A Thunderous Whisper

by Christina Diaz Gonzalez

  “No,” I muttered, watching Garza run into the house, “it’s not fine.”

  As if responding, the wind whipped up the rain and smacked me in the face.

  I looked up at the storm clouds above me and yelled, “Did you hear me? NOTHING will EVER be fine again!” Then I bolted toward the house with the basket in my arms, not waiting for the storm to answer.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  By early evening, the damp, musty odors left by the afternoon storm had faded and were being replaced by the smells of Señora Garza’s cooking. Marmitako was being prepared, and the smell of onions, potatoes, and fish filled the air, comforting me more than anyone’s words ever could.

  I had hoped that while we were all trapped inside the house, Mathias would have had a change of heart and reconsidered his plan to join the war. But that didn’t happen.

  In fact, nothing much happened during the entire afternoon. Diego stayed in the back room with his mother, the children played with each other or the babies, and I helped Señora Garza in any way I could. The only one who barely moved was Mathias.

  I knew he must be tired from chopping all the wood, but it was more than that. He wasn’t sleeping or resting, but instead he sat upright with his back against a corner, his eyes focused on some distant unseen horizon and a scowl on his face. He didn’t move or twitch, barely even blinked. He would probably have stayed there all afternoon if Garza had not enlisted his help in taking the severely injured back to town to be treated and the dead to be buried.

  As I walked toward the back bedroom, I passed Carmita, who was now playing a game of hide-and-seek with Julián. She was crouching underneath a table, giggling, hands covering her eyes, while Julián rolled his wheelchair past her.

  How quickly they had adapted to their new life! Or maybe they were too young to understand that their old life was over … that there would be no going back to their families or homes.

  I gently knocked on the bedroom door before walking in.

  Diego sat in a wooden chair next to the bed, his head resting on the edge of the mattress by his mother’s arm.

  “Who’s there?” he asked, with a start.

  “It’s me,” I answered, taking a cautious step closer. “I thought you might want something to drink.”

  “Ah, the storyteller.” He smiled and lifted his head. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t realize … I mean, I thought you were … um, well, Señora Garza told me what happened to you, to your mother.”

  “Oh.” I looked down at the glass of water I’d brought for him.

  “I’m really sorry … about everything.” He stood and offered me his chair, not knowing that there was another one a few feet away. “Are you okay?” he asked, fumbling to take a seat on the bed.

  “No.” I looked at the floor where the two bodies had lain.… It looked strangely bare, as if nothing wanted to be where death had been. “But I’ll survive,” I said, sitting in the wooden chair by the bed.

  “Yeah,” Diego muttered.

  An awkward silence followed.

  “Oh, here’s some water.” I took his hand and wrapped it around the glass.

  “Gracias.” He gulped it down, and then, leaning over, he reached out, searching for the night table.

  I put my hand on his arm. “Here, I’ll get it,” I said, taking the glass from him and placing it on the table.

  “Thanks.” He gave me a small smile. “I wish I could see.… I’d be more help to everyone.”

  “You’ll get better soon,” I said, staring at him. It was a curious thing to be able to look at someone so intently and not have them notice. With his light brown hair, tan skin, and strong jaw, he was actually very handsome.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Diego answered.

  “Um, what? What do you mean?” I asked, flustered at the thought that he somehow knew what I was thinking.

  “About my seeing again.” He touched the bandage that covered his eyes. “I have a feeling I won’t.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t say that.”

  He shrugged. “It’s okay. I think I knew the moment the bomb exploded.”

  I reached out and touched his knee. “I’m sorry.”

  Diego covered my hand with his. “I made a deal with God not to complain if we got out of there alive, and I’m sticking to it.” He squeezed my hand. “I am sorry for everything you’re going through, though.”

  A little bit of the heaviness that sat on my chest seemed to lift. Sharing my grief with someone helped. Now, unlike a few minutes earlier, we sat together in a comforting stillness.

  “I’ve got to ask you … do I know you from school?” Diego shifted his weight and scooted back against his mother’s hip. “I heard the kids call you Ani, but I just can’t place you.”

  I gazed down at his hand still holding mine and slowly pulled away. I thought of Sardine Girl. Would he have heard of her? I glanced at the door.

  I could see his eyebrows scrunch together under the bandages. “Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”

  “No.” I paused, not sure if I wanted him to know who I was—or at least, who I used to be. “I don’t think we’re in the same grade.”

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Twelve … I’ll be thirteen in a couple of weeks. And you?”

  “Fifteen.” Diego tilted his head as if trying to recall all the younger girls he knew. “Hmm, I didn’t know that many of the seventh graders.… Guess that’s why I don’t remember an Ani.”

  “Yeah … Ani,” I muttered.

  “Hold on, isn’t that your name? I didn’t get you confused with someone else here? It’s kinda hard not being able to see who people are talking to.”

  “No, I mean, yes … that’s what they call me now.”

  Diego paused, listening to the stillness in the air. “You don’t like having all your friends call you that?”

  “All my friends?” I almost laughed at the thought. Sardine Girl had no friends and I wasn’t so sure if Ani still did.

