“It took me a while, but I knew I’d piece it together.”
“I have to go,” I said, my voice cracking. Sardine Girl was back … assuming she’d ever left.
“No, wait.” Diego reached out and touched my arm. “Did I say something wrong again?” He slapped the side of his head. “Of course, I did. I’m so stupid. It must hurt to think of your mother.”
I stayed silent.
“Forgive me? I didn’t mean to make you upset. You were right earlier today … I can be un idiota.” He took a step toward me. “I’m leaving in the morning and I just thought it’d be good if you knew that I remembered seeing you with your mother whenever I’d go play jai alai. You probably don’t remember me but—”
“You’re leaving?” I asked, surprised at the disappointment I suddenly felt. “In a couple of hours?”
Diego nodded. “Señor Garza said he’d take us to Bilbao … to a hospital.”
“Oh, that’s good,” I said.
We stood there in the dark hallway for a few seconds, neither one of us saying anything else.
“Guess we should get some rest,” Diego mumbled.
“Uh-huh.” I took him by the elbow and guided him back to the family room, where Señor Garza lay snoring on the sofa.
As we approached the makeshift bed on the floor, Diego stopped. “One more thing,” he said as I let go of his arm. “I’m not sure if I’ll get a chance to say it before I leave … but, um, I just wanted to thank you for being so nice to me … and my mother. It made a difference.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Good night.”
As I walked away, I heard him say in a loud whisper, “Good night, Storyteller.”
By the time I was back in the Garzas’ bedroom, I had a smile from ear to ear. Even though Diego knew who I was, to him I was Storyteller, not Sardine Girl.
I really hoped our paths would cross again.
The sound of whispers and giggles woke me up. The sun was already shining strongly through the bedroom window, and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the brightness.
“¡Está despierta!” a little voice squealed before several arms wrapped themselves around me in a big group hug.
“Sí, sí. I’m most definitely awake now,” I said from beneath the pileup of small bodies.
“About time you got up,” Julián said from the doorway. “Abuela wouldn’t let anyone get near you for the past hour.”
“We thought you were going to leave too,” Mirentxu said breathlessly, squeezing me even tighter.
“Leave?” I sat up, knocking over Carmita and Mirentxu. “Did Diego go already?” I didn’t think I’d sleep through the noise of everyone leaving.
Julián nodded from the doorway. “And his mother too. Everyone’s gone except Abuela, us, and the babies.”
“Mathias too?” I looked around. Would Mathias run off to fight in the war without saying goodbye?
“Yep. Abuelo asked him to go to Bilbao with him, even though I said I wanted to go.” Julián rolled into the room. “It’s not fair. All morning, I’ve been the one taking care of these pip-squeaks.” He pointed a finger at me. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Julián.” Señora Garza was at the door, her fists at her hips. “No hables así. I don’t like that attitude. Your grandfather needed to spend some time speaking with Mathias alone.… These are very difficult days for him. And for Ani. We all have to help.” She walked in and pulled Mirentxu off me. “¿Dormistes bien, niña?”
I nodded. “Sí, señora. I didn’t realize it was so late. I would’ve been up earlier to help.” When I stood up, my very large yellow dress hung off my shoulders and draped to the floor. I tried smoothing out some of the wrinkles and gathered up the bottom so it wouldn’t drag.
“You look funny in Abuela’s dress,” Julián chuckled.
“Oh, shush, Julián. She makes that dress look nicer than ever. Better than when these old bones wear it.” Señora Garza smiled at me. “But your clothes are already outside drying.”
I glanced over to the corner of the room where my clothes had been. I wasn’t used to having anyone do things for me. It felt … uncomfortable. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve washed them myself.” I looked at the night table. The pouch and weight were gone. “My things!”
Julián raised his hands in surrender. “It wasn’t me.”
“Don’t worry.” Señora Garza tapped my shoulder. “I put them in the drawer so they wouldn’t get lost.” She swiveled Julián’s wheelchair around and pushed him out of the room, bringing Mirentxu and Carmita with her.
“Gracias,” I muttered, gazing down at my bare feet.
“No need for thanks, mija. Just wash up and come help me outside. Lots to get done before Mathias and Garza return tomorrow.”
My heart dropped a little. I wanted Mathias to be here, even if he wasn’t speaking to me. “Do you really think it’ll take them that long? Bilbao isn’t that far. They might be back tonight.”
Señora Garza paused in the doorway and looked back at me. I felt as if she could read my thoughts. “Maybe, but I suspect Garza will spend the night in Bilbao and head back tomorrow. I know you want Mathias to be here, but I think Garza needs to talk to Mathias, man to man. Work some things out.”
“Convince him not to leave and go fight?” My voice carried the unmistakable traces of hope.
Señora Garza’s lips twitched before she muttered, “Well, something like that.”
I wasn’t reassured.
FORTY-ONE
The day flew by, barely giving me a moment to catch my breath, let alone think. The few minutes I’d had to myself were used to write the hardest letter I’d ever imagined. It took me several tries to come up with the right words to tell Papá that Mamá was gone. In the end, the letter was short. It simply said that I was fine and staying with the Garzas, but that Mamá had not survived. I didn’t explain about our apartment being destroyed or how Mamá had died.… Those details would come later. I just wanted him to know.
