2004 - Dandelion Soup (39 page)

Padraig got up close to the glass and looked down on the shadowy figure below. It looked like someone old and withered wrapped round in a dripping black cloak. He wondered for a moment if it was Muli.

The bell rang twice and echoed inside the convent. Padraig heard someone hurrying to open the door. He stepped out into the corridor to see if he could catch a glimpse of the new arrival. An unshaded light bulb swayed in the draught as the front door was opened, casting a Wavering, eerie light across the uneven walk.

Padraig heard footsteps climbing up the stairs and moments later a nun’s face appeared. The nun caught sight of Padraig and turned her face away quickly, but not before he had recognized her as the clumsy one who had tripped over her own feet. She was followed by the mysterious cloaked figure, who was wheezing and panting with exertion with each step. The nun led the way up the second flight of stairs and then Padraig heard a door being unlocked, before being quickly closed again. Moments later the nun reappeared, ignored Padraig’s cheery smile and clattered hurriedly back down the stairs. Padraig poked out his tongue at her back and went back into his room.

In the convent kitchen Sister Maria whispered to Sister Matilde as they prepared vegetables for the evening meal.

“This storm seems to have washed up all sorts of people. The pilgrim I’ve just taken upstairs is a most peculiar-looking thing. Never said a word to me at all, just stared at me like I was a ghost.”

“How long is this one staying?” Sister Matilde asked.

“Sister Perpetua didn’t say, just that we had to take all meals to the room until further notice.”

“Do you know anything about the fellow in the infirmary?”

“Not much, just that he’s some tramp that Sister Perpetua has taken pity on. He was found collapsed on the road leading into the town. Two men helped him along and Sister Perpetua has called for the doctor to check him over. He’s exhausted, apparently, and has a high fever.”

Just then Sister Perpetua appeared in the doorway and coughed loudly. The two postulants fell into red-faced silence; it was forbidden to speak while they were working.

“Sister Maria, I need a hand with our poor patient if you could spare the time from your gossiping.”

Sister Maria put down the knife and the potato she had been peeling, smiled at Sister Matilde and followed Sister Perpetua out of the kitchen, across the hallway and down the corridor that led to the infirmary.

There were three empty beds, in the room but in the fourth a man lay sleeping. His troubled face was dark against the whiteness of the sheets, he had one hand cupped beneath his cheek and the other was hidden beneath the bed covers.

“Pull up a chair to the bed, Sister Maria, and keep a close eye on him. The doctor has been called but may have some difficulty getting here in this weather. There is a bowl of water and a cloth here, I want you to bathe his head, try and bring his temperature down. He’s been delirious this last half hour.”

Sister Perpetua left the room and Sister Maria moved a chair across to the bed and sat nervously down. The man lay quite still, the only noise in the room the sound of his laboured breathing.

Anxiously Sister Maria picked up the cloth, dipped it into the bowl of water, wrung it out and began to bathe the man’s feverish forehead.

He moaned softly and stirred in his sleep, his eyelids flickered and he opened his eyes and looked up at a wide-eyed Sister Maria.

He began to speak to her urgently, rambling in a foreign tongue. Sister Maria was at a loss what to do to help him. Suddenly he reached out and grasped her hand and as he did so she noticed the ring on his little finger.

It was a large oval ring inlaid with rubies and diamonds and must have been worth an absolute fortune. It was very peculiar because he was supposed to be a tramp; his clothes, which had been laid out on a chair, were grubby and threadbare.

Just then the door creaked open and Sister Maria saw that it was Sister Perpetua returned with the doctor.

With relief Sister Maria fled along the darkened passage and as she turned the corner she almost fell over the small nosey boy who was hanging round in the shadows.

“Shoo!” she said, flapping her hands at him, “Shoo!”

Grinning widely, the boy disappeared upstairs taking the steps two at a time. There was something odd about the nuns in Santa Anna’s, they all seemed frightened of their own shadows.

Later, Sister Perpetua showed Padraig and Father Daley into a wood-panelled dining room at the rear of the convent. From the dining room a door led off into the kitchen and from there came the sound of clattering and the occasional burst of stifled giggling.

“Well, Padraig, are you feeling quite recovered now?” Father Daley asked.

