The Moon Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘No, Papá, she will not “attack” you. She doesn’t hate you; she still loves you, even though I cannot even begin to understand why, but,’ Lucía hurried on, ‘that is not what I wanted to speak to you about.’

  ‘There is something worse than your mother arriving here in Lisbon?’

  Lucía restrained herself from slapping her father’s face. Despite what he had done for her, his refusal to accept his familial responsibilities upset and irritated her beyond measure.

  ‘Papá, Pepe is here too.’

  ‘And who is Pepe?’

  ‘Your youngest son. When you left with me to go to Barcelona, Mamá was already pregnant with him.’

  José looked at her in total disbelief. ‘I think I am still asleep and this is all a bad dream! When your mother came to see me in Barcelona, she did not mention she was pregnant.’

  ‘She didn’t know—’

  ‘Or perhaps the child isn’t mine.’

  The sound of a palm whisking harshly across skin echoed around the room as Lucía lost the last remnants of her control.

  ‘How dare you, Papá? To abandon and then to disrespect your wife and the mother of your children like that! You are a disgrace!’ Lucía was shaking with anger – even though no gitano daughter disrespected her father, enough was enough. ‘You . . .’ she said, her finger close to his nose, ‘better listen to what I am telling you. Mamá has brought your son up to love and respect his father, even though he has never met you. He knows nothing of the “aunties” that have shared his father’s bed, or his love for the brandy bottle, only that his papá is a famous guitarist who must be away from his family to provide for them.’

  ‘Mierda! Is she here for money, is that it?’

  ‘Do you not hear a word that I say, or are you just plain stupid?’ Lucía was screaming at him now. ‘Just because your mind and heart are full of snakes, it does not mean that Mamá’s are too. That boy down there believes he will meet a father who will be as excited to see him as he is to see you.’

  ‘You are forgetting one thing, Lucía. No one ever told me I had a son. Is that my fault?’

  ‘Why are you never in the wrong?! Everything in life is always someone else’s fault, isn’t it?’ Lucía spat at him. ‘You know very well that you deserted your family – you edited my mother from my life, you did not even give me the birthday gifts she sent! I didn’t see her for over ten years! And when I did, she made me swear not to tell you about Pepe. Anyway’ – she shook her head in despair – ‘there is nothing more I can say. You do as you wish, but Mamá and Pepe are here to stay.’

  Lucía left the room, feeling the blood sizzling through her veins. She went to the window along the corridor, wrenched it open and took some deep breaths. When she’d calmed down sufficiently to return to her suite, she opened the door to the sound of guitars from within. Meñique was playing with Pepe, both of them lost in a world of their own. The sight calmed her and made her smile. Even if her father could not behave as he should towards his son, then perhaps Meñique could fill the void.

  ‘Dios mío,’ Meñique breathed as the two of them finished playing. ‘Lucía, Pepe has inherited his father’s talent! We have a new recruit to our cuadro!’

  ‘He is only thirteen, Meñique,’ Lucía reminded him.

  ‘And you were even younger when you started dancing, Lucía.’

  ‘Gracias, señor.’ Pepe looked up shyly at Meñique. ‘But I have only played in front of family and neighbours at weddings and fiestas.’

  ‘As all of us once did,’ Meñique reassured the boy. ‘I will help you, and I’m sure your father will too.’

  ‘Is he awake yet, Lucía?’ Pepe asked hopefully.

  ‘Yes, he is getting dressed and will be here to see you very soon. He is excited to meet you too. Perhaps while we wait, you would like to take a bath?’ Lucía suggested. The stale smell of Pepe’s unwashed body was permeating the room.

  ‘A bath? There is a barrel in here?’ Pepe looked around the luxurious suite in confusion.

  ‘There is a room which has a water closet and a bathtub, which you fill from taps.’

  ‘Never!’ Pepe’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘May I see it?’

  ‘Of course you may.’ Lucía offered her hand to him. ‘Come with me.’

  Meñique watched them go, musing once again on Lucía’s many-faceted personality. She was being almost maternal with Pepe, had paid a fortune to rescue her mother and brother . . .

