Foreword
In 1968, I discovered a bizarre image. Crafted in wood and iron, it seemed, at
first, a typical enough symbol of Brazil`s baroque religious heritage. Cleansed by the
restorer`s art, however, the rugged wood and polished metal seemed to tell a quite
different tale.
The image, only a foot in length, had never been displayed in any museum, although
its artistic merit was evident. Nor, for obvious reasons, had it ever been claimed by
ecclesiastical authorities.
I discovered it while laboring at the new famous, or to some infamous, Convent of
the Angels (Convento dos Anjos) archaeological site in southern Bahia, a remote Brazilian
locale noted chiefly for intense heat and lush forest.
At first, no one at the site would venture an explanation for the image. It was as
if everyone involved in the excavation, by general consent, had decided to deny the
grotesque symbolism of the haunting wood-and-metal artifact.
Weeks later, a lengthy manuscript was uncovered at the site. Written in
straightforward, though somewhat stilted nineteenth century Portuguese, it confirmed all
of our most disturbing thoughts about the image. Indeed, it is the image`s natural
companion as an historical and artistic artifact.
Almost certainly authored by a cleric, probably a visiting Italian or Portuguese
monk, the manuscript details what was apparently an ecclesiastical investigation of
bizarre events at the convent. (History tells us only that an investigation took place,
followed by the closing of the Convent in 1888)
Clearly, the world of 1968 was unprepared for anything as spectral as the Convent of
the Angels story. Both the image and the manuscript have been in safe keeping under
museum-like conditions at a private home near Rio de Janeiro since that fateful year.
But today`s world may finally be ready for such a tale. The original Convent of the
Angels manuscript, its archaic language adapted for contemporary readers in a new
translation, follows. Let God be my witness, I believe everything it recounts to be true!
--Antonio Brasil
--Rio de Janeiro, 2006
To His Excellency, Dom Marcos Antonio Barbosa Lima dos Santos Albuquerque Cavalcanti
e Souza Lima, My Lord Archbishop of Salvador, Protector of the Indians, Superior-general
of the Order of the Saints, Brother of the Third Order of Saint Francis and Primate of the
Brazils, My Lord, greetings! The authentic record of our investigations of the events at
the Convent of the Angels, in the southern parish of the archdiocese of Salvador, Bahia,
based upon interviews of principals and personal observation of the most horrid and
infamous perversions, follows. We pledge its honest and complete truth. Amen.
--Salvador
--May 17, 1888
Chapter One-The New Proctor
When Sister Maria Jose came to the Convent of the Angels as Proctor, her first act was to
disguise herself as a simple novice.
One day she appeared among the other novices, reciting their prayers with them,
performing the small, arduous tasks which are a novice`s lot, then giggling at their
girlish jokes and complaints during meals at the refractory. She was young, even
innocent-looking, and blended in easily.
But a week later she was gone.
Mother Superior explained her absence as `mediation.`
In fact, Sister Maria Jose was preparing her strategy for discreet observation of
all the Convent`s myriad activities, especially those pertaining to the novices. During
the day, she slept or prayed quietly in her room. At night, she wandered the vast grounds
and twisting corridors of the fortress-like Convent. She noticed whose cells were
illuminated by dancing candlelight after dark. She learned to identify the giggles of
certain novices who exchanged one cell for another, night after night, visiting their
comrades for companionship, laughter and perhaps drink or worse.
One night, she wandered into the pantry, a room of high ceilings, heavy wooden beams
and shelves stocked generously with goods of all descriptions. A rough-hewn table of
jacaranda wood, covered with gleaming pots and pans, stood in the middle of the room.
A tradesman`s entrance led to an alley. Sister Maria Jose noticed the low, wooden
door was ajar. She decided to hide behind a row of stone water jars in hopes of
discovering the mystery of the half-open door.
She did not have to wait long.
A novice she recognized as Sister Demian stole into the room bearing a candle.
Sister Demian paused for an instant then scurried to the entranceway, where she motioned
with quick, jerky hand signals to someone in the alley.
