by Luz Gabás
Had her dreams been some sort of premonition? Or could it maybe just have been a memory? She might have come here as a child, even if she didn’t remember.
“Are you feeling better?” Neli asked.
Brianda nodded and opened her eyes. Neli was looking at her in a curious, tender, and oddly understanding way.
“I saw you touch something and fall. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought you here. Some people get bad vibes.”
“Must have been low blood sugar,” Brianda lied, remembering a phrase she’d heard once from a work colleague. She had never fainted in her life, and she was frightened, but she didn’t want to try to explain.
“Did you feel anything unusual?” asked Neli.
“No. What do you mean?”
“In some places, the graves warn you if something is going to happen.”
“Don’t say those things, Neli!” Isolina reproached her, shivering. She took her niece’s elbow. “Can you stand up?”
With the help of both women, Brianda stood. She stared at her feet, which covered the Latin words. For an instant, it seemed as if the soles of her shoes were burning. A gust of wind hit her face. She raised her eyes and saw black clouds darkening the horizon.
“That doesn’t look good,” said Isolina. “We’d better get home. Neli, did you bring your car?”
“No, I walked. It didn’t look like there’d be a storm.”
“Well then, you’d better come to my house. It’s closer.”
Brianda allowed herself to be guided down the rocky descent to the dirt path that began at the graveyard gates, marking the way for the inhabitants of Tiles, from their houses to their final resting place.
Thunder sounded in the distance and again seconds later. The clouds closed in at a dizzying speed.
The women quickened their pace. Just before the fork to Lubich, they heard horse’s hooves. They stopped short, and a magnificent black animal ridden by a man in dark clothes galloped past in a flash.
“Watch out!” exclaimed Isolina, pulling Brianda back to protect her. “Did you see that?” She turned to Neli. “Do you know who that was?”
“It looked like the new owner of Lubich. I’ve seen him a couple of times in the bar. He sometimes comes down on horseback. Actually, my husband says he goes everywhere on horseback.”
“Well, he’s as rude as they say!” complained Isolina. “A little closer and he would have knocked us all down!”
Brianda kept her eyes fixed on the dark figure now disappearing down the overgrown trail. It was her dream exactly. First the inscription, now the horse … She fought back tears. Was she taking a walk with her aunt or still under the covers back home in Madrid?
She felt some drops wetting her cheeks, first softly and then harder until the wind suddenly stopped and the heavens discharged their ire in the form of a downpour so hard they couldn’t see past the ends of their outstretched arms.
When the trio finally reached Anels House, they were soaked. Their hair was matted in dripping clumps, and their clothes hung heavily from their bodies. On their way to dry off, a deafening drumming of raindrops on the roof told them that the storm was getting even worse.
But just a little while later, as unexpectedly as it had begun, the rain ceased.
“In all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen anything like that before,” said Neli, wearing a dry white blouse and simple skirt borrowed from Isolina.
After hot showers, they were now sipping tea in front of the fire. Neli and Brianda sat on a bench facing Isolina. After lurking for a while in the sitting room, Luzer at his heels, Colau finally had come in to sit with his wife, which surprised Brianda. They had told him about her fainting, and he’d suggested going to see the doctor in Aiscle, but Brianda insisted she felt perfectly fine. Besides, she suspected Colau was just saying it to apologize to Isolina for his initial rudeness to Brianda. Now he seemed annoyed by Neli’s unexpected visit.
From the large windows, located on either side of the fireplace, they looked out on a panoramic view of the sunny evening in the valley, which now shone clean and innocent after the unexpected bath.
“I’ve lived in Tiles my whole life, and even I don’t understand what happened today,” said Isolina. “And there was no warning on the TV either. This place is famous for its storms, but nothing predicted this one. Not even the rheumatism in my knee, which gets it right more often than the weatherman.”
Neli smiled at Brianda. “Maybe you fainted because of the drop in air pressure. Just before a big storm, the animals can feel it and they go quiet.”