  For the next twenty minutes, he wandered distractedly around the sitting room. ‘Family is everything,’ he sighed, repeating Lucía’s words. He wondered then whether the arrival of mother and son would be to the detriment of their tightly knit group. There was a tentative knock at the door of the suite.

  ‘It is I, José,’ a voice said from behind it.

  ‘I suppose I’m about to find out,’ Meñique murmured as he went to open it. ‘Hola, José. You look smart.’

  ‘I am here to greet the son I didn’t know I had,’ he said in a hoarse whisper, hovering on the threshold and glancing nervously around the interior of the suite.

  ‘You are, yes.’

  ‘And my wife? Where is she?’

  ‘Still sleeping. The journey has exhausted her. Come in, José. Lucía has taken Pepe to have his first bath.’

  ‘What is he like?’

  ‘He is a fine boy, well brought up by his mother and a talented guitarist.’

  ‘You think he is definitely mine?’ José whispered as he sat down, then stood up again and began to pace.

  ‘When you see him you can make that judgement for yourself.’

  ‘My other sons – Eduardo and Carlos . . . Lucía tells me they are missing.’ José put a hand to his forehead. ‘What a morning of shocks. I think I will take some brandy.’

  ‘Best not,’ Meñique advised. ‘You will need all your wits about you in the next few hours.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right, but . . .’

  At that moment, Lucía and the boy emerged from the bathroom. Pepe was dressed in a fresh shirt and trousers.

  ‘He has borrowed some of your clothes, Meñique, although the trousers are too short,’ she teased the boy. ‘You are tall, like your father. And here he is!’ Lucía declared, her eyes fixed on José. ‘Papá, come and say hello to the son you’ve always longed to meet.’

  ‘I . . .’ José’s eyes travelled up and down the young man, taking him in and realising Lucía had spoken the truth. His eyes filled with tears. ‘My son! You look just like me when I was your age. Come here, hijo, and let me embrace you.’

  ‘Papá . . .’ Pepe walked towards him hesitantly. José opened his arms and pulled the young man to him, then began to weep openly.

  ‘All these years, I cannot believe it! I cannot.’

  Lucía went to Meñique, in need of her own embrace. She was heartened that José’s reaction seemed genuine enough.

  Then the door to Lucía’s bedroom opened, to reveal María. She watched her husband and son, her own tears already brimming in her eyes. Lucía caught her gaze and nodded.

  ‘Look who is here, Papá,’ she said.

  José turned and saw his wife, her dark eyes huge and fearful in her thin face.

  ‘María.’

  ‘Yes, José. I am sure you have heard that our daughter saved my life and that of our son by rescuing us from Granada.’

  ‘I have.’ José walked slowly towards her, his head down like a beaten dog waiting to be reprimanded. He stopped half a metre away and lifted his eyes to hers, struggling to find the right words. The silence seemed to go on endlessly until Meñique broke it.

  ‘I am sure that you both have much to talk about. Why don’t we leave you in peace and go and introduce Pepe to the rest of the cuadro?’

  ‘Yes!’ Lucía jumped on Meñique’s suggestion. ‘Come, Pepe, you have not yet met your Aunt Juana. She will be amazed to see how tall you are.’

  Lucía offered her hand as Pepe’s eyes rested determinedly on his parents �
�� the first time in his young life he had seen them together. She took his hand and pulled him towards the door, with Meñique following. ‘We will see you later,’ she said to her mother and father. ‘And then we will celebrate the reunion together.’ With a last searing glance at José, she ushered Pepe and Meñique out of the room.

  *

  ‘So, what did he say, Mamá?’ whispered Lucía as they sat on the floor of the suite together finishing up the food that Lucía had ordered earlier.

  ‘He said sorry.’ María shrugged as she broke off a piece of bread.

  ‘And your reply?’

  ‘I accepted it. What else could I do? Pepe has had enough dreams destroyed – for his sake, I will not destroy another. That is what I told José. And as you know,’ María lowered her voice even further, ‘I am not innocent of deceit either.’

  ‘No, Mamá, that is wrong. Your husband abandoned you and your children for fourteen years! Ramón was there to help you.’