A man`s shadow filled the narrow entrance hall, then slowly advanced across the
flagging of the pantry. He was of average height. Young and muscular, he sported a
two-day growth of beard.
Sister Demian hummed softly to herself. Distractedly, she placed the flickering
candle on a shelf. Her hands were a ghostly blur, then in a single, swift motion, she
tore her cream-colored habit off, letting it slide with a shush half way across the stone
floor.
Sister Maria Jose, huddled and uncomfortable in her hiding place behind the jars,
caught her breath in astonishment.
Sister Demian was now naked from the waist up. She turned toward the man,
who was facing her from across the table. She smiled then fiddled with the thick, gray
belt of her undergarment. A kind of billowing petticoat, it too fell to the floor.
She smiled again, offering the man an affable, mocking curtsy. Then she kicked off
the white canvass slippers worn by all novices and began fussing with her skullcap.
Slowly, she unwound the gauzy ribbons that held it in place, letting them curl into a pile
on the floor. Absentmindedly, she fluffed her hair then met the man`s gaze again.
Thus did Sister Demian`s lover come to behold her extraordinary nakedness.
And so did the shocked Proctor of the Convent of the Angels.
Sister Demian was not more than 20 but her face, somewhat heart-shaped with a
smooth, broad forehead tapering to a narrow chin, was hard. Sister Maria Jose could just
make out the naked girl`s expression. It was feline and cunning. Her eyes were narrow
slits. Her mouth was half-open, the lower lip pouting and slightly swelled. Tangles of
light-colored hair wreathed her face. She looked like the kind of girl who would spit and
claw in a fight.
Sister Demian was of average height. As she leaned against the well-provided
shelves of the pantry, she cocked one knee, letting her lover savor the smooth, pale
expanse of her inner thigh.
His gaze must have risen from the faint, shadowy dimples of her knee along that
saintly thigh to her Venus Mound because he sighed, loud enough for Sister Maria Jose to
be startled, and began fiddling with his belt buckle. Within moments he had shed his
tunic-like blouse and kicked his trousers, the belt buckle jangling like a cowbell, to the
far side of the pantry.
Now, he too stood naked in the presence of his lover. The man`s chest, covered by a
mass of curly hair, heaved with excitement. His member thrust upward and slightly to one
side from his pelvis. It seemed to throb and rotate in time with his excited breathing.
Sister Demian smiled her joyless, feline smile. Then, rotating her hips slowly, she
began to entice her lover. Her nether globes brushed against the shelves making a
sandpapery sound, the furry V of her Venus Mound pushing forward, then receding into
shadows.
Sister Demian was lean but shapely. As she gyrated, her right hip would thrust
forward, revealing the long, supple expanse of her thigh and she would suck in her belly,
the taut muscles framing her shadowy slit of a navel.
Sister Maria Jose was both shocked and fascinated by the spectacle. She had never
seen anything like it but, when she glanced back to the naked novice`s lover, her shock
and degradation were completed. He had advanced to the head
of the pantry table. His throbbing penis stuck out from his tangle of dark pubic hair
like the arrow on the Convent`s weather vane. And worse. It seemed to rotate in
synchrony with Sister Demian`s licentious gyrations.
At length, Sister Demian ran her own hands up the smooth, pale skin of her
nakedness, first the thighs, then the Venus Mound, then the belly and chest, finally
clawing for a hold on one of the shelves high above her head. She closed her eyes and
continued her rhythmic gyrations, but this time with her chest thrusting forward with each
breath, her ribs suddenly pressing against her skin, her small, firm breasts jiggling from
side to side.
It was then that her lover first touched her, tracing with his hands the same erotic
map across her body she herself had, then pressing his lips gently against her rising and
lowering breasts. She stiffened for a moment, letting out a subdued cry, then continued
her gyrations. The lover first kissed, then seemed to mold and bite Sister Demian`s
breasts, bringing more sighs and whimpers from the novice.
