The Phoenix of Montjuic

by Jeremy D. Rowe

  One day Clara was busy in the kitchen when she heard music. Without going to the living room, she called to Maria. “That’s funny,” she said, “I don’t remember the wireless being on. Can you switch it off?” The music continued, a simple melody on the piano. “Did you hear me?” repeated Clara. “Please switch the wireless off.”

  “I think you should come and look at something,” said Maria quietly, who had appeared at the kitchen door, and was beckoning her mother, whilst putting a finger to her lips to tell her not to speak. Puzzled, Clara followed Maria to the living room door. Mother and daughter stood in silent amazement. The wireless was switched off: the piano music was being played by Marta.

  Suddenly the little girl stopped and spun round. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t know you were listening.”

  “How did you do that?” said Clara. “Has Sister Maria Monserrat been helping you?”

  “No,” said Marta.

  “So how did you learn to play like that?” said her mother.

  “I don’t know,” said Marta. “It’s a tune I heard on the wireless, and I just sat down and played it. I really don’t know how I did it, it just happens.”

  Once they’d got over the surprise, and sat down for lunch, Maria said, “I’m good at sewing, like you Mother, and Marta’s good at music, like Uncle Eduard. I wonder what Jose will be good at?” The little boy looked wide eyed round the room.

  “What will it be?” said his mother.

  “I don’t know,” mumbled Jose. “Perhaps I’ll be good at eating!” – and stuffed a whole croquette into his mouth. The girls laughed so much that Clara didn’t punish him for his bad manners.

  That evening, Marta played for her father, who was as entranced and amazed as the rest of the family. In the next few days, she played for Anna and Manel, who were speechless in their admiration of their granddaughter; she played for Eduard, who was delighted that someone else in the family was showing musical skill; and she played for Sister Maria Monserrat, who decided that it was a miracle, and that she would thank the Lord for giving such a gift to the little girl.

  Eduard was particularly intrigued. “I must have been about Marta’s age when I found my trumpet in a bombed-out building,” he said. “I had to learn to read music to be in the army band. I wonder if Marta should learn to read music, or if it will spoil her talent?”

  At the same time, Eduard had some news. “There’s a new production of a historical opera at the Liceu,” he said. “I’ve seen some of the costumes and they are very interesting. I was going to suggest that you take Maria to see it, but now I think you should take Marta as well. It’s lovely music, and Marta needs to see and hear music played live.”

  “What opera is it?” said Ambros.

  “It’s called ‘Maria Stuarda’ by an Italian composer called Donizetti. The music is wonderful, but it has a very sad ending. It might make you cry.”

  “Please can we go?” asked Maria and Marta together.

  “I think so,” said Clara, “if your father says it’s alright.”

  The girls turned to Ambros, who was smiling and nodding.

  Maria looked at Eduard. “Why have you chosen this one for us? Is it because of the costumes?”

  It was Eduard’s turn to nod. “The story is all about Queen Elizabeth the First in England, and Mary, Queen of Scotland. Your mother can try and find the story for you to read: but the main thing is that you will see a large number of authentic Tudor costumes, the kind of clothes worn in England in the Fifteen-hundreds.”

  “I might have some pictures in one of my history books,” said Maria.

  “And I’ll find the history of Queen Mary, and read it to you,” said Clara.

  According to the history book Ambros had found, the girls were surprised to find that Queen Elizabeth of England was not a very nice woman, and that Queen Mary of Scotland was condemned to death by her and became a martyr. They were both very excited when they saw the pictures of Tudor costume, and looked forward to seeing such costumes come alive on the Liceu stage.

  Maria felt very grown-up and experienced going to the opera once more with her father. Marta, of course, had never been before, and was as amazed as her sister had been with the lavish opera house. “It’s like a fairy-tale castle,” she said.

  “Wait for the music to start,” said her sister. “Then the magic really happens.”