  ‘Sí, Lucía, but I am – and was – a married woman. Perhaps I should have resisted . . .’

  ‘No, he is what kept you alive when Papá and I left. You must not feel guilt.’

  ‘Ramón treated Pepe like a son. He loved him so much – brought him up as if he was his own . . .’ María ventured.

  ‘As you did for his girls after they lost their mother, remember?’ Lucía gave the floor an exasperated thump. ‘Why is it that the bad people never feel guilt or take responsibility for the hurt they have caused? When all the good people who have done nothing wrong continue to punish themselves?’

  ‘Your father isn’t a bad man, Lucía, he is just weak.’

  ‘Still you make excuses for his behaviour!’

  ‘No, I just understand who he is. I was not enough for him and that is that.’

  Lucía realised it was pointless continuing the conversation. ‘So, you are friends?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ María nodded. ‘Your father asked me whether we could forget the past and start again.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I said that we could forget the past, but that I did not have the energy to “start again”. There are some things that cannot be reversed, ever.’

  ‘Like what?’

  María bit into a small piece of bread and chewed it thoughtfully. ‘I will not share his bed again. His understanding of “sharing” is different to mine and, being who he is, I know it won’t last, even if he believes it will. I cannot go through that pain again. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Mamá.’

  ‘Try to imagine if it was Meñique who told you he loved you, that you were the only one for him, and then you discovered that he had said the same thing to many others when it suited him.’ María made an effort to swallow, her stomach so contracted that any piece of food was an effort to digest.

  ‘I would cut off his cojones while he slept in the night,’ stated Lucía.

  ‘I’m sure you would, querida, but you are not me and I endured that humiliation again and again.’

  ‘Maybe Papá has changed. Men do as they get older. And I swear I have not seen a woman near him since I came to visit you in Sacromonte.’

  ‘Well . . .’ María grimaced as the bread went down. ‘That is something, I suppose. Don’t worry, Lucía, we have agreed that – for Pepe’s sake, if for nobody else – we will be reunited. He above everyone must believe in our love.’

  ‘Do you still love him, Mamá?’

  ‘He is the love of my life, and always will be, but that does not mean to say that I can be taken for a fool again. I have grown older and learnt what my heart can tolerate and what it can’t. So, I will sleep with Juana.’

  ‘No, Mamá! You will have a room to yourself. I will go down to reception now and arrange it.’

  ‘Gracias, Lucía.’ María put her hand upon her daughter’s. ‘I know that it’s only natural to want a true reunion between us, but it can’t be that way.’

  ‘I understand, Mamá, of course I do. Maybe in the future, sí?’

  ‘I have learnt never to say never, querida mía.’ María smiled weakly. ‘For now, I am only happy to be safe, and for Pepe to finally meet his father. I can never thank you enough, Lucía.’

  ‘And tonight, Mamá, for the first time in so many years, you will see me dance!’

  ‘I will, but perhaps I should go and have a rest so I am ready to appreciate it.’

  ‘But I was going to take you out shopping! Buy you a new dress.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ María said weakly as she rose from the table. ‘I will have a new dress tomorrow.’

  *

  ‘I am worried that Mamá is ill,’ Lucía said to Meñique as soon as they were alone in the suite with the remnants of the feast.

  ‘Lucía, I think you expect too much. Your mother is not ill, she is simply weak from months of starvation, let alone the shock of being here and seeing her husband for the first time in so many years.’

  ‘Well, I hope you are right. We must do all we can to make her strong. I am not sure she looks happy to be here.’

  ‘Lucía . . .’ Meñique took a sip of his bitter coffee. ‘None of us can know what it is like to make a decision between abandoning two sons that you love to save another. She has come here for Pepe, not for herself.’

  ‘Sí, but I hope she is a little glad to be here too. Now, I must go shopping and choose Mamá a dress to wear for tonight. I want her to look beautiful. Will you come with me?’

  Meñique agreed as he always did, knowing that his much-needed siesta before the performance tonight would have to be forfeited.

