I leaned against Jaime and examined the pendant again. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I was fascinated by it.
‘Why don’t you wear it?’ Jaime suggested, taking the pendant from me. I lifted my hair so he could fasten the clasp at the back of my neck.
‘Thanks,’ I told him, pressing my cheek to his. ‘I do have the feeling I’m not seeing something clearly. Maybe the bat will help me.’
Although I was training several hours a day for my ballet examination, I still found the energy for lessons with Carmen. Maybe I will go to Spain with her one day, I thought. Maybe I will become a flamenco-ballet artist and start a new version of both arts. One thing was certain: I was going to grab any opportunity that came my way — whether it was to have lessons with a magnificent ballerina like Mademoiselle Louvet or to live with a family of flamenco artists. People had died terrible deaths in Spain and I lived in a country where free speech was considered a national characteristic. I had no excuse not to be making the most of my life.
One morning when I was visiting Mamie, she asked me about Papa. ‘When I collapsed, Madame Carré called your father. He came straight away. The first thing that he said to me was not to worry about you. He’d look after you. Well, where is he?’
Audrey had organised another teacher to keep Mamie’s studio going, but she didn’t make any further contact with me and neither did Papa. After the way we had parted, I would have been surprised if Papa ever contacted me again.
‘I sent him away, Mamie. We don’t get along any more.’
Mamie looked into my eyes for a long while before saying, ‘Maybe you need to forgive him, Paloma. After all, he is your father.’
I thought about Mamie’s change of heart towards my father on my way to ballet class and wondered what had caused it. When I had first told her that he was seeing Audrey, she’d been as shocked as I was that he could be serious about a woman so soon after Mama’s death. I wondered what had caused her to feel differently about Papa now. Perhaps she was afraid that if she died, I’d be without a family of my own.
That evening, I found Feliu’s telephone number in her address book; he lived in Marseilles. He was family, wasn’t he? Yet I knew so little about him. He was in his late forties now. Was he married? Did he have children? Was he happy?
I listened to the phone ring, not sure if he would be home.
‘Hello.’
‘Feliu?’
‘Who’s this?’
I wanted to tell him I was his cousin. That Mamie had told me all about what had happened in Spain, and that I understood his pain now and wished there was some way I could help him. Instead I said, ‘It’s Paloma Batton. I wanted to let you know that Mamie is in hospital. She’s had heart surgery.’
Feliu was silent. At first I wondered if we had been disconnected.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘Which hospital is she in? I will send her some flowers.’
I gave him the address of the hospital with a sense of disappointment. I had hoped that he would say he was coming to Paris. There was so much that I wanted to ask him. From Mamie’s story, I had the impression that he had once been very attached to her; that she had been more of a mother to him than Conchita.
I went to see Conchita on my way from the ballet school one day, to make sure she was still receiving her deliveries of food. I sat with her for a couple of hours to keep her company. I saw her in a different light now too. I surprised her with my warm embrace and told her that I loved her. She was no longer simply an eccentric, aging beauty, a friend of Mamie’s; she was family to me in a way she had never been before. I admired her because she had survived something terrible. I wanted to ask her how it was that she had come to think of Franco as a great man when her husband had been executed by his forces and she herself had been gaoled and exiled. I was aware that there were some liberal monarchists, not only fascists and Francoists, who would have a different perspective of the Spanish Republic’s weaknesses and their own stories of atrocities committed by the Republican army. But Conchita was even older than Mamie and much more fragile. I didn’t want to risk causing her the same agony of remembrance that had triggered Mamie’s heart attack.
After my visit, I went up to our apartment. Mamie had asked me to bring a few of her things to the hospital. I walked into her bedroom and realised that I hadn’t been in there since Avi had passed away. While my room was austere, with white walls and curtains, Mamie’s room resembled a 1930s film star’s dressing room, with a mirrored dressing table and a Swarovski crystal chandelier dangling from the ceiling. I could smell her signature lily-of-the-valley perfume. I sat on the quilted satin bedspread and imagined Avi as a nightclub musician and Mamie as a glamorous socialite. They’d lost those parts of their pasts but somehow kept a remnant of them alive in their bedroom.
