Mamie’s story had overwhelmed me. In Paris, there were reminders everywhere of the horrors of the Second World War: bullet and shrapnel holes in buildings; plaques to commemorate fallen Resistance fighters; memorials to call to mind the victims of the Holocaust. Why did the war in Spain seem even worse than all that? Was it because Spaniards had killed Spaniards — that neighbours, friends and families had turned on each other? Or was it that the clergy, who were supposed to be the representatives of a loving and merciful God, had joined in with the atrocities? What are we human beings? I wondered. We are capable of creating such beauty and yet we are responsible for so many horrors.
Then I thought of la Rusa, ‘treacherous and full of anger’. Her betrayal of Xavier had disturbed me most of all. I still had no idea why her ghost had visited me. Was she hoping for some sort of absolution? If so, then why visit me and not Mamie? I rested my head against the window, feeling the vibration of the train hum through my skull. Mamie had mentioned several times the golden earrings that she had seen la Rusa wearing towards the end of the war. Were they the earrings she had given me? If so, what did they mean? I shivered and decided that I no longer cared. I would throw them into the Seine at the first opportunity.
Despite the cacophony of emotions coursing through me, I managed to give Mademoiselle Louvet my best effort in my lesson. My muscles were strong but fluid. My lines were perfect. I felt unstoppable.
‘Well done,’ she said afterwards. ‘What you gave me was full engagement. Keep dancing like that and you are on your way to the Ballet!’
But when I changed back into my street clothes, the feeling of being overwhelmed returned. I walked around the jardin des Tuileries to gather my thoughts. The bare winter trees reminded me of Mamie’s description of the aftermath of the Italian bombing of Barcelona and how it had changed her idea of the world and how things worked. The story of her family had done the same for me. I thought about what Xavier had told her: ‘I don’t regret for a second that we tried to build a better country — that we experienced moments of greatness. Perhaps our sacrifice will inspire future generations — or at least help them to learn from our mistakes.’
Part of me felt weighed down by the horror of what human beings could do to each other, while another part of me longed to soar, to make a positive impact on the world. There were so many thoughts rushing around my head, I needed to talk to someone to make sense of them. I wondered if Jaime would be at home.
‘Paloma!’ cried Carmen when she saw me at the door. ‘What a lovely surprise! Jaime isn’t here but I’m having lunch. Would you like to join me?’
While Carmen ladled out some vegetable soup for me, I looked around her beautiful apartment. I couldn’t help feeling that I had been led to flamenco, that there was some connection between the appearance of la Rusa and my decision to take classes. If I hadn’t started the flamenco lessons, I wouldn’t have met Jaime and Carmen and the others, and they were becoming a second family to me.
‘What’s upsetting you?’ Carmen asked, placing the bowl of soup in front of me and handing me a spoon. ‘Tell me, Paloma. You look anxious.’
‘Mamie told me about her life in Spain,’ I said. ‘She’s never said anything about it before; it’s only since Franco died. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for her to carry all that sadness around with her for years. All my life I’ve been striving for a role in the Paris Opera Ballet — it’s been my obsession. And when I failed the audition last year, I became depressed and introverted. But when I think of my grandparents and their families … they never even had a chance to live their dreams. I was offered places with New York and London ballet companies. I refused them because I had my heart set on the Paris Ballet. Now I feel foolish for not understanding how lucky I am just to have been able to dance.’
Carmen reached across the table and squeezed my hand. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, Paloma. You’re only eighteen. But if your grandmother’s story has given you an expanded view of life, she’s not done you a disservice in telling it.’
I sighed. ‘I don’t know what to do with all these feelings I have. I’m not even sure that I want to audition for the Ballet any more. Everything suddenly seems so trivial.’
Carmen thought for a while before speaking. ‘The story of the Spanish Civil War is powerful … that’s why many people who experienced it can’t bring themselves to talk about it, in case the listener doesn’t understand the impact of it. But it sounds as if you have.’
