Catarina rejected the doctor’s proposal. “He speaks to me. I’m his wife, and I know him better than anybody. Santiago is . . . he’s like a little child. When he’s frustrated or angry he does and says things he regrets afterward. He’s always been like that, since he was a little boy. I know him very well, and I’ve learned not to take it to heart. I can tell when he’s letting his emotions run away with him and when he’s telling the truth. He’s shouted at me every time I’ve seen him today; he’s said horrible things; he’s pushed me away; but I know him. He’s doing it because he’s in pain, and that’s why I believe it’s too early to talk with him. Why don’t you give him a few days to calm down? I’m sure that whatever Santiago might say today will only give you the wrong impression of him, and my duty is to protect him. That’s what I did when his little brother died, and I was able to bring him back to himself.”
The physician nodded. “Certainly, we understand your misgivings, and your determination to protect him is laudable. But we believe that right now it’s fundamental to draw Santiago out of this self-imposed isolation. We hope Father Lucas can convince him to accept help in getting through the bad patch he’s going through right now. In any case, opening up to someone will be his first and most important step toward getting better.”
“I absolutely refuse,” Catarina persisted. “You don’t know him. If I allow this, he’ll only get worse.”
The three doctors looked at one another. This time the male physician was the one to speak. “I understand your view, Catarina, but I’m on the board of directors of this clinic. I sought the advice of our legal counsel before we decided to call Father Lucas in. We cannot deny spiritual counseling to any patient who asks for it. This institution is religiously affiliated, but even if it were not, we are psychiatrists, and our view is that spiritual assistance to the patient is always beneficial.”
“Then I’ll go with him. I promised I wouldn’t leave him alone, and I intend to keep my word. We have no secrets from one another. He’s suffering terribly, and just as when you were examining him, I won’t let him be interviewed by anyone unless I’m there at his side. I already told you this morning that if you don’t respect my wishes, I’ll take him back home.”
Lucas cleared his throat to get the attention of all those present. “I am a Catholic priest, and it is my duty to attend to any of the faithful who ask to be heard in confession. I don’t know if you are Catholics, but you should be aware that whatever don Santiago may tell me will remain under seal of confession and cannot be revealed.” He turned to Catarina. “I’ve known Santiago since we were boys together, Catarina, and I’ve been his confessor since I took my vows. I’ve been a friend of the family for years, and I officiated at your wedding at As Grileiras. But today I’m not here as a friend but as a priest. Santiago tried to call me yesterday before he took those pills, and I believe that if I’d only been able to speak with him, I could have dissuaded him.”
“He’s out of his mind, Lucas! You can’t imagine the kinds of things he’s saying. He’s drugged up and excited, spewing wild nonsense.” She was terribly upset. “I don’t want to leave him alone.”
The physician opposed her. “He’s in full possession of his mental faculties. There are no drugs in his system other than traces of the sleeping pills he takes regularly. In our opinion he is no more affected by drugs than he would be any other day.”
Catarina was sputtering in frustration. Lucas got up and went to sit beside her. “He’s asked to be heard in confession. That’s one of the most important sacraments of our faith, and no one other than the penitent and the priest is allowed to be present. It cannot be recorded, and nothing of what he tells me may be revealed.”
“Nothing? Whatever he may say? Not even to the doctors?” Her tone was one of distrust.
“Nothing,” Lucas reassured her. “The secret of confession obliges me to remain silent about everything he tells me. Catarina, confession is a solace to the soul.” He took her strong but small and visibly shaking hand in his as he addressed the physicians as well. “The joyful sacrament that frees us of our afflictions is neither medical treatment nor a legal declaration.”
The physicians’ faces showed their disappointment. The female doctor who’d spoken looked at her colleagues and sighed, then turned to Lucas. “Very well. We understand the requirements of the rite, and right now the greatest problem facing us is the patient’s isolation. If you are able to break through to him, we’ll consider that a success. We’ll be understanding of the fact that you can’t share the details of confession, but we hope that you’ll be able to persuade him to embrace life. And that you’ll inform us if he remains determined to commit suicide.”
Catarina was sharp with her. “He just told you. The secret of confession means he’s obliged not to divulge anything he’s told.”
“Even so,” the physician said, fixing her gaze on Lucas, “if after your session with the patient I should personally ask you for guidance on the best way to proceed with his case, you’d be able to tell me not to worry or, alternatively, to be extremely vigilant, wouldn’t you? That means you wouldn’t be revealing any secret; you’d only be giving me your best guidance on what attitude I should take.”
Lucas nodded. “I will give you my sincere guidance.” He rose.
The physicians escorted him to the door of the hospital room. He checked his phone one last time and turned it off. He turned to them just before he went in. “I request your absolute respect for the sanctity of confession. No one is to come in or to interrupt us in any way until we’ve finished.”
He closed the door behind him. A terrified Catarina looked on.
GARDENIAS
Manuel raced up the stairs, certain there was no cell phone coverage in the Vulcan’s underground locale; besides, the loud music would have kept him from hearing anything. And his own sense of decency wouldn’t allow him to make the call from such a sordid hangout.
The rain had dwindled to a gentle orballo that still obliged the smokers to crowd together beneath the overhang that provided scant shelter at the bar entrance.
He stepped out into the night, brushing past the men without heeding their annoyed looks and muttered comments. He walked far enough away to be clear of them and then tapped in Elisa’s number. His fingers trembled as he fished in his jacket pocket for the flower Samuel had given him.
He heard Elisa answer immediately. “Manuel, is something wrong?”
“Elisa, I’m sorry to call so late,” he apologized. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, we weren’t asleep.” She sounded agitated. “Oh, Manuel, what’s going on?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Samuel refuses to go to bed. He’s been sitting on the bed waiting for something for the last two hours. He told me he couldn’t go to sleep because you were going to telephone him. Did you promise that? Did you say you’d call him before he went to bed?”
“No.”
“So what’s going on, Manuel? Why did you call?”
“Elisa, will you let me talk to Samuel?”
She was silent for a moment. “Yes. Of course.” He heard a rustling on the line and imagined the child sitting on the bed.
“Hello, Uncle Manuel.” That adorable voice came through loud and clear.
“Hello, darling boy,” he answered with a smile. “Last time we talked, I forgot to ask you something.” He found himself caressing the petals of the flower.
“Yes.”
“Uncle álvaro asked you to put gardenias in my pockets.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And did he say why you needed to do that?” he asked cautiously.
“Yes.”
“I forgot to ask you that. Will you tell me now?”
“Yes.”
“Why was that?”
“So you’d know the truth.”
Manuel looked at the gardenia’s waxy whiteness, and its masculine scent carried him back to the interior of the greenhouse. Notes of music blended with the perfume of thousands of gardenias. The impression was so strong that for a moment he seemed to have been transported back in time.
“Thank you, dearest.”
He heard more rustling on the other end and Samuel’s voice, directed to his mother. “Give me my pillow, Mama. Now I can go to sleep.”