I went to Mamie’s armoire and took out a bathrobe for her. Then I saw the oriental silk dressing gown next to it and swapped them. Why shouldn’t Mamie be glamorous in hospital? I found a headband and a cosmetics bag in the dresser drawer. I looked for something to put everything in, and noticed a travel case on the top shelf of the armoire. I stood on tiptoes and tugged it out. Something sharp fell on my head and thumped to the floor. I looked down to see a large journal lying open near the bed. I picked it up to put it back and the words on the open page jumped out at me:
But as I relate the story, I realise that I must be careful. Sometimes Paloma misses the obvious, but at other times she is very sharp. I do not want to reveal to her the one thing she doesn’t need to know. If she found out, it would destroy her peace of mind for good …
The entry was unfinished. My eyes flew to the top of the page: Dearest Margarida.
I sat down on the bed and flipped through the journal. There were dozens of entries addressed to Margarida. I looked up at the shelf and saw more journals stacked there. They had been hidden by the travel case. I stepped up on the ottoman and took them down. The entries dated back to 1939 and detailed every significant event in Mamie’s life since that time, including Mama’s marriage and my birth. Mamie must have copied into her journal all the letters she had sent to Margarida. So Margarida was alive! But where was she?
I flipped through the journals and found several references to Australia. I searched the armoire for Margarida’s replies to Mamie but couldn’t find any. I felt as if I knew everything and nothing at all. What did Mamie mean when she wrote that I sometimes missed the obvious? What had I missed in her story? Something about her? About Xavier? Or about la Rusa?
When I went to visit Mamie that evening, I was in two minds whether I should ask her about Margarida. Her sister would want to know about Mamie’s condition, but if I brought up the journals — which were obviously private — Mamie might get angry with me again. I didn’t want to risk anything that might cause further strain on her heart.
In any case, Mamie was in the television room when I arrived, so there was no chance to speak to her privately.
I sat down next to her and held her hand. She still looked frail. I realised I could never ask her about Margarida without the fear of making her ill again. I guess I’ll never know, I thought, and sighed inwardly.
A week after my discovery of the journals, I saw my second ghost. He was waiting for me in the hospital foyer as I was leaving after visiting Mamie. The night receptionist had gone on an errand and the lights in the foyer had been dimmed. The ghost rose from a chair in the waiting area. He had Mamie’s honey-coloured eyes and fine features: Xavier! My heart missed a beat and my blood turned cold. I stood frozen as he walked towards me.
The night receptionist returned to her desk and nodded to the apparition. I realised then that he wasn’t a ghost at all. It was Feliu! Mamie had said that he was the spitting image of his father. Now that I knew about Xavier, I could see it.
‘Paloma?’ he asked, reaching out to shake my hand. His flesh was warm and firm: he was real. ‘You’ve grown up,’ he said. ‘You were only fourteen or fifteen when I saw you last
. How is tia Evelina? I got into Paris just now: too late for visiting hours unfortunately. But the nurse said you were with her.’
Now I understood who Feliu was, I found myself staring at him. The skin on his hands was rough and freckled. There was nothing about him to suggest that he had once been the son of the debonair heir to one of the richest families in Barcelona. There was a sadness in his eyes too. It was a terrible thing for an only son to be estranged from his mother, especially as she was getting older. But how could I judge Feliu? He must have had his reasons. After all, I was an only child too and I was also estranged from my only remaining parent.
‘Would you like to have dinner with me?’ I asked him.
Instantly, that twitchiness that reminded me of a sparrow returned to Feliu. I sensed that he was uncomfortable around anyone from his family, even me.
‘I have to go,’ he said, turning towards the exit. ‘I have an early morning start.’
I knew I had only a few seconds to ask anything that might help resolve the questions I had about Mamie’s story.