The night didn’t bring much of a reprieve from the day’s hard work either. Carmita and Mirentxu had both insisted on sleeping with me on the bed formerly occupied by Diego’s mother, and between their tossing and turning, my own restlessness, and baby duty, I barely slept. By the next day, even though the sun was at its peak, I was fighting a losing battle to keep my eyes open.
Then I heard it. A horse neighing loudly followed by the crackling sound of Garza’s cart grinding over the gravel path. My sleepiness evaporated. Mathias was back!
My first instinct was to rush outside, but I stopped myself.
Mathias would come to me … when he was ready.
I stuck my hand in my left pocket, searching for the acorn, but instead my fingers found Mamá’s brass weight, smooth and cold to the touch. I’d forgotten that it now shared the pocket along with the silk pouch.
The sadness I’d tried to push aside with nonstop work quickly came back. Mamá had said that everyone leaves.… It was something we all had to get used to. But I didn’t want to ever get used to it. I wanted to expect that people would come back.
I dug deeper into the skirt pocket, feeling for the silk pouch that Papá had given me. I held both objects in my hand. An acorn and a weight, all I had left of my parents.
I gave the seed a soft squeeze, closed my eyes, and wished for the one thing I wanted most in the world … for Papá to be safe and to come back.
“We’ll plant this seed … one day,” I murmured.
“Ani! Ani!” Mathias yelled, plowing through the front door.
“What?” I asked, popping my eyes open and realizing that he’d woken two of the sleeping babies.
“Señora Garza!” he yelled as the old woman came out from Julián’s room. “Ani and I have to go back to town! Garza has some more children that he’s taking up to the Eguiguren farm, but he’ll be back later.” He hobbled over to me and grabbed my hand. “We have to go … right now!”
“¿Qué?”
Señora Garza asked, still folding the blanket she had in her hands.
“Mathias, what are you talking about?” I asked.
He tapped his makila impatiently on the ground. “The Basque soldiers!” He stopped me from going toward one of the crying babies and spun me around so I’d face him. “Some of them are in town. The front seems to be breaking, and some soldiers are looking for relatives as they retreat. C’mon. We have to go!”
Mathias’s words hit me like a tidal wave.
Papá. He might be back.
“Just go! ¡No me esperes!” Mathias yelled from behind me on the mountain path.
I had already slowed down twice to let him catch up a little, but I couldn’t take the chance of missing Papá.
“I’ll meet you at the church!” I shouted, running faster than I could have imagined. I knew that the soldiers would go there to find out about their families.
Soon I was jumping over piles of bricks, avoiding the pits and craters left by the bombs, rounding the corner of what had once been my street, and making a dash for the center of town. I tripped, fell, and got right back up. A skinned knee or elbow would not slow me down.
What had once been Guernica was gone. All that remained was a shell—a broken and shattered shell. There were no comforting smells or familiar sounds. It reeked of war, but I didn’t care. I was focused on only one thing.
As I approached the church, I saw more and more soldiers. My eyes scanned each one before quickly dismissing them. There was only one face I wanted to find … needed to see.
Bolting into the church, I saw Padre Iñaki talking to one of the soldiers in the corner.
“Padre, Padre!” I ran to the priest, pausing only for a moment to genuflect before the altar as I crossed to the other side of the church.
The two men stopped talking and waited for me to come closer.
“¿Qué pasó?” Padre Iñaki asked.
I glanced at the soldier. His eyes were red and watery. I suddenly realized that he was probably getting bad news about his own family. “Perdonen la interrupción,” I muttered, rubbing the sides of my hands against my skirt, the feel of the bump from the acorn pushing me to continue speaking regardless of what I might be interrupting. “I heard that some of the soldiers are back.… I need to know if you’ve seen my father.”
“No, hija.” Padre Iñaki shook his head and placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I just got here a little while ago myself. He could’ve been by here earlier, though. Let me find out.” Padre Iñaki walked over to one of the men working near the shattered stained-glass window.
I turned to the soldier standing next to me. “His name is José Largazabalaga. Do you know him?”
The soldier mulled over the name for a few moments. “Older man? Mostly gray hair? About this tall?” He raised his hand a few inches above me.
“Yes!” I nodded.
“I met him a few weeks ago, but I haven’t seen him since. Nice man, though.”
I gave him a slight smile at the compliment, but I was wasting time if Papá wasn’t there. “Please, if you see my father again, can you tell him that I’m staying at the Garza farmhouse?” My eyes were already darting around the church, trying to see who else to ask.
“Claro,” the soldier said, nodding and pointing to Padre Iñaki, who was now walking back toward us. I rushed over to meet him, broken glass making a crunching sound under my feet.
“Was he here?” I asked.
“Some soldiers did come by this morning, but no one knows if your father was with them. They were headed to the hospital to try and find their families. Miguel over there”—he pointed to the man by the broken window—“wrote down your name on our children’s list … in case your father comes to ask about you.”