‘There is no justice in it,’ I said. ‘Now Franco is dead, the newspapers are proclaiming a “New Spain” where everyone has to forgive each other and forget the past. But how could someone like Mamie ever forgive what was done to her family?’
Carmen nodded. ‘I agree, Paloma. I will never forget that the love of my life died because he stood up for human rights. What makes it worse is that at least Mussolini and Hitler got what was coming to them in the end. But where was the justice for Spain? Franco lived to be an old man, pandered to and courted by the very countries that betrayed the Republic.’
‘That’s true,’ I said. ‘Perhaps that’s why part of me feels so weighed down by it all.’
‘Franco’s killing didn’t stop with the end of the war either,’ said Carmen. ‘His orders for the execution of his opponents continued right up to a few days before his death. But when the unfairness of it gets to me, I recall an inscription that I once read on a grave here in cimetière du Père-Lachaise: All honourable causes eventually succeed even if at first they fail.’
‘I like that,’ I said.
‘Spain is going to become a democracy,’ Carmen said. ‘While no one can expect the older generations to forgive, the younger ones have to find some way of making sense of the past and moving the country forwards. I’d like to be part of that process, even though I don’t know how yet. They have plenty of flamenco teachers but not enough dance companies.’ She smiled and touched my cheek. ‘Maybe you and I will form our own flamenco-ballet company one day and through dance assist the healing process in Spain,’ she said.
‘Perhaps we will,’ I said, suddenly feeling that my world was opening up to a whole range of possibilities. It didn’t have to be the one ballet company for the rest of my life.
Carmen glanced at her watch. ‘I have a student coming in ten minutes, but I have a cancellation tonight. Why don’t you come and have a lesson? I’ll teach you some steps that will lift your spirits — and I know a certain young man who will be very happy to see you!’
I thought of Jaime and smiled. ‘I’ll be very happy to see him too.’
As Carmen and I reached the door, I said to her, ‘I really like that inscription from the cemetery: All honourable causes eventually succeed even if at first they fail. Do you remember whose grave it was? I want to go and see it for myself.’
Carmen smiled. ‘That’s easy. It’s the inscription on the grave of Spain’s most famous flamenco artist: la Rusa.’
Carmen’s revelation about the inscription on la Rusa’s grave added to my bafflement. How could such a hopeful sentiment come from someone who had taken her own life? Of course, the inscription could have been requested by a well-meaning friend who still thought la Rusa was a heroine of the Republic, but I kept sensing that there was something vital to the whole la Rusa story that I’d missed.
I stopped by Micheline’s kiosk to pick up Mamie’s newspapers on the way home: Le Monde and Libération. Mamie had read the liberal newspapers for as long as I could remember but now I understood why: her experiences in Spain had given her a keen social conscience and she had been strongly influenced by Xavier and Margarida.
I thanked Micheline, then stopped in my tracks on my way to the apartment. Margarida! I recalled the details of Mamie’s story of her last days in Spain. She hadn’t mentioned what had happened to her sister. Had Margarida made it across the border? I did a mental calculation: my great-aunt would be seventy-six if she was still alive.
My heart beat quickly as I rushed ho
me. Since Mamie had started talking about Spain, I’d discovered I had a cousin in Feliu — maybe I had a great aunt somewhere too! I thought about the way Mamie had described Margarida. She sounded like a fascinating woman. It would be wonderful to meet her. I burst through the apartment building doors, eager to speak with Mamie, but came to a standstill when I saw my father pacing the courtyard. It took me a moment to recognise him. Papa used to have long hair and sideburns, and usually wore turtleneck sweaters and corduroy pants with cat hair on them. Now he was sporting a short back and sides cut and was wearing a bullet-grey suit, navy overcoat and patent leather shoes. He looked more like a suave French businessman than a pianist. Was Audrey dressing him these days too? More importantly: what was he doing here? Then I remembered that I had promised to call him when he returned from his tour. I hadn’t because there wasn’t any need: it was obvious he’d had an affair with Arielle Marineau. I hated him for turning up like this.