  They could glimpse Eduard in the pit, and were on the edge of their seats as the overture started with a great drum roll. Soon the curtain rose, and the girls were breathless at the sight of the enormous chorus in full Tudor costumes. Maria squeezed her father’s hand, and realised that he was as excited by the sight as she was. The girls were impressed by Queen Elizabeth’s voice, but quickly decided that they did not like her. At last Queen Mary appeared.

  “That’s the famous Monserrat Caballe,” whispered Ambros. “Eduard thinks she’s the best singer in the world.”

  “She’s the one going to get her head cut off,” whispered Maria.

  “I know,” whispered Marta, “now be quiet and listen.”

  The three, father as well as daughters, were engrossed in the opera, hypnotised by the stage action and the glorious music. They were almost unable to speak when they walked numbly out onto the Ramblas. After a while, Maria spoke.

  “I loved Magic Flute, but I think tonight was even better.”

  “Just think,” said Marta, “that Uncle Eduard works there all the time, and is part of all that magic.”

  “I think it’s very hard work,” said Ambros. “He loves it, but it’s constantly a challenge.”

  Eduard met the dazed trio, and was very pleased at how happy they were. “If you liked that,” he said, “just wait for a couple of months, and I’ll get tickets for Turandot. That will really blow you away, and it’s the same star as tonight’s show, Monserrat Caballe.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Anna and Manel watched over their growing grandchildren with proprietary love. They knew Maria would make a name for herself with her extraordinary sewing skills, and they were constantly amazed at Marta’s piano playing, and hoped she would make a career, like her uncle, in the world of music. They observed Louis, of all the grandchildren, taking a lot of interest in the department store, but neither Monserrat, who was too young, nor Jose, showed any particular interests or skills.

  Clara laughed when her mother raised concerns over the two youngest children. “Just because I’ve got two precocious girls, doesn’t mean all children will show great skills when they are still young,” she said.

  Anna smiled back. “But you and Eduard both showed great promise when you were little. I’m only hoping to see all five of the children doing well.”

  Although Ambros had started out in life assisting his father in the building trade, he had settled into the bookish life of a librarian, and hoped his son would also find a ‘clean’ passion in his life. This was not to be. Little Jose kept vanishing and after a while, his father asked him where he was going every evening after school.

  “I’m helping Uncle Carlos,” announced Jose. “He lets me oil the bicycles and shows me all about the scooter motors.”

  “Show me your hands,” said Ambros.

  Sheepishly Jose held out his fists.

  “Turn them over and open your fingers,” said his father.

  Jose revealed his oil-stained fingers, and grinned at his father. “Us engineers can’t help having oily fingers,” he said. “You should see Uncle Carlos’s fingers.”

  Ambros sighed. “If that’s what you want,” he said, “no-one will stop you.”

  Emma was worried. Clara’s girls were showing such early promise with notable talents, and when Ambros announced that Jose was going to be an engineer, she became quite despondent. With such glittering cousins, how could her children compete? As the oldest boy in the family, Manel was hoping that Louis would eventually take a significant role in the department store, and could even one day be its managing director. With neither
Eduard or Ambros showing any interest in that direction, it would please Manel for the management of the store to jump a generation and Louis eventually take over the helm. Little Monserrat seemed destined always to be the baby, with not only her mother but her very indulgent grandmother enjoying giving her treats and ensuring that she was always happy.

  Without knowing that such a huge expectation was hovering over him, Louis did enjoy wandering the store and being indulged by the staff. He tried on hats in the men’s and women’s departments; he begged, and received, treats in the food hall; and he loved the English tea room, with its silk roses, dainty china and exotic furniture. Perhaps Catarina, running the tea room, was the most compliant of the staff, sitting him high on the counter surrounded by the cream cakes and feeding him strawberries and cream. She had a straw bonnet and a floral shawl, and would dress him up as a milkmaid. As soon as customers arrived, she would hurriedly hide him behind the counter, where with much giggling, he would nibble a macaroon.