“The hospital? I’ll go there next. ¡Gracias!” I turned and ran down the center aisle past several rows of people kneeling in the pews.
In one of the pews at the back of the church was a couple, hugging and smiling. A happy reunion in the middle of all the tears. There was still a chance I could have a moment like that.
FORTY-TWO
The sun was dropping, and long shadows covered the streets and rubble of Guernica. I hadn’t seen Mathias all afternoon, and the guilt of not waiting for him at the church was starting to eat at me. I thought I’d run into him as I crisscrossed the streets outside the hospital, asking everyone if they’d seen Papá and leaving word that I was staying with the Garzas.
As I trudged up the mountain path, resigned to the fact that I’d looked everywhere and asked everyone, I saw the familiar silhouette of a tall boy wearing a beret, leaning on a makila, standing by my tree.
I darted across the field toward him.
“How long have you been here?” I asked, slightly out of breath.
“For a while. I figured I’d just meet up with you on the way back.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “You want to stay here for a while and talk?”
I looked around. The memories of the bombing and hiding in the foxhole were so vivid. I shook my head. “No. It doesn’t feel the same anymore.”
We started walking back to the main road.
“Did you find out anything about your father?” he asked.
“No. I left word where I was staying, though.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
We walked in silence for a little longer, the sun hovering over the horizon.
“He’ll come back,” Mathias said after a while.
“I hope so,” I muttered.
“Ani.” Mathias stopped for a moment.
“What?” I asked over my shoulder, still walking toward the Garza farm.
He took a deep breath and sighed. “I saw where they buried my parents.”
I stopped. The entire time, I had been so focused on my own feelings and on searching for my father that I’d forgotten all about what Mathias might be going through.
Turning around, I didn’t know what to say.
“They had no way of knowing where I was, so I wasn’t told about the burial. It happened yesterday … but they showed me the grave.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, wanting to say or do more for him.
“Yeah.” Mathias shuffled his feet.
I studied his face. He looked different from just two days ago. There was something in the way he stood, the look in his eyes, that made him seem … older.
“It just feels … final. Like they’re really gone.”
“Do you want to go back? I’ll go with you.”
“No. I said my goodbyes, but, um … I want to give you this.” He held out a torn piece of paper. “It’s my grandmother’s address in Germany. So you can write to me once I leave.”
“Write to you? Are you still thinking of going there to kill Hitler?” I rolled my eyes and most definitely did not take the paper.
“I know that probably won’t happen … but I believe I can make a difference.” He took my hand and put the paper in my palm. “I want to continue the work my father was doing.”
He was serious.
“Ani, my family’s there,” he said.
I listened as he now spoke plainly, without the anger he’d had before. “I need to help them. Things are getting really bad for all the Jews over there.”
I closed my fingers around the piece of paper and slipped it into my pocket.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. I thought Garza would talk him into staying and working on the farm. We started walking again.
“Why don’t you have that side of your family move here? You’re as much Basque as you are German.”
He shook his head. “They can’t just move, and why should they have to abandon their home … their country? People have to stand up against hatred like that or else things will get even worse.”
I stared at some passing birds, doing a quick double take to make sure they were actually birds and not planes. “But from what you’ve told me, things are already out of control over there. It’s danger
ous.”
Mathias used his makila to point back toward the city. “Um, where have you been? It’s dangerous everywhere.”
I sighed. Even in the dimming light of dusk, the wreckage of the bombed buildings could be seen from where we stood. “I know it’s not safe here either, but there’s plenty to do. We could fight what’s happening here … together,” I said.
“I can’t. Germany is where I have family, where my father had his contacts.… It’s where I belong.” He paused. “I promise to write back and tell you what’s going on over there. Didn’t the blind boy call you Storyteller?”
“You mean Diego?” I asked, knowing exactly who he meant.
“Yeah, him.” He waved off his name like an annoying bug. “You can make sure people here know what’s happening. We can still work together.”
I kicked a small rock toward the edge of the road. I thought about being Mathias’s storyteller. “I guess. But who’d listen?”
“Kids, the Garzas, Padre Iñaki … you,” Mathias said. “The important thing is that the stories get out.”
“I guess,” I muttered. “When do you plan on leaving?”
“While I was in Bilbao, I met some soldiers who—”
“Look!” I said, pointing at a pair of headlights slowly backing away from the front of the Garza farm. My heart sank as I thought these were the soldiers Mathias was just talking about. Was he going to leave right now?
I glanced over at him. “Are you—” I never finished my thought because the jeep’s brakes screeched as it abruptly stopped in front of us, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone jump out of the back.
“¡Preciosa!”
FORTY-THREE
For a moment, time stopped. Silence filled the air, and it was all I could do to breathe. Then, as if God had restarted the movie that was our lives, noise surrounded me, and Papá had me in his arms, covering my cheeks with kisses and tears.
“I didn’t think I’d get to see you,” he said, squeezing me. He pushed me back and scanned me from head to toe. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
A Thunderous Whisper Page 17