The Phoenix of Montjuic

by Jeremy D. Rowe

  You’ve been here a year,” she said, “and I have to say, I’m very pleased. I’ve been asked to identify a young designer to work on a new production of a rather strange opera. I’m going to recommend you for the job.”

  Maria gasped, then stuttered her thanks.

  “It’s a big risk, but most things we do here are risky.” Carme Oliver picked up a big folder and opened it, revealing coloured reproductions of paintings Maria had never seen before. “The opera’s called ‘The Rake’s Progress’ and it’s based on these pictures by an Englishman called William Hogarth. It has a big cast, several principles and a big chorus, and needs lots of costumes. Many are quite different from anything we’ve done before. Take these pictures home, and come and tell me tomorrow if you think you are up to the task.”

  Thinking that she didn’t need until the next day to accept the challenge, Maria took the folder of pictures. On the way home, she called on her father at the library.

  “I need the story of the Rake’s Progress,” she said.

  When she showed Ambros the pictures, he was a little shocked. “They’ve made this story into an opera?” he asked.

  Maria smiled, amused that her father was aghast. “It’s opera, father,” she said. “You can do anything as long as you sing it!”

  The next day, she was sent to a small cubicle to work on her own. Armed with paper, pencils and watercolours, she set to work. When Senora Oliver looked in, she told her, “It seems to me that these costumes are all very extravagant, but have seen better days, and are quite dirty and distressed. I’m keeping to a palate of green and brown, with some flashes of bright red. I think some of the hems and most of the shoes will be very muddy.”

  Carme Oliver smiled. “I thought you’d be right for this,” she said. “How do you feel about bringing a set of sketches to a production meeting a week from now?”

  “A week?” said Maria. “I look forward to it.”

  At the same time, Eduard was looking through the trumpet part of the same opera. The score by Stravinsky was great fun to play, but he certainly needed to look through it carefully. There were many times when a trumpeter had a very prominent part to play, and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself when the orchestral rehearsals began. By chance, he was leaving the opera house at the same time as Maria, and they walked together up the Ramblas.

  “How are the costume sketches?” he said.

  Maria smiled. “How is the music?” she retorted.

  “Fun,” said Eduard, “but it needs a lot of work.”

  “So do the costumes,” she replied.

  They walked on in silence for a while, then Maria spoke again.

  “I’ve had an idea,” she said. “You know grandfather is thinking about a way of celebrating the twenty-fifth birthday of the store? Well, how about displaying the costume sketches and some of the costumes in the shop windows – for once not showing products for sale. We could also have some manikins in the tea room, and standing around on the stairs. It would be a novelty, and bring good publicity for the shop.”

  “And for the Liceu,” said Eduard. “Let’s talk to grandfather about it.”

  Thus it was that the Bonet department store celebrated its twenty-fifth birthday with a very special link to the Liceu Theatre. The store featured posters, photographs and costumes on manikins, and the window displays included large replicas of William Hogarth’s original eight pictures. Marta was involved by playing a selection of eighteenth century tunes in the tea room. Maria was the talk of the town with her saucy and adventurous costumes for the production.

  The Liceu was originally nervous about selling an opera by Stravinsky, however salacious the subject, but with the publicity gained through the link with Bonet’s, the entire run of the opera was a sell-out.

  Anna and Manel had had misgivings at first. Did they want to celebrate the birthday of the department store by associating it with a tale of depravity in eighteenth century London? Once they saw the interest the celebration generated, they realised that Maria’s original idea had brought benefits to all concerned. Anna and Manel were proud to be guests of honour on the opening night of the show, and were extremely pleased at the final curtain when their granddaughter joined the production team on the stage for the tumultuous curtain call.

  Of the production itself, the adults of the family all went to see it at various times. Emma, having done her usual baby-sitting duties on the opening night, and again for Clara and Ambros, was persuaded to take Louis and go with Marta. To her great surprise, Emma enjoyed it very much, and thirteen-year-old Louis declared that he was in love with Tom Rakewell.

  As the new managing director, Salvador Ribera once more fulfilled an important role in the store. The memory of Ferran Perella had lingered for a long time in Manel’s mind, and Senor Ribera had been instrumental in putting the grocery department onto a solid footing, and overseeing its expansion. Under his guidance, his domain had gained a great reputation for quality foods, but also retained its sales of cheaper bulk foodstuffs, which were much appreciated by the poorer residents of the area.

  With Manel’s supposed retirement, Senor Ribera was pleased to take on the day-to-day running of the store, but Manel could not resist visiting for a little while every day. He would linger in a department, serving customers if the department was busy, and getting to know many of the staff who he had appointed but had never spent much time with. Anna warned him not to get in the way, but the genial old man was much-loved by all the staff, and welcomed wherever he went.

  Louis had left school when he was twelve, and he was delighted when his grandfather organised for him to be Senor Ribera’s assistant.

  “I want you to get to know every aspect of the business,” said Manel. “This means working in every department, and not just for a day or two, but for several weeks in each. You have several years before you go for National Service, and you have an opportunity to gain much knowledge about the retail trade. Your cousin Jose is becoming an excellent engineer, and I think one day, he will open the Bonet car dealership; which leaves you to carry the department store forward into the 1970’s and beyond.”

