Cervantes Street (25 page)

As I walked, I told myself that if Mercedes and Miguel were meeting surreptitiously, it was my right to defend my honor and kill him, even though this would mean my eternal damnation. If Mercedes and Miguel were lovers, she and I could no longer live in the same house. But Diego loved his mother and I would not do anything to hurt my son. Miguel was a different matter: the thought of thrusting the tip of my sword through his throat excited me.

I had walked as far as the bridge over the Manzanares River. The balmy sun dawdled in the sky. Then I spotted the scandalous women who, on warm afternoons, bathed nude in the Manzanares. A number of them were sunning themselves on the rocks, their long hair loose, their legs spread apart. One of them saw me staring and yelled, “You, the one who looks like a Jesuit!” I stood still, paralyzed by her brazenness. The woman cupped her breasts in her hands, squeezed them, and said, “Come and taste these juicy melons. Have a taste of life. Your wife can’t give you this sweetness.” I fled; the women’s laughter and their jeers trailed after me.

The bells of the Church of San Nicolás de los Servitas were tolling nine times when I arrived at my front door. I could no longer remember where I had been or what I had seen after I left the bridge. I was in a cold sweat; my mind was racing; my hands shook; my mouth and throat were parched.

Once inside my chamber, I locked the door. Candles were lighted and the coals in the brazier blazed. My usual supper was laid out on the dining table: a smoked trout, a small loaf of bread, a square of Manchegan cheese, olive oil, salt, an orange cut in half, and an ewer filled with red wine from my grandparents’ vineyards in Toledo. I poured myself a cup of wine, drank it in one gulp, and sat on the chair next to the brazier to warm my hands and feet. But the proximity to the live coals made me feel feverish, and the lack of air in the chamber was oppressive.

I opened the glass panes that faced the patio and sat on the windowsill. It was a moonless starry night; the frosty breeze stung my face. The dark-leafed fig trees, swathed in black shadows, encircled the drinking well in the center of the patio; the bed of white roses was heavy with dew. An eerie quiet gave a funereal air to the scene: the patio reminded me of a secluded portion of a cemetery, a spot that even night owls shunned. A chill raced down my spine. The longer I sat on the windowsill, the more agitated I became. It was imperative that I speak with Mercedes; it was a discussion that could not be postponed. I would not have any peace until I heard from her own lips what had transpired between her and Miguel.

I knocked on Mercedes’s door and entered her chamber without waiting for an answer. She was kneeling at her pew, praying to a figure of Christ on the wall. When she saw me, Mercedes made the sign of the cross and got up. She stood, dressed in a black chemise; a Rosary dangled from her hands. She didn’t seem surprised by my unannounced visit—it was as if she had been expecting me. As she removed the black mantilla that covered her head I almost gasped: she had shorn her beautiful golden mane almost to the roots. It looked as if she had used garden shears.

I closed the door behind me and approached her. Candleholders illuminated the shrine to the wood crucifix that had been in the family for generations. The rest of the room was bathed in darkness. The Christ figure was rachitic, the body and face distorted with extreme pain. I hadn’t been to Mercedes’s living quarters in . . . could it be years? The walls were bare; she had removed all mirrors; the drapes that covered the canopy of the bed were the color of a funeral shroud. It looked as if a mystic lived in the chamber; it would not have surprised me to see blood marks splattered over the walls. Yet the serene expression in Mercedes’s eyes, and her peaceful demeanor, were disconcerting. Had I made a dreadful mistake?

“Luis, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Her tone was detached, as if she were speaking to a distant acquaintance.

“I came home early from the council and was informed you were out. I waited for you for hours. What could have kept you away from your home so long?”

“I went out to do some errands,” she said softly.

“What kind of errands can take you away from your home for hours? It pains me to say that I don’t believe you. Stop lying to me, Mercedes.” Then the words came out of my mouth: “You went to rendezvous with Miguel de Cervantes, didn’t you?”

Mercedes smiled. “Is that the reason you’ve barged into my chamber like this? Are you mad, Luis? I haven’t seen Miguel de Cervantes since he left Spain many years ago.”

