Our visitor raised a quizzical eyebrow, as if sensing my disapproval. “I can assure you no harm will come to the carriers. I would infect my own child were I fortunate enough to have one.”
I had almost succeeded in shutting out his arguments, but this last remark was a foot in the door. He, too, had no issue. Perhaps he, too, was alone in the world? It is difficult to lose those dear to us, he had said. He, too, had devoted himself to the service of others to forget an enormous loss.
“You will need to talk to our benefactress, Doña Teresa Gallego de Marcos,” I said hurriedly, for I was feeling unequal to judge the arguments of this intense man. Doña Teresa was no friend of our king. She would not give in easily to this questionable request.
“Out of courtesy, I will speak to your benefactress, of course. But this is the king’s order,” he reminded me. He picked up a scroll that lay beside his hat and reached across the table with it.
As if it were the smallpox itself, I would not touch it. “I trust your word,” I said, refusing the proffered document. Rather he think I could not read than that I was defying a messenger of the king. “I can do nothing for you, Don Francisco. I am only the rectoress. I serve. I follow orders.” Each additional excuse was an admission that I was having difficulty refusing him.
“I, too, only serve,” he observed quietly. “It is why we are all here,” he added. He had lowered his voice again as if this were a secret we shared, this understanding that we were here on this earth for a nobler purpose than to be feverish little clods full of ailments and grievances. Indeed, our true joy lay in allowing ourselves to be used for a mighty purpose. His words reminded me of what I had forgotten, dulled by habit, preoccupied by the dark flock of my own sorrows.
“What part is it you find most questionable, Doña Isabel?” He was asking me. What do my objections have to do with it? I thought of asking.
He must have sensed my timidity, for he went on. “Using these unfortunate boys, is that how you think of it?”
“If I do not protect them, then who will?” I had tried to keep passion from my voice, but I had failed.
Our visitor nodded in vigorous agreement. “The king himself will protect them, Doña Isabel! These children will become his special charge.” Don Francisco broke the seal and unrolled the scroll, scanning it for the appropriate passage. “These boys will be taken care of, fed, clothed, educated.”
“We are already providing all those services,” I reminded him. “But hand to mouth, day by day, always worrying about where the next funds will come from. I know how our charitable institutions are run. I myself have directed several hospitals here and in New Spain. The king is making these boys his special charge, as if they were his own sons!”
“At what cost to them?” I said sharply. “If they survive being infected—” Our visitor shook his head, smiling at my ignorance. “You don’t understand—”
“Oh, but I do understand!” In one quick motion, I lifted my mantilla and let it fall to my shoulders. I had thought to shock him but instead tears started in my eyes. Surely, he had imagined a different face from the grotesque one that now stared back at him.
But his own face betrayed no disgust or aversion. He was, after all, a man of science, interested in specimens. “I can understand why you would fear for your charges,” he said quietly, rolling up the scroll as if admitting surrender.
The tenderness in his voice touched me. He understood. I bowed my head, fighting tears.
He was silent a moment. When he began speaking again, his voice was less insistent, as if he knew to tread gently on ground where many losses lay buried.
“Yours is precisely the fate we would be sparing so many from suffering. Four times I have traveled to New Spain, and each time I have seen suffering beyond my capacity to describe.” He bowed his head, as if now, he, too, struggled for self-control. “Entire villages. Whole populations decimated. The afflicted tearing down their own houses on top of themselves, their homes becoming their sepulchers.” His eyes glazed over. “You cannot imagine how powerless one feels. I am, after all, a doctor, my purpose is to heal.”
My own losses seemed dwarfed by this dismal picture of universal misery.
“The natives in America have been especially susceptible, suffering a more virulent form of the smallpox than we.”
Mamá, Papá, my sister were dead. Was that not virulence enough?
“The lucky ones who survive are so disfigured by the profound marks of the eruption, they horrify all who see them.”
I, too, had seen those looks on faces. I, too, was one of those lucky ones.
“Hell will hold no surprises for me …” His voice trailed off.
He would hardly be going there! A man so touched by the misfortunes of others. Already, in my own mind, I was defending him.
He had been gazing absently at my face, but I saw him slowly return from the hell he had been describing. “Yours, Doña Isabel, if you will permit me to say so, yours was a kind pox.”
A kind pox? Incredulity must have shown on my features.
He was examining me now. I reached for my veil to cover myself, but when he lifted a hand as if to prevent me, I allowed the mantilla to drop back on my shoulders. “Your face was marked, not marred, Doña Isabel. Of course, any blemish on a handsome face saddens us. But consider this. Time would have accomplished over the course of the years what the smallpox razed in a fortnight. You were spared the slower loss.”
“I see you are not just a surgeon but a philosopher!” I had to smile, in spite of myself. But I could tell by his sober look that he had not intended any humor.
“The consolations of philosophy are numerous,” he admitted, sighing. “But our losses must first be felt in the flesh. And I am imposing on you in a sad time, I can see.” He gestured toward my dark dress. “Perhaps I should return in the morrow?”
