Out of Time Read Free

offer whenever their paths crossed, and some instinct told her not to press for an answer. At the first opportunity, however, she started asking other nuns about the boy. The answers were hardly satisfactory. He was named Grigor; he had been plucked off the streets where he had been living the usual life of a child-beggar; he kept to himself, communicating with no-one; he ‘could be’ North American, but was more likely to be half-caste; he was obsessed with aeroplanes.
    Sister Josephine had the opportunity herself towitness this last idiosyncracy. Whenever the small silver wedge of an aeroplane appeared in the sky, Grigor became agitated and excited, pointing to it and jumping up and down. It was hard to tell what emotion he was expressing, as the sounds he emitted belonged to no recognisable language. Grigor spent much of his time drawing in the dirt; when the American nun knelt beside him one day to look at his drawings, she realised that they were all drawings of aircraft. She supplied him with paper and a pencil and watched, curious, as he transferred his dirt drawings to the paper. Something that had not been clear in the dust of the Mexican orphanage became apparent on the new surface: his aeroplanes were all shown in a wrecked state. They were all crashed upon the ground, with bodies strewn around them.
    As she watched Grigor, a terrible theory began to form in Sister Josephine’s mind. Supposing this was an American boy? Supposing he had been in a plane crash, surviving where others had not? Supposing he had wandered away from the wreckage before the rescuers came, so that he was presumed to have died along with his fellow-travellers? And, too young and too shocked to explain his predicament, had ended up in the streets, struggling to stay alive? The scenario was plausible; it did not require a leap of the imagination, just a few hops.
    The young nun put her theory to her supervisor. Sister Angelique heard her through, her only expression a little smile. The smile grew as the American talked, but never became mocking.
    â€˜You Americans,’ she said at last, ‘you are so romantic.’
    â€˜But,’ Sister Josephine argued, ‘it is possible.’
    â€˜Oh yes, it is possible.’
    â€˜Would you mind if I tried to find out a little more?’
    Sister Angelique considered for a long time.
    â€˜You may do so,’ she at last conceded, ‘as long as the child’s stability is not affected. And as long as you do not become distracted from your other duties. There is only room for one obsession in the Church.’
    Armed with this licence, Josephine began her search for Grigor’s past. She conducted it with as much energy as she could muster in the slow humidity of Mexico. But her energy was not matched by anyone else whom she tried to enlist. Her efforts were met with indifference or amusement. ‘Crazy gringo’ seemed to be the unspoken attitude. One street kid, what does it matter? American, Mexican, Eskimo, who cares?’ No-one seemed to have a particular memory of Grigor, nor of his antecedents.
    In desperation, as her stay in Mexico drew to a close, the sister visited the U.S. Consulate and explained the case to the Consul. The Consul listened indulgently, then threw back her head and laughed. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘That’s a new one! They didn’t brief us on that at the State Department! But you must forgive me if I say that your story, though wonderfully seductive, is a bit thin. And too far-fetched for the Diplomatic Corps!’ But she was curious enough to come out to the Maria Torreon Home to visit Grigor, who was as indifferent to her as he was to everyone else. ‘Surely,’ the Consul asked, ‘ifhe was American, he would respond more enthusiastically to you and me?’ Sister Josephine was forced to agree that this was a weakness in her case.
    On her last day the nun bought a present for the perplexing little boy.