‘María, you are here! And my little Lucía too.’ Paola swept the child up in her arms. ‘Here she is, everyone!’ she called as she entered the sitting room next door. María followed her and stared blankly at a sea of faces she did not recognise, but was at least relieved that Paola hadn’t yet seemed to notice that her husband and sons were absent.
Lucía was surrounded by her relatives, who ranged in age from ancient to very young, and the cacophony in the hollow room as they greeted her made María’s ears ring.
‘Of course she will dance for us later, after lunch perhaps,’ Paola told them all.
María saw her father sitting in his usual chair and went to greet him. ‘How are you, Papá?’
‘I am well, querida. And as you can see, your mother is in her element.’ Pedro winked at her. ‘Personally, I will be glad when the whole thing is over and we can get back to normal.’
‘How is business, Papá?’
‘Good, very good,’ he nodded. ‘The payos like my pots and pans and I am happy. And your boy, Eduardo, one day he will take over from his old grandfather and perhaps move inside the city walls. I have told your mother we have enough to build a small house there ourselves, but she refuses. Here, she is at the top and there we would be at the bottom.’ He raised his broad palms towards the ceiling.
‘We gitanos like staying with our own, Papá, don’t we?’
‘Yes, but perhaps too much. It is why the payos dislike us; they do not know us and our ways, so they fear us. Well.’ He smiled gently. ‘There it is. Where is José?’
‘He is on his way here, Papá.’
‘Treating you well, querida?’
‘Yes,’ she lied.
‘Good, good. I will tell him he has a son to be proud of. Now, there is someone I wish you to meet. Do you remember your cousin, Rodolfo? You played together as children, and now like you, he has his own, a small boy about Lucía’s age. The boy has a gift.’ He signalled to a tall man standing nearby. ‘Rodolfo! Do you remember your cousin, María?’
‘Why, of course I do,’ Rodolfo said as he strode over to them. ‘You are as lovely as ever,’ he added as he greeted her with a kiss on the hand.
‘He obviously learnt his fine manners in Barcelona,’ Pedro chuckled. ‘Give your cousin a hug, hombre!’
Rodolfo did so, and as they talked, a small boy, not much taller than Lucía, came up to him and wound his arms around his father’s leg. He had clear nut-brown eyes, set deep into his face, and the dark skin of a pureblood. His hair stuck up in strange tufts and María thought how odd he looked.
‘I know I’m not handsome, señora, but I am clever,’ he said, gazing directly up at her.
María blushed, wondering how he could have known what she was thinking.
‘Chilly, don’t be rude. This is María, and she is your second cousin.’
‘How can she be my cousin when she is so old and sad?’ he asked his father.
‘Enough,’ Rodolfo said as he gave the top of his son’s head a gentle swipe. ‘Don’t listen to him, María, he must learn to keep his thoughts to himself.’
‘This is the boy I was telling you about, our little brujo,’ Pedro explained. ‘He told me earlier that I would be bald by the time I was sixty. I feel lucky that I have ten years left of hair!’
‘Why are you so sad?’ Chilly repeated, continuing to stare at María. ‘Who has hurt you?’
‘I . . .’
‘One of your sons is in trouble, señora, big trouble,’ the boy nodded vehemently.
‘I said enough, Chilly!’ Rodolfo clapped a hand over his son’s mouth. ‘Now, go and find your mother and ask her for your guitar. You are to play after lunch, so off with you to practise.’ Rodolfo smacked him on the bottom to send him on his way. ‘Perdón,’ Rodolfo said, sweating with embarrassment. ‘He is too young to know what he says.’
María’s heart was beating like a cajón against her chest. ‘Is he usually right?’
Pedro, seeing his daughter’s distress, touched his full head of hair. ‘In ten years’ time we will know!’
‘Excuse me, Papá, but I must help Mamá.’ She nodded to Rodolfo and left the room, walking swiftly through the kitchen and out through the front door to look for José. There was still no sign of him, so she couldn’t tell her husband what the little brujo had said.