  Maria, following her success with the Rake’s Progress costumes, had to be content with returning to the daily chores of the wardrobe department. She longed for another chance to design the costumes for another historical opera, and was very excited when at last the call came, and she was given the task of creating a complete wardrobe for a new production of Turandot.

  She had completed the preliminary sketches and started with watercolours to create the designs in full, when she started to feel unwell. Getting up and getting started each morning was suddenly difficult, and after a few days, she knew she must talk to her mother. Clara looked into the worried face of her older daughter, and frowned.

  “You feel sick in the mornings?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Maria, and burst into tears.

  “I have to ask you,” said Clara. “I’m sorry to say this, but is it possible that you are pregnant?”

  Maria nodded, and Clara hugged her daughter close. “Oh Maria,” she said, “you are just seventeen, and have one of the best jobs in the city. How could this have happened?”

  Maria shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought I was careful. Oh, mother, I feel such a fool.”

  “Are you sure?” said Clara.

  “Yes,” replied Maria. “I’ve known for about six weeks, and I just pretended to myself that it wasn’t true. But now I feel so sick, I cannot pretend any more. Oh, mother, what shall I do?”

  “Does anyone else know?” said Clara.

  “No,” said Maria. “I hoped by saying nothing it would go away.”

  “We must tell your father, but say nothing to the rest of the family at the moment. Can you keep going at work without them suspecting?”

  “If I can cope with this sickness, I’ll be alright for a while.”

  “Good,” said Clara. “That gives us some time to think.”

 
; When they told him, Ambros was sad that his much-loved daughter was expecting a baby, and he wanted to know who the father was. Clara refused to tell him.

  “You know what it’s like at the opera,” she said.

  “No, I don’t,” said her father. “Tell me about it.”

  Hesitantly, Maria told him about the costume fittings, the intimate moments with the opera singers, the glamorous feelings when a star was attracted to a young seamstress, and the allure and enchantment of being in the grown-up world of the opera.

  “So the father is an opera singer,” said Ambros.

  “Yes,” said Maria, “but he doesn’t know. He’s a married man, a long way from home. He was lonely, I felt sorry for him, and he’s gone now, back to his wife and children.” Maria held tightly to her father’s hands. “Is there any way I can avoid having this baby?”

  “You mean,” said Ambros hesitantly, “have an abortion?”

  Maria nodded, speechless and clung tighter to her father. Clara put her arms around them both. Ambros shook his head. “It’s illegal, and far too dangerous. You will have to have the baby.”

  “Can we talk to Sister Maria Monserrat?” said Clara. “She is, after all, your Godmother. She is kind and has always been compassionate with us. She may be able to help us, I am sure.”

  If Sister Maria Monserrat was shocked, she did not show it, but sat quietly with Maria and Clara. “We must pray for guidance,” she said, “and reflect carefully. It’s a long time since you went to confession, Maria. I think you should go. I’ll come with you if you need support.”

  “But that means telling Father Matias,” said Maria. “He will be very cross with me.”

  “The confessional is confidential. He’ll not tell a soul, but yes, he will be strict and expect you to be remorseful and chastened.”

  “What’s to become of me?” wailed Maria. “I’ve spoiled everything, haven’t I?”

  Sister Maria Monserrat looked at the frightened girl. “My advice may not be what you expect,” she said. “You can save your reputation, if you tell no-one, and hide this pregnancy as long as you can. When the time comes, you must tell the opera house that you are ill, and I will arrange for you to go to a clinic for unmarried women. There you can have your baby safely, and I will make the arrangements for it to be adopted.”

  Maria burst into further sobs. “Adopted? Taken away from me?”

  Sister Maria Monserrat nodded. “It will be best for the child to be brought up in a good Catholic home, with a mother and father who cannot have a baby of their own. God will find a good family for your baby, and you can return to your career.”

  Maria looked tearfully at her mother. “The sister is right,” said Clara. “The church will find a good home for the baby.”

  “Perhaps one day, in another country, or in another time,” said Ambros, “it might be possible to have an abortion, but we do not live in another country, or another time.”

  “Nor should we wish to,” said Sister Maria Montserrat. “If it is God’s will that another child is to come into this world, it is our job to look after that child, both in the womb, and after it is born. We live in a good Catholic country, and we shall follow the law which is laid down by the church and the state, for the good of us all.”

  The morning sickness passed, and Maria’s sewing skills enabled her to make dresses for herself which simply made her look as if she was putting on weight, and she remained at work, designing and cutting the costumes for Turandot. As the time approached when she knew she could no longer work, she took Eduard to one side.

  “Uncle Eduard, I have to tell you a secret. No-one knows except mother and father, and Sister Maria Monserrat.”

  Eduard frowned. “Any secret is safe with me, but what can it be that you’ve not even told your sister, or your grandparents?”

  Maria spoke quietly. “I am going to have a baby. I’ll have it in about six weeks.”

  Eduard gasped. “That’s why you’ve been looking plump lately. I just thought you were getting fat.”

