‘Here are we, weeping for our lost children and grandchildren, while a mother plans to abandon hers.’ Ramón shook his head. ‘Does Lucía not realise what a gift she has been given?’
María knew he struggled with Lucía and what he saw as her selfishness.
‘Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses, and all we can do is accept them for who they are. Besides, Lucía is right; one of us in this household needs to find work before the money runs out.’
‘I am hoping that when summer comes I can go back and work as a labourer,’ Ramón commented. ‘It should be my task to earn the money.’
‘Ramón, you know as well as I that there are thousands returning to Spain who are desperate for work. Will you not try to fight to reclaim your own orange grove?’ María asked him again. ‘It’s so unfair, you paid for that grove – it is yours by rights.’
‘And what proof do I have, except a sheet of paper from the seller naming the figure I paid for it? It isn’t a legal deed, María . . . Me, against Franco’s government, who stole it from me originally.’ Ramón shook his head and gave a hollow laugh. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘But unless someone starts to fight, then nothing will change.’
‘María, I think we have enough battles to fight just to survive. Perhaps you have been away so long you have forgotten who we are; we are gitanos, the lowest of the low. No one listens to us.’
‘Because we never speak!’ María shook her head. ‘Forgive me, Ramón, but in America it is very different. Look what Lucía achieved despite being a gitano. She was fêted everywhere she went.’
‘Yes, for her talent, for she is unique and special. Me? I am just a simple labourer.’
‘Yes.’ María reached for his hand. ‘And one that I love with all of my heart.’
*
‘So, you have enough money for the next six months’ rent, food, and an extra amount for all the milk Isadora guzzles.’ Lucía smiled as she looked down at her baby, kicking on the floor in her napkin, her little limbs naked. Lucía went to her, knelt down and kissed each foot, each hand and both cheeks. ‘Ah, my love, mi pequeña. Take good care until we meet again.’
‘The taxi has arrived, Lucía,’ shouted Ramón.
‘Then I must go. Goodbye, Ramón, Angelina . . .’ Lucía kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Bye-bye, Mamá, take care of you and my darling Isadora.’
‘I will, and Godspeed on your journey, querida. Be safe until we meet again.’
Lucía blew a kiss as her tiny feet clattered across the tiles in her new leather court shoes. With a last wave, she climbed into the taxi and was gone.
Angelina, standing alone on the terrace, found her eyes filled with tears.
They will never meet again, she thought silently to herself.
33
Over the next few months, even though Lucía’s departure was a wrench, without her constant restlessness, the house became a far calmer place. Ramón – always uncomfortable in front of Lucía because of José – relaxed and unleashed all his paternal instincts on baby Isadora.
Through word of mouth, Angelina’s stream of visitors began to increase, all wishing to consult the angel child, who had spawned a reputation as being the greatest bruja the gitano world had seen in a generation. Clients started coming from as far away as Barcelona, and one night Angelina came to sit with María and Ramón.
‘I wish to ask your advice,’ she said quietly, her hands clasped in her lap. ‘Because I am so young and still learning, I do not ask to be paid. People often leave me some goat’s milk or eggs, as you know, but I am wondering—’
‘Whether you should put down a charge for different treatments and remedies,’ Ramón finished for her. ‘What do you think, María? After all, we are using our money buying petrol to take the car up to Sacromonte three times a week so that Angelina can forage for her herbs. We should at least cover that cost.’
‘Do you know what Micaela charged, Abuela?’ Angelina asked María.
‘Not exactly, no. She never refused to treat a patient if they couldn’t afford to pay, but if they could, then yes, she took their money. Especially the wealthy payos who came to see her.’
‘I don’t think payos would come to see a child like Angelina and pay,’ chuckled Ramón.
‘Maybe not yet, no,’ María agreed, ‘but that was where Micaela made her proper money.’
‘Next you’ll be suggesting we send Angelina down into the Plaza de las Pasiegas by the cathedral! She can hand out rosemary and a fortune for a few pesetas.’ Ramón raised his eyebrows.
‘You know,’ María commented later that evening, as she took out the box that contained their cash from under the floorboards and opened it, ‘even though you joked about putting Angelina in the plaza to catch the rich payos, soon it may be necessary. We have only enough money for the next three months.’
‘Lucía promised to send some more, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, but it hasn’t arrived. What if it got stolen on its journey? It is a long way from America to Spain, and many hands will have fingered that parcel. How many hungry people are there at the post office in Granada?’
‘Lucía is not stupid, querida. She would disguise it well. What is it, María? You are not yourself.’
‘No,’ María sighed. ‘I may not be a bruja, but I just have a bad feeling, that something is going to go wrong.’
‘This is not like you at all.’ Ramón frowned, then took her in his arms. ‘Remember what both of us have already survived. Together we can face anything. I promise.’
‘I hope so, Ramón, I really do.’
*
A week later, a car that María did not recognise came sweeping up the drive. It parked in front of the house and a payo woman with a sleek black bob and an oversized pair of sunglasses stepped out.