  “Yeah, from school or whatever.”

  I didn’t want to think about Sardine Girl anymore. “Ani is fine. I like it.” I nodded to emphasize my point, even though he couldn’t see me.

  “Hmm,” he muttered, unsure whether to believe me or not. “So, maybe I should call you something else.”

  I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it does. What do you want to be called?” Diego felt around the bed until he found his mother’s hand. He mindlessly started to rub it while waiting for me to answer. “Names are important. My mother always quotes an old Basque proverb that says, ‘Izena duen guztiak izatea ere badauke.’ Which means—”

  “ ‘Everything with a name exists.’ I know.”

  Diego and I stayed quiet for a moment.

  “Well.” He grinned and a long dimple appeared. “How about if I call you Storyteller … until you decide what I should call you?”

  “Her name is Ani,” a very matter-of-fact voice answered.

  I glanced over to the doorway to see Mathias standing there with his arms crossed.

  “Sorry if I’m interrupting, but Señora Garza says we’re eating. Bring him with you … if you want,” he said before walking away.

  Diego leaned closer to me and whispered, “Who was that?”

  “Oh, that’s Mathias.” I reached over to help Diego stand up.

  “Boyfriend?” I could see Diego’s eyebrows arch up over his bandages.

  My cheeks began to burn. “Oh no. Not at all. We’re friends, at least I think we still are. He’s just been through a lot.”

  “Hmph. We all have. Sounds like a really nice guy.” The sarcasm of his words was obvious.

  “He actually is,” I said, looking back at the empty doorway.

  “Well, then I guess he just doesn’t like me,” Diego said, holding on to my arm so I could guide him out of the room.

  “Don’t take it personally,” I said.

  Diego paused in the
doorway. “I won’t. But he should know the feeling is mutual.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Lightning flashed, temporarily lifting the darkness from the room and casting strange shadows on the wall. I pulled a few strands of my wet hair across my nose and breathed in the clean, soapy smell. It helped me forget the odor of war, which was forever engraved in my memory.

  I was glad Señora Garza had insisted that I bathe and put on some of her clothes before going to sleep. Not that sleep was coming easily to me. Even my old clothes, crumpled in the corner and waiting to be washed in the morning, reminded me of the bodies buried beneath the rubble. I closed my eyes to block out the image, but that only made me think of more heinous things.

  Thunder echoed in the distance.

  Sitting on a red blanket on the bedroom floor, I stared out the window at the black sky, which rippled with another lightning flash. The slow rumble of thunder shook the wooden floorboards beneath me. A slight shiver ran up and down my spine. I pulled my legs close to my chest and tucked them under the large yellow-flowered dress that Señora Garza had let me borrow.

  I thought about the children in Julián’s room and whether they’d be able to sleep. Could they still have sweet dreams, or had those been taken from them as well?

  Earlier in the night the Garzas had decided that the little ones should sleep in Julián’s room, the women would stay in the Garzas’ bedroom with the babies, and the men would sleep in the living room in case there was some sort of ground attack. After a few hours of feeding the babies and changing diapers, I was thinking I’d rather take my chances with the ground attack.

  “¿Todo bien?” Señora Garza asked, rolling to her side. She was sleeping on the floor next to me since the beds were being used by Diego’s mother and the old lady.

  “I’m all right. Just thinking,” I said, falling back against the faded red blanket.

  “¿Seguro? Sometimes just giving a voice to your thoughts helps.”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” I said, fearing that if I did talk about things, the tears would flow again. One big cry was enough.

  “Hmm. Well, if not me, maybe a friend?”

  I shook my head while staring up at the ceiling. “Mathias isn’t in a listening mood. I don’t think he even wants me around anymore.”

  Señora Garza reached over and tapped my hand. “That can’t be true. He’s just lost and grieving. He’ll find his way again.”

  “But part of me wishes I could be like him,” I whispered as a strong flash of lightning lit up the entire room.

  “¿Por qué?” she asked as the thunder boomed overhead and shook the small house from top to bottom.

  “Because he at least has a plan.… He’s going to do something. I thought when we became friends that I’d do something too. That I’d—”

  The windows rattled one last time before falling silent, waiting for the next thunderclap.

  I took a deep breath. “No importa. I was never the type to make a difference anyway. Mamá always said we’re just whispers in a loud world, and I’m pretty sure the whole planet is shouting at the top of its lungs.”

  Señora Garza propped herself up on an elbow. “Don’t sell yourself short, niñita. There are many ways you can make a difference in this world. Not just how Mathias wants to do it.”

  “I guess.”

  “Listen, I’m sure your mother was a wonderful woman, but I think she was completely wrong about being a whisper. No matter how loud the world gets, sometimes a single voice can be heard.”

  Lightning flashed again in the distance, and thunder rocked the house with a slow quake that seemed to come in like a long wave from the ocean.

  Señora Garza continued, “You see, I think people can be like that storm outside. Some people seek to do magnificent things, inspired acts that stand out like bolts of lightning. That would be our Mathias. Others move the world like the strong, and sometimes slow, rumbles of thunder.”