At length, he drew away, as if to survey his handiwork. Sister Demian`s nipples had
been teased and sucked into firm brown disks. The tip of each nipple stood erect,
dark-coral colored and rigid. The distended areolas flared into a ring of white spikes.
The skin of her chest and belly seemed to ripple with tension.
Then the lovers kissed, Sister Demian finally lowering her arms to embrace and
caress her lover.
Sister Maria Jose was in for one final shock. Sister Demian`s lover suddenly turned
and, with a single swift motion, swept the collection of gleaming pots and pans from the
table. Sister Demian giggled but her laughter was nearly drowned out by the clatter of
the kitchenware on the bare stone floor.
Then, almost daintily, Sister Demian used a footstool to mount the creaking wooden
table. At first, she sat gingerly on the edge, then, gaining confidence, she stretched
herself along its rough wooden surface, her legs dangling from one end and her arms
extending high over her head nearly to the other. She grappled for a moment among the
table slats, finally finding two broad fissures where her hands could grasp the wood.
Sister Maria Jose felt the novice`s odd position was not an unfamiliar one for her.
Thus, her lover was offered another view of Sister Demian`s astonishing, lean
nakedness. Lying on the table with her arms stretched back, her belly formed a long, deep
curve. Her chest rose and fell in breathless rhythm and her love mound, still half hidden
by shadows, began to thrust up and down enticingly, for an instant revealing her pink
labia and clitoris, then winking them away again.
The lover quickly pulled two footstools toward the table, then he whispered
something into Sister Demian`s ear and she placed one foot on each stool. This too looked,
to Sister Maria Jose, like a familiar procedure.
Her feet balanced securely on the stools, Sister Demian spread her legs. Her lover
plunged with his tongue into her moist slit. Sister Maria Jose could hear the quiet
shushing sound of his labors. She could see his head, covered with dark, curly hair,
bobbing up and down as he licked.
Sister Demian began to gyrate, her nether globes rising from the table as she arched
her back then meeting the surface again with a slap. She rolled her head, sighing and
whimpering. Sister Maria Jose could see she was biting her lower lip. Her nipples
flashed from side to side like pink and white sparks as she writhed on the table.
At length, her lover stood up and, without further preparation or hesitancy, thrust
his throbbing cockhead deep into Sister Demian`s slit. She gulped air with a sharp cry
then seemed to stop breathing for a moment. The man began to thrust in and out, his belly
gleaming with sweat. When Sister Demian started breathing again, it was in short, quick
bursts, faster and faster, accompanied by sharp cries and whimpers.
Finally, the lover grabbed both sides of the table and, in a final thrust, spewed
ichor into the deepest recesses of Sister Demian`s womanhood. She uttered a sharp scream,
then encircled her lover`s hips with her legs in an almost violent embrace. The man
tumbled with a grunt, half-exhausted, on top of her.
Sister Maria Jose could hear the lovers panting, then sighing and whispering to each
other. Suddenly, the candle guttered out in a shower of sparks. This made Sister Demian
giggle.
Sister Maria Jose decided she had seen and heard enough. She crept from her hiding
place and, unnoticed by the exhausted lovers, reentered the labyrinth of the Convent.
Sister Demian was brought before The Disciplinary Tribunal the next day.
Two young novices accompanied her to the room, an austere lodge located in one of
the Convent`s towers. Sister Demian soon learned the novices were acting as bailiffs for
the tribunal, not as friends or witnesses for her. Still, the novices seemed frightened.
Sister Demian was surprised to see the missing Sister Maria Jose, who was now garbed
not in the cream-colored habit of a novice but rather in the long, brown veil and dangling
rosary of a nun. She soon learned that Sister Maria Jose was Proctor and, as such, in
charge of the education and discipline of all novices.
`I`ve been doing some research,` said Sister Maria Jose, with a note of sarcasm.
`And I don`t like what I`ve learned...starting with you.`
The young novices began to whisper at this. Sister Maria Jose shushed them until
they cringed. Sister Demian stared at her accuser with fiery eyes. She didn`t move.