  “That’s what you were supposed to think. Senora Oliver has been fooled, and all the girls I work with. After the first night of Turandot, I am going to take sick leave. If anyone asks, I’ve become ill, and won’t be at work for a few weeks. That’s the story.”

  “And Sister Maria Monserrat approves of this?”

  “She says that God allows white lies as long as we confess them,” said Maria, “and yes, I have been to confession. Father Matias knows, and will help with the arrangements for the baby to be adopted.”

  Eduard was shocked again. “You are holding on to such a big secret. Will you not tell your grandparents? What about Aunt Emma?”

  “When my time comes, mother will come with me to the refuge. I’m thinking that grandmother might come too, but I’m not sure. When it’s all over, I will go back to work, and it’s best that as few people as possible know what’s happened. I’ll tell them it was a mystery illness that sent me to hospital for a while, but it’s gone now. You will back me up if you get asked, won’t you Uncle Eduard?”

  “Of course I will,” said Eduard, hugging his niece. “Are you sure you are strong enough to stay for the Turandot premier?”

  Maria nodded. “It’s been a fantastic project for me, and the costumes are fabulous. It’s kept me very busy during the last few weeks. I’ll be there for the first night, but will vanish after that.”

  The opening night was a great success, with Anna, Manel, Ambros and Marta in the audience. When Maria came on stage at the end with the production team, Anna frowned and turned to Manel. “Our granddaughter is putting on weight. It’s a lovely new dress, obviously one of her own creations, but it makes her look so big!”

  Soon afterwards, Maria sent a message to the wardrobe that she was unwell, and went to the refuge arranged by Sister Maria Monserrat. She took with her the little bible which had been given to her mother by the nun, and in turn had been given to her. Eduard confirmed that she was unwell, and had been taken to a hospital “for tests”. Maria had asked her mother to tell Anna, who agreed to go with Clara to the refuge to support her granddaughter.

  When the time came, the three generations of women gathered at the bedside, and were joined by Sister Maria Monserrat. Perhaps because she had been so active during her pregnancy, Maria’s baby was born quickly and easily.

  “A little girl,” announced the midwife, wrapping the new born in a white blanket. “Would you like to hold your baby?”

  Sister Maria Monserrat stepped forward. “No,” she said, “that would not be a good idea. Give the baby to me.”

  Maria lay back in the bed, silent tears flowing. Clara spoke first, “I’ll take the baby for a moment. I want to see her.”

  Sister Maria Monserrat handed the baby to Clara, its grandmother. “She’s very pretty,” said Clara, “and has a lovely dark complexion.”

  Anna came to look at her great-granddaughter. “And a mass of dark curls,” she said.

  Suddenly Maria raised herself up. “Let me kiss her,” she said, “and then you take her, Sister. I want to write her birthday in the bible, and then tuck the bible into her blankets. I hope you approve, Sister.”

  Sister Maria Monserrat nodded. Maria produced the little bible from under her pillow and carefully wrote: ‘Baby, born 20th June 1970. May God go with you’. Clara held the baby for Maria to kiss her, and Maria glimpsed the tiny girl’s dark complexion and black curls. Sister Maria Monserrat then took the tiny bundle and left the room. The baby was not yet an hour old. The three women sat and cried.

  Back home, Anna continued to be tearful as she told Manel what had happened.

  “Perhaps our life was too good to continue,” said Anna. “We have had many happy and successful years. We’ve always been smiling, and now we have nothing but tears.”

  “Yes, we’ve had many happy years,” said Manel. “We’ve had a charmed life, and I’ve been worried that our luck would run out. It’s almost as if our birthday celebratio
ns at the store marked the end of an era for the Bonet family. When everyone else struggled under this bloody Fascist rule, we thrived.”

  “It’s wasn’t always a charmed life,” said Anna, “not before the war, nor during it. We were hungry, we struggled, and we’ve lived all these years under the boot of Franco. It wasn’t luck which got us through, it was hard work.”

  Eduard arrived to hear the news. It had not been easy, keeping the secret even from his wife, and he’d maintained the white lie at the opera house, always reassuring colleagues that his young niece was “on the mend, and would be back soon”.

  He heard the story in grim silence, and when his mother described Sister Maria Montserrat leaving with the baby, he could not stop the tears flowing.

  “I blame myself,” he said. “I encouraged Maria to work in the wardrobe even though she was so young. I knew the hazards of lonely old opera singers preying on young members of the staff. I shouldn’t have let her work there so young; and I should have protected her better. It’s all my fault.”

  “No,” said Manel. “Clara and Ambrose have been very lucky to have talented daughters. We all supported Maria, we all encouraged her. Perhaps we were unaware of the dangers in such a closed and intense environment.”

  “We must support her now,” said Anna. “She’s shown such strength and fortitude. She’ll take a long time to recover from the way she had to give that baby away. We will all take a long time. Go home and tell Emma; Clara has to face telling Marta, who is very suspicious about what’s been happening.”

  “And somehow, we must all go on living as if nothing has happened,” said Manel. “Do you know whilst all this has been happening, the President of the United States has been in our city?”