‘Excuse me,’ I said in a pleading voice. ‘I found copies of letters Mamie wrote to her sister, Margarida. They go back to 1939, and the latest was dated just last week. It appears she is living in Australia. I’d like to write and tell her about Mamie. Do you know where she is now?’
Feliu winced. ‘Tia Margarida?’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe the letters are a way of helping tia Evelina cope. They were very close.’
My stomach turned. ‘Cope?’ I repeated. ‘So Margarida is dead?’ I swallowed. Please let her have died peacefully, I prayed, but I sensed something dreadful coming. ‘What happened to her?’
It looked for a moment as though Feliu was going to cry, but his voice remained steady. ‘I only know what oncle Gaspar told me.’ He hesitated and looked at his hands. ‘Tia Margarida drove a group of Republican refugees to the border in January 1939. When she reached Figueres, she learned that we had been arrested. She returned to Barcelona to try to orchestrate our release, but she was caught and arrested herself.’
My legs went numb. I had to take a seat.
‘What you have to understand,’ said Feliu, moving a step towards me, ‘is that Franco’s army was full of right-wing extremists. Women like tia Margarida, who played a part in public life, who cut their hair short and wore modern clothes, were abhorrent to them. They had a special way of dealing with women like that: they shaved their heads, raped them and paraded them through the streets before killing them.’
I felt as if my intestines were twisting inside me. ‘Is that what happened to Margarida?’
Feliu nodded.
‘And Mamie knows that?’
‘Oncle Gaspar found tia Margarida’s body while he was waiting — hoping — for our release from the prison,’ said Feliu. ‘They had hanged her in the music room of our house. He cut her down and placed her body in the Montella crypt. Oncle Gaspar never wanted Mamie to know, but some other Spanish refugees told her. That’s probably why she started writing in 1939. It must have been her way of dealing with what had been done to tia Margarida — to convince herself it had never happened, and that tia Margarida was alive and well in Australia.’
I could barely breathe. Mamie must have known too that Margarida’s body was tossed in the mass grave along with those of her grandparents and father. I thought of Mamie’s story about finding Xavier and Margarida standing before the paupers’ pit on the Feast of All Souls and pitying the nameless who were buried there. I had to lean towards my knees until the lightness in my head disappeared. I hadn’t thought Mamie’s story could have got any more tragic, but it had. Poor Mamie, writing to a sister she had loved and would never see again.
I looked up to ask Feliu about la Rusa, but he was already gone.
THIRTY-FOUR
Paloma
It was a strange Christmas season without Mamie, who was still in the hospital, but at least I spent it with Jaime’s family. And we all visited Mamie together before going to Christmas Mass, taking her a chickpea and spinach stew that Vicenta and Carmen had cooked for her.
‘We can’t let your grandmother eat that tasteless hospital food on Christmas Eve,’ Vicenta said.
‘Look, Evelina,’ said Carmen, after I had introduced everyone. ‘we’ve made you a delicious stew.’ She lifted the lid off the casserole dish and sent the smell of cumin and paprika wafting around the ward. She glanced at Mamie’s nurse. ‘It’s not spicy, honestly.’
Mamie barely managed to fit a word in as Vicenta and Carmen talked to her about every topic under the sun: the decreasing quality of the goods at the Christmas markets; the increasing number of tourists coming to Paris in winter; how Jaime had broken his arm as a child and everyone thought he’d never be able to play guitar.
‘Our children and grandchildren are much stronger than we ever give them credit for,’ Vicenta said.
When it was time to leave, Mamie called me back as the others were heading out the door. She looked deeply into my eyes and I sensed there was something she wanted to tell me. But the nurse came in with Mamie’s medications and noisily tugged the bed curtain around us, indicating that I should go.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I said to Mamie, kissing her forehead.
When I arrived the next morning, I hoped that Mamie would tell me whatever had been on her mind the day before. Instead, she gave me the news that the specialist had come to see her and thought she would be well enough to return home in early January. I sat with her while she ate breakfast, but the only other thing she talked about was how much she liked Jaime and his family.