I had already exposed my face, why not my true condition? “You are not imposing, Don Francisco,” I assured him. “I lost my parents and sisters twenty years ago in the great epidemic. Thousands upon thousands perished here in Galicia.” He nodded. Of course, he would know of that epidemic. “These”—I indicated my dress, lifting my mantilla slightly and rearranging it on my shoulders—“well, we have a boy here, also by the name of Francisco, who has helped me see that these are marks of my vanity, under the guise of courtesy to others.”
“You are too harsh a judge, no doubt.” His smile was kind. He could see the better facets of my nature behind the harsh mask I was holding up before him.
“Doña Isabel?” It was Nati in the doorway. She looked from one to the other, no doubt surprised to find me unveiled before company. “Shall we start without you?”
“Please, Nati.”
She lingered a moment, no doubt trying to piece a story together. A visitor in uniform. An older man. Old enough to know better than to philander in our port city, getting some young lady in trouble. For shame. No doubt he was now in a pickle, or the young lady was, and he had come to make arrangements. Her face hardened in judgment. She cast me a look as she turned to go. What did I tell you about men, scoundrels all of them!
Alone again, Don Francisco explained how the vaccination would work. The carriers would not suffer any ill effects. A mere vesicle, perhaps a slight discomfort or feverish feeling. “Small price when one thinks of the salvation they will be bringing to the whole world. Yes, the whole world!” It seemed the expedition would not stop in the Americas but proceed across Mexico by land, from Veracruz to Acapulco, then on to the Philippines and China, round the cape of Africa and back to Spain. The names—New Spain, the Philippines, China, Africa—were ones I had taught the boys as I turned the globe stroking the places we would never go.
“And, of course, by being carriers, the boys will be spared the smallpox themselves. Immunity,” he called it. “They will be bringing a bodily salvation, which will no doubt open the way to a larger salvation and conversion to the true faith.” As he spoke, Don Francisco’s eyes,
and my own following his, were drawn up to the tapestry that hung like a presence in the room. In the growing darkness only the gilded touches were visible, the halo on the angel, the illuminated Virgin, and riding down a shaft of light, a tiny glowing being which was now transformed in my sight into the smallpox vaccine descending to save mankind. We had been looking to God, but salvation had issued from our own reasoning minds.
Oh sacrilege! I shook myself. Was this Don Francisco a servant of a higher purpose, as he called himself, or a minion of the Evil One? Had my rosary been in my pocket, I might have been tempted to thrust it in front of this stranger. Father Ignacio had advised I do this whenever I felt the Evil One lurking.
“You seem in shock, Doña Isabel?” His voice had a touch of amusement.
“It is a lot to learn in one afternoon,” I admitted.
“Would that all my students and listeners were as receptive and intelligent as you.”
Our Francisco had correctly named me. Vanity was alive and well in the rectoress. I ached for more of his good opinion. “You will not find Doña Teresa an easy person to speak with,” I warned him.
“This is an order from His Majesty,” he repeated.
“That might not get you a long way with our benefactress,” I hinted. Donã Teresa had powerful allies, who agreed with her opinions. The king indulged them, too afraid of alienating the nobility and leaving himself wide open to the rabble’s revolution as his cousin had done over in France, losing his royal head in the bargain. I could already hear Doña Teresa’s objections. She would not submit her orphan boys to some experiment that a silly cuckold king had no doubt been talked into by his vixen wife and her lover, that shameless tramp of a prime minister. “Indeed, Don Francisco, perhaps you should not mention that this is a royal decree.” Another secret between us.
Our visitor cocked his head, studying me. A small smile touched his lips. “I see,” he said at last. “But who shall I say sent me?”
“Did you not say His Holiness had blessed the procedure?” This was most unsettling! To be devising a stratagem to sway my benefactress—and with a stranger, no less! But I confess that what I felt was a sensation of pleasurable surrender to whatever good or bad angel was leading me on.
Our visitor was nodding. “Perhaps, Doña Isabel, it would be better if you could speak with your benefactress … in preparation.” He hesitated as if in acknowledgment that he was sending me first into the lion’s den.
In the silence that followed, we could hear the boys singing the Ave Maria. Far off, the cook and porter were setting the long tables. I could hear the clatter of bowls, the clang of spoons. The meals, the prayers, the lessons, the globe spinning under my fingers: Africa, China, Mexico. Every day the same. The small round of my daily life tightened like a noose about my neck. Again, I felt I could not breathe.
Don Francisco was waiting.
“I will speak with her.” My voice was firm, but my heart was a wild bird trapped in the small, empty room of my life. “I will explain everything and prepare her for your interview.”
Even in the dim light that fell from the tall windows, I could see the worry lines on his brow relax. “I would be most grateful,” he began.
“But I will ask for a favor back.”
Again, he cocked his head, bemused, waiting.
As he had been speaking, the idea had taken hold inside me. Later, I would tell Doña Teresa that it was Don Francisco who requested this. But I was the one who asked this favor of Don Francisco. I wanted to be a part of the noble purpose he had described. “You must take me with you,” I said.
