“No. I asked him when we got together again, but I really do believe he’d managed to forget it. Or at least to blank out most of it.”
Nogueira also seemed disposed to poke into the background of those events. Manuel saw his brow was furrowed and he was taking only small pulls on his cigarette. Manuel wondered what the policeman was thinking, and he didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“My theory is that while To?ino was working at the seminary, he found something he thought he could exploit for a lot of cash. But the fact that a priest with terminal cancer maybe cut things short wouldn’t cause a scandal,” Nogueira reflected. “Probably just the opposite. Both the suicide and even the seminary’s handling of it might be viewed with sympathy. Times have changed.”
Manuel had come to the same conclusion. Was álvaro just an unfortunate child traumatized by his discovery of a dead body? Or had he been suddenly expelled for cause? If so, for what cause? Why? What had he seen?
For the first time since Manuel’s arrival in Galicia, the morning dawned clear, bright, and cloudless. He chose his clothing carefully, and before going to the seminary he stopped in a small stationery shop to buy a binder, adhesive tape, a couple of notebooks, and half a dozen ballpoint pens. He expected that these items might provide a certain amount of cover for his mission.
He parked by the gate and said goodbye to Café. The creature watched him with that hangdog attitude and curled up, resigned, on álvaro’s thick jacket. Manuel saw a young brother coming toward him down a stone walk sunk into an impossibly green lawn.
The man sent to receive him couldn’t be any older than thirty. “Good day, se?or Ortigosa, I’m Brother Julián, the librarian.” He had a strong Mexican accent. “The prior isn’t here; he had some personal business to attend to. He won’t be back until tomorrow, but he’s instructed me to show you the monastery and help you with whatever you may need.”
Manuel didn’t hide his disappointment. “Oh, that’s too bad! Don’t take it wrong, but I was hoping to speak with one of the older brothers, so he could describe the days when the seminary had a parochial school here.”
“Yes, se?or, no need to worry about that. Your agent informed the prior of your interests. He can answer your questions tomorrow when he returns, but meanwhile Brother Matías can help you. He’s the most senior of us. He retired years ago, but his mind is sharp and full of memories and stories about those times.” He grinned. “And believe me, he never misses a chance to share them.”
Brother Julián escorted him for a two-hour tour of the seminary buildings and grounds, stopping along the way to greet the monks, fewer than a dozen of them, who lived there. They were expecting him and more than a little excited to be receiving a writer. Brother Julián had assured them he was quite famous. The brothers were elated at the thought that Manuel might be planning to set his new novel in their monastery.
He remained carefully noncommittal. “I’m trying to get an idea of student life in the seminary back then. I haven’t worked out the plot.”
They visited San Xoan church, the annexes, patios, kitchens, the refectory, and the chapel. The former infirmary had been preserved as a showplace. Its iron bed frames and glass display cases with sinister-looking medical instruments regularly delighted the many physicians who booked rooms to enjoy the peace and quiet of monastery hospitality. A small museum featured an impressive collection of lacquer boxes that would have enchanted any antique dealer. Former classrooms had been transformed into austere but well-equipped guest rooms with private baths for guests participating in spiritual retreats.
The shelves of the spacious library were set within the stone arches of the monastery cellar. Both the books and the furnishings had been preserved and exquisitely cared for. He noticed a huge dehumidifier and a modern forced-air heating system that maintained comfortable conditions in a space that must have been humid and gloomy in the past. The inevitable electric cabling fixed high on the walls provided lights, power, heating, and high-speed connections for the state-of-the-art computer equipment used by Brother Julián.
“I’ve been here for two years, and I have to admit that I’ve spent most of that time in here,” he commented with a smile. “I see myself as heir to the traditions of those pious monks who dedicated their entire lives to transcribing a single book. I do a similar task, but with technology that’s a good deal more modern.” He waved toward the long ranks of metal shelves that filled an unlit section of the library. “And less picturesque.”
The bound documents looked old but they seemed to be very carefully arranged.
Manuel was impressed. “Don’t tell me those are the seminary files.”
The brother nodded, clearly pleased to see he appreciated the work that had gone into them. “They were all like that when I first got here. There’d never been a trained brother-librarian here before. Various brothers—I call them the library rats—had undertaken to maintain the books and files. They meant well, but they did it according to the holy inspiration of the moment.” He chuckled. “When I got here, not a single document had been digitized. Files and ledgers were piled in cardboard boxes against the back wall, almost up to the ceiling.”
“How far have you gotten?”
“To 1961.”
álvaro hadn’t yet been born in 1961. If the school records hadn’t been scanned, he wouldn’t have a prayer of finding a clue to what happened the year álvaro was expelled.
Manuel’s expression must have betrayed his disappointment, for Brother Julián was quick to respond. “I know what you’re thinking: that you won’t be able to get an idea of school operations over the last fifty years. I heard that’s what interests you. No need to worry!” He went to the computer that occupied his desk. “It’s always the same story: those who have no understanding of IT think that digitizing a file is like putting slices of bread into a toaster. When I saw the amount of work required, I convinced the prior to hire consultants to scan all the documents.” He tapped an icon on the screen that opened to display a slide show of scanned images.
Manuel felt a huge sense of relief. “That must have been a great help.”
“You have no idea! Though I do feed them in by hand, file by file, the contractor’s work facilitates the task enormously. They scanned each document, some of which were in very poor condition, and they digitally enhanced records that had become almost illegible. They arranged them by years in these cartons.” He drummed his fingers on the lid of one of them.
Manuel looked about hesitantly at the massive monastery tables positioned about the room. “Where should I sit?”
“Oh! You can use my desk and computer. The prior told me to make sure you had access to whatever you wanted to see.” He smiled. “It’s too bad this monastery doesn’t own any literary treasures that require special care. The only rule is that in order to respect the privacy of those concerned, one is not allowed to copy or download any file containing confidential information. Of course, I don’t believe you’re interested in anything of that kind. If your aim is to get a picture of the way the seminary operated, I suggest you concentrate on the photo archive. That’s right here. I can print a copy of anything you find useful.”
Manuel thanked Brother Julián for the attention, and for the first hour he paged through the scanned documents in chronological order. The collection ranged from individual school records to commercial invoices. Special items included scans of the formal renunciations of the world signed by those becoming monks and documentation for infants left on the monastery doorstep during the civil war. His occasional comments were well received by the brother-librarian.