‘What are you doing here?’ I was keen to get what I anticipated would be an awkward encounter over with so I could go talk to Mamie.
My father turned around, flinching at my hostile tone. ‘Paloma!’ He leaned forwards to kiss me but I backed away.
‘Do you want something?’ I asked.
He ran his hand through his hair, what was left of it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
What was he apologising for? If it was for betraying Mama and marrying Audrey, it was much too late.
‘I’ve come from the hospital and things don’t look good,’ he went on.
At first I wondered if he was re-enacting a conversation from when Mama was dying, but then the truth hit me. A sick feeling gnawed the pit of my stomach. ‘Mamie?’
Papa nodded. ‘She collapsed in one of her classes. The students called an ambulance.’
The whole world seemed to fall into slow motion. I hardly heard the rest of what Papa said as he guided me towards his car because the blood was humming so loudly in my ears.
‘Audrey is ringing the parents to let them know the classes are cancelled,’ he said, opening the passenger door to his Triumph sports car and helping me into its black interior. ‘She will find a teacher who can take over until we sort out what to do about the school.’
My father climbed into the driver’s seat and looked at me a moment before switching on the engine. ‘I’m sorry, Paloma,’ he said. ‘I know how much Mamie means to you.’
I turned my face to the window so that I wouldn’t have to talk to him. It was starting to rain. Droplets slid down the glass and disappeared into the window seals. ‘As long as I have you, Mamie, I can bear everything else,’ I’d told my grandmother that morning.
Mamie’s doctor met us in the corridor. He was a tall man with such pale skin that the fluorescent lights showed up the blue veins under it. ‘She’s out of intensive care,’ he said. ‘It was very serious for a while there, but she’s stabilised. We still have to assess what damage has been done to her heart.’
I was allowed see Mamie briefly. She was hooked up to oxygen and drips, and her face was grey. It was the first time I had ever seen my grandmother actually looking old. My legs trembled when I approached the bed. I stood beside her and stroked her arm lightly. Mamie opened her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Mamie,’ I whispered. ‘It’s because I made you speak about Spain. I didn’t know you had a bad heart.’
‘It’s what gets us Montella women in the end,’ she said weakly. ‘Our hearts.’
I remembered her story of how her mother had passed away. I couldn’t bear to imagine life without Mamie. ‘Please get better,’ I begged her, my voice sounding small in the sterile room. ‘We won’t speak about Spain any more. We’ll talk only about the future.’
She gave me a nod and a slight smile. ‘Only the future,’ she repeated.
Papa and I drove back to the apartment in silence. It was only after he had pulled the car into the kerb that he turned to me. ‘Audrey says you should come and live with us while Mamie is in hospital.’
At a moment like this, I couldn’t stand him mentioning his new wife: the woman who had replaced Mama. ‘So we all do what Audrey says these days?’
My father ignored my comment. ‘When Mamie comes out of hospital, I’ll arrange a nurse for her. But for now you have to prepare for your examination. It’s better that you concentrate on that instead of fending for yourself.’
‘That would be nice,’ I said sarcastically, ‘if you hadn’t ruined my chances of getting into the Ballet!’
Papa looked at me incredulously. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Arielle Marineau hates me and I’ve finally worked out the reason why. You had an affair with her and then dumped her when you found out Mama was pregnant with me.’
Papa slapped his hand on the dashboard. I jumped. ‘Because that’s the sort of bastard I am, isn’t it, Paloma?’
I stared at him, rage building up inside me. I had told myself that my father no longer meant anything in my life. But it wasn’t true. He still had the power to hurt me.
‘Yes, you are a bastard!’ I screamed. ‘A bastard for cheating on Mama when she was dying, and a bastard for marrying Audrey before Mama’s body was cold in the grave!’
A change came over my father’s face. His jaw set and his nostrils flared, and he seemed to look straight through me. For a wild moment, I thought that he might hit me. But he didn’t. Instead he leaned across me and shoved open the door, letting in a sharp blast of winter air.
‘Get out, Paloma! Go fend for yourself if that’s what you want! Get out!’ he shouted.
