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not submit her orphan boys to some experiment that a silly cuckold king had no doubt been talked into by his vixen wife and her lover, that shameless tramp of a prime minister. “Indeed, Don Francisco, perhaps you should not mention that this is a
royal
decree.” Another secret between us.
    Our visitor cocked his head, studying me. A small smile touched his lips. “I see,” he said at last. “But who shall I say sent me?”
    â€œDid you not say His Holiness had blessed the procedure?” This was most unsettling! To be devising a stratagem to sway my benefactress—and with a stranger, no less! But I confess that what I felt was a sensation of pleasurable surrender to whatever good or bad angel was leading me on.
    Our visitor was nodding. “Perhaps, Doña Isabel, it would be better if you could speak with your benefactress … in preparation.” He hesitated as if in acknowledgment that he was sending me first into the lion’s den.
    In the silence that followed, we could hear the boys singing the Ave Maria. Far off, the cook and porter were setting the long tables. I could hear the clatter of bowls, the clang of spoons. The meals, the prayers, the lessons, the globe spinning under my fingers: Africa, China, Mexico. Every day the same. The small round of my daily life tightened like a noose about my neck. Again, I felt I could not breathe.
    Don Francisco was waiting.
    â€œI will speak with her.” My voice was firm, but my heart was a wild bird trapped in the small, empty room of my life. “I will explain everything and prepare her for your interview.”
    Even in the dim light that fell from the tall windows, I could see the worry lines on his brow relax. “I would be most grateful,” he began.
    â€œBut I will ask for a favor back.”
    Again, he cocked his head, bemused, waiting.
    As he had been speaking, the idea had taken hold inside me. Later, I would tell Doña Teresa that it was Don Francisco who requested this. But I was the one who asked this favor of Don Francisco. I wanted to be a part of the noble purpose he had described. “You must take me with you,” I said.
    He did not immediately answer me. It was difficult to read his face in the dark room. I waited, I could feel the perspiration on my face, under my arms, between my breasts. My whole body seemed to be weeping—with joy or sorrow, I could not tell. I had chosen to change my life. Was this even possible? Perhaps only God in his wisdom had the power to do so, sending down his messenger with a divine invitation.
    â€œIt is not the custom for a woman to accompany these expeditions,” he said finally.
    â€œSomeone must take care of the boys.” I, now, was the one persuading. “I have been assigned three assistants, three nurses, three practitioners, men all of them, to be sure—”
    â€œAnd these boys need a woman’s touch.” I finished his sentence. Myboldness had indeed grown in the course of our interview. “It will go a long way to convincing Doña Teresa to say the rectoress will go with our boys.”
    â€œI see,” he said again. “The boys will need a woman’s touch,” he repeated, as if he had just thought up this idea himself. There was a smile in his voice. Already we were working together to save the world by removing whatever impediment Doña Teresa might put in our way.
    Before he departed, Don Francisco asked that I begin sorting the boys; all those who had suffered the smallpox or been exposed to it must be weeded out. If there was the slightest doubt, the boy must be eliminated. One or two wrong choices and the expedition could be imperiled. He had calculated that exactly twenty-two carriers would be needed to cross the ocean and provide for a first round of vaccinations once we reached land. Two must be vaccinated at a time lest the vaccine not take in one or the other and the precious cure be lost. In the