“Wow, princess.” Mathias shook his head. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say … no matter what’s eating you.”
I shrugged off his comment. “Maybe so, but it’s true.” I paused. “And don’t call me princess.”
He gave a long whistle. “You are in one bad mood.”
I glanced up to see Mamá standing by our window looking down at us. “Mamá’s waiting. I’ve got to go.”
“Fine. See you on Friday?”
“I guess.” I plodded up the steps of my building. “Not that it really matters,” I muttered.
“You’re wrong, prin—I mean Ani,” Mathias called out as I started to go inside. “There’s something in the air. Something is going to happen.… I can feel it!”
FOURTEEN
School dragged on as never before. Everything seemed so pointless. I wished I hadn’t pretended to be sick, because now I felt like I really needed to stay in bed.
All day long, I’d been convincing myself that I didn’t want to see Mathias or do the Friday deliveries, but as I walked home and saw him on the front stoop, a sliver of anticipation crept back into my chest. Quickly I pushed it away. I had to remember that I was nothing more than the daughter of the sardinera.
“Hurry up!” Mathias waved me over.
I kept my slow stride.
He tapped his foot, waiting for me to get closer.
“The sardines are upstairs. I’ll go get them.” I spoke with no emotion.
“No, wait.” He gave me a slightly wicked smile. “I’ve got an idea. Can I go up with you?”
I stared at him. It was completely wrong to allow a boy into our apartment without Mamá being home.
“Are you crazy? There’s no—”
He pulled out an envelope and showed it to me. “Look, the back flap isn’t completely sealed. If we steam it, it’ll probably come unglued and we can see what’s inside.”
I took the envelope and flipped it over in my hands.
Mathias nudged me. “C’mon. You know you’re as curious as I am.”
I shook my head. “I can’t let you up. Mamá would kill me.”
“Fine, then you steam it open. Just promise not to read it until you come back down.”
I hesitated. What if I messed it up?
“I just hold it over boiling water?” I asked.
“Yes, but don’t get it too close, because then the paper will get soggy. And hurry. I’ve got to be home before sundown or my mother will kill me.”
The envelope seemed to get heavier. “What if we can’t get it closed again?”
“Take a look.” He pointed to the back flap. “Part of it never sealed, so we can lick it closed. Plus, if you steam it right, the glue will get tacky and we can just press it down.”
I pulled out the key and took a few steps toward the door. I glanced around. No one was watching. “Fine, come up and do it.”
In an instant Mathias was by the door. “This is going to be good!”
Waiting for the water to boil, I wondered what we could possibly do with any information we might learn.
“This is pretty stupid,” I said just as the first of the bubbles rose from the black pot.
“Why? No one has to find out that we know. And if we understand what’s going on, we can keep our eyes open for things.”
I didn’t want to be involved any more than I already was. I’d survive this war by doing what I did best: being invisible. “I’m just doing this because it’s the quickest way to finish up the deliveries and get my share of the money.”
Mathias rolled his eyes. “So you told me yesterday.” The water began to boil, and Mathias held the envelope several inches above the pot. “I don’t know why you’re acting this way.” He paused. “It’s not like you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
Mathias ignored my statement, concentrating on keeping the sealed part of the envelope close to the rising steam.
“See,” he said, his eyes not even blinking. “It’s already loosening up. Get me a knife.”
I opened the drawer next to me and handed him the sharpest one.
He slid the blade under the open end, toward the now loosely glued side. The flap lifted easily, without even a crinkle.
“Pretty good, huh?” He was obviously pleased with himself.
“What does it say?” I asked, leaning over his shoulder as he unfolded the letter.
Mathias shook his head. “It’s written in Basque. You read it.”
I scanned the short letter. “I understand the words, but they don’t make much sense.”
“Just tell me what it says. Maybe we can figure it out.”
I read the letter twice before translating it into Spanish.
“It starts by talking about a party and how it will be a wonderful event. Says that now that the party has been moved from Madrid to Bilbao, they’ll need to look at the guest list again.” I paused to stare at Mathias. “This is about a party? When Bilbao has barely any food and people are starving?”
He shook his head. “Party must be a code. Maybe Madrid isn’t their only focus in the fighting.… Keep reading.”
I looked down at the paper. “It says that their first guest has already arrived in Bilbao but that he had great difficulty getting there because of the storm coming from the west. To avoid future storms, the other British guests are advised to stay in France for a few days. But then they should take the same road that their first guest took.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm? We’re couriers announcing the arrival of some British people in Bilbao. This is what’s so important?”
“I’m not sure the letter refers to people.”
“Whatever … It isn’t that important, and neither are we.” I folded the letter back into the envelope.
“No, just hear me out. If someone found the letter, it might not seem important. But what if the guests are ships?”
“Ships?” I rolled my eyes.
“Yeah. Listen, I heard my father talking about a British merchant ship that had to be protected by the Brits’ navy because some of Franco’s destroyers wanted to stop it from going to Bilbao. It was in the newspaper.”
“The Brits? They’re not helping end this war, so who needs them?”