Brianda laughed. “I didn’t imagine I was so sensitive.”
“Plus, there is something unnerving about that old part of the graveyard,” said Isolina. “Neli must be one of the few people who isn’t afraid to go there.”
“I don’t know,” Brianda replied. “I don’t usually scare so easily.” But was that even true anymore? She thought of her panic attacks and the visit to Roberto, her embarrassing confession that she was consumed by a fear of dying.
“It’s the living we should be scared of,” declared Neli, “not the dead.”
Brianda noticed her uncle eyeing the young woman skeptically. Colau opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to change his mind. Finally, rubbing his chin with one of his enormous hands, he said, “So you were touching one of the graves.”
“I was trying to read the inscription,” explained Brianda, grateful for the opportunity to ask the question whose answer she longed for. “You know Latin, don’t you?”
Her uncle raised an eyebrow.
“It said omnia mecum porto.” Brianda would never forget those three words.
Colau’s face darkened as if he’d heard some terrible news. His right hand flinched on the arm of his chair. Lying at his feet, Luzer raised his head, alert.
“What, something you actually don’t know?” Isolina teased.
Colau lit a cigarette. After two drags that seemed to take forever, he answered, his eyes fixed on the ground.
“More or less it means, ‘I take all with me.’”
Brianda wondered if Neli had noticed Colau’s reaction. He seemed almost angry, but in his eyes she saw worry and something like pain, as if the translation had come not from his brain but from his gut.
After a long silence, Isolina said, “What a beautiful epitaph. And very true.”
Brianda wondered who was buried there and why anyone would choose that phrase. Most of all, she was desperate to know how much that “all” might include.
The sound of a car horn made them all jump. Luzer barked.
“It must be Jonas,” said Neli.
“Why don’t you ask him to come in for coffee?” Isolina suggested.
“It’s late, Isolina,” grumbled Colau.
“Perhaps another day,” said Neli, getting to her feet. “The kids are waiting for me. Thanks again for the clothes. I’ll get them back to you soon.”
Brianda walked her to the car and met Jonas, a man of around forty, with very short hair and a face that was handsome despite the many wrinkles that outlined his expressive eyes.
The women said their good-byes with a kiss on the cheek. They had only met twice, but after what had happened, Brianda felt a closeness bordering on kinship. In Neli’s insightful eyes, she saw the exact thing she needed: understanding.
“Come over to my house whenever you want,” Neli suggested. “I spend a lot of the day in the church. If you want, you can see my work there. Then, I’m free from five until the children get home.”
Yes, thought Brianda.
Perhaps one day she would open her heart to Neli.
5.
Hunched under her thick coat, Brianda wandered through the lonely streets of Aiscle, waiting for her aunt to finish her shopping. The streets were barely lit by the dying sunlight of the last day of October; the cold seemed to dampen all noises and to paralyze her senses. She imagined the scarce autumn birds refusing to sing, the disoriented flies sea
rching for a crack to sneak into a house, and the lifeless leaves of the trees falling in silence onto the damp earth and dreary grass.
She reached a small square surrounded by low buildings built over a long porch of consecutive arches. A spotted cat lazily stretched in one home’s vaulted doorway; two old men chatted with their hands resting on the crook of their walking sticks; a young woman helped a child push his own stroller. Brianda watched them all as if from far away, as though they were in a silent film. The cat did not mew. The men did not laugh. The stroller wheels did not squeak.
She sat on a faded wooden bench and watched.
But not even these quiet scenes of village life brought her any peace. If anything, the trip was making her anxiety worse. If it weren’t for Isolina and her new friend, Neli, Brianda felt like she’d be falling apart as badly as Anels House.
