What Tomorrow Brings

by Mary Fitzgerald

  Amyas shrugged. ‘I expect so. And he’ll give me no quarter if he catches up with me.’

  ‘So,’ I continued, anxious now to hear everything, ‘what were you doing at the hospital? How did you find Charlie?’

  He shrugged. ‘I needed an excuse for not being at the front.’ He touched his temple, where I could just see the red line of a two-inch scar. ‘I cut my head on a rock while I was getting away from the battlefield. Everyone thought it was shrapnel and that gave me a reason to go to the hospital. They were transporting injured men to Madrid and that was a good way for me to go. But, fate, as it so often does, intervened. Who should be the first person I saw but Elena. She guessed immediately what I was up to. “That is a scratch”, she said, “not a wound. You are a bastard, and a bastard’s son. Look what you have done to me,” and she lifted her apron and showed me.’

  I giggled and Amyas, putting an arm around my shoulder, chuckled too. ‘I’ll bet that gave you pause for thought,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. It was an . . . interesting moment.’ For once, Amyas looked a little rueful. ‘Quite a surprise. Anyway, she said that if I helped her to get to Paris she wouldn’t give me away.’

  ‘Why Paris?’ I asked.

  ‘Apparently she has friends there. Members of the party, I suppose. She planned to have the child there and give it to a couple, some other devoted followers of the hammer and sickle who have no children. She doesn’t want it . . . it would be nothing but a nuisance to her, but she wanted to ensure that it would be brought up in the correct belief.’

  Poor little baby, I thought. No mention of affection and care in those plans. ‘But Charlie? How did you find him?’

  ‘It was Elena. She told me that there was another Englishman in the ward who the commissars believed was a spy. She thought they were going to shoot him. I went to have a look and found it was Charlie. As soon as I saw him I knew that you wouldn’t be far away. So I took him out.’

  ‘And Elena came too.’

  Amyas’s face hardened. ‘I was going to leave her, you know. She would only have held me back but I think, quite rightly, she didn’t trust me.’

  ‘You are an untrustworthy bastard,’ I murmured. ‘Mrs Cartwright can attest to that.’

  He laughed. ‘Did she contact you?’

  I nodded. ‘She came to see me, told me what you’d done. She’ll have you back, you know.’

  ‘Of course she will. But,’ he smiled, ‘I think that won’t be necessary. There are other ways to make money. Besides, even I can’t take any more of that old trout’s friendship with the Fascists. They’re even worse than the Communists.’

  At that instant I wanted to say: marry me. I’ll give you money. I’ll set you up in a legitimate business if you want. Or even, don’t marry me, just ask me for money, be obligated to me. But I didn’t. That wasn’t how we were together; we were lovers. I turned my face to his. ‘I want you,’ I said, unabashed at my boldness. ‘I want you to make love to me.’

  ‘Just what I was thinking, my sweetheart. Let’s go outside.’

  Was it the same silver moon in the velvet sky and were they the same stars that shone on us at the house by the sea? Those twinkling pinpoints of light that watched as we tore at each other, starving for the ultimate satisfaction of desire. I know they were, I know too that nothing could have kept me from him that night. I wanted him, I needed him and he felt the same. He grabbed at my clothes with the same reckless urgency that I used on his, freeing my body from the constraints that prevented him from being at one with my willing flesh.

  The damp grass beneath a scented, silver fir tree was our enchanted bed and it didn’t disappoint. At the height of passion I called out my pent-up craving and afterwards burst into hot tears of relief. ‘Oh, God,’ I wept. ‘I’ve missed you. So much.’

  He held me close, kissing the soft skin behind my ear and running his hands down my back. ‘Don’t cry,’ he whispered. ‘Be happy. Nothing has changed. Between us, darling Persephone, love is paramount. Only death will stop it. And even then perhaps we’ll continue on, like those stars above us.’

  It was true. We would float on our coral boat into the velvet sky. Lovers for ever.

  After a little while I eased my body from under his and, sighing, pulled on my clothes while he dressed too. ‘We have to get some rest,’ he groaned. ‘Tomorrow might be difficult.’

  ‘I know,’ I said and started to get up. Suddenly, a low scream broke the stillness of the night and I froze. ‘God,’ I breathed, ‘what’s that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Amyas stood up. ‘It sounds like an animal in pain.’

