What about my purse? My purse is right where it should be. The mosquitoes of the Guadalquivir buzz around my ears. I light a cigarella and they disappear. Perhaps they are already dead. I search the hubbub and the people surrounding me, trying to spot Dr. Monardes and Jesús. Then suddenly I remember those little islands down the Guadalquivir, the ones the water yieldingly skirts. I’ve passed by there and sometimes I’ve wondered what is on them, what would I see, if at the same moment I were there, looking towards the road I am travelling along? Dr. Monardes and Jesús, as I see them now, coming out of an exit on the ground floor, advancing with small steps in the tangle of people, which gradually scatters and dissolves into the street, as if someone is untangling it strand by strand. I call out, raise my hand to get their attention, and head over to them.
5. Driving away So-Called “Spirits”
Once, when we were in Utrera where we cured a man of aching joints, on the way back in the evening we passed by the church of St. Getafe there. A group of people had gathered in front of it, speaking over one another excitedly. They claimed that there was a spirit inside the church. And not a good spirit, but a bad one, who was making mischief and frightening people. They even said that it was inside at that moment.
This gave me a cold chill between my shoulder blades. I didn’t like this business one bit and suggested to the doctor that we get out of there as quickly as possible.
“Under no circumstances!” Dr. Monardes replied. I could, it seemed, even sense a certain gleeful excitement in his voice. “That’s just the peasants’ prejudices, Guimarães,” he said. “There are no spirits. You and I will go inside now to see what is really going on.”
This idea did not please me in the least. There are certain things I positively do not wish to have anything to do with. However, the doctor’s energetic, exhilarated look clearly told me that there was no way I could get out of going into the church. I sighed inwardly at the inescapable side effects of the scientific worldview and took the staff the doctor handed me — one of the three we carried in our carriage to defend ourselves against robbers or wild animals. The doctor twirled his staff in the air a few times, tapped it against his palm, and, visibly satisfied, strode forward. I followed after him, with Jesús behind me.
The church’s large wooden door creaked shrilly as we entered. We were met with darkness, scattered here and there by the candles burning in the candelabra and by a space in front of the altar lit up as bright as day, where a priest was kneeling. He turned his head towards us. Even from the entrance I could see how frightened he was. And almost at the same instant I understood why — the communion dishes, on a long table to the side, began rattling as if there were an earthquake. The doctor set off at a brisk pace down the aisle between the pews, heading toward the table. When he got there, he swung his staff with all his might over the dishes, lowering it abruptly to the sides from time to time, as if thrashing some unseen enemy in the air. His staff whistled through the air, but the dishes beneath it continued rattling. This only seemed to put the doctor on his mettle and he ceased to stand on ceremony. His staff rained blows in all directions, on the table, on the dishes, everywhere.
“Come on, Guimarães, go around to the other side,” the doctor shouted. I quickly grasped his meaning, and since it was impossible to pass by the doctor without — literally — risking my life, I jumped along the seats of the pews to the other side of the room and headed for the table with the dishes, swinging my staff above my head. The noise was indescribable — the doctor’s staff was crashing down on the table and the dishes, which went flying and fell to the floor with a crash, the padre was praying in a loud voice, and Jesús was lighting all the candelabra with a huge, hissing candle. I felt a rush of courage and absolute confidence in the success of our undertaking and brought my staff down on the right side of the table with all my might, while the doctor swung his on the left. A moment later our staffs crashed together and it was a true wonder they did not break. But ash is a hard wood. At that instant the candles on a candelabrum about a dozen yards from us went out, as if snuffed out by a gust of wind. Whatever had been rattling the dishes had now moved towards the right wall of the church.
“Over there, Guimarães,” the doctor yelled and ran towards that place.
We both rushed that way, our staffs swinging. But the thing reappeared on the other side of the church, close to a candelabrum near Jesús — several candles went out, while the flames of the others swayed to one side. Jesús, who, as I said, was nearby, leapt in that direction, swinging his staff, and knocked over a candelabrum, which fell noisily to the ground. The doctor quickly squeezed his way between the pews, while I rushed towards Jesús, leaping along the seats. The padre kept praying in a loud voice.
“Stop crossing yourself and grab a staff!” the doctor cried at him.
I had already reached Jesús and was swinging my staff between the candelabra, but the thing, it seemed, had gone into hiding.
“Wait!” the doctor cried, lifting his hand. “Stop!”
We began looking around. There was not a living soul in sight, so to speak, with the exception of the padre, who was standing a few paces in front of the altar, clutching a crosier.
“Let’s call an exorcist, señor,” the padre called out.
“We don’t need any exorcist.” The doctor shook his head and, upon brief reflection, added: “Here’s what we’ll do: the padre will go down the aisle between the pews; Guimarães, you go along the candelabra on the right side; Jesús, you walk along those there; and I’ll pass in front of the altar.”
And so we did. I again ran along the right wall of the church, swinging my staff over my head. Since I was being careful not to knock over some candelabrum, I didn’t see what was going on elsewhere, but I heard staffs whistling through the air, the clicking of the doctor’s heels on the stone slabs before the altar, the padre’s loud prayers, and, at one point, the crash of a toppled candelabrum as well — clearly, Jesús must have knocked one over. There was no trace of the thing, however — it either had left or was hiding. So that’s what I told the doctor: “Señor!” I shouted. “The thing has either disappeared or is hiding.”
“It hasn’t disappeared,” the doctor replied. “But this isn’t going to work.”
The four of us stopped in our tracks and began looking around in hopes of catching a glimpse of some movement somewhere. I thought I saw a candle flicker and took a swing in that direction, but no, it was the candle’s own doing.
“What is it?” cried the doctor.
“Nothing, señor,” I replied. “I was just seeing things.”
“Listen here,” the doctor said in a moment, stroking his beard. “Guimarães and I will light a cigarella each at either end of the aisle and will walk towards each other. Come on, Guimarães.”
I hopped over the pews to the far end of the aisle, took out a cigarella, and waited for the doctor to give the signal.
“Ready?” Dr. Monardes cried from the other end, a cigarella in his mouth and a candle in one hand. “Now!”
I lit the cigarella and slowly started walking towards the doctor.
“Here’s some for you as well,” he called out and tossed one cigarella each to Jesús and the padre.
“That’s more like it!” Jesús cried, while the padre reached for the cigarella with both hands, dropping the crosier, which fell to the floor with a clatter.