She decided to call Esteban, having only sent him short text messages the last few days. She missed him terribly but knew how busy his weeks were. Besides, she hadn’t had much to say. She had considered telling him about the inscription in Latin, how her dream had been a premonition, but ultimately she decided against it. And hearing about her fainting would only make him worry. The purpose of this trip was to unplug and rest, not complicate things. Besides, she didn’t know how to explain her strange sense that something here was against her. It wasn’t just her uncle’s grave disposition, which had gotten even worse since the day of the storm, or Luzer’s low growls whenever she got too close. An amorphous, dismal foreboding was unfolding inside her. Who could possibly understand that?
Despite her reticence, she couldn’t stop thinking about Esteban all the time … and about that man on a magnificent black horse in the rain.
She had not been able to see his face. She wondered whether he was old or young, tall or short, dark or fair. He must be strong to handle an animal like that … she knew that much.
A text message from Esteban brought her attention back where it belonged. He said he was in a long meeting and couldn’t take her call. He’d be out that night, but they would talk tomorrow, and he missed her.
Brianda sighed, not so much from disappointment as from the feeling that it didn’t matter whether or not they talked.
This profound apathy startled her. Esteban was the man she had decided to spend her life with. Since moving in together, they’d only ever been apart for short work trips, and the joy of reunion had always led to a long session in the bedroom. She thought about their last time together, and her eyes filled with tears. Why had he felt like a stranger? And why was she so unhappy, whether at home in Madrid or out in this godforsaken corner of the country? What could she do to fix it?
A car horn broke the oppressive quiet, and she heard her aunt’s voice calling. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten to the square, so she had to follow the echo of her own name through the narrow streets until she reached the spot where they’d parked. Isolina was piling shopping bags into the trunk.
“Expecting visitors?” Brianda laughed. “That looks like enough to feed an army.”
“I still have to get the marzipan Saint’s Bones for tomorrow.” Isolina pointed in front of her. “This is a marvelous pastry shop.”
Brianda smiled as they walked toward the old shop. Her mother and her aunt were very different, but they agreed on one thing: they celebrated all the feast days with their traditional sweets and pastries, not to mention a few new ones invented by the big stores. So, in her family, after nougat and marzipan at Christmas, a year began with a ring-shaped Three Kings cake and was followed by San Valero cake, Saint Agatha’s breast-shaped sweets, Saint Valentine’s chocolates, buns and biscuits for Saint Joseph, Palm Sunday sweets, fritters and chocolate figurines at Easter, Mother’s Day cake, pastries for Corpus Christi, Saint Daniel, Saint Robert, and the Assumption in August, finally finishing off with pumpkin and squash pies and the marzipan Saint’s Bones. Add to this the family’s birthday and anniversary celebrations and someone could say Brianda’s life had been sugar coated.
Recalling her mother’s and Isolina’s continuous efforts to please their families, Brianda felt a twinge of nostalgia. She didn’t know why exactly. She hadn’t lost anything yet. Her stay here was temporary. Soon she’d return to her normal life. Back to work. Back with Esteban. She would enjoy the things that used to make her happy. She would again desire Esteban’s hands on her body. Maybe someday they would plan an unforgettable wedding and undertake the adventure of being parents. They would raise beautiful children whom they would spoil and with whom they’d celebrate all the feast days. They would relive their own childhoods, from their first birthday cakes when they applauded with chubby fingers and were asked to blow out the candles over and over again.
She felt dizzy. The damn symptoms had snuck up on her out of nowhere. The feeling of insecurity … the trembling in her hands … the buzzing in her ears … the feeling of being about to faint.
“Why the face?” Isolina asked, frowning. “You’re so pale.”
Isolina guided her to a nearby bench. She took her hand and spoke to her in a gentle but firm voice: “Relax and take a deep breath in. Now hold your breath and count to four. One, two, three, four. Now let the air out slowly through the mouth, very slowly. Good. And again. Breathe in, hold, let it out slow.” She waited until Brianda opened her eyes. “Better?”
Brianda nodded in surprise. She actually was.
“Who taught you that?”
“I learned it years ago in yoga.”
Brianda squeezed her aunt’s hand in gratitude.