  I shivered. I thought of the wolves and the wild boar that roamed these mountains. Something had been caught and was being killed. And it was close by. ‘We should get into the hut,’ I said. ‘It might be dangerous.’

  Amyas nodded. ‘All right’, but then the scream came again and I clutched his arm, terrified. ‘Come on,’ I urged, but he didn’t move.

  ‘That’s human,’ he said and then called, ‘Elena!’

  We found her, only ten yards from where we’d made love. She was lying on the ground and in the moonlight I could see a spreading patch of dark fluid beneath her. Her body was contracting spasmodically and her clenched fists were crossed on her chest. ‘It comes,’ she grunted, when we knelt beside her. Her eyes were glittering with pain and anticipation when she whispered, ‘The child of revolution will be born beneath the stars.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  IT WAS LIKE something from an ancient age. An age of stone and wood; raw and almost feral; when creatures crept out, away from the pack to bring new life into the world. And like them, this young woman had chosen to give birth on her own in the woods, a wolf maiden, snarling at modernity. Kneeling beside her, I couldn’t help admiring her courage and I pushed my hand into her clenched fist and let her squeeze it tightly.

  There was a sudden patter of rain and the wind rustled through the branches of the surrounding trees. ‘She can’t have her baby out here,’ I whispered to Amyas. ‘It’s raining and too dark to see what we’re doing and too cold for a baby. We’ll have to get her into the hut.’

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded and without another word he bent and picked her up.

  ‘No!’ she wailed. ‘Leave me. My child shall be born here, under the stars.’ She struggled and fought with him as he carried her across the clearing, crying and swearing at him as though her heart would break, but Amyas, countering her fury, directed a stream of Spanish invective back at her. I wasn’t surprised that he could speak Spanish. After all, I’d discovered that he was fluent in German and he probably spoke French as well. His ability with languages was just another facet to his personality.

  Charlie’s body was outlined by the light behind him as he stood leaning against the door frame of the hut. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I heard a scream.’

  ‘She’s in labour,’ I answered, nodding towards the struggling girl in Amyas’s arms. ‘Her baby’s coming.’

  ‘Jesus!’ he groaned. ‘That’s all we need.’ He was echoing exactly the thought I’d had earlier.

  We followed Amyas into the hut and watched as he laid Elena on the floor. Now he was surprisingly gentle with her, even though she was spitting out what I could only assume were more swear words.

  ‘You should have put her on the bed,’ said Charlie. ‘I don’t need it as much as she does,’ but Amyas shook his head.

  ‘The bed’s too narrow. She’s better here.’

  Charlie dragged off the blanket he was holding around his shoulders. ‘Then take this. Cover her.’ I took the blanket and put it over the girl, but she threw it off, getting on to her hands and knees and growling with each contraction.

  I felt helpless. I had no idea what to do, but as the only other woman in this bleak hut I thought I must take charge. ‘Water,’ I said. ‘We ought to get water,’ and I picked up the two empty wine bottles. ‘Amyas,’ I said. ‘Can you fill these from the stream?’ He took
them and went outside while I surveyed our meagre provisions and equipment and wondered if we had anything useful. There was nothing. ‘Where’s her bag?’ I asked, and looked by the wall, where Elena usually sat. It was there, a striped canvas carrier bag, and I rooted through it. To my relief I found a couple of baby vests and a pretty cobweb knitted shawl. A pile of cotton squares was wrapped around a feeding bottle. She had made some preparations.

  ‘We need a doctor or a midwife,’ Charlie muttered, looking down at the girl who, in the midst of another agonising contraction, was writhing, lips clamped together, on the floor.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ I snapped, worked up by his feeble response. ‘There isn’t a doctor here in this village, and it’s nearly midnight. How can we possibly find a midwife?’ I knelt down next to Elena and offered her a drink of water from my canteen. She shook her head and looked again at the door, as though all she wanted to do was escape into the night. But Amyas was standing guard and she moaned out her dismay.

  Charlie sat down again on the bed, his shoulders painfully hunched. I was sorry I’d snapped at him and gave him what I hoped was a confident smile. ‘We’ll do the best we can,’ I said.