“I am, Father, but I still can’t understand why Brother Anselm did what he did to me and Nancy.”

“Ah, Padraig, I just think the fellow is senile. Brother Francisco said he’s been going downhill for a long time, doing all kinds of peculiar things before we even arrived.”

“What sort of things, Father?”

“Well, Brother Francisco told me that he’d taken a hammer to one of the statues in the grounds and knocked the head clean off it.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because, Padraig, his old brain is addled, he doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time. Put him out of your thoughts now. He’s banged up out of harm’s way.”

Padraig wasn’t so sure that Brother Anselm was senile, plain wicked was more like it.

“Just think, Padraig, that in a few days’ time we will be in Santiago de Compostela at the shrine of Saint James and then in the wink of an eye we will be on the boat on our way back to Ireland and Ballygurry.”

“Well I’d rather be in Spain getting shot at than back in St Joseph’s.”

“Don’t be silly, surely it’s not that bad, Padraig.”

“It is, I hate it. And probably they’ll send me to Australia anyhow and I’ll be stuck shearing sheep or rounding up kangaroos for the rest of my bleeding days.”

“Padraig, mind your tongue.”

There was an enormous crash of thunder overhead. The crockery on the table rattled and the light bulb swung dangerously on its quivering flex, and then suddenly the room was plunged into darkness.

Someone started screaming hysterically in the kitchen at the same moment as the bell on the door was pulled impatiently.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Father Daley spluttered.

“Mind your tongue, Father Daley,” sniggered Padraig.

There was a commotion out in the hallway and suddenly Sister Perpetua’s startled face hovered in the doorway in a pool of flickering candlelight.

Behind her a group of shadowy figures huddled close together.

“Someone put a peseta in the electric meter or one of us will go arse over tit in a minute.”

“Father Daley, that sounds like Mr Donahue’s voice!”

“Don’t be soft, Padraig, what would Donahue be doing over here? He’d have trouble finding his way to the end of Clancy Street never mind to Spain, he’s always drunk.”

“Which one of you cheeky buggers said that?” Donahue asked.

“Mind your mouth, Donahue,” Leary muttered, “there are nuns around.”

The light flickered back on.

Father Daley and Padraig blinked in the sudden burst of brightness and stared flabbergasted at the group of people huddled behind Sister Perpetua.

Father Daley was the first to gather his wits and speak.

“What in God’s name are you lot doing here? And who’s the little kid?”

“She’s called Dancey Amati,” said Padraig.

Dancey Amati looked at Padraig in astonishment. He was the kind little boy who had found her in the wood. Suddenly, she let go of Solly’s hand, went over to Padraig and planted a big kiss on his cheek.

Padraig blushed.

“Ah, he has a way with the ladies has Padraig. It’s a good job Siobhan isn’t here to see this,” laughed Donahue.

“Ah, hush up,” Padraig said.

“Who is she?” Father Daley exclaimed.

“It’s a long old story, Father,” said Solly Benjamin, “and we’re all absolutely exhausted. But now we’re here why don’t we sit down and catch up on all that’s gone on.”

There was uproar then as everyone started to talk at the same time.

Bedlam persisted until Sister Perpetua, who had been hurrying to and fro bringing candles, began to ring a handbell and the deafening noise shut everyone up within seconds.

Five minutes later they were all seated round the dining-room table. Outside the convent the wind roared and the rain battered unceasingly against the window-panes.

Michael Leary had filled everyone’s glasses with wine and the two dim-witted postulants had begun to ladle soup into dishes under the watchful eye of Sister Perpetua.

Padraig, sitting next to Dancey, looked down at his soup with interest. On the top of it was floating what looked like dandelion petals. He stirred it with his spoon and the petals swirled round the dish and made patterns on the surface of the soup. Dancey began to stir hers too, pointed down at the soup and then smiled at Padraig.

“Whafs this?” Donahue said, looking down into his brimming dish.

“Dandelion soup. It’s popular around these parts,” said Leary. “I’ve only had it the once but it’s delicious.”

“Dandelion soup! Jumping Jehosaphat. We’ll all be pissing the beds tonight.”

“For pity’s sake just eat it and shut up.”

