A Thunderous Whisper

by Christina Diaz Gonzalez

I smiled. “Want to go back to the tree?” I asked, my heart beginning to settle down from all the excitement.

  “Sure.”

  As we walked back toward the field, the church bells started sounding again.

  “Think that’s the all clear?” Mathias asked.

  “Must be.” I took out my satin pouch and thought about Papá.

  “Strange how the planes were flying so low.… It was like they wanted everyone to see them.”

  “Probably just to scare us.” I wondered if that’s what it was like being on the front lines … always being afraid.

  “But why bother? They had to know everyone would run to the bomb shelters.” Mathias stopped, his expression changing. “Why are those bells still ringing?”

  I shrugged, and as I lifted my head up to the sky, several dots came into view. The planes were back, but this time flying much higher.

  “Mathias …,” I whispered, pointing up.

  “I see them too,” he said. “This is bad.”

  A high-pitched whistling noise filled the air and then a loud boom rocked the ground. Smoke, or maybe it was dust, started rising from a spot along the mountainside.

  Wait, I thought. The mountainside? There are only farmhouses there.

  Another high-pitched sound made me cover my ears, and then a wave of energy pushed me backward to the ground. Mathias and I both clambered to stand up again as the ground beneath us continued to tremble.

  We were now halfway between the tree and the ditch, in the middle of the field. We needed to run … somewhere.

  I could hear more bombs being dropped in the distance … in Guernica. A pungent smell had begun to fill the air, like burning fuel or gunpowder, but different.

  There was no doubt. We were under attack.

  The sound of planes grew louder. They were coming our way again.

  “Foxholes are best. Garza always says that,” Mathias mumbled, still not moving.

  I nodded, grabbed Mathias’s hand, and ran, almost dragging Mathias behind me, but I wouldn’t let go no matter how he stumbled. The sounds of things exploding filled the air. Most were in the distance, but I could see smoke scattered along the mountainside too.

  At the edge of the road, we both jumped into the ditch and waited. As we huddled close together, Mathias put his hand over my head as if to protect me. I turned to look at him. His eyes said it all.

  This was the end.

  THIRTY

  The bombers came and came again. High-pitched whistling noises made it seem as if the sky itself were screaming out in pain. The wind carried the acrid smell of fuel and destruction over our hole in the ground as more death fell from above.

  Mathias and I didn’t move from that ditch for what felt like hours. There was nothing to do, nowhere to go. We waited while an eerie silence crept over the land. My heart pounded with the hope that it was over and the growing fear that it would never end.

  I wanted to say something, but there weren’t words for what I was thinking, what I was feeling. I reached out and gripped Mathias’s hand as hard as I could. At least we were together.

  A few seconds later, we heard voices yelling in the field.

  “Someone’s coming!” I said, reaching up over the edge of the ditch to see who it was. Mathias tossed his makila over the top and climbed out after me.

  In the distance I could see several people running away from the smoldering city. They were yelling and screaming at each other to keep going. Guernica was burning.

  “I need to go. My mother—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. “We need to help.”

  Mathias grabbed my hand. “Wait. It might not be over.”

  I saw a woman running across the field with a little boy. “The bombers are gone, Mathias. It has to be over.”

  “Not yet. Garza always said foxholes—”

  I shook free from his hold. “Garza isn’t here, and this isn’t really a foxhole,” I argued. “It’s just a ditch with some sandbags.”

  “Close enough,” Mathias said, not moving an inch.

  “Look! People are leaving the bomb shelters.” I pointed to the dots in the distance scurrying out of town. “We can go.” I walked forward, expecting him to follow.

  Mathias looked up at the sky.

  “C’mon!” I yelled, but stopped walking, sensing that Mathias wasn’t following me. I glanced back and saw him frozen, his eyes still searching the clouds. I hurried to where he was, ready to drag him away if necessary.

  “STOP!” Mathias shouted.