‘Hola, señora,’ María smiled as the woman climbed up the steps to the terrace. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Are you Señora Albaycín?’ the woman asked.
‘Sí, I am. And you are?’
‘Señora Velez.’
‘Ah! Alejandro’s sister. Please, come in. I am very happy to meet you. Can I get you something to drink?’
‘No, señora. I am afraid I have come here because there have been complaints in the neighbourhood about you and your family.’
‘Complaints?’ María looked around at the olive and orange groves that stood on either side of the finca. ‘But we have no neighbours.’
‘I have heard that one of your family is using this house as a place of work.’
‘Sorry, señora, what do you mean?’
‘She tells fortunes and brews herbs into potions, which she sells. Is this true?’
‘I . . . yes, that is, my ten-year-old granddaughter helps people if they are sick or need advice. She is a bruja, señora.’
‘You say this business is run by a child?’ The woman took off her dark sunglasses to show a pair of heavily made-up, hard green eyes.
‘Yes, and you are right that recently more have heard of her gifts and have sought her out.’
‘Did you know it is illegal for children to work, señora?’
‘It isn’t work, she does not get paid for doing it—’
‘Señora Albaycín, I am sure you can understand my brother and I rented this house out to you in good faith. My brother assured me you and your daughter were respectable women. He did not realise that you kept company with the kind of people who are now visiting. Nor does my brother realise that our home is now housing a business and using child labour at that.’
‘Señora, I have told you that my granddaughter does not take money for her services and the people who come here are—’
‘Gitanos. I suppose we must count ourselves lucky that you have not moved in your entire clan!’
At that moment, Angelina appeared, holding Isadora in her arms.
‘Hola, señora,’ Angelina smiled at the woman. ‘How can we help you?’
‘Is this the child who tell
s the fortunes?’
‘Sí, señora,’ Angelina answered. ‘Shall I tell you yours?’
‘No.’ The woman visibly shuddered as Ramón also appeared on the terrace to see who their visitor was.
‘And who is this?’
‘My name is Ramón, señora. And you are welcome to our home.’ He smiled, holding out his hand to her.
‘For your information, this is my home. So he lives here too?’
‘Yes, señora,’ María confirmed.
‘Alejandro did not mention either him or the child. I believe it is just yourself and your daughter named on the lease. So, how many more of you are hidden away inside?’
‘Please, it is only who you see. My daughter has travelled back to America and . . .’ María followed the woman as she walked inside, opening each door tentatively as if she might be attacked by a savage group of undesirables. Once satisfied there was no one else present, the woman’s eyes swept around the kitchen and the sitting room.
‘You can see, señora, that I have made your house beautiful,’ said María.
The woman flicked an ant off the kitchen table.
‘Apart from the fact I have just discovered you have moved further members of your family into our house without permission, and that a minor is working out of it, I have come to tell you that we are putting up the rent from next month. My brother was always a soft touch – and he too realises it is far too low for such a property.’
‘How much will you charge, señora?’
The woman named the figure and Ramón and María stared at each other in horror.
‘But, señora, that is four times what we are paying now! We cannot afford it and—’
‘Perhaps you can have her put her prices up,’ the woman glanced at Angelina.
‘But we made an agreement—’
‘Yes, for two people. Now there are four, and besides, I am sure that the policía would support us were we to tell them that our beloved grandparents’ house had been taken over by gitano squatters. So, if you are unable to pay what we wish, you will leave the house by the end of the month, which I should remind you is in three days’ time.’ The woman turned to walk off the terrace, her sunglasses back in place. ‘Oh, and don’t think of taking anything from the house. We know exactly what is in it. Goodbye, señora.’
As the woman headed towards her car, Angelina walked down the terrace and pointed at her.
‘I curse you, señora,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘May you rot in the depths of hell!’
‘Hush!’ said María as the woman looked up at them, turned the engine on, then screeched out of the drive. ‘That won’t help at all.’
‘Must we leave this house?’ Angelina asked her.
‘Yes, we must.’ María took baby Isadora from Angelina’s small arms and looked helplessly at Ramón. ‘Where on earth should we go?’
‘For now, I think we must go back to Sacromonte.’
‘Well’ – Angelina clapped her hands together – ‘at least I will be happy. I will be close to the forest, even though I will miss the bathtub.’
‘At least we own it, and no one can claim it back as theirs,’ said María. ‘I knew something was coming, that this was too good to last.’
‘You did.’ Ramón stretched out a hand to her. ‘Remember we were happy there once before, querida. I hope we can be happy again.’
‘What if Lucía has sent the money here already and it arrives after we’ve gone?’ María said, panic surging through her.
‘We must send a telegram to Pepe to let him know what has happened, and while we are at the post office, ask them to hold any mail that comes for us there. See, María?’ Ramón reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘There is always a solution to every problem.’
‘Why are you so positive?’
‘Because there is nothing else to be.’
*
Three days later, having borrowed a mule to attach to Ramón’s cart, he clopped off with all their possessions loaded onto it. María followed behind in the car, which she was hoping she could sell – they wouldn’t be needing it up at Sacromonte. Even though María knew that part of being gitano was that all homes were temporary, she could not help but mourn the loss of her beloved finca and her time as a payo.