The other two tribunal members entered the lodge. It was midday. The sun was
already pouring its tropical heat onto the thick, sand-colored walls of the Convent. The
lodge was mildewed and hot. The bare desk, with three wooden chairs set behind it, was
bathed in sunlight as Mother Superior and another nun, aged Sister Roberta, entered.
Mother Superior was famous for her austere expression. The encroachment of jowls
and puffy bags under her eyes in late middle age had made her appearance that much more
severe. However, under the coarse exterior was a humble, even amiable personality. Her
twinkling eyes were almost as famous as her nearly permanent frown. Many a novice had
been surprised by her pronouncements, expecting violent condemnation but instead receiving
kind words of encouragement and forgiveness.
Sister Roberta was a crone. Broken-hearted by a false lover, she had come to the
Convent decades before as an angry, rebellious novice. In her early years, she became all
too familiar with the workings of The Disciplinary Tribunal, appearing before it often and
enduring its punishments. At length, such treatment had broken her spirit. Now, she was
a pious, bickering hag, perennially relegated to the small, pointless tasks and minor
affairs of the Convent. No one knew her age and she refused to tell anyone how many years
she had spent at the Convent.
Sister Maria Jose felt certain she could influence the aged, cranky Sister Roberta.
She was less confident about Mother Superior. However, under Convent rules, a majority
vote was all that was needed to condemn a novice. As Proctor, Sister Maria Jose would
then be free to set punishment. Even Mother Superior was powerless when it came to the
disciplining of novices.
Sister Maria Jose stated her accusation plainly. She related in detail all that she
herself had observed in the pantry the night before.
`Your lover has already admitted everything, so there`s no use denying it,` said
Sister Maria Jose, staring directly into the young novice`s eyes. `He has been remitted
into the custody of civil authorities in the village. They will deal with him...justly.`
With surprising spirit, Sister Demian said she did not wish to deny anything. This
set the two bailiffs to whispering again in the shadows.
`Silence!` shouted Sister Maria Jose, tapping loudly on the desk. `Or you will be
punished yourselves.`
Mother Superior cast a severe gaze at Sister Demian but her voice was almost kindly:
`Is there anything you wish to say, child?`
`Yes,` said Sister Demian with even greater spirit than before. `Yes, there is! I
have a lover, yes, and by what right should I be denied his love!` At this, Sister Maria
Jose began tapping on the desk again with her knuckles, but Mother Superior cut her short,
motioning for Sister Demian to continue.
`I had a lover before I came to The Convent of the Angels but my family denied me
this right,` she continued. `They called him "unsuitable" because he was no
son of any rich colonel or politician but a mere workman, as his father was a workman, and
they forced me to come here, entirely against my will. I was not born for this. You must
believe me. You must be able to see and understand. I was not born for this.`
Mother Superior shifted uneasily in her chair. `Unfortunately, since you have
freely admitted your crimes, there is nothing for the Tribunal to do but condemn you,` she
intoned. `Not even a vote is necessary. Now, it is up to Sister Maria Jose, as Proctor,
to set your punishment. Let me only add that I hope she will be lenient, since this is
the first time you have ever appeared before this Tribunal.`
There was silence for a moment. `Whip her!` croaked Sister Roberta suddenly. `Whip
her till her skin hangs from her bottom like rags!`
Sister Maria Joe smiled tolerantly, then motioned for Sister Roberta to keep
silence. Next, she called for the novices to secure the accused by her arms.
`Sister Demian,` she said. `You have been found guilty of the charges as stated but
I will not yet set either the time or the exact nature of your punishment. I will only
tell you that you will be whipped, whipped at a whipping post in the presence of your
peers.`
At this, Sister Demian surged forward, her eyes ablaze, her arms almost breaking
free of the grip of her reluctant captors. In a motion astonishing for both its swiftness
and audacity, she spit at her tormentor, spraying Sister Maria Jose with a fine drizzle.
Sister Roberta cackled. But Mother Superior could only shake her head. Quietly, she left
the room without speaking to either of her colleagues.
| 
