Teresa, My Love: An Imagined Life of the Saint of Avila

LAURENCIA. That was our agreed strategy. You are being petty. (Normal voice.) True, Fr. Gratian drafted the Constitutions for the discalced friars.⁹ (Silly voice.) He was plainly helped by our Divine Majesty, and our Lady had clearly chosen him for the task of restoring Her Order. Of course, wretched sinner that I am, I strove to hide my imperfections from my daughters — although my flaws are so many that they must have noticed some. For instance, my affection for Paul, not the same today as it was, perhaps, but it persists.…(Tragic voice, reading.) And the concern I have for him. “I often point out to them how necessary he is for the order and that I am under an obligation — as if I could act otherwise if I didn’t have this reason.”¹⁰

SYLVIA LECLERCQ. I see. Not only was he useful to you, you loved him. (She advances a simplistic, coarse interpretation, as one does with smart-ass patients who try to hide their cards. Take it from me, such patients are conscious of all sorts of things that are assumed to be unconscious!)

Teresa has stopped listening, doesn’t reply, plays dead. The psychologist, somewhat embarrassed, circles the bed. Not a flicker. Sylvia withdraws, resigned. La Madre remains with her Pablo-Paul-Joanes-Eliseus.

Isabel de Santo Domingo walks across the stage.

LA MADRE. You’ve come to say goodbye, dear child, God be blessed, I was expecting you. You met Fr. Gratian when he was a student, and I know it was you who steered him toward the Carmelites. In short, I met him thanks to God…and to you! (Quick smile.) “I had never seen perfection combined with so much gentleness.”¹¹ You feel the same way, I know. (Lingering smile. Lips.) Go in peace!

(She turns to the wall. Not dreaming, but rereading her life.)

ANGELA, reading, with a little smile. “I am now very old and tired, but not in my desires.”¹²

LAURENCIA. For pity’s sake, write to me! She has a point, that psychologist: why don’t you write? (Tragic voice.) I stand up to the censors, I do battle with Nuncio Sega here and with Nicolo Doria there, all for the sake of our joint work, and also to please you, but you leave me to pine.…If at least you’d give up the fight, and give me up, cleanly. But instead you maneuver, you’re equivocal; another sign of your genius, no doubt. I beg of you, write me, Padre, instructing plainly what I must and must not do. (Imploringly.) It’s not fair of you to touch on these matters so confusedly. And also you must pray for me, a lot.…I am surprised you don’t tire of me; I suppose God permits it so that I can bear a life in which I enjoy so little health or satisfaction, apart from what pertains to you. (Pause.) Lord, I well remember having written that to my Eliseus. And this: if, by wounding me, they wound my Paul no matter how slightly, I cannot bear it. I was not upset in anything that concerned me.…There, that’s how I lived my life. (Raises hands and holds them before eyes.) Love will never be a sickness.…I hope that little psychologist who was trying to guilt-trip me has left. It’s obvious the silly woman has never read the First Epistle of John (3:14): “He that loveth not his brother abideth in death.” I’ve read it. Pablo and I, we knew that.…For charity, write to me, mi padre! (Broad smile.)

(Silence from Jerome Gratian. He will not respond to the woman on the brink of death.)

LAURENCIA. Is he still in Seville? Traveling through Andalusia? (Silly voice.) With María de San José? Or Beatriz de la Madre de Dios? What do women want, cloistered or not? A father to reign over, of course. But a man? Jesus, in his sacred humanity? What does a man want? To be loved by women, so as to escape from his brothers and be elected by the father? My mind is wandering.…The Dominican Juan de la Cueva, an eminently sensible man, observed that Gratian had a tendency to act alone, without consulting others. (Suddenly vehement.) Did my Paul think he was some kind of spoiled Infant King? He didn’t even come back for the solemn vows of Lorenzo’s daughter at Avila, although I begged him to, and poor little Teresita was so looking forward to it. Where are you, Eliseus dear? (Silence from Paul.)

ANGELA. I’m talking to you, pleading with you. Laurencia does not often enjoy her confessor, Paul, whom the Lord gave to her, because in the midst of so many troubles he is always far away.…

(Silence from Paul.)