  I stumbled back at the force of his yell, but he wasn’t talking to me. He was hollering at the people behind me.

  I spun around to see a group headed across the field. They paused briefly to look at us.

  “Get down! Get down!” Mathias yelled. “NOW!”

  Instead of doing as Mathias said, some of the group turned and began to run toward a line of trees along the far side of the field.

  For a moment, I didn’t understand what was happening. Why did Mathias want them to get down and why were they running? Then I heard what sounded like ten thousand mosquitoes swarming toward us.

  I glanced up to see several small, low-flying planes. In a flash, Mathias spun me around and threw me back into the ditch. I wasn’t sure if I heard the screams or imagined them, but there was no escaping the rapid sound of machine-gun fire and of bullets bouncing off the ground.

  My breathing quickened, to the point that I thought I’d pass out. I wanted to cover my ears, but instead I used my hands to hold on to the ditch’s walls … afraid that somehow the world would turn upside down and I’d fall out of the hole we were hiding in. Finally, I could feel the ground around us slowly stop trembling.

  “We stay here until we’re absolutely sure they’re gone, you hear me?” Mathias yelled.

  “Don’t scream at me!” I shouted back.

  “I’m not!” The roar of the small planes was now fading as they headed toward Guernica. “I’m not,” he said again, more softly this time.

  “Why? Why are they doing this? This isn’t the front lines. Guernica’s not important like Bilbao.”

  Mathias stared at the ground, his shoulders slumped down.

  A sudden realization swept over me. “Oh my God, what if they’re destroying everything? Attacking all the Basque towns at once.”

  “They’re not,” Mathias answered matter-of-factly.

  “How do you know? There could be planes everywhere. Here, Bilbao, San Sebastián.”

  Mathias shook his head. “No, this is like Durango.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the dirt wall of the foxhole. “I overheard Father talking. This is what he feared.” Mathias opened his eyes and looked at me. “I think we’re just target practice for something much bigger. Something even worse.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  I wanted it all to be over. Speed up the hands of time and have this be a distant memory. It was already growing dark, but the cool evening air wasn’t the cause of my shaking.

  Mathias had put his arm around me a long time ago as we waited to see if there would be another attack. We were like two statues, frozen inside the makeshift foxhole, curled up against each other … afraid that if either of us moved, we’d find ourselves completely alone.

  “I think it’s over,” Mathias whispered into my hair.

  “You sure?” I asked, staring up at the cloud-filled sky. I felt as if I were five again, afraid of thunderstorms and wanting Papá to tell me that everything would be all right.

  “No.” He stood and stretched. “But we need to see how bad things are while there’s still some daylight.”

  “I know.” I took in a long, deep breath.

  “I just hope everyone made it into the bomb shelters,” Mathias said before tossing his makila over the edge of the ditch.

  Would Mamá have gone into a bomb shelter? She always ignored the alarms, but maybe after she saw those first planes, she would have sought refuge.

  As I stood there trying to absorb the ne
w reality around me, Mathias pushed away a stack of sandbags and pulled himself up and over onto the flat ground.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Thoughts of what might have happened to my home, to my mother, paralyzed me. I didn’t move.

  “Ani.” Mathias thrust his hand back into the ditch to help pull me out. “Let’s. Go.” This time he spoke to me like an annoyed parent whose two-year-old wants to stay at a party for a few more minutes.

  Yet something in his tone snapped me into action. I pushed his hand out of the way. “I can do it myself,” I said, wanting to shake off my helpless feeling.

  “Didn’t say you couldn’t.” Mathias stood up again and looked down at me still in the hole. “Just thought you might want a little help.”

  “Well, I don’t,” I said, grabbing a fistful of grass and pulling myself over the side of the ditch.

  I wanted to be angry. I needed to be angry … at someone, anyone.

  “Hurry up!” Mathias called out. “We have to get home.” He was walking faster than I’d ever seen him move.