“I’m sorry you think this is an amusing matter. Do not mock my gentleman’s honor. Why would I believe you? You spent my trust in you when you betrayed me with Miguel. You robbed me of the right every man has to trust his wife.”

“I haven’t forgotten how I deceived you when we were young, Luis. But you forget we were not yet married. It’s true that our families intended you and me for each other, but we had never discussed matrimony among ourselves. What Miguel and I did was a thoughtless and unforgivable indiscretion of youth.” She paused. When she started speaking again it was with gravity in her voice. “Your false accusation forces me to inform you about a decision I have made. I went to see my Father confessor today, and we talked for hours.”

As Mercedes took several steps in my direction, the lights of the tapers caught the tears that streamed down her cheeks. She stood so close to me that I could smell her hair, her skin, her breath.

“For some time Father Dioniso and I have been discussing an important matter. Today I made a final decision. I had hoped to prepare little Diego first, but you leave me no choice. Your hurtful words force me to defend my honor. I’ve been inspired by the example of the Reverend Mother Teresa of Ávila to renounce the world and live the rest of my life as a discalced woman. I will beg for alms for the poor, and devote myself to helping them. Mother Teresa believed that true equality exists only in the vow of poverty. By following her example I’ll discover the road that will lead me to my true self. From now on, my actions will speak louder than your hateful words; and I will wear my heart, for all to see, on the fabrics that cover my chest.”

Mercedes paused again, as if to give me time to respond. No married woman in Spain left her husband and home without incurring the punishment of society and the church. Adulterous women were often brought before the Inquisition. Besides, among the noble families of Castile there was no precedent for what she proposed to do.

“I realize that to move to Ávila to be near the community the Reverend Mother founded would be too much of a scandal. And I don’t wish to bring more shame to you, our son, or the name of our family. So I will move to Toledo, live in our grandparents’ home, and accompany Mamá Azucena during her final days on earth. Father Dionisio has given his blessing to my plans. I hope that by living in our ancestral home my conduct will be above reproach and I will placate the vicious wagging tongues of those who have nothing better to do than to point a finger at other Christians. Nothing society says will harm my heart and my soul, as I am guilty of nothing more than dedicating my life to help others, as Jesus Christ bids us to do.”

“Who do you think you are, a saint? That takes more than praying, all dressed in black in a morbid room. I don’t care about the damage your selfish action will do to my name,” I remonstrated, “but what kind of mother abandons her son? Only animals that are an aberration of nature do that. No true Christian woman behaves in this manner.”

“Heaven will be my judge, Luis. I don’t believe God will condemn me for leaving little Diego with you. Our Lord Jesus Himself left the side of His parents when the time came to do the work He had been called to do. As for me, only service to God and doing good works will bring me the peace I seek. I will leave the matter of the salvation of my soul entirely in God’s hands. In my prayers I feel God has revealed Himself to me and asked me to be one of His soldiers for Our Redeemer Jesus Christ, in the battle against the deeds of the devil. I believe the Almighty has ordered me to bear my cross. I must accept with gratitude all the blows I receive. Since Our Lord has drawn me to His service, I have faith He will pardon me for my sins.”

“How do you know it is God you are listening to—and not the devil?”

“Your anger has afflicted your thinking, Luis. Your heart is so full of jealousy that you are in grave danger of letting your rage blind you. I cannot go on living in the same house with you; your unjustified and irrational jealousy has deprived me of all my joys, large and small.”

Nothing she said would convince me that she had not seen Miguel de Cervantes since his return; or that she was, as she claimed, beyond reproach. Listening to her was the same as listening to the Angel of Darkness.

“Good night,” I said and left her chamber. Back in mine, I sat on the open windowsill and wept until the dawn sky absorbed the stars in the heavens.

* * *

Mercedes’s move to our ancestral home in Toledo was all the proof I needed that she was still in love with Miguel. She had chosen a life devoted to good works and penitence merely to avoid temptation. In the months after she left, my fantasies of revenge were like rapacious maggots eating me from the inside out. The disturbing thoughts I had by day continued to haunt my dreams by night. I considered denouncing Miguel to the Inquisition regarding the accusations that the Dominican Juan Blanco de Paz had made about his immoral conduct in Algiers. It would not have surprised me if he had indulged in the depraved pleasures of the flesh for which the Turks were infamous.