  We tried to do useful things. Amyas brought water in the wine bottles and we stood them close to the fire so that they could warm up. I took a clean pair of pants from my rucksack and, soaking them in water, I wiped Elena’s face whenever she’d let me near her. Even Charlie stumbled about outside in the dark, collecting sticks to keep the fire going. But mostly we watched, unable to help, as the labour dragged on.

  ‘How long d’you think it’s been going?’ asked Charlie. Amyas shook his head, ‘I think longer than we realise. She didn’t eat any supper and was difficult most of yesterday.’

  ‘We should have left her in the village. Someone could have helped her.’

  Amyas gave a short laugh. ‘Were you brave enough to tell her?’ As Charlie slowly shook his head, Amyas murmured, ‘No. Neither was I.’

  The night had given way to a grey, misty dawn when Amyas knelt in front of the exhausted girl. Elena had stopped writhing now and lay on her back, her eyes closed, whimpering with pain while we watched, in horrified fascination, the growing pool of blood which trickled from beneath her across the dirt floor.

  ‘Is that normal?’ whispered Charlie.

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so.’ Looking at Amyas, I said, ‘We have to get that child out, then we might be able to stop the bleeding’ – I bit my lip, hating my ignorance and helplessness – ‘somehow.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he said, and bending his mouth to her ear, he spoke to her. The instructions he gave were in Spanish and I could only pick up the odd word, but I knew that he was urging her to make one last attempt. ‘Yes,’ she whispered and gathered the remains of her strength.

  I knelt by her head. ‘You can do it,’ I smiled and held her small hands while she opened her liquid brown eyes and looked at me and then past me. They were already seeing a different country.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered again and screwed up her face, ready for her final effort. Charlie, from where he was sitting on the trestle bed, called out encouragement and with a scream that must have been heard in the village, she pushed out her child into its father’s bloodied hands. He withdrew his flick knife and cut through the cord, then took the spare hair ribbon I’d found in my bag to tie it off.

  For a heart-stopping moment the infant lay limply in Amyas’s arms like a floppy doll, and I held my breath. Could it be? Had all this effort brought forth a dead baby? Then it made a sound, a tiny choking whimper at first, but as its lungs kicked into action, the small squirming creature took a breath and gave a proper cry. I’m here, it was telling us. I’m alive.

  ‘Elena,’ I said, ‘you have a little girl,’ and as her eyes flickered open, I took the baby from Amyas and put it on Elena’s chest. Slowly, she lifted her hands and touched its face.

  ‘So beautiful,’ she breathed. The baby gave another cry and at that moment the morning sun burned away the mist and shone brilliantly into the hut. It threw light on the bloodied scene and on Elena’s ashen face. She fixed me with eyes that were slowly growing dull. ‘Call her Marisol,’ she whispered. ‘For the mother of Christ and for the sun.’ Then she slowly turned her head and gazed at Amyas ‘You have killed me,’ she said. None of her old fire was there; only sadness. Somehow I understood the Spanish words, or maybe only the sentiment, but it was chilling, and I looked over my shoulder to see how he would respond.

  But Amyas was staring at the blood running across the floor. ‘Give the child to Charlie,’ he said urgently, ‘and help me.’

  We tried. God knows, we tried to stem the bleeding. I pushed the few bits of clothing from both her bag and mine between her legs and Amyas propped them up on the orange box, but it made no difference. We couldn’t save her. As the sun rose, hot and yellow into the sky, Elena’s life drifted away.

  Amyas and I, wasted with effort and grief, sat back on our heels and stared at each other. It was the most terrible experience I’d ever had; far, far worse than the loss of my own unborn child, and I was shaken to my core. New life and then death in less than an hour. It was almost more than I could bear. I looked over to the baby who was lying on the trestle bed next to Charlie. He had tucked it up with a corner of the blanket and was looking at it as though it was some strange creature of which he had no knowledge.

  ‘You have a daughter,’ I said to Amyas.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. His voice was bleak. For once the usual expression of charming nonchalance had fled from his face. ‘I have a daughter.’

  ‘It’ll need feeding.’ Charlie’s voice broke through our shocked inaction. I got to my feet, went over to the bed and picked up the baby. Her little face was screwed up in misery and she was making tiny sucking motions with her lips.