‘What to do . . .’ she murmured, searching the path for any sign of José. ‘Please God, make him wrong,’ she prayed.
But they’re never wrong, María . . . her inner voice told her.
Returning inside, María was at least kept busy helping her mother serve lunch to the many guests – great bowls of spicy bean and sausage casserole accompanied by egg tortillas and crunchy patatas a lo pobre, which on any other day she would have tucked into with pleasure. Today, she could barely swallow. Having made sure Lucía had eaten her fill, in between relatives fussing over her, María once again went outside to search the pathway for her husband. She did not find him, but instead saw Eduardo running towards her.
‘What news of your brothers?’ she asked, halting her son before he reached the prying eyes in her parents’ cave.
‘Mamá,’ Eduardo panted, bending forwards to catch his breath. ‘It is not good news. I thought as much when I saw them up at the Alhambra last night. They were part of a gang who were picking the audience’s pockets. Both of them were caught red-handed by the police, but Carlos managed to escape. I went to talk to one of the other boy’s fathers, and he told me they are all in the jail. They will be sentenced tomorrow or the day after.’
‘And Carlos? Where is he?’
‘He must have gone into hiding,’ shrugged Eduardo.
‘¡Dios mío!’ María buried her face in her hands. ‘My little Felipe! Tell me, what must we do?’
‘There is nothing we can do, Mamá. He must serve whatever sentence they give him.’
‘But you know how they treat the likes of us in their payo jails! They beat gitanos, abuse them . . .’
‘It was only petty theft, so perhaps the sentence will be short. And maybe it will teach Felipe a lesson.’
‘If it doesn’t, I will!’ María’s anguish overflowed into anger. ‘Maybe it will also show him that following his big brother around like a shadow is stupid and dangerous. Do you know what the sentence is for such a crime?’
‘No, but perhaps we should talk to Grandfather. He has experience with the payos and he might know somebody who could help.’
‘Your grandfather is a blacksmith, not a payo judge! My poor, poor Felipe! He is only thirteen – still a child.’
‘Yes. Maybe there is some law that children can’t go to adult jail.’
‘But what if they take him away from me?! I have heard of that before.’ María paced up and down, wringing her hands in despair.
‘Mamá, try to calm yourself. I will try and find out when they are being sentenced, then perhaps you could go to court and plead for mercy, say that Felipe was influenced by others—’
‘Yes, by his brother! Go, quickly, and please try to find your father also.’ María watched as Eduardo ran off, then gathered herself as she heard her mother approaching.
‘Where have you been, daughter? Where is José?’
‘He is coming any minute, Mamá, I promise.’
‘I hope so, because everybody waits to see Lucía dance, and of course José must accompany her. Our relations must begin the journey back home soon.’ Paola indicated the stretch of grass in front of the cave, which led directly down to the river. There were a number of wagons parked upon it and mules grazed idly between them. A large group of people had also begun to collect around a small makeshift dance floor. María saw more people walking along the path towards them.
‘What is this, Mamá?’
‘Nothing.’ Paola had the grace to blush. ‘I merely told some friends and neighbours that Lucía would be dancing here after lunch.’
‘You mean you told the entire village you would be holding your own private
show,’ María muttered. ‘Well, it is not possible without José.’
‘Perhaps we do not need him. Maybe there is someone here who can stand in his place. I will go and find someone.’
‘Mamá, Abuela says she wants me to dance but Papá is not here.’ Lucía appeared beside her. ‘So she wants him to accompany me.’
María followed Lucía’s tiny pointing finger across the gathering crowd to Chilly, the boy who had earlier made such unsettling predictions. He was holding a guitar that seemed far too big for his body.
‘Him?’ María frowned at her daughter.
‘Last night he played at the Concurso. He is talented, but I want Papá to play for me.’
‘María?’ A soft hand grasped her shoulder, and she turned to see the bruja Micaela, standing beside her.
‘Congratulations on your daughter’s success. You must be proud,’ she said, as Chilly joined them. Micaela ruffled the boy’s head. ‘And this one . . . equally talented in his way. He has the gift like me.’
