“Well, I hope so,” laughed Jeanne Marie. “Last year it was only two dollars for a room with a communal bath.”
Sister Josepha got up to clear the table. “Anyway, no one will be working or coming to school in Juliaca next week. They’ll all be at the fiesta.”
Kate was grateful for the promise of a diversion. It would take her mind off Tom, she hoped.
After breakfast on Thursday the nuns loaded their canvas bags into the jeep and waved goodbye to Marta and Tito in the courtyard. Alejandro had been fussing around the jeep for an hour, checking and re-checking the tires and the oil. He frowned as Jeanne Marie with a grin gunned the engine.
“Con mucho cuidado,” he warned. “The roads are dusty now. You have to sound your horn when you go around a curve.”
Jeanne nodded and backed up, shifted gears, and pulled out of the courtyard.
“Despacio!” Alejandro’s voice echoed in the silent early-morning streets. Kate and Jeanne laughed together.
“I bet you were a holy terror before you entered,” said Kate, looking at Jeanne, eager and intent on her driving. She had the window open, and her veil flapped in the wind. Sister Josepha sat in back, knitting a small navy blue sweater for Tito. Kate called back to her superior over the roar of the engine. “Sister, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you idle for two minutes.”
Josepha put down her knitting with a rueful laugh. “The thing is,” she said shaking her head, “I feel guilty when I’m not busy. That’s my German background, I suppose.” She took up her knitting again.
“Well, I’m glad I’m Irish then,” shouted Kate. Her heart lifted as the jeep sped over the plains toward the Lake. The morning was fresh and clear, and the sun glinted on the mountains in the distance. As they passed through a strangely quiet Puno, Kate wondered if the townspeople were on the way to Copacabana, too. After a while she saw terraces on the hills, and then a huddle of huts around a central square.
“This is Chucuito, an old colonial town,” Jeanne said. “Next we’ll go through Juli.”
Sister Josepha turned to Kate and shouted over the noise of the engine. “Did you know that the Jesuits came to Juli in the sixteenth century? They set up a training center for missionaries going to the remote regions of the Altiplano. They used the Inca’s system of organization as their model. They were so influential that the Spaniards kicked them out in the late seventeenth century.”
“Why?” Kate wished she had studied more Latin American history before coming here.
“Oh, I think they were worried by how effective the Jesuits were in organizing the campesinos, teaching them good methods of farming. The big landowners got nervous, I guess, and they put pressure on the government in Madrid to expel the Jesuits. Since then, very few priests have worked in these parts.”
“When the Jesuits were expelled from South America, the people quickly reverted to their ancient faith,” said Jeanne.
Kate was silent for a long time. She wondered if the people ever really accepted the beliefs of the missionaries. But then she remembered Christmas, and the reverence of the people as they came from far-away villages to celebrate the birth of el Niño Jesus. The old church had vibrated with faith that night—or was it longing? Maybe they were the same.
They stopped in Juli to eat the picnic lunch Marta had packed for them, and Josepha led Kate past the church of San Pedro to a strange thatch-roofed building with ornately carved double doors. “That’s the House of the Inquisition.”
They stared at the building. Kate had studied the history of the Catholic Church. Much of it was ugly, like an open sore on the face of a beautiful woman.
Sister Josepha seemed to read her thoughts. “According to Father Tom, the Inquisition in Peru during colonial times tried cases of worldliness and corruption among the local clergy.”
Kate wondered if those cases included priests who fell in love with nuns. At times she felt terrified at what was happening to her and Tom. As her mother would say, they were skating on thin ice. Then she would laugh at her fears, telling herself that nothing had happened yet. But something would, she knew. It was one thing to bravely declare her love and resolve in a letter. But Tom would be back, his eyes gleaming at her. She would have to work side by side with him, pretending a cool indifference to his every move. She forced herself to focus on Josepha’s lecture.
“The indigenous people, by the way, were not considered suitable persons to be judged by the same standards as the Spanish Catholics.”
“Lucky for them,” muttered Jeanne Marie. They turned away then, repelled by the place.
By two o’clock they had reached Copacabana after following the great curve of Lake Titicaca, blue and remote in its purity. The roads were crowded with buses, old cars, and people on foot, all heading for the shrine of the Virgin on her feast day.
After the austerity of the plains, Kate was startled at her first view of the town. It was sunny and welcoming, its buildings of adobe and red tile an oasis of color. The streets were wide and well paved, and a holiday bustle hummed in the thin mountain air.
“This is one of the big feasts, the celebration of the Purification of the Virgin. Wait till you see her image in the Cathedral,” Sister Jeanne Marie said.
Suddenly she slammed on the brakes and motioned to two young boys who were walking their bikes along the busy street. “Por favor, muchachos. Nos pueden decir donde está la Residencia Patria?” They waited while the boys conferred importantly in whispers.
“Sí, madrecita. Está por allá. Por la esquina.” The taller of the two waved his arm vaguely in the direction of the next corner on the left. The
