I went back to drawing and in a few minutes she came over and said "Now, come." She brought me, together with the Spanish couple who had come in earlier, out of the museum and to the tall, barred gate in front of the church, which she opened with a huge, old fashioned iron key on a massive ring. She directed us first to the right, opening the door into a separate chapel from the church proper, and handed us each a brief printed guide to the features of the chapel and church, mine in English. I had thought I was getting special treatment, until I saw the worn photocopied sheet of paper. Still, I was thrilled.

She gave us a few minutes to read, keeping an eye on the street, then gave a short description in Spanish and answered the questions of the couple, some of which I could follow. She then ushered us into the church itself, leaving us to follow our guides for several minutes. We wandered quietly in the silence, the Spanish couple talking occasionally in low tones out of respect and probably equally out of awareness of a silent red coated, white haired figure seated in the first row, facing the altar. This person never turned around, and was so motionless that I didn't at first realize we weren't the only people there. None of us went closer to the altar than the second or third row of benches.

The young woman came back and we joined her near the door of the church in a column of late afternoon sunlight, the Spanish couple both asking questions and making appreciative comments, and the young woman answering. I could follow maybe half, but when I occasionally stopped straining to understand, I was able to simply enjoy the pleasure of their soft Castilian accented speech. I can only say that they sounded profoundly, wonderfully civilized to me. The Spaniards took me in with their glances and smiles, including me whether they believed I understood or not.

I understood when they pointed to the ceiling and admired the roughly cut square stones set into the vault, with their peculiar red and ochre abstract decoration of swipes and concentric circles. The young woman said that they were not painted, but were natural and came only from a certain region not far away. Annette and I saw this stone later, in the mountains on our way to Guadalupe.

We had stood there together for a long time, until the increased number of pauses in the conversation began to mean it was time to go and we were moving toward the door. It was then we heard the sound of an organ from the empty apse of the church. The young woman whispered "the nuns will begin their vespers," and seemed to be deciding to let us stay to listen. She nodded, and we quietly took seats in the rear of the church as she exited, closing the door behind her. We had been told the nuns never enter the church, always taking the service unseen from behind the iron grilled opening in the wall to the left of the altar. Their music came floating out to us, one thin voice intoning the prayer, and the rest the responsus. The singers were few, and it was possible to hear the qualities of each voice, not all of them tuneful. The organist, too, lacked the intentional polish of a performer. The musicians seemed to have the unworldly quality of being without awareness or concern that anyone else (on earth) might be listening.

The simple office didn't last long; only several minutes. When it ended, we three got up and moved to join the young woman who had come back in the door. The Spaniards were as moved as I was. When our eyes met, all were shining. No more questions. We left and the young woman wielding the huge key, let us out of the gate, the couple, the red-coated person and me. She motioned me to stay with her as she stepped into the street and locked it again.

She asked if I had had time to finish the drawing. I knew it was past closing time, and I told her I could finish it without having to see the cell. She asked me to show it to her again, and asked what was lacking - it looked finished to her. I pointed out where shadows needed to be added and sketchy details completed. Then, would I bring it back when I was finished so she could see it? Yes, I would with pleasure. She seemed a bit excited, and reluctant to let me go. "You can ask me any questions" about the nuns, the church, the cloister. Wow. I told her I couldn't think of any at that moment, and didn't try to say it would have been difficult for me to figure out how to ask them in any case, so I told her I'd think about it and bring my questions back to her.

She smiled. I said goodbye, it was a pleasure meeting her and offered my hand. She said "no," and embraced me the Spanish way, kissing on both cheeks. I asked her name. It's Loli. We parted smiling and waving, in opposite directions into the street. That evening I sat for an hour on my bed in el hostal del Rastro and finished the drawing.