Even more damaging were the insinuations that, during his captivity, Miguel had become a renegade. An investigation was started, but the charges were dismissed when supposedly respected Christians attested to Miguel’s irreproachable conduct. Then Father Juan left for New Spain. Without his presence in Madrid, it would fall upon me to start on my own inquiry; it would cost a fortune and consume me for years to come. On what grounds could I justify my interest in having Miguel de Cervantes investigated by the Holy Office? People in the church might question my motives.

In my heart, I knew I would not be free of Miguel and Mercedes until I forgave them. I would have to pray, pray, and pray until God took pity on me and released me from my misery.

* * *

Although Mercedes and I had led separate lives for a long time, it was only after she left that I realized how quiet and sepulchral our home had become over the years. Now Leonela became mistress of the house, and her hand left an impression everywhere: lovely flower arrangements brightened the rooms, their delicate aromas dispelling the musty odor that had settled like a moth-eaten shroud over everything. I had forgotten what the sound of laughter in a house was like. Now I could hear the servant girls’ giggles, and the saucy airs they hummed distractedly as they went about the house doing their chores.

I didn’t trust Leonela, whose allegiances, I knew, would always be to Mercedes. But she was like a godmother to Diego and, in the absence of his mother, she provided the maternal care the boy needed. I was sure my son missed his mother a great deal. She had doted on him, and they had spent a good deal of time together when he was not occupied by his studies. It was impossible to explain to him why his mother had left us without revealing many sordid details. I didn’t want Diego to grow up hating his mother. I would keep Leonela in my service until he went away to university.

The first indication of Diego’s upset frame of mind came from a conversation I had with his tutor. Father Jerónimo and I were in the habit of meeting for a libation at least once a month to discuss the progress of my son’s education.

“Up until now, Don Luis,” he said, “Diego has been a model pupil. He has always been studious, wise beyond his years, the model of obedience. The fact that there’s never been any reason to complain about his conduct makes his recent behavior all the more troubling.”

“Has he been disrespectful to you, Father? If that’s the case, I will not tolerate it. I will make sure he apologizes to you and he never disrespects you again.”

Father Jerónimo sipped from his foaming cup of chocolate, his favorite libation. With the tip of his handkerchief he dabbed at his lips. “Don Luis, I’m afraid what has been happening lately is worse than that. Diego has disobeyed my instructions not to read the Holy Scripture by himself. Despite his great intelligence—and he is the brightest pupil I’ve ever had—he is obsessed with theological discussions about God’s intentions, which no boy of his age should be having.” The look of curiosity on my face must have been great. “I’ll give you an example, Your Grace. Lately, he is obsessed—yes, obsessed—with Original Sin.” Father Jerónimo rested his cup of chocolate on the table. Then he clasped his hands on his lap, as if in prayer. “One day, not too long ago, Diego asked me:
Father, isn’t it true that if Adam and Eve had not eaten the forbidden fruit, then there would be no human race?
I explained to him, Don Luis, that we have to assume that God’s plan was to allow Adam and Eve to become man and wife when they were mature enough. Their sin had been one of disobedience, I added. I thought that was a satisfying enough answer.”

“An excellent answer,” I said.

“I wish that had settled the matter, Your Grace. But Diego had other questions.
Then why did God expel Adam and Eve from Paradise, if Satan had been allowed to tempt them and seduce them before they had full understanding? Wasn’t Satan then the guilty one?
As a way to put an end to a futile discussion that could have gone on for a long time, to the detriment of his studies, I told him that many wise men have pondered these questions for centuries; that when he was mature enough, if he was still interested, he could read the theological arguments made by the Fathers of the Church. He seemed satisfied with that suggestion.”

I let out a breath of relief. “Then it’s all resolved, Father.”

“On the contrary, Don Luis. Lately Diego has been troubled with the story of Judas Iscariot.”