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BEYOND THE THRESHOLD -- A LIFE IN OPUS DEI |
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4. THE TRIP TO ROME When I arrived in Madrid from Bilbao I went to live at 20, Juan Bravo Street, headquarters of the Opus Dei women's central advisory, still based in Spain. Every day I went to Lagasca to try to help assemble the items I was supposed to take to Rome. The Juan Bravo and Lagasca houses were close to each other and equidistant from my parents' home. The short walk brought back a flood of old memories. Madrid has always been dear to me. I spent the first twenty-four years of my life there. Now, after several years away, first in Villaviciosa de Odon making my formation course, then in administrations of Opus Dei residences in Cordoba, Barcelona, and Bilbao, to return to Madrid was to relive my whole life. I knew every inch of the Salamanca neighborhood. I recalled my early childhood, schooldays, student years in the Escuela de Comercio, my first dates, my fiance. As I walked the streets, I tried to put all this out of my mind, because the memories seemed to interfere with my dedication according to the spirit of Opus Dei. I realized that a numerary with good spirit had to "detach" herself from everything that stirred up emotional currents in her mind and heart. I was in Madrid only in order to gather the material I was supposed to take to Italy, where I would work close to the Father. At Lagasca I met Maria Luisa Moreno de Vega, a major superior in the Women's Branch central government. She was coming to work with me as one of Monsignor Escriva's two personal secretaries for matters related to the Women's Branch of Opus Dei worldwide. Maria Luisa had been Jose Maria Albareda's secretary at the Council of Scientific Research, when I was there as Dr. Panikkar's secretary. Maria Luisa was to go to Rome at the beginning of April. As a major superior she would fly. Since I had no government status in Opus Dei, I would go by train with Tasia, a servant numerary who was assigned to Villa Sacchetti. I would also take the heavy luggage such as a trunk and our suitcases. The post of "personal secretary to the Father" was not a government position. It was created by the Father to assist him in material things, as did the male secretaries he already had. The day Maria Luisa Moreno de Vega left for Rome, Rosario de Orbegozo asked me to accompany her and Maria Luisa to the airport. Maria Luisa was elegantly dressed for the trip and wore a very pretty, stylish hat. Since the Women's Branch had no cars in those days, Father Jose Maria Hernandez-Garnica arranged for a male numerary to drive us to the airport in a car belonging to the Men's Branch. In her rush, Maria Luisa forgot her passport and only noticed it was missing when we were near the airport. When Rosario heard Maria Luisa say she had left her passport, she panicked because it meant that Maria Luisa was going to miss the flight to Rome. Furiously, she began to strike out, crushing Maria Luisa's hat and grumbling that Maria Luisa should have been more concerned about remembering her passport than about getting a hat for the trip. The scene was absolutely comic. The male numerary could not help hearing the heated conversation in the back seat. Maria Luisa was distraught, but a nervous reaction made her laugh, and I found it difficult not to join her. The numerary chauffeur, who had maintained the most absolute silence until then, intervened: "We are going back, no?" We all assented at the same time. We returned to Lagasca. Rosario went on scolding Maria Luisa for having missed the weekly plane from Madrid to Rome. The following week, Maria Luisa's departure went smoothly. I accompanied her in a taxi, as ordered, to the Iberia bus terminal, from which passengers were transported to the airport. Since I was probably leaving Spain forever, the directress told me I could see my father every day. Going to my family home was unthinkable because my mother refused to see me as long as I remained in Opus Dei. My father and I met daily for about an hour at the Hotel Emperatriz cafeteria, which was very close to my family home. After a while, however, the directress of Juan Bravo announced that since it was Lent, it would be better if I met my father only every three to four days. I hardly saw my brothers because of the conflict between their class schedules and my free time in the afternoon; besides, they knew my mother did not want them to visit me. The family's reaction to my vocation deteriorated further with the news of my imminent departure for Rome. Conversations with my father were painful for both of us. He saw that my mother was suffering and realized that I was hurt by her attitude. My father loved me deeply; we were very much alike in much of our thinking, and I was the only daughter and the oldest child. Every time we met, my father repeated that if I had any problem in Rome, I should go to the Spanish Ambassador to the Vatican, whom he knew fairly well, and that I should not hesitate to write home to him for anything I might need. Of course, he repeated as well that if I were not happy, I should come back home, where he and my mother would receive me with open arms. One day my father told me of the audience my mother and he had had with the Pope in October 1950; they both got the impression that Pius XII had no sympathy for Opus Dei. There was another couple with them at the audience, who told the Holy Father that their son was a Jesuit. Pius XII spoke enthusiastically about the Society of Jesus and gave them a special blessing for their Jesuit son. My mother, who was very moved by the audience, began to weep. Pius XII then asked my father if they had any children and if they had problems with them. My father answered that they had no problems with their sons because they were very good. "The problem," my mother stammered between sobs, "is my daughter." Again, Pius XII addressed my father to ask what the problem was with the daughter. My mother said, "She has gone off to Opus Dei." Pius XII responded with a certain coldness. "Yes," he said tersely, "it is a recently approved secular institute." He did not say anything