  ‘I’ll clean her up.’ Using warm water from the wine bottle, I carefully wiped the blood and mucus from her sweet face and body. It had stuck in the dark hair that covered her head and I had to use more water to shift it. I took one of the cotton squares to dry her off and wrapped another one around her fat little bottom. My hands shook as I tried to put her arms into the vest that Elena had brought; I was terrified of hurting her or even dropping her. But, watched by the two men, I managed it, and afterwards, when she was clean and wrapped closely in the shawl, no one could have guessed the dreadful circumstances in which she had been born.

  Amyas suddenly got up. ‘I’m going to the village,’ he said, and without looking at me or the child, he walked out of the hut.

  ‘Will he come back?’ Charlie, with a hollow voice, posed the question. ‘I think not.’

  I didn’t answer him because I didn’t know how to. Amyas had left me before. Gone with an easy shrug, not even considering my wrecked emotions. Would he do it again?

  Holding the baby in my arms I walked outside into the fresh mountain air and looked at the sky. It was innocently clear. A bird with a huge wingspan crossed the heavens, its head dipped down as it examined the terrain below, ready to swoop down on food for its fledglings, and I heard its triumphant cry to its mate. I saw the tips of the trees swaying in a small breeze and smelled the pine resin and the fresh green aroma of damp grass.

  ‘This is the country of your birth, little girl,’ I said out loud. ‘This wild mountain place. I’ll remember it all my life, even if you won’t.’ She made baby snuggling noises and tried to turn her head towards my breast. I loved her from that moment.

  An hour later, when I was sitting on an upturned log outside the hut with the baby held close, Amyas came back. ‘Here,’ he said, and held out his hand. He was holding a tin of condensed milk. ‘It’s the best I could do.’

  I put some of it in the feeding bottle and diluted it with a little spring water. Marisol took to it immediately and sucked eagerly.

  When I followed Amyas into the hut I gave Charlie an ‘I told you so’ stare, and he shook his head in an admission of regret.

  �
��What’s up in the village?’ he asked.

  ‘They heard the screaming,’ Amyas said. ‘I told them that the baby was born.’

  ‘Are the soldiers back?’ I asked.

  Amyas shook his head. ‘No. Not so far, but I think we must go as soon as possible. The car is still in the patch of woodland where I left it. Let’s get moving.’

  ‘What about her?’ Charlie pointed to the slowly stiffening body of Elena which he and I had clumsily wrapped in the blanket.

  ‘We’ll leave her,’ Amyas said. ‘We’ll tell the priest in the village that she is up here and died in childbirth. They saw her before and they heard her scream last night. It’ll be obvious to any doctor who might examine her. The locals will bury her. I’m sure of that.’

  It was a cruel and horrible thing to do, but, in the circumstances, we couldn’t see a better solution. There was no way that we could carry her down and then hang around to explain what had happened. I tore a page from my notebook and wrote on it, ‘Elena Beltrán, Republican fighter’ and put the page on the blanket. I hoped that at least she wouldn’t go into an unmarked grave.

  There was a wallet in Elena’s bag, containing a few pesetas and an address in Paris. I showed it to Amyas. ‘I think it must be the address of her friends. The ones who will have the baby.’ I gazed at him and he reached over and took the scrap of paper from me. After a moment he screwed it up and threw it on the embers of the fire where it slowly uncurled and started to brown. We both knew that Marisol wouldn’t be going to them. There was something else in the wallet and, with some amazement, I withdrew a small gold crucifix on a golden chain. For all Elena’s hatred of priests and adoration of communist ideals she had kept her cross. ‘Marisol shall have it,’ I said, and draped the chain over the baby’s neck. ‘That’s what her mother would want.’ It was only then that tears came to my eyes and the dreadful events of the night caught up with me and I started to cry.

  ‘Don’t.’ Both Amyas and Charlie said it at the same time, and although I wanted to stop, I couldn’t. The tears flowed down my cheeks and I stood, clinging on to the baby, and wept. Amyas was the first to move, taking the child from me and putting her down on the bed. Then he took me in his arms and held me while I sobbed out all the fright and surging emotions of the past few days.