‘I know,’ mumbled María, hardly daring to look at the boy in case he told her something else she could not bear to hear.
‘So, Lucía, I will play for you now, sí?’ said Chilly.
‘No, gracias. I will wait for my papá. He is the only one who knows how to play for me,’ Lucía replied autocratically.
‘Chilly will play many times for you in the future,’ stated Micaela. ‘And . . .’
María turned to look at the bruja and saw her eyes were rolling back in her head as they always did when she listened to the spirits.
‘. . . This young man’ – Micaela tapped Chilly on the shoulder – ‘will one day guide your granddaughter back home.’
‘My granddaughter?’ asked María, confused.
‘No – hers.’ Micaela pointed directly at Lucía. ‘Remember what I said, little brujo,’ she said to Chilly. ‘She will come. Oh, it is so hot! I must find some water.’
Micaela left, and Lucía looked up at her mother in bewilderment.
‘I am too young to have a grandchild, Mamá, aren’t I?’
‘Sí, Lucía. Of course you are. So, will you have Chilly play for you or not? The crowd is growing and will get restless.’
‘It would be my honour to play for you, señorita.’ Chilly smiled, showing the gap where his milk teeth were missing.
‘I suppose you must,’ Lucía sighed. ‘I will dance a bulerías, yes, Mamá?’
‘I think that will be suitable.’
‘You can play one?’ Lucía asked Chilly suspiciously.
‘I can play anything, señorita. Come.’ Chilly grasped Lucía’s hand. ‘We will do this now, as my family too must make the journey home.’
Surprisingly, Lucía followed him without complaint. The green was now packed with onlookers as the two miniature performers took up their places on the platform. Someone had been found to play the cajón and Chilly joined him on a stool as Lucía took centre stage and assumed her opening position.
‘¡Olé!’ she shouted.
‘¡Olé!’ the crowd replied.
Chilly began to play, his eyes never leaving Lucía as he took his lead from her. The pounding of her tiny feet began, and María watched, mesmerised. Whether it was the almost tender accompaniment of the boy, who seemed to pre-empt her every movement with the strings of his guitar, or the confidence Lucía had gained from the adulation she’d received in the past two days, she thought she had never seen her daughter dance better.
The crowd was electrified and yelled encouragement to the young performers.
‘¡Vamos ya! ¡Olé!’ they cried. Lucía ended her dance with such a thundering final stamp, the wooden platform almost splintered beneath her.
María cheered as Lucía took a bow, sweeping a regal hand towards her guitarist in acknowledgement.
‘Who is that child playing for our daughter?’ said a voice from behind her.
‘It is my second cousin, José. He is talented, sí?’
José ignored her comment. ‘Why is he accompanying Lucía?’
‘Because you weren’t here to do so,’ María stated.
José belched and put a heavy arm on his wife’s shoulder to steady himself. She could see and smell that he’d been drinking. He made to move towards the makeshift stage, but María grabbed him by his waistcoat.
‘No, José! I need to speak to you urgently. Did Eduardo find you?’
‘No, he did not. Let go of me.’
‘Not until you listen to me. Let’s go somewhere where we can have a private conversation.’
‘Can it not wait?’
‘No, it can’t! We will walk over there.’
The two of them moved to stand together behind one of the nearby wagons.
‘What is it that is so important, woman?’
‘Your son Felipe is in a cell in the town jail. He and Carlos were caught picking pockets by the police at the Concurso last night. Eduardo said three other boys from the village have been caught too. I’ve been told they’ll be sentenced in the next couple of days. Carlos managed to escape, but our poor Felipe . . .’
María gave a guttural sob, and knew she finally had his full attention.
‘Nooo . . .’ José groaned and put his head in his hands. He looked up at his wife, devastation on his face. ‘For all my faults, the one thing I have never done is steal. I believed I had drummed it into my boys too. Dios mío, I cannot believe it!’
‘What will happen, José, do you know?’
