Saving the World by Julia Álvarez

scourge.”
    We?
He spoke in a hushed voice as if this were a secret between us, a task only we were equal to. Indeed, the intensity of his manner was awakening a kindred intensity in me. The black cloud was lifting, and a path was opening, a path which a dozen years ago had led me to this very place. I had, after all, come to this foundling house not just to hide my face but to save the world, by loving the most forgotten of God’s children.
    â€œOur problem is this, Doña Isabel. I will be frank. There is only one true way to keep the vaccine alive. Oh, other methods have been tried.” He dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Dipping threads in pus and then sealing them between glass or putting a drop of the liquid itself on the glass. None have survived the long transport. The properties of the vaccine deteriorate easily in warmer climes. We have only one recourse: live carriers sequentially vaccinated—”
    â€œWe?” This time I had spoken out loud.
    â€œYes, His Royal Highness has requested that La Coruña House of Found lings provide me with two dozen or so boys to be our living carriers—”
    For shame! To use the most unfortunate and helpless of beings—orphan children—as subjects for this most questionable enterprise. The man was mad. I would not allow it, even if a king called for it! And to think I had been almost swept into agreement by this stranger’s intensity. Satan, too, was a master of persuasion, so Father Ignacio had reminded me. Looking up, I spied the angel Gabriel descending from the court of heaven with his cruel annunciation. Was there no mercy in the world?
    Our visitor raised a quizzical eyebrow, as if sensing my disapproval. “I can assure you no harm will come to the carriers. I would infect my own child were I fortunate enough to have one.”
    I had almost succeeded in shutting out his arguments, but this last remark was a foot in the door. He, too, had no issue. Perhaps he, too, was alone in the world?
It is difficult to lose those dear to us,
he had said. He, too, had devoted himself to the service of others to forget an enormous loss.
    â€œYou will need to talk to our benefactress, Doña Teresa Gallego de Marcos,” I said hurriedly, for I was feeling unequal to judge the arguments of this intense man. Doña Teresa was no friend of our king. She would not give in easily to this questionable request.
    â€œOut of courtesy, I will speak to your benefactress, of course. But this is the king’s order,” he reminded me. He picked up a scroll that lay beside his hat and reached across the table with it.
    As if it were the smallpox itself, I would not touch it. “I trust your word,” I said, refusing the proffered document. Rather he think I could not read than that I was defying a messenger of the king. “I can do nothing for you, Don Francisco. I am only the rectoress. I serve. I follow orders.” Each additional excuse was an admission that I was having difficulty refusing him.
    â€œI, too, only serve,” he observed quietly. “It is why we are all here,” he added. He had lowered his voice again as if this were a secret we shared, this understanding that we were here on this earth for a nobler purpose than to be feverish little clods full of ailments and grievances. Indeed, our true joy lay in allowing ourselves to be used for a mighty purpose. His words reminded me of what I had forgotten, dulled by habit, preoccupied by the dark flock of my own sorrows.
    â€œWhat part is it you find most questionable, Doña Isabel?” He was asking
me.
What do my objections have to do with it? I thought of asking.
    He must have sensed my timidity, for he went on. “Using these unfortunate boys, is that how you think of it?”
    â€œIf I do not protect them, then who will?” I had tried to keep passion from my voice, but I had failed.
    Our visitor nodded in vigorous agreement.