He did not immediately answer me. It was difficult to read his face in the dark room. I waited, I could feel the perspiration on my face, under my arms, between my breasts. My whole body seemed to be weeping—with joy or sorrow, I could not tell. I had chosen to change my life. Was this even possible? Perhaps only God in his wisdom had the power to do so, sending down his messenger with a divine invitation.
“It is not the custom for a woman to accompany these expeditions,” he said finally.
“Someone must take care of the boys.” I, now, was the one persuading. “I have been assigned three assistants, three nurses, three practitioners, men all of them, to be sure—”
“And these boys need a woman’s touch.” I finished his sentence. My boldness had indeed grown in the course of our interview. “It will go a long way to convincing Doña Teresa to say the rectoress will go with our boys.”
“I see,” he said again. “The boys will need a woman’s touch,” he repeated, as if he had just thought up this idea himself. There was a smile in his voice. Already we were working together to save the world by removing whatever impediment Doña Teresa might put in our way.
Before he departed, Don Francisco asked that I begin sorting the boys; all those who had suffered the smallpox or been exposed to it must be weeded out. If there was the slightest doubt, the boy must be eliminated. One or two wrong choices and the expedition could be imperiled. He had calculated that exactly twenty-two carriers would be needed to cross the ocean and provide for a first round of vaccinations once we reached land. Two must be vaccinated at a time lest the vaccine not take in one or the other and the precious cure be lost. In the colonies, we would pick up new orphans for the rest of the journey. In my excitement, I did not think to ask how the boys were to be conveyed back to Spain so that his Royal Highness could keep his promise of raising them like his own sons.
“I have known many of these boys since birth,” I assured him. “I can answer for any illnesses they have had.”
“Excellent!” In his voice, I heard my own excitement. He had already begun his preparations, ordering supplies and equipment. Five hundred copies of his translation of Moreau’s treatise on the vaccine were being printed up to distribute around the world. It was through Moreau that Don Francisco had found out about Dr. Jenner’s experiments. He held up the copy he had brought for me.
I took the book in my hands. I had never owned one. “I am honored,” I thanked him, glad for the opportunity to show that I, indeed, could read. I could see by the flush on his face that it had been the correct thing to say.
The ship was now the issue, he went on. It was proving difficult to procure one. A frigate had been offered but needed repairs. With each detail the voyage seemed more and more imminent. We would set sail in a month across the seas in answer to those crying voices.
“Our undertaking shall be remembered by future generations,” he concluded.
Our undertaking.
“We shall save the world, Doña Isabel.” His voice had taken on a hesitancy. Perhaps a doubt had assailed him. “At least we shall try.”
“We will,” I assured him. We were at the door.
“I am most grateful.” He took my hand, pressing it warmly. I wished again that I had worn my gloves.
“Tomorrow, I shall send over a list of what the boys will need. At present, I am staying at the Charity Hospital next door if you should need me,” he added, putting on his hat. It fitted him handsomely. His face was in shadow.
I lifted my mantilla to cover my own face as was my habit when I escorted someone out, in courtesy to some passerby on the street, or out of vanity, as my other Francisco would have it. I would soon be rid of the boy, his judgments and bullying. A moment later, I felt ashamed. Who would love this boy if I did not? But he could not come along; he had only been with us a year. I could not account for his past exposure to the smallpox. But what then of Benito? I could not account for him either. No matter. I would not leave him behind. That would be my secret.
“You must learn not to cover yourself, Doña Isabel,” Don Francisco was saying. “Those scars will fade even further with exposure to the sun and salt air. Though a pocked face would serve our mission better. A convincing warning to those who might resist us.”
His words were a needle in my heart. Had his earlier compliment been only a ploy to win my agreement? A face marked but not marred. His very wor
ds. We would save the world together, but my role was to serve as a cautionary figure!
I was glad I had covered myself so that he could not see the tears starting in my eyes again. I had been chastened, reminded that I was to serve a noble purpose, not feed my vanity and self-pity! There was a blessed future before me. I would devote myself to our mission. I would become worthy of Don Francisco’s expedition.
Later that night, after the boys were asleep, I knelt down by my bed, trying to pray. “Let it be according to thy word,” I pleaded. But it was not our Lord nor the angel Gabriel nor even the Virgin I was addressing, but Don Francisco himself. I had given him my word. I would talk to Doña Teresa. I would convince her. The boys would be in my charge. And Nati was more than capable of directing La Casa until I came back … if I came back.
In the time before I blew out the candle, I gave myself the task I had set aside for this night. I found a piece of string and strung together the beads I had left on my bed. At the last, however, instead of attaching the crucifix, I took the strung beads and tied them around my neck. For the first time since my illness, I wished I had a mirror so I could see how the rectoress of a foundling house might look to a surgeon from the royal court, director of a noble expedition. Later in the dark, I went over and over our interview, touching the beads as if they were memory aids, recollecting what he had said, what I had replied, the fever in his eyes, the softness around his mouth. All night, I tossed and turned as if I were already on board that ship bound for a new life.
2
Alma is surprised when she hears the pickup coming down the driveway. She glances at the clock. She has been at it for two hours, reading and writing notes in her journal, notes that end up as full-fledged scenes and conversations leading her further into Balmis’s story.