I stepped out onto the pavement. Papa slammed the door shut. He glared at me for a moment before speeding away.
I watched his car turn the corner. It was the wrong time to have started an argument, but the anguish had been bottled up inside me ever since Mama died. My grandmother’s sudden illness was bringing up the memories of what it was like to lose someone I adored. I wanted the kind of father who would put me first. Who was honourable and who had never cheated on my mother. But it was too late for that: my father wasn’t that man and never would be.
At home, I took Diaghilev and the telephone to my bedroom and locked the door. The apartment felt empty without Mamie and the fight with my father had left me in tears. I lay on the bed, exhausted but also scared that la Rusa might choose tonight to make another appearance.
I rang Carmen to tell her I couldn’t have a lesson and Jaime answered the telephone.
‘I’m coming to get you,’ he said when I told him about Mamie. ‘You’re not staying there on your own.’
Mamie had to have surgery and she remained in the hospital for over a month. Every morning I woke up with the dread that she might have passed away overnight, as had happened with Mama. Carmen rang the hospital for me early each morning before I left the apartment. When I heard the words from her: ‘The nurse says that your grandmother is fine’, I wanted to fall to my knees and thank God.
I kept up my training for the examination, but my visits to Mamie were a much more important part of my day. I sat with her while she ate breakfast before going off to my class with Mademoiselle Louvet and returned after dinner each evening to read her the papers.
‘You’re the granddaughter every woman wishes for,’ Mamie told me.
One evening, after she had started showing significant improvement, I brought Jaime to meet her.
‘So you’re the young man who’s been looking after Paloma?’ she said.
‘As much as she will allow me to,’ said Jaime with a dashing smile. He placed the roses he had brought on the beside table.
Mamie smiled. ‘She’s stubborn, that’s for sure.’
‘Are you two going to gang up on me?’ I asked them.
They shared a conspiratorial smile. Jaime sat down in the chair next to Mamie’s bed. ‘Where does Paloma get her stubbornness from?’ he asked. ‘Not from you, I am sure. Maybe from her grandfather?’
A strange look came over Mamie’s face.
For a moment, I thought she might be feeling ill. But the expression passed and she smiled again. ‘You should know yourself, young man,’ she quipped. ‘That defiance is a Catalan characteristic and Paloma has Catalan blood in her veins.’
Afterwards, when Jaime went to search for a vase to put the flowers in, Mamie leaned towards me. ‘I like him,’ she said. ‘His family are Andalusians?’
I nodded.
She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Well, he’s a gentleman anyway. Do your best to make each other happy. You never know what life might bring.’
My life became a whirlwind of intensive training, visiting Mamie in the hospital and staying with Jaime and his family.
It was an adjustment living in Carmen’s apartment. I was used to quiet and a lot more space, but I loved being part of a lively household. Sometimes Jaime, Carmen, Isabel and I would be up talking or singing and dancing until late at night — or until one of the neighbours complained. I found myself tapping out flamenco rhythms on the Métro, in the café when I waited for Gaby, on the tiles when I took a shower. Flamenco helped my spirits during an anxious time in my life.
Jaime had given his room over to me and made a temporary bed for himself on the sofa. ‘It’s good practice for touring,’ he said with a chivalrous smile.
I loved sleeping in Jaime’s room. Before I turned the light out each night, I’d look at all the flamenco paraphernalia and other objects that he’d collected that meant something to him. One night I noticed on his desk the pewter bat pendant I’d seen him wearing at the first flamenco class I’d attended. I picked it up and climbed down the stairs and went to the living room. Jaime was still up, playing a melody softly on his guitar.
I showed him the pendant. ‘I’m curious about this,’ I said. ‘Is it something from southern Spain?’
He shook his head, and moved his blanket aside so I could snuggle up to him on the sofa. ‘A friend of mine from the Conservatoire gave it to me. He believes in Native American symbolism and in that culture bats represent intuition, dreaming and vision. But they also give the ability to see through illusions or ambiguity.’
Golden Earrings Page 40