  As they left the suite, he also wondered at Lucía’s level of emotional maturity and whether her wish to reunite her mother and father was rooted in a desire to absolve her misplaced guilt for creating their separation in the first place.

  *

  María listened to the chatter of the elegant drinkers in the Café Arcadio. Even though she could not understand what they said, she knew these payos were very wealthy, from the clothes they wore and the expensive alcohol they drank. Never before had she done anything more than pass a payo in the street, yet tonight here she was, sitting in a dress as elegant as any of theirs, with her hair piled up on her head in a fetching style that Juana had fashioned for her.

  And they were all here to see her daughter: Lucía Albaycín, the little gitana from Sacromonte. To think that she had conquered the hearts and minds of payos in another country! It was too much to take in.

  ‘I feel as if I’m in a dream!’ Pepe echoed her thoughts as he took a sip of the beer he’d been bought and ventured a look around the café. ‘The queue to gain entrance is getting longer. Can we really be here, Mamá, amongst Portuguese payos?’

  ‘We can, and all thanks to your sister for rescuing us,’ María said.

  ‘And to Papá,’ Pepe added. ‘He told me he provided the money needed to bribe the officials and obtain our papers.’

  ‘And to him also, of course,’ María agreed with a thin smile.

  As if on cue, José appeared next to them.

  ‘We begin in five minutes.’ His eyes swept over María’s body. ‘You look beautiful tonight. You have barely changed since you were fifteen years old.’

  ‘Gracias.’ María lowered her eyes, steeling herself to ignore his comments.

  ‘Now, I must prepare.’ José swept a bow.

  ‘But Lucía is not here yet.’

  ‘She is, María, but every night she goes outside to talk with those who cannot get in,’ he explained, then strode off to join the other members of the cuadro who were gathered at the back of the café.

  ‘Lucía is very famous, sí, Mamá?’

  ‘Very,’ María confirmed with the same wonder as her son. The rest of the cuadro took their places to wild cheering and clapping from the audience. José and Meñique began warming up, and María saw Pepe smile in pleasure.

  ‘Papá is so talented, isn’t he? Maybe better than Meñique.’

  María looked at her s
on and observed the utter adoration in his eyes. It made her want to weep again. ‘Yes, he is, just like you.’

  As Pepe went to take another swig of his beer, María firmly took the bottle out of his hand.

  ‘No, querido. Alcohol is bad for the fingers.’

  ‘Really? Then why did I see Papá drinking at lunchtime?’

  ‘Because he has learnt his skills already. Now, watch the show.’

  After another few minutes of José and Meñique improvising, José’s fingers suddenly halted.

  ‘But where is La Candela?’ He looked around the room as the audience held its breath. ‘She is not here and we cannot start without her.’

  ‘I am here,’ a voice said from the entrance to the café.

  The whole audience turned at the sound of Lucía’s voice, and began to cheer and clap. She silenced them with a raised hand as she swept through the crowd, the long train of her flamenco dress – the length of which would rival any queen’s – following like a serpent behind her. She arrived on stage and expertly flicked her wrist to manoeuvre it into submission.

  ‘¡Arriba!’

  ‘¡Olé!’ cheered the audience in response.

  ‘Now we can begin.’ José strummed his guitar with a flourish as Lucía began to move.

  Along with everyone else in the room, María sat there transfixed by a creature so full of fire and passion that she could hardly recognise her as her own.

  How you have moved on, querida mía, she thought as she listened to the audience’s ecstatic applause and joined them in a standing ovation. You are simply magnificent.

  José too seemed to have discovered a whole new level of performance. That evening he matched his daughter beat for beat, seeming to know exactly when he should let her feet take over.

  ‘My sister, she is incredible!’ Pepe whispered as Lucía completed her alegrías and the entire café stood up demanding an encore.

  She used her hands to quieten them.

  ‘Sí, I will give you an encore, but only if my special guest joins me on stage first. Come, Pepe,’ Lucía beckoned him as all eyes in the café fell upon the boy.

  ‘I can’t, Mamá!’ Pepe panicked. ‘I am not good enough!’

  María reached for his guitar, which Lucía had insisted he bring. ‘Go, join your sister, Pepe.’