  Maria, like all the girls in the family, did not go to school, and as a teenager was anxious to start work “properly”. She’d been to the opera a few times, and had particularly loved such events as ‘Turandot’ with its oriental costumes, and the historical dramas with their extravagant outfits. It was a little after her fifteenth birthday that she begged her Uncle Eduard to introduce her to the costume staff.

  Eduard told the head of costume, Carme Oliver, that his niece was unusually talented, and worthy of an interview. It was arranged.

  “We need designers and cutters,” said Senora Oliver “They are very advanced skills, and I doubt a slip of a girl like you could do such a thing. There is also a lot of tedious work sewing fastenings and hemming – perhaps you could do that.”

  “I’ve done designing and cutting at home,” said Maria, “and I’ve been to the opera and seen the kind of clothes you make. They are wonderful. Please give me a chance.”

  “Very well,” replied Senora Oliver, “but it’s rather unusual. Most of the girls in my department have been apprentices here for a long time. I’m not sure what they’ll think of a youngster like you coming into the room as a cutter. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. Let us see how skilful you are.”

  Leading Maria into a small empty room, she showed her to a large cutting table with an electric sewing machine, a big pair of shears, and a bolt of calico. She handed Maria a sketch of a beautiful woman in a red dress.

  “Here’s your challenge. I’d like to see how you manage to make a dress for this character of Tosca. Over there is a tailor’s manikin. Do you think you could cut and sew this dress to fit the manikin, without any further help?”

  “I think so,” said Maria, “but tell me about this lady Tosca. I don’t know her.”

  “Very well: Tosca is Italian, wealthy, and beautiful; she’s very attractive to men; and shows off her figure well. You see the dress has a train which shows her status.”

  Left alone, Maria set to work. Boldly she cut into the calico, and soon was sewing the dress. It had a long train, was cut low at the neck, and she gave it an elaborate gathered edge to the collar. She snipped the calico to represent lace at the neck line. Without a zip, she would sew the dress onto the manikin.

  By the end of the day, she had the manikin in a tight-fitting costume, with a cloak. On the table was a long pair of gloves, and fabric cut for a fan.

  She had just sat down, breathless and exhausted, when Senora Oliver came back into the room, together with her Uncle Eduard and another young woman. “Well, young lady, it certainly looks very impressive. This lady is a member of the team here, and she is the same size as the manikin; we will try the dress upon her. Senor Bonet, please step outside whilst this lady changes.”

  Cutting the slip stitches, Maria removed the dress from the manikin, and was soon sewing the model into the dress. Senora Oliver called Eduard back into the room.

  “Senor Bonet,” she said, “look at your niece’s work. It is extraordinary that she has achieved so much in a day. Some of my girls take longer just to make a pair of gloves.”

  “They’re a bit hurried,” said Maria. “Given longer, I could give them a much better finish.”

  “I expected only the dress,” said Senora Oliver, holding out a hand to Maria. “Now just because today has gone very well for you, don’t expect it to be easy in my department. Sometimes the fur literally flies, when we have a deadline and someone’s cut the fabric wrong. And it’s not always cheap calico: sometimes you will be cutting into very expensive cloth, with no room for mistakes. I’m smiling now, but you will not find me an easy boss!”

  Maria took Senora Oliver’s hand. “Does this mean I have a job?”

  “Welcome to the Liceu,” said the wardrobe mistress.

  Later, Eduard took his niece to one side. “You’re very young to be starting in the wardrobe. It reminds me of when I was sent to the army band: I was young and very inexperienced, and thought I knew everything about playing the trumpet. I hadn’t been in the band long before I realised I had a lot to learn, and some of the experienced bandsmen played tricks on me to remind me I was the new boy. Some of the seamstresses in the wardrobe have been there for a long time and they will be quite resentful of you starting so young as a cutter. Just be ready for their tricks and jokes, and don’t be upset when they come.”

  The Bonet department store had always been a family business. Manel and Anna had started it almost single-handed, and Clara had worked hard for them until she started her family. Ambros and Carlos, coming from their own fractured families, seemed to the other staff to be members of the Bonet family at the store. Of his grandchildren, Louis was obviously happy playing in the store and took a child’s interest in all that happened there, and Jose adored Carlos, and was completely engrossed in the bicycle and scooter department.