  In the distance I could see a black cloud of smoke hanging over the entire city. The mountainside was also spotted with flames and smoke snaking its way up to the sky.

  Everything I’d ever known could be gone … including Mamá. I shook my head. I couldn’t think like that. I just needed to get down there to help whoever was hurt.

  “You can’t even bother to wait for me to climb out of the ditch?” I yelled, racing down the road to where Mathias was crouched next to something.

  “I thought she might need help,” he said, starting to stand up.

  I looked and saw a woman, facedown in the dirt with arms sprawled at odd angles. The back of her dress was riddled with bullet holes, and the ground around her had taken on a dark color.

  “Oh!” I quickly looked away.

  “She never had a chance,” Mathias muttered. “Just shot her in the back.”

  I could feel the bile rising in my throat. I was going to be sick. I took a few steps to the other side of the road and vomited. Closing my eyes, I tried to take a deep breath, but the air still reeked of smoke and death. I gagged and threw up again.

  After a few moments, the shock of seeing a dead body wore off, and I wiped the corners of my mouth with my sleeve. I had to toughen up … quick.

  I looked down the road toward Guernica and saw that Mathias had already resumed his fast, stumbling pace and left me behind. Our families needed us.

  Catching up to Mathias required a full sprint, but once I reached him, I slowed down.

  “Next time, you can wait a few seconds for me,” I said, now trotting alongside him. “I was sick back there, and I’m always waiting for you.”

  “We have to get down there fast. Plus, I’ve never asked you to do that,” he snapped, hobbling along with his makila as fast as he could.

  “I didn’t say you asked me to. How would you like it if I just ran into town right now and left you here?”

  Mathias’s eyes flashed with anger. “Then go! I certainly don’t want to hold you back!” he said without breaking his stride.

  “What if I did take off?” I said, grabbing at his shirt, causing him to momentarily stumble before stopping. “How’d you like that, huh?”

  Mathias threw his hands up in the air. “Don’t do me any favors.”

  “Fine! You’re on your own.” I started running … a slow jog, waiting for him to call me back.

  “Just. Go!” he yelled. “We’re all on our own now anyway!”

  There was nothing else for me to say or do here. I turned to face my burning city, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The smell of burning buildings and a gray haze of dust filled the air. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to see. Destruction was everywhere. Part of me wished that nightfall would come quickly so I wouldn’t have to see it.

  My welcome into Guernica was the littered streets of my neighborhood—full of bricks, rubble, broken pieces of furniture, and people digging through it all trying to reach loved ones who might be buried underneath.

  I looked up at the crumbling back wall of my building. My entire apartment was gone. For a moment I thought of the things I’d lost. The radio that Papá had bought for us, Mamá’s Bible in the top drawer of her dresser, the books I had in my room … everything had disappeared. Some of it might be in the heap of debris in front of me, but I didn’t care. I wanted to find Mamá, and she wouldn’t have been in the apartment.… She’d have been at the marketplace. There was still hope.

  My feet crunched the broken glass and splinters of wood and cement that seemed to coat every path that led toward the center of town. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see people … injured, bleeding, crying out, and searching for each other. None of it really filtered through to my brain. Even the sight of dismembered bodies being pulled out of the wreckage around me didn’t seem to fully register. All I knew was that I had to find Mamá. Once we were together, we’d figure out what to do next. Where to go and wait for Papá. She and I would be like those homeless refugees who had been crowding Guernica. Only now we would have to be the ones invading someone else’s town … running away from this.

  But we had Mathias’s family.… They’d help us. We’d start over somewhere else, and Papá would join us when this war finally ended.

  I tried to focus.… I had to get to one place … the market in the center of town.

  After a few blocks, I spun around trying to get my bearings. There was so much chaos and screaming that I wasn’t sure where I was. It was like no place I could imagine or describe. The sky around me glowed with fires from burning buildings, and craters carved up the streets and sidewalks. I had slipped and fallen into hell.