Ramón did his best to brighten up their cave. He whitewashed all the walls and fashioned a little courtyard to the side where they could sit outside during the long hot days. He even suggested to María that they turn the old storeroom at the back of the stable into a bathroom.
‘I cannot provide running water,’ he said, as he, María and Angelina stared at the battered tin bathtub and commode he had brought back on his cart from the junkyard in the city, ‘but we can make do with these.’
‘Gracias, Ramón.’ Angelina put her arms around him. ‘They are just as good.’
In many ways, María thought, as they sat outside together watching the sun set over the Alhambra, their move had proved less painful than she’d feared. Their old home had welcomed them back and it was comforting to be amongst friends.
The telegram had gone off to Pepe and every morning, Ramón went down to the city post office to find out if the package from America had arrived. It hadn’t.
‘At least we have the money from the car, querida, and maybe I can find some work as a labourer soon,’ Ramón reminded her.
María looked at him – his skinny body still struggling to recover from the toll the years in prison had taken.
‘Let us just hope the package arrives in the next few weeks,’ she sighed.
*
Four months on, there was still no package or word from Pepe. María had taken up her basket-weaving again, but few in the city had money to spare to buy them.
‘Can I come with you, Abuela?’ Angelina asked as María loaded the baskets onto a long stick and prepared to carry them to the central plaza. ‘Ramón can mind Isadora for a few hours and you look as if you need some help.’
‘Thank you,’ María smiled. ‘And yes, maybe your pretty face can charm me some customers.’
They set off on the long walk, María glad that summer was here. It had been a particularly wet spring – the mud running in rivulets down the mountain and creating a stink she remembered vividly from her past. Today there was a brilliant July sun and with Angelina chattering beside her, she felt a little more cheerful.
‘You’re not to worry, Abuela, the money will come, I promise,’ Angelina smiled at her as they reached the Plaza de las Pasiegas, which lay in front of the great cathedral of Granada.
‘Now then.’ Angelina looked around her, then pointed towards a spot just by the cathedral steps. ‘Mass will finish soon,’ she said, having read the board on the front door. ‘Many people will come out and perhaps they will like to buy your baskets. Señorita,’ she said, approaching a payo woman walking across the square, ‘my grandmother has made these beautiful baskets with her own hands, are you interested in buying one? They are very strong, you know,’ Angelina added.
The woman shook her head, but Angelina followed her. ‘Then how about having your fortune told?’
Again, the woman shook her head and began to walk faster.
‘But surely you wish to know if your daughter will marry the wealthy man she is courting?’ she persisted. ‘Or whether your husband will get the promotion at the office he is after?’
At this, the woman paused and turned round to Angelina, shock on her face.
‘How did you know that?’
‘Señora, for a peseta, I can know much more. Now, let me take your hand and see . . .’
María hung back and watched as Angelina traced the woman’s palm with her own small fingers and whispered secrets in her ear, having to stand on tiptoe to do so. After ten minutes or so, the woman nodded, reached into her handbag and took out her purse. She watched as the woman extracted a five-peseta note.
‘Do you have change?’ she asked Angelina.
‘Sadly, señora, I do not, but maybe
you would take one of my grandmother’s baskets instead?’
The woman seemed dazed and nodded automatically as Angelina skipped over to María to retrieve a basket. ‘Gracias, señora, and I wish you and your family a long and happy life.’
‘See?’ Angelina said when the woman had gone. She flapped the note as she walked back towards María. ‘I told you you were not to worry about money.’
By the time María walked back up the winding alleys to Sacromonte, she had no baskets left to carry. In their place was a bulging pocket in her skirt, full of coins and notes.
‘I have never seen anything like it,’ María told Ramón that evening as they feasted on the blood sausages María had bought. ‘She managed to entice customer after customer to have their fortune told. And she did not even have any rosemary to give them.’ María smiled.
‘Perhaps it helped that she is a child and looks like a payo.’ Ramón shrugged.
‘Yes, that, but also because with each of them she would tell them a little something about themselves that they all recognised to draw them in.’ María shook her head. ‘Her gift is frightening, Ramón. It frightened me to watch her. She said she wants to go again next week, but I just don’t know whether it is right to use her powers for money. That was what happened with Lucía.’
‘And like Lucía, Angelina has a mind of her own. Trust me, that young lady will never do anything she does not wish to do. Besides . . .’
‘What?’
‘Angelina did what she did today to comfort you. She wanted to show you that you are not to worry because she loves you. What is so wrong with that?’
‘Because I always feel as though I am reliant on others,’ María sighed.
‘No, María, we are all reliant on you.’ He patted her hand gently. ‘Now, time for bed.’
Isadora
June 1951, five years later
34
‘Are you awake, Isadora?’
‘No,’ she said, burying her face in the pillow. ‘I am asleep.’
‘Well, I know you are not because you are talking to me, and if you won’t get out of bed, I will just have to tickle you until you do . . .’
The Moon Sister Page 51