with all his experience with women, was completely baffled. He was straddled atop a hysterical nun who had the vocabulary of a truck driver, and he had no notion of what to do next.
He made his voice as calm and as reasonable as possible. "Sister, we have to find a place to hide quickly. The plane may have reported us and in a few hours there could be soldiers swarming all over the place. If you ever want to reach the convent, you'll get up and come with me."
He waited a moment, then carefully raised himself off her and sat alongside her until the sobs subsided. Finally Graciela sat up. Her face was smudged from the dirt, her hair was mussed, her eyes were red from crying, and yet her beauty made Ricardo ache.
He said quietly, "I'm sorry I frightened you. I don't seem to know how to behave around you. I promise to try to be more careful in the future."
She looked up at him with her luminous black eyes filled with tears, and Ricardo had no idea what she was thinking. He sighed and rose. She followed suit.
"There are dozens of caves around here," Ricardo told her. "We'll hide in one of them for the night. By dawn we can be on our way again."
His face was raw and bleeding where she had clawed at him, but in spite of what had happened, he felt a defenselessness about her, a fragility that touched him, that made him want to say something to reassure her. But now he was the one who was silent. He could not think of a single thing to say.
The caves had been carved out by eons of winds and floods and earthquakes, and they came in an infinite variety. Some of them were mere indentations in the mountain rocks, others were endless tunnels never explored by man.
A mile from where they had spotted the plane, Ricardo found a cave that was to his satisfaction. The low entrance was almost covered by underbrush.
"Stay here," he said.
He ducked into the entrance and walked into the cave. It was dark inside, with only faint light spilling through the opening. There was no telling what the length of the cave was, but it did not matter, for there was no reason to explore it.
He went back outside to Graciela.
"It looks safe," Ricardo said. "Wait inside, please. I'll gather some branches to cover up the mouth of the cave. I'll be back in a few minutes."
He watched Graciela as she went silently into the cave, and he wondered whether she would be there when he returned. He realized that he desperately wanted her to be.
Inside the cave, Graciela watched him leave, then sank to the cold ground in despair.
I can't stand any more, she thought. Where are You, Jesus? Please release me from this hell
And it had been hell. From the beginning, Graciela had been fighting the attraction she felt toward Ricardo. She thought of the Moor. I'm afraid of myself. Of the evil in me. I want this man, and I must not
And so she had built a barrier of silence between them, the silence she had lived with in the convent. But now, without the discipline of the convent, without the prayers, without the crutch of the rigid routine, Graciela found herself unable to banish her inner darkness. She had spent years fighting the satanic urges of her body, trying to shut out the remembered sounds, the moans and sighs that had come from her mother's bed.
The Moor was looking at her naked body.
You're just a child Get your clothes on and get out of here...
I'm a woman!
She had spent so many years trying to forget the feel of the Moor inside her, trying to push out of her mind the rhythm of their bodies moving together, filling her, giving her a feeling of being alive at last.
Her mother screaming: You bitch!
And the doctor saying: Our chief surgeon decided to sew you up himself. He said you were too beautiful to have scars.
All the years of praying had been to purge herself of guilt And they had failed.
The first time Graciela looked at Ricardo Mellado, the past had come flooding back. He was handsome and gentle and kind. When Graciela was a little girl, she had dreamed of someone like Ricardo. And when he was near her, when he touched her, her body was instantly aflame and she was filled with a deep shame. I am the bride of Christ, and my thoughts are a betrayal of God I belong to You, Jesus. Please help me now. Cleanse my mind of impure thoughts.
Graciela had tried desperately to keep the wall of silence between them, a wall that no one but God could penetrate, a wall to keep out the devil. But did she want to keep the devil out? When Ricardo had jumped on her and pushed her to the ground, it was the Moor making love to her, and the friar trying to rape her, and in her surging panic it was them she had been fighting off. No, she admitted to herself, that's not the truth. It was her own deep desire she was fighting. She was torn between her spirit and the cravings of her flesh. I must not give in. I must get back to the convent. He'll be back any minute. What should I do?
Graciela heard a low mewing from the back of the cave and quickly turned. There were four green eyes staring at her in the dark, moving toward her. Graciela's heart began to beat faster.
Two baby wolf cubs trotted up to her on soft, padded feet. She smiled and extended her hand to them. There was a sudden rustle from the entrance of the cave. Ricardo is back, she thought.
The next instant, an enormous gray wolf was flying at her throat.