The new year came and went. I didn’t go to my father’s fiftieth birthday party, and I wasn’t surprised that there were no more pleas from Audrey to attend. True to his word, my father arranged a nurse to care and cook for Mamie when she came out of hospital, and he had the bills sent to his address.
The new teacher, Jeannette, was popular with the students and Mamie decided that she would keep her permanently. ‘It’s probably time I retired,’ she told me, ‘and let someone younger take over.’
I didn’t ask Mamie any more about Spain and she didn’t bring the subject up either. I had come to believe that what she had written in her journal about me missing the obvious was in reference to Margarida. Every time I thought of what Margarida must have suffered at the hands of the Nationalists, I wanted to cry. But I didn’t let it destroy me, as Mamie had feared. Instead I drew on the pride I felt in being part of a family of strong women. I gave everything I had to my training, but I no longer felt that the Paris Opera Ballet was the only company in the world worth joining. I was more motivated by the idea of developing myself fully as a dancer — and of showing Arielle Marineau that she hadn’t broken me.
Once I was confident that Mamie was on the mend, I could throw myself entirely into my preparation. The months flew by and it was summer before I knew it. I slept well the night before my examination, not like the previous year when I had tossed and turned all night, going over every step of my variations in my mind. I’d had to put on extra make-up the following morning to hide the circles under my eyes. I hadn’t let Mamie drive me to the audition either; I’d insisted on going alone. But this time, as I double-checked my bag and pointe shoes to make sure I had everything, I was glad Carmen and Jaime were taking me to the Paris Opera House.
I heard Carmen’s Fiat as soon as she turned into the street: Hot Chocolate’s ‘You Sexy Thing’ was blaring from its radio.
‘Are you ready?’ asked Mamie, poking her head in the door. ‘It sounds like they are here.’
I stood up and embraced her. ‘You can come this year,’ I told her. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m the one who would be tense,’ she said with a laugh. ‘You go and do your best. You will be great.’
Carmen and Jaime were waiting for me in the car. Jaime got out and kissed me before climbing into the back seat. ‘I don’t want you to get a cramp in your legs
sitting here,’ he said with a grin.
When we arrived at the Opera House, I smiled at the golden statues and rose marble columns. The building was an old friend. Carmen parked the car and we all got out. She and Jaime were going to wait in a nearby café while I did the examination.
‘You all right?’ Jaime asked.
‘Surprisingly, yes.’
‘Good,’ he said, kissing me passionately on the lips even though his aunt was standing right next to us.
Carmen cleared her throat and we stepped apart. ‘When we next see you, Paloma,’ she said, ‘you will be a member of the corps de ballet.’
I crossed the street and turned to wave to them. So much had changed, I thought. Jaime and I had spoken about what me joining the corps de ballet might mean for our relationship.
‘There will be long hours of rehearsals and performances and less time to spend together,’ I’d told him. ‘Are you worried?’
He’d shaken his head in response.
‘No?’
He smiled. ‘You never know what’s going to happen in the future … but right now I know this is something that you have to do and I’m proud. It feels right to be with you … I’m sure we will work out the minor details as we go along.’
It feels right to be with you too, I thought now, and waved to Jaime and Carmen one more time.
After changing into my tights and leotard in the dressing room, I went to the classroom that had been assigned for warm-up exercises. The other students greeted me with nervous smiles or blank stares. I didn’t know them well because they were in the year below me. I was competition they hadn’t been expecting. Even under their make-up, their faces were pale with tension and everyone was sweating. I felt for them, understanding exactly what they were going through: the dry mouth; the urge to get started before your nerves got the better of you; the feeling of dread that after all your work and sacrifice you may not make the cut. I was a year older but I felt ten years wiser. This day would decide whether or not I was accepted into the Paris Opera Ballet, but it wouldn’t decide whether I would be happy or not. Only I could decide that.
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