else. However, he was extraordinarily affectionate to my mother, and he gave both my parents his blessing while he gently caressed my mother's head. My father said that my mother remained opposed to Opus Dei because it was neither fish nor fowl. I listened but believed that my parents were twisting things in their anxiety to have me return home. An Opus Dei refrain was engraved in my mind: "Parents can sometimes be the greatest enemies of our vocation." Years later I realized the correctness of their instinctive evaluation of Opus Dei. The directress told me that, since the majority of my friends were married, it was not worth the trouble to see them in the few days I had left in Madrid. I should not even call them, advice I found difficult to accept. It would be better simply to leave notes with their names so that some other numerary could telephone them later to invite them to days of recollection. Meanwhile at the Madrid Opus Dei houses, people kept telling me how lucky I was to go to the Father's house in Rome. I must have special "connections" to have gotten such an assignment. My three weeks in Madrid were drawing to a close; my trip was scheduled for April 22, Madrid-Barcelona-Rome. My father, resigned to what was then Opus Dei practice, got me a third-class train ticket. He could not go to the station with me this time, because he had to go to London on business; he took my mother with him to lessen the tension of my departure. Father Jose Maria Hernandez-Garnica gave Tasia and me a blessing for the trip, an Opus Dei custom, and handed me some personal mail for Monsignor Escriva. I was to give it to Don Alvaro immediately on arrival. Just as we were about to leave for the station, Rosario de Orbegozo called me aside. To my astonishment she told me to lift up my skirt, because she had to attach a pouch to my waist. She told me not to ask questions and did not give the slightest explanation about the content of the pouch. She instructed me not to remove it for any reason, nor speak of it to Tasia or anyone else, but to hand it over personally to Don Alvaro del Portillo on arrival in Rome. She recommended special care at the Italian and French borders. In case they wanted to search me at any border, I should demand that international law prohibited body searches, except by female officers wearing uniform and white gloves. At first I thought that the content of that pouch would surely be some very important document of the Work, but in the excitement of departure I almost forgot about it. After checking the trunk and the suitcases through to Rome, it was a relief to get to our compartment, which we shared with an elderly French lady and a young, well-dressed Italian man, who had lived in Spain for several years and spoke Spanish fluently. Since the Madrid-Barcelona portion of the trip was at night, Tasia and I tried to sleep as much as we could. I did not sleep well, because I thought that I was probably leaving Spain for good. Once again, I was leaving my whole life behind and, this time, also my country. Still, I thought that God asked me to offer anew my life and future to him. It was like cutting the umbilical cord. I could look forward to working with the Father and be grateful for the charism of having been chosen along with Maria Luisa Moreno de Vega for this sensitive work as his secretary. Our papers were in order, and we crossed France with no problems. I remembered the pouch, but nobody thought of searching us. The coast from Spain through France to the Italian border is so beautiful that we were absorbed in looking at the Riviera and Monaco. For many years I had a dream in my heart that if I ever left Spain, it would be because the Work sent me to France. I had shared this with Monsignor Escriva in more than one of my personal letters. In Madrid they had prepared sandwiches and fruit for our trip, but no water, because they told us we could drink at fountains at the stations where the train stopped. The fact was that the train only paused briefly at these stations, allowing us no time to get off and look for a fountain. I always drink a lot of water and was very thirsty, but since they had given us no money for the trip, we could not purchase any of the soft drinks offered by the vendors who came to the windows when the train stopped. Seeing two young, pleasant-looking women, our companion must have expected that he would have a fine trip in our company. What he did not know is that Opus Dei numeraries never socialize with men, and that in situations like travel, they do not reveal their membership in Opus Dei, which frequently, as on this trip, creates confusion and embarrassment. As a normally dressed woman just past her twenty-seventh birthday, I looked like a graduate student who was going abroad. Tasia was also normally dressed. Despite her attire, it was observable that her manners and look were a bit rough. The Italian gentleman wanted to begin a conversation at all costs. I answered his questions politely. He kept trying to break the ice, but Tasia and I were trying to live up to the rules of Opus Dei, spending long intervals in the corridor of the car, and when we came back to the compartment we pretended to fall asleep. At Ventimiglia Italian police and customs agents got on board the train to check our passports and luggage. I was relaxed because we had checked the trunk and two suitcases through to Rome, so that we did not have much luggage in the compartment. Once the Italian police and customs officials got off the train, Tasia and I stayed in the corridor looking out the window at the hustle and bustle of that border station. We saw how our suitcases were loaded onto the baggage car headed for Rome, but suddenly we realized that our trunk had been set aside in the middle of the platform where the customs agents check the luggage, without the slightest appearance of being loaded onto the train. There were some ten minutes left for the train to begin when we noticed this. I did not think twice. I gave Tasia her ticket and passport and asked the Italian gentleman please to look after her during the trip; and especially in Rome where our friends would be waiting. I got off the train and flew to