“It’s not your blood sugar again, is it?” Isolina’s eyes were full of tender assuredness. “Could you be pregnant by any chance?”
Brianda shook her head as her eyes filled with tears. If only. Then, at least, there’d be a logical explanation.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. A few months ago, for no reason, I just started having anxiety attacks. I’m fine one minute, and the next it’s like I’m dying. They gave me pills, but maybe the dosage isn’t high enough.”
Isolina patted her hand.
“I’ve known many people in your situation. I myself—” She stopped herself, but too late.
“You?! Why?”
“Nothing I can say will give you comfort. Whatever it is, you’ll have to sort it out yourself.”
“But what were you anxious about?”
Isolina sighed.
“I had a hard time deciding whether to stay in Tiles or follow your mother to the city. Then Colau of Cuyls appeared …” Her look darkened. “Then children didn’t come …” She crossed her hands in her lap. “Anyway, everyone has their story. Don’t worry about it. You look like you’re feeling better now. Are you?”
Brianda nodded. She felt completely normal, if normal meant this shadow version of herself. She thought about her aunt’s confession, her regret over not having a baby. She’d always assumed it was by choice, especially since her parents had mentioned that Colau didn’t like children. Selfishly, she was a little bit jealous; at least Isolina had a tangible reason for her sadness.
Her aunt stood up, a determined look on her face.
“And now we’ll buy that marzipan. Did you know that in the old days they baked Saint’s Bones to make the long night of the dead easier? Everyone used to stand vigil all night while the church bells tolled, and they needed the extra calories.”
Brianda shivered, imagining the funereal peal of the bells echoing through the frozen streets.
She followed her aunt into the warm bakery and spontaneously bought some pastries for Neli.
Brianda parked her car beside the church, smiling briefly at a group of curious women. Neli’s house was easy to pick out because it was the only one whose façade was white rather than bare stone. She went up the steps and raised the long, clunky knocker. No answer.
A woman with short straw-colored hair and wearing a printed housecoat, shouted kindly, “She must be in the church! If you want, we’ll get her for you
.”
“Don’t worry about it, thanks,” said Brianda, not wanting to have a conversation about who she was.
Several long seconds passed. Brianda was sure the women were analyzing her gestures, her dress, and the package she carried, hoarding judgments for later. She was about to retreat to Anels House when the door opened and the expression on Neli’s face changed from distraction to joy.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Brianda asked as she handed Neli the box of pastries.
“I was doing some things upstairs,” answered Neli, accepting the gift. “Nothing that can’t wait. What’s this?”
“Just a little thank-you for your help in the graveyard.”
“You shouldn’t have!” Hearing her own words, she burst out laughing. “It’s a cliché, but I mean it. I was happy to help. Would you like to come in for tea?” She laughed again. “You can tell we don’t get many visitors. All my small talk seems to come from movies. Please, don’t tell me I have a beautiful house.”
“But it’s true!” Brianda laughed. “You have a very nice house.”
Neli and her husband clearly liked antiques. Brianda saw two wooden chests, a copper cauldron filled with dry flowers, and old farm tools decorating the walls. Down the hall was a wooden table covered with little decorative touches and baskets of dried flowers floating above a sea of mail. A plasterwork arch led to a welcoming sitting room.
“Ugh. It’s impossible to keep this place clean with the children around. They got home from school a little while ago, messed everything up, and ran off to a friend’s birthday party. And when they get back, they’ll still have more than enough energy to wear out their father and me!”
Brianda liked the fact that Neli didn’t waste her time collecting the Legos, books, game controllers, and pencil cases strewn all over the place. Of course, Brianda would have tidied it up, but the clutter made her feel welcome, as if Neli were opening her world to Brianda without fear of judgment, like they’d been sharing this space for centuries.
“I love sitting here in the evening and having a quiet cup of tea. What kind would you like? I have lots of flavors. Or would you prefer coffee?”