“My mother used to make dandelion soup. She said her family had made it for generations, she used to call it Spanish-Jewish dandelion soup, but I don’t have a clue why,” said Solly.

As they ate, Solly recounted for Father Daley and Padraig how Dancey had turned up on his doorstep and how Sister Veronica, Sister Agatha, Miss Drew and Mrs Cullinane had marched up to Nirvana House threatening to take her away with them.

Then Donahue told how he was in the bar talking to Leary when Archie Cullinane came in to tell them what had gone on up at Solly’s place. That was it. Leary and Donahue had made an on-the-spot decision.

“The car had been sitting in the garage for all that time unused. It was time to do something. We started her up and drove straight to Nirvana House only to find that the birds had flown. We finally caught up with Solly and Dancey at the crossroads and Bob’s your uncle and Fanny’s your aunt, here we are! Mind you, we frightened the life out of the pair of them, they thought we were the Guarda. In two shakes of a lamb’s tail we were out of there and off on an adventure.”

“I’ve just realized, Solly,” Father Daley interjected, “that the mystery present you were telling me about that night when I came for a drink, it was the little girl, wasn’t it?”

Solly nodded.

“And all the talk was that you had a loose piece from Cork shacked up with you,” said Donahue with a wide grin.

“So what exactly are you doing in Spain?” Father Daley continued.

“On a wild-duck trail and not getting very far,” said Donahue.

“We’re trying to solve the mystery of who Dancey is and where she comes from,” Solly explained.

“And have you found out anything?”

“Well, the biggest stroke of luck came in Paris,” Solly continued. “You see, Dancey had an old cashmere cardigan in her suitcase with a label in the back. It was bought from a shop belonging to a certain Madame Mireille. As it happens, I knew the shop from years before, my mother was a customer there. To cut a long story short, Madame Mireille was able to tell us who had originally bought the cardigan but unfortunately didn’t have an address.”

“But then,” interjected Donahue, who was on his second bowl of dandelion soup, “Siobhan Hanlon, the little belter, came up trumps.”

Padraig gulped.

“She did? Is she with you over here?”

“No. The poor little thing is shut up with the nuns in London and not very happy,” said Leary.

“We knew from Dr Hanlon that Siobhan’s mammy had been at school with a Spanish girl. Siobhan did a bit of detective work and hey presto the name of the girl was Martinez and Siobhan was able to give us her last known address at a place called the Villa Castelo.”

“So what brings you here then?” Padraig asked.

“We got caught up in this storm and the road we were meant to take was blocked. A chap directed us here and said we’d be able to get a good meal and a bed for the night.”

The younger of the two postulants who had been standing silently in the background began to clear away the soup dishes.

“We knew we wouldn’t make it to the Villa Castelo tonight, so I’m afraid the meeting with Señora Martinez will have to wait until tomorrow,” Solly explained.

The other postulant, who was carrying a pair of delicious-looking golden-skinned chickens in from the kitchen suddenly lost her footing, and if it hadn’t been for Leary’s fleetness of foot the chickens would have been launched into the middle of the table.

As Leary leaped to her aid and relieved her of the heavy serving dish, she looked up at him and he was taken aback by the look of absolute panic in her eyes. Quickly, though, she turned away, blushed profusely and hurried back into the kitchen.

“So you won’t make any more headway until you get to the Villa Castelo and talk to this family, assuming that they do know something about the child?” said Father Daley.

“That’s right and it might all be a waste of time. I mean Dancey’s mother could have pinched the cardigan and this Martinez family may know nothing about her.” Solly sighed.

“According to Sefiora Hipola, Dancey’s mother was a flighty piece of goods,” Donahue added with relish.

“One piece of good news from Ballygurry, though, Padraig, is that Donny Keegan’s daddy came for him,” Leary announced.

“Honest to God? That’s great, the lucky devil.” Padraig was delighted and made Mr Leary tell him at least three times the story of how Denny’s rather had burst into Sister Veronica’s study and whisked him away.

Leary realized with a shock that Padraig and Father Daley hadn’t heard the awful news about Sister Immaculata. He didn’t feel that this was quite the right time to tell them and decided he would have a quiet word with Father Daley when the boy had gone off to bed.

“How’s your pilgrimage been so far?” he asked.