“Ani! Without those British ships bringing food and supplies into Bilbao, a lot of people would starve. Guernica might do okay because there are so many farmers and fishermen around here, but other cities are in real trouble. It’s not only about this place.”
I shrugged off his comment and gave him back the envelope.
“Actually, I’ve got to hand it to Franco. It’s a pretty good plan ’cause starving people usually can’t fight.” Mathias flipped the envelope over and licked it closed. “If Franco’s guys can maintain a blockade long enough, they’ll be able to just waltz in and take over. Genius.”
“Genius would be to have this war end now,” I said, grabbing the basket of sardines Mamá had left next to the partially open window. She always kept them there so they’d stay as cool and fresh as possible. There was never a doubt as to where the sardinera lived.
“Done!” Mathias showed off the perfectly sealed envelope. “You ready?”
I was already out the door.
FIFTEEN
Making my way down to the first floor, I could hear Mathias’s makila tapping on each stair behind me. The sound bothered me. His breathing irritated me. Everything about him right now was a nuisance.
“Hurry up!” I called back before stopping in midstride.
I recognized the tone in my voice. The arch of my shoulders as I carried the basket down the stairs was also familiar. I could even imagine the look on my face. I was turning into Mamá.
“What’s the matter? Why’d you stop?” he asked.
I glanced at him. He wanted so much to make a difference, to be involved. Just like Papá … just like me.
We were all fools.
“Hey, is this about the deliveries? You’re not getting scared
we’ll get caught or something?” Mathias whispered.
“No.” I waited a moment longer on the staircase, then I rolled back my shoulders. “Let’s just go. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish.”
All the way to Señor Beltran’s home, we walked in silence.
Once there, we went around to the back and made our delivery, and then we continued to the next stop. That’s how the next three stops went. Nothing eventful. In fact, the silence made it just like walking with Mamá. The only difference was that we were carrying the basket of sardines together.
As the church’s cupola came into view, Mathias dropped his side of the basket. A few sardines tumbled out, flopping onto the street. “I can’t take it anymore.” He stared at me as if I was supposed to say something. “What is the problem?”
“Nothing,” I answered, bending down to pick up the spilled sardines.
Mathias slapped the basket’s rim with his makila. “No! You’ve been acting weird since yesterday. Something’s up.”
I stayed still, waiting to be ignored.
“Tell me,” he demanded. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
From my crouched position, down by the basket, I answered, “I don’t have friends.”
“Do you really and truly want me to leave you alone, then?” he asked, and I could hear the anger and frustration behind his words. “Because I can definitely do that. You can go back to being by yourself.”
I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. I could feel my nose twitching as I tried to hold back the emotions climbing their way to the surface. Seconds later, a single tear ran down my cheek.
“Aw, shoot! Don’t cry.” He put his hand on my arm. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. We’ll finish this last delivery and go home.”
I quickly wiped the stray tear away and declared, “I’m not crying. I never cry.”
Mathias looked confused. “Okay.”
My knees felt wobbly, so I turned to sit on a nearby stoop. Mathias followed my lead.
After a minute of not saying anything, I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Papá is fighting on the front lines,” I said softly.
“Uh-huh, but you knew that.”
“No, I mean really fighting. He won’t be working in the kitchen, he’ll actually be in battle.” I let out a shaky breath. “I always thought that since he was older, they wouldn’t make him fight. Even though the army needed volunteers, Mamá thought they’d take one look at him and send him home.”
“How old is he?” Mathias asked.
“Does it matter? The point is, no one comes back from the front lines.”
Mathias looked down. “Some will.”
“I just have this feeling that Papá won’t. That I won’t see or hear from him ever again.” The thought I’d feared, the one I didn’t want to face, was finally put into words. Another tear threatened to trickle out. I rubbed my eye before it could escape. “Then I’ll really be alone,” I whispered.
“You’ll still have your mother,” he offered.
I shot him a look.
Mathias smiled. “You’ll still have me.” He gave me a nudge.
I looked into his eyes … then punched him lightly in the arm. It was all I could think of doing.
“What was that for?” he asked, rubbing the spot where I’d hit him, although I was certain it hadn’t hurt.
“For being my friend,” I said with a slight smile. “A very good friend.”
He knocked his knees against mine. “We’ll always be friends.”
“And spy partners,” I added with a smirk.
“Finally! I caught you filthy spies!” a voice from behind us exclaimed.
Before I could turn or stand, a hand grabbed the back of my shirt collar and dragged me up.
My heart beat so hard that I thought it would bruise my ribs.
Mathias jumped up, getting between me and the man who’d grabbed me. “Let her go!” Mathias demanded.
The man was hefty, with light brown hair and a thin mustache. He pushed me back and then twisted the front of Mathias’s shirt as he pulled him closer. “Go ahead and fess up. I know spies when I see them!”
Thoughts sprinted through my head. Mathias still had the last envelope. What if he searched us? What excuse could we give? Maybe we could say that we just found the envelope or that we saw someone drop it. I started to build a story about a tall stranger in an overcoat who dropped it as he walked by us. We couldn’t see his face because his hat was pulled down low. I could do this. I’d read enough stories to come up with my own.