‘No, but maybe those who have been in such a situation before could tell us.’
‘Yes, perhaps they can. Eduardo has gone to search for Carlos and to find out more about Felipe.’
‘This is all Carlos’s fault. Wait until I get my hands on him,’ José growled. ‘He’ll have gone to ground in the caves. He’s probably more frightened of what I might do when I find him than he is of the police! So, I’m going now to search the village and I won’t be back without the little malparido.’
‘Don’t beat him, José. He’s probably frightened and—’
‘I am his papá and he will get what’s coming to him. What he deserves!’ he shouted, his body shaking with anger.
María watched her husband stride off, then break into a run as he disappeared up the winding path.
‘Wasn’t Lucía wonderful!’ Paola had found her daughter in the crowd and clasped her hands together as she spoke. ‘Our cousins were amazed. You must be very proud.’
‘I am, Mamá.’
‘You don’t look it. You are ashen like a spirit. What is wrong?’
‘Nothing. I am tired from the weekend, that is all.’
‘Tired? María, you are only thirty-three years old and yet you act like an old woman. Maybe you should see Micaela for a potion to bring the light back into your eyes. Now, come and say goodbye to your cousins before they leave.’
María followed her mother over to the group of carts and wagons that would deliver their relatives back to Barcelona and beyond. Each one congratulated her on Lucía and expressed the hope that she and her family would visit them soon. María nodded and smiled by rote, her throat so tight she could hardly speak.
‘Goodbye, señora.’ Chilly was tugging at her skirt, beckoning her down to him. ‘Don’t you worry, help will come. You will not be alone,’ he whispered. He patted her arm like a parent would a child’s, then climbed up onto a wagon next to his father.
Even though her legs were weak with shock and fatigue, María stood with her parents and Lucía, waving off the wagon train until it was a mere speck in the distance.
She somehow gathered the strength to help her mother clear away the detritus left by the guests while Lucía sat on her grandfather’s knee, sucking her thumb and listening to stories of the old days. When she went to collect her daughter to go home, Lucía was sound asleep.
‘Too much excitement for the little one, I think.’ Pedro smiled as he lifted her into María’s arms. ‘She told me she’d received many offers to dance in cafés
in Barcelona, but I hope you will not be taking them up until she is much older.’
‘Of course not, Papá.’
‘Are you quite well, mija? You don’t seem yourself.’
Her father gently brushed a wisp of his daughter’s hair back from her face. The tenderness in his gesture made her want to throw herself into his arms and tell him everything, ask for his help and advice, but she knew José would never forgive her if she did. He was the head of her family now.
Back at home, Lucía had woken up and went to practise her zapateado ostentatiously outside, clearly hoping to attract more praise from any passing villagers. It was obvious that attention was a drug to which Lucía was already addicted. María kept herself as busy as she could while she waited for José or Eduardo to return home with news of her missing sons. No doubt rumours would be all over the village by now.
As dusk fell, María finally saw José walking along the path. With a sigh of relief, she saw Carlos lagging some distance behind him.
‘Get in there.’ José shoved his son through the cave entrance. Carlos tripped on the step and fell to the earthen floor. José followed and drew back a foot to kick him.
‘No!’ María screamed, putting herself between her son and her husband. ‘That is not the answer, José, even though he deserves far worse. We need his senses intact to tell us where Felipe is.’
‘Oh, I know where our boy is; as Eduardo told you, Felipe is locked up in a cell in the city.’ José bent over Carlos and heaved his cowering son to standing. ‘And with his little brother in jail, this one was hiding in the stable of his friend Raul, like a frightened goat meant for slaughter. He did not even think to come home and tell his mother and father what had happened to Felipe!’
‘Forgive me, forgive me, Mamá, Papá. I was frightened, I didn’t know what to do.’ Carlos’ eyes were those of the child he had once been.
‘You were more interested in saving your own sad skin, and I should march you down to the city jail now and hand you over to be sentenced with your brother and the others. It is no less than you deserve, you pathetic coward!’
The Moon Sister Page 16