  Manel, however, was worried. His son, Eduard, had been the first to work outside the store, and was obviously happy in the Liceu orchestra; and this meant that there was no-one obvious to take over managing the business when Manel retired. With the new year of 1969 dawning, Manel talked about this with Anna.

  “Our store will be twenty-five years old this year. Our birthday is on the sixth of June. We should mark the date with something special – I’m not sure what, but we’ll think of something. You know that I will be sixty-one this year? I’d like to think that I could retire, perhaps on the birthday of the store: but who will take over from me? It’s all very well thinking Louis is the grandson who might inherit, but he’s only twelve years old. Do you think we should advertise for a managing director outside the family?”

  “Or will Salvador Ribera be the person to step into your shoes?” said Anna.

  “I was thinking about him,” said Manel. “He rescued the grocery when we had all that trouble with Perella. He’s a reliable and steady hand, and loves organising people, but he doesn’t have much imagination. Since that new branch of El Cortes Ingles opened on Placa Catalunya a few years ago, we have managed to hold our own, but only just. Our business must move forward if we are to continue to compete.”

  “Our grandchildren seem to be as clever as our children,” said Anna. “Perhaps the future of the store is with Louis. If Salvador can hold steady for a few years, he’ll help groom Louis for the job. Louis leaves school this year, and can work alongside Salvador until he goes to National Service. When he comes back, Salvador will be getting near to retiring, and Louis can take over.”

  “Not Jose?” said Manel.

  “Probably not,” said Anna. “He’s going to be a great engineer, which is already clear now that he’s working full-time with Carlos. I know he’s ambitious to start selling cars, and is investigating a Seat franchise. He won’t want to know about groceries, or clothing, or running a tea room.”

  When they spoke to Clara, she agreed. She was surprised that Jose loved getting his hands dirty, and knew he was ambitious to open a car showroom. He wouldn’t be interested in the department store.

 
When they told their plan to Eduard, he was pleased that his parents were not expecting him to give up music, and go to run the family business, and he agreed to support grooming Louis for the top job.

  With Maria rushing out every morning to the Liceu, to work she loved, Marta grew restless at home. She helped her mother with teaching Monserrat, and continued to enjoy the weekly singing lessons with Sister Maria, although she could now play the piano better than the nun, but it wasn’t enough. One day she went with her mother for tea in the store’s English tea room.

  “It’s nice here, isn’t it?” she said.

  Anna nodded and looked around the quaint room with its silk roses and delicate china. “Catarina does a good job. Who would have expected it from a house maid? It shows that everyone has potential – that’s what your father has always said.”

  “I know,” smiled Marta, “but don’t you think it’s awfully quiet? If you brought a piano in, I could play during tea-time, perhaps even have a little band like the one at the Windsor Palace.”

  “It might spoil things to have loud jazz,” said Anna.

  “No, not loud jazz,” said Marta, “but gentle teatime music. Some easy classical tunes, and some pleasant, mellow light songs, you know the kind of thing, nothing to spoil the atmosphere. Hopefully it would improve it.”

  They found a good upright piano, which was not too tall, and could be manhandled up the stairs. It was installed in the tea room, and soon Marta was playing daily in the afternoons, and as she predicted, custom increased in the tea room as the word was passed around about “that lovely young girl and her agreeable playing”. Manel was especially pleased to have another member of the family working in the store.

  Maria, meanwhile, was enjoying every minute of her work at the Liceu. As Senora Oliver had warned, there were many tedious and time-consuming tasks, but Maria was always happy when she had needle and thread in her hand, whatever the job. As Manel and Anna were thinking about the twenty-fifth birthday of the store, the Liceu was becoming excited about an ambitious new opera by the avant-garde composer, Igor Stravinsky. Senora Oliver called Maria into her tiny office at the end of the cutting room.