“No, we’re not spies. We were just following this tall man wearing an overcoat who dropped …”
Our attacker glanced at me before turning his attention back to Mathias. “Don’t deny it!” he said, shaking Mathias by the shirt. “Did Crespo send you? Thinks I’m seeing his girlfriend again?” His eyes had narrowed into little slits.
Mathias was already pulling back his fist when the man’s comment clicked in my head. We hadn’t been caught … not yet. He didn’t even know about the envelope.
“Yes, Crespo sent us,” I blurted out, holding back Mathias’s arm. “But we didn’t see anything. We’ve never done this before, and”—I used the line that I’d always hated hearing—“we’re just kids.”
The man released his grip on Mathias’s shirt. “Hmph. Of course you didn’t see anything! Nothing to see.”
I squeezed Mathias’s arm and widened my eyes at him, hoping he’d get the message to play along.
“But don’t tell me this is the first time,” the man continued, standing so close to us that I could smell the cigarettes he’d smoked. “I know when I’m being watched.”
“No, really. Maybe someone else was doing it before, but you caught us right away,” I said, giving him my most innocent look.
Mathias straightened his shirt and added, “You’re just too smart for us.”
I winced. Too much …
The man looked at the two of us and shook his head. “Stupid kids.” He put on his beret, tugged it low over his forehead, and shoved past us. As he started down the street, he looked back and yelled, “You make sure to tell Crespo that if he was a real man, he’d confront me himself and not send sniveling children to spy!”
“I’ll make sure to tell him!” I said with relief-filled laughter bubbling over my words.
Our would-be attacker paused, clenched his fist, and glared at us.
I glanced over at Mathias, wondering if we’d have to make a run for it.
The man then stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. “No-good kids,” he muttered before walking away.
Mathias and I remained quiet until he rounded the corner, and then, the moment he was out of sight, we broke into hysterical laughter.
SIXTEEN
During the next two weeks, Mathias and I continued making our deliveries, but we weren’t able to open any other messages. The envelopes were now sealed and taped, so either someone realized that we had opened and resealed one of them or Mathias’s father was being extra cautious. Regardless, we now kept our ears open for any information about the British or about merchant ships that were trying to get to Bilbao. The newspaper reported that more ships were being confronted in international waters by Franco’s destroyers, but so far they were still safe as long as there were escorts from the British navy. The problem was, once they got within three miles, it was up to the Basques to provide safe passage, and there were mines along the way.
“Neska! Don’t go too far. I’ll need your help carrying the fish back to the train station.” Mamá turned back to the wiry old fisherman who was haggling with her over the cost of his catch.
We’d come together to Mamá’s hometown of Bermeo to get the sardines. It was a short trip by train that Mamá made several times a week, but on that Thursday morning she had insisted I help her because she wanted to get a larger order. In the past few days, with more refugees escaping the front lines and flooding into Guern
ica, our sardine sales had risen. Mamá still complained about all the people, but she did so a little less forcefully, and I didn’t dare say I’d been right about the increase in business.
I looked out at the calm waters of the port and the small boats that dotted the horizon. The morning sun coated everything around me in a golden light, and for a moment it seemed as if I were somewhere else. Somewhere peaceful and serene and not in the middle of a civil war.
“Come basuras.” A man stumbled along the pier, pushing aside anyone in his way. “That’s right, I think you’re all eating garbage.” He pointed a finger toward a small group of fishermen and shouted, “Todos creen que se van hacer de dinero. You believe you’ll actually be able to provide for your families doing this type of work day after long day. Ha!” He smirked as he walked past me and then pounded his chest. “I’ll show all of you. ¡Yo soy el que va a salir de aquí! I’ll be the one who actually gets out of this godforsaken place!”
With those words, he promptly collapsed right by my feet.
I took a quick hop backward in case he decided to grab at my ankles.
“Vamos, Guillermo.” A man wearing clothes that looked almost like rags came to help the man stand up. “Let’s get you home. You’re obviously drunk.”
No one else seemed to be paying attention to what was happening. They were all too busy with their fish to be bothered with what was going on inches away from me.
“Raúl,” the drunk man said as he slumped down again, “you’re my only ffffriend.” Guillermo slurred his words. “Don’t hate me.”
Raúl glanced toward me and gave me a look, as if apologizing for his friend’s behavior.
“De veras,” Guillermo continued as Raúl tried to pull him up again. “I had no choice. This sssstupid war will be over ssssoon enough anyway. Thissss was my chaaance.” He spun around in Raúl’s arms. “My one chance!” he shouted to no one in particular.
“Sí, sí.” Raúl humored his friend. “You did what you had to do.” He looked around the pier. “Where’s my—Ughhh! I must’ve left my bag on the boat.” Propping Guillermo against a piling, he grabbed his friend’s face, forcing the drunkard to look at him. “Stay here,” he commanded. Then, turning to me, he said, “Don’t let him stumble into the water. I’ll be right back.”
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