  I was neither of those things. She didn’t know me.

  “And I suppose, if you think about it, most people are like the rain. They follow the lightning and thunder … either nourishing the earth or drowning it.”

  I stayed silent, not quite sure what she meant by all this.

  Señora Garza lay back down on her blanket. “Or perhaps I’m just an old woman who is overly tired and rambling. But I hope you understand what I’m trying to tell you.”

  “I think so,” I muttered, exhaustion finally overtaking my body.

  Just before I felt myself drift away to the blackness of sleep, I heard Señora Garza say, “You can be the thunder to Mathias’s lightning.”

  FORTY

  A piercing scream shattered the quiet of the night. For a moment, I was confused, thinking it was part of my own nightmare or that I was the one who’d yelled. A split second later, the wailing from the other room confirmed that it had not been my imagination. I covered my head with the pillow, wanting it all to go away.

  “Ugh,” Señora Garza moaned as she threw off her blanket and tried to get up from the floor.

  The babies lying in their baskets near us began to whimper and complain about the continuing shrieks coming from Julián’s room.

  “Ani, can you see what the problem is over there while I deal with the babies?” Señora Garza was already by the baskets, rocking each one for a moment before going to the next.

  I jumped up, almost losing my balance, and rushed over to Julián’s room. Even though the house was dark, a sliver of moonlight coming in through the unshuttered window created enough light for me to see Julián, sitting up in his bed, hands covering his ears.

  “Make them stop!” he yelled.

  I bent down and picked up Carmita, who was crying so hard that she could barely breathe. “Shhh. Ya, ya,” I cooed, bouncing her on my hip while scooping up Mirentxu and rocking both of them back and forth. The two girls clung to my neck so tightly that I thought they might choke me. They were much too heavy for me to stay standing, so I sat on the floor, where a bed of blankets had been made for them.

  As the girls’ loud cries subsided into gentle sobs, I noticed that the boy with no name was standing silently in a corner of the room just staring at me.

  “Do you want to come over here?” I asked, waving him closer.

  He shook his head.

  “Can we just go back to sleep?” Julián asked, flipping his pillow over and punching it.

  “Sure,” I said, tucking in the two girls under their covers.

  I looked back at the quiet boy in the corner, who still hadn’t moved. “Do you want me to tell you some more about the princess and the jentillak?”

  The little boy shrugged, but slid down against the wall, never looking away. He curled his arms around his legs and waited.

  I took a blanket balled up near Julián’s bed and draped it over the little boy. “You sure you don’t want to tell me your name?” I asked.

  He sat still, his eyes wide open.

  “All right, then, how about if I call you José, since that’s my father’s name?”

  A slight tilt of his head was all the response I got, but it was enough for me to start calling him by his new name.

  “Well, José, the last time I was telling you the story, I said that there was a beautiful princess who was trapped on her island home by a horrible sea serpent, but that the princess had rescued a fairy that was caught under a heavy seashell. Do you remember?”

  “I don’t remember a fairy,” said Mirentxu.

  “Me neither,” added Carmita, lifting her head off the floor.

  “Well, I’ll go back to that part, then. But first, let’s do the same thing we did last time and close our eyes and imagine the story.” I waited a few moments and only when all their eyes were shut did I begin.

  “The beautiful princess heard a strange noise coming from underneath a large seashell that was covered in seaweed. Carefully, she walked toward the shell and realized that what she heard was crying.”
/>   A shuffling sound made me pause.

  “The fairy was crying?” Mirentxu asked in a groggy voice.

  I strained to hear what the noise could be, but there was only silence.

  “Yes,” I said in a slow, whispery voice, “the fairy was crying because she thought no one would ever rescue her.” Combing back José’s silky hair with my fingers, I continued, “When the princess released her from the shell, the fairy was so happy that she danced and flew around like a sparkling butterfly. The fairy wanted to thank the princess for her kindness, and so she gave her something that no one else could”—I dropped my voice even further—“a way off the island.”

  I paused. Even breathing filled the room.

  Quietly I stood up and tiptoed out of the room. As I turned to close the door behind me, a shadow popped out from the hallway. I stifled the scream that was about to escape from my throat when I heard a voice say, “The storyteller strikes again.”

  It was Diego.

  “You startled me,” I said, my heart pounding from the scare.

  “Sorry. I thought you saw me standing here.”

  “How could I? It’s pitch-dark in this hallway.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know.”

  I closed my eyes, feeling like an idiot. Of course he didn’t know.

  “I just heard you talking and wanted to listen too.”

  “Aren’t you a little old for fairy tales?” I teased.

  “Yeah, maybe.” Even in the shadows, I could hear the smile in his voice, and I imagined the long dimple showing up again. “But there’s something about your voice, the way you tell stories.… It’s special.”

  I blushed, thankful he couldn’t see me.

  “And the best part is I can put a face with the voice because I finally remembered you from school.”

  “What?” I took a small step back. He couldn’t possibly know, could he?

  “Yeah,” he said, “you’re the sardinera’s daughter, right?”

  “Uh … um … well …,” I stammered.