  Up ahead, the cupola of the church seemed to rise above all the destruction. That gave me a point of reference, so I knew which direction to run.

  I couldn’t tell if it took me hours or seconds to get there, but before long I was standing near the crumbling walls of the church. The market should have been right there.

  I glanced at the few buildings that still stood, confirming that I was in the right place, but all that was left of the market was heaps of rubble and a huge crater in the ground. By one of the buildings there was a pile of bodies that had already been covered with a few blankets. I quickly turned my head away from it. I could not think of Mamá being there.

  “Mamá!… MAMÁ!” I screamed, my voice joining the roar of other survivors calling out for their loved ones.

  I headed toward a bomb shelter … the one near the school.

  A young woman hastily walked toward me carrying a screaming toddler. I blocked her path.

  “The bomb shelters around here, are people still in them?” I desperately asked her.

  She didn’t answer me, and it seemed she couldn’t hear me over the child’s wailing.

  I asked again, this time yelling it at her.

  She stood there for a moment, giving me a blank stare as if I were speaking some foreign language.

  “Speak up!” she shouted. “I can’t hear you!” Tears started to flow down her face. “I can’t hear you! I can’t hear anything!” she cried out before running down the street.

  “Everyone’s out of the bomb shelters, mija,” a police officer said as he hurried past me toward one of the burning buildings. “Go see if your family’s gone home,” he hollered as he rounded the corner.

  There was no home for me to go back to, and Mamá was certainly not there.

  I stumbled along the piles of debris back toward the market. “Mamá! Mamá!” I called out, trying to pull beams and iron bars from the piles that littered the path.

  Then, in a corner, thrown against a building’s remaining wall, something familiar caught my eye.

  Twisted metal that, even though it was covered in gray dust, still had the slight glimmer of brass.

  I ran over and picked up the mangled scale. A small brass weight lay beneath it.
I didn’t know if I should pray for it to be the one I usually carried. I grasped the single weight, slid it into my pocket, and took a deep breath. Slowly, I flipped over the balance. My heart seemed to drop out of my chest. The truth was right there in the etched letters of our last name. This was Mamá’s scale.

  A hand grabbed my ankle.

  I twisted around to find an old woman holding on to me. “Lagundu iezadazu,” she mumbled. “Help me,” she repeated, barely able to lift her head off the ground.

  In my rush to get the scale, I hadn’t even noticed her.

  I looked down to see blood pooling around her and bloody streaks where she had dragged herself along the building’s edge. I felt dizzy. Then I focused on her face.… The wrinkles of a lifetime of laughing, singing, crying, were all there. I knelt next to her, setting the broken scale down by her feet.

  “I—I—I don’t know what to do,” I said. “I can go get someone.…” I began to stand.

  “Ez nazazu utzi. I don’t want to be alone,” she pleaded, her eyes locking with mine.

  I reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “I’m sorry, but I have to find my mother.” I gave her a sorrowful smile.

  “I’ll get—”

  But before I could finish my sentence, her eyes drifted to the side, and I felt her fingers go limp in mine. I froze, not knowing what to do next. Death was all around me, but now I was holding its hand.

  A familiar voice whispered, “You’ve done enough. She didn’t die alone.”

  I placed the old woman’s hand on the cobblestones and inched back as Padre Iñaki bent down to close the woman’s eyelids. He made the sign of the cross over her body and began to say a prayer.

  “My moth—” I said as I stood up, getting ready to start my search again.

  Padre Iñaki raised a finger for me to wait until he was done.

  “But I need …”

  He made the sign of the cross once again, stood, and turned to me. “I’m so sorry about your mother.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “The market was one of the first places they bombed. I saw—”

  I jerked away. “No, she would’ve run. She might not have even been there.” I glanced at the broken scale by the dead woman’s feet and shook my head. “Maybe she was in one of the shelters. You don’t know.”