customs. For about three minutes, I ran between the counters of the French and Italian customs trying to discover the reason why they had not put the trunk back on the train for Rome. The response was that I would have to leave the trunk at the border and could then send for it via a customs agency, unless I immediately paid in liras or French francs an amount equivalent to some thirty American dollars. Besides, they doubted there was time to load the trunk onto the train. To my horror, I realized that since I had no foreign currency, the trunk would probably be lost or that it would be very complicated to send for it from Rome; furthermore the superiors in Madrid had instructed me that the trunk was to arrive in Rome with me. Suddenly, I thought of the pouch and wondered if it might hold some money. Rosario de Orbegozo's strict order not to undo or touch that pouch flashed through my mind, but at the same time the biblical passage of the consecrated loaves of offering came to mind and I ducked into a filthy bathroom and ripped open the pouch. To my amazement, it contained thousands and thousands of American dollars. Trembling, I took out only fifty dollars not wanting to know what an enormous quantity of money I carried. So I paid the Franco-Italian customs and insisted that the customs agents put the trunk on the train. I ran across the tracks and headed toward the train which was just beginning to move. Tasia wept, thinking she had been left alone because I would not be able to get on the moving train. In fact, I reached the stairs to the door of one of the last cars. Meanwhile the Italian gentleman had witnessed the scene and ran down the corridor of the train toward the door I was trying to reach and with all his strength helped me get on board the train, which by then was moving quite fast. I thanked him cordially and a friendly conversation followed. Besides being out of breath after sprinting for the train, I was upset at having opened the pouch and wondered what Don Alvaro would say when he realized I had found out that I was carrying so much money. When I think back today and realize that I had crossed the boundaries of three countries with that package of money, I am horrified that Opus Dei dared utilize its members, exposing them to violations of international law. How could any police officer believe that I did not know that I carried foreign currency? As someone who had attained her majority, I would personally have suffered any penalty that might have been imposed in Spain for exporting money without permission or in France and Italy for not declaring it. Monsignor Escriva with some important member of Opus Dei -- we never knew who -- went to visit Franco during this period. In the course of the conversation, he let slip that they were building the Roman College of the Holy Cross in Rome and that they would need to bring funds from Spain for the construction. Franco, a native from the northwestern region of Galicia, whose inhabitants are legendary for their astuteness, simply ignored the hint. Following the old Spanish saying, "he who warns does not betray" (Quien avisa no es traidor), Monsignor Escriva then requested Opus Dei major superiors in Spain to send him large-scale financial assistance so that he could meet his obligations to outsiders. Opus Dei in Spain was bled to help Rome. Since there were no official channels to transmit this money openly, given the Franco regime's monetary policy, "discreet" methods were used including the diplomatic pouch or some similar method. In Rome we all knew that there was a weekly mail delivery from Spain, that is to say, someone brought confidential papers. Today I have no doubt that such persons illegally or ignorantly as in my case may have also brought some quantity of foreign currency. As we came closer to Rome, the Italian gentleman asked questions such as, "What do you plan to do in Italy?" My logical answer was, "To study Italian." I tried to be as vague as possible, but the questions continued: "Where in Italy?" "In Rome." "Where will you live in Rome?" "In a students' residence." "What is its name?" "I don't know," I answered. "My friends will tell me when they come for me tonight at the station. Questions and evasions continued. Naturally, I didn't give him any address. I limited myself to explaining, in order not to appear too odd, that I believed the residence was in the Parioli, but that since I was unfamiliar with Rome, I might be confused. Realizing it was not very easy to have a conversation with me, he kindly offered me some Italian magazines he had brought, for we also lacked any reading material. I accepted them courteously. What this man could not even conceive is that they were the first magazines that fell into my hands since 1950. I had great curiosity and interest to leaf through them, especially because they were Italian. They were illustrated magazines, not pornographic in the slightest, which did not mean that there was not an occasional more or less suggestive photograph. I took extra care so that Tasia would not see those photographs, and I spent some minutes trying to find out if I could understand written Italian. With the excuse of our going out to the corridor, I left the magazines on the seat. The hours went by and we arrived at Stazione Termine in Rome. It was eleven o'clock P.M., April 23, 1952. Waiting for us on the platform were Iciar Zumalde who had done the Los Rosales formation course with me, and Mary Carmen Sanchez-Merino from Granada, whom I did not know. It struck me that Stazione Termine was not as noisy as Spanish stations, and they pointed out that the phenomenon was a result of the material used for the floor. We got a taxi for ourselves and all our luggage, trunk included. Rome seemed attractively lit to me, but I was so tired and thirsty that the only thing I desired was to get to the house and drink water. After some twenty minutes, we arrived in front of the house that seemed small to me, because from the threshold, one could only see three windows and a kind of little roof. It was Via di Villa Sacchetti, 36, the headquarters of the Opus Dei Women's Branch in Rome.
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