Elena Poniatowska - Leonora

‘Hey, hey — you aren’t a little girl any more. Fancy running about like that!’

But yes, Leonora is an abandoned child, what’s happening to her is quite enough to make her lose her reason.

‘What reason? What’s this reason they all keep talking about?’ She pulls up short in front of a young man dressed in overalls, staring at her curiously before saying, in Spanish:

‘Good afternoon.’

‘Are you Alberto , my magic horse, possessed of mysterious powers to climb up and down the cosmic tree?’

‘Perhaps I am,’ and he smiles.

‘Where am I?’ she asks him.

‘In Spain,’ he replies.

‘The vegetation is a lot like in Ireland, despite the fact that the people I see around me make me think that I’m on another planet.’

‘This is another world inhabited by a different civilisation,’ the man continues, still smiling.

‘And as for Alice, where is she? Because I think I’ve fallen down the same bottomless rabbit hole.’

The carer catches up with her and explains that the young man is a gardener working at the asylum, among the various pavilions housing radiography, the solarium, the Villa Pilar, the Villa Covadonga, the library, the administration offices, the garden alongside the dining rooms for the admin offices, and the consulting rooms for Doctors Mariano and Luis Morales. She points out the door through which the father and son come to work and there, at the end, stands the finest of all the pavilions and the most modern, the convalescent home that everyone there calls Down Below, since it is the door to freedom.

DR. MARIANO MORALES’ FAME spread far and wide, and Frau Asegurado and the rest of the nurses and orderlies take great pride in propagating it.

‘This estate is his property,’ conjectures the German nurse, ‘and it extends as far as Peñacastillo. As well as the central citadel, Don Mariano had the pavilions built to his personal specifications and under his personal supervision. He is clearly concerned not simply for the health of his patients but also because he wants them to have space in which to relax, where they can occupy themselves in drawing, painting and playing the piano. He is a specialist in mental pathology, and renowned throughout Europe. As is his son. So calm down, you are in the best of hands, and now we are going to sit down,’ and she takes Leonora by the arm.

‘You’re talking of the Doctors Morales as if they were gods.’

‘They are, for they will determine your fate,’ and the nurse pulls a hideous smile.

‘Rather than be in their hands, I’d far prefer to be in Alberto’s arms, and he’s a doctor too.’

The nurse affects not to hear her.

‘I would like to draw a map of the different pavilions, although I would prefer to give them different names such as Jerusalem, Africa, Amachu and Egypt, in order to feel that I can travel to other continents. Can you obtain some paper and pencil for me to draw the map?’

‘Patients tend to aspire towards the impossible,’ the nurse replies.

Leonora agrees to sit down on a bench, the sheet of paper on her lap. She draws a confusing labyrinth incorporating disparate places, through which she hopes to find a way back to St. Martin d’Ardèche, Crookhey Hall, Hazelwood, or her flat on the Rue Jacob, all set among trees and towers, staircases, bars and crosses, tracing a lengthy and shaky wall to encompass all the pavilions.

‘It’s the only hope I have of not losing the way.’

The nurse has grown bored with the efforts of her patient, who keeps repeating in anguish:

‘I have to find the way.’

‘The way to the light?’ enquires the nurse, with irony.

To her surprise, someone behind the thick railings of the pavilion Down Below calls out to her:

‘Leonora, Leonora.’

Stupefied, Leonora asks: ‘Who are you?’

‘Alberto!’

The doctor who so loves her is in Santander, in order to carry her away.

Leonora starts running like a deer, gathering strength and agility and jumping with joy among the apple trees.

‘Alberto loves me. Alberto!’

Frau Asegurado is unable to see any Alberto. Now out of breath, she has lost control of Leonora and the auxiliary, Piadosa, appears with Moro, a black dog, in her wake. Leonora runs faster and further than anyone, she gallops like a mare again. Alberto has come for her, the best thing that could possibly happen.

The chase is directed by a tall fat man thundering after her, whom Leonora recognises as a powerful type. ‘He’s the one who will give the order to stop my persecution.’ Reassured, she retraces her steps and, on confronting him, notices that he has protruding eyes that dissect her with blue rays, just like Van Ghent’s did. No doubt this man with pale eyes who is holding out his hand to her is in cahoots with the gang of all those at Imperial Chemical.

Leonora darts off again, leaving him standing there with his hand held out. She is the mare of the night, no-one can touch her, her black hair streams behind her and the doctor enjoys the chase up until the point where, at a bend in the path, two male nurses appear named José and Santos, and proceed to throw themselves at her. José is tall and athletic; Santos robust and clean-shaven. Leonora measures up to her attackers, distributing kicks, for her desperation gives her supernatural strength. Finally the male nurses fling a breathless Leonora at the feet of Don Luis. José pins down her torso, while Santos and Frau Asegurado take care of her arms and legs. The nurse makes use of a moment of inattention to stick a needle in her. What are they injecting into her? By what right can they do this? No sooner have they released her than she launches herself like a wild beast upon Dr. Luis Morales, pounding him on the chest, scratching him until he bleeds, until Santos comes up behind her and grabs her by the neck. Luis Morales scarpers, adjusts his white coat, and frog-marches Leonora into the Villa Covadonga.

José and Santos tie her down naked to the bed. Don Luis enters the room and studies her. Leonora asks why they are holding her prisoner and treating her so badly. The doctor vanishes without replying to her questions.

‘Don Luis is your doctor,’ Frau Asegurado informs her.

‘Does he live here?’

‘No.’

‘This is the first time I’ve seen him and I can’t remember a thing.’ Leonora is afraid, and swears to herself that from now on no-one else will come into her room to interrogate her. How many more things can happen to her over which she has no control?

That night, Leonora forces herself to stay awake, solely by willpower. She keeps repeating: ‘I won’t let them take possession of me again, I won’t let them annihilate me,’ until she sees Frau Asegurado come in and untie her.

‘Here, take your medicine,’ and she holds out a pill and a glass of water.

‘What is it?’

‘Disinfectant.’

‘What is this medicine called?’

‘I’ve already told you. Swallow it.’

‘No, I am not going to take anything when I don’t know what it is.’

‘The person in charge here is the doctor.’

‘No, I am in charge of myself.’

‘In which case we shall have to give you another injection.’

‘I won’t tolerate even one more injection, nor that you block my path every time I try to take a step.’

Leonora jumps off her bed and runs across the room to lock herself in the bathroom. Her weight is so strong against the door that Frau cannot open it, and calls for Dr. Luis Morales.

‘If you do not take your medicine, we shall be obliged to give you another injection, and your body is already badly bruised. Kindly do yourself the favour of obeying.’