I felt rebellious, but my mother's eyes were so soft and loving that I could never refuse them. Swallowing my disappointment, I reluctantly got to my feet.
"Okay mama," I muttered, padding softly towards the door. I lingered briefly outside the door to hear my mother replace the objects inside the chest, hear the lid fall shut and the key turn. I heard muttered voices, and then footsteps, and I ran outside, but not to pick vegetables as my mother had asked. Instead I ducked down next to the kitchen door, my ears pricked, and waited to find out what it was my father kept secret, and my mother didn't want me to know.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Revelations
"MARIA, WHAT’S THE matter?"
Crouched underneath the kitchen window, I heard my grandmother's voice and held my breath waiting for the reply, but none came. Instead, the clang of a pan being hastily retrieved from the shelf told me that my mother was trying to ignore the question for as long as possible.
"Talk to me," said Firmina, "tell me what you saw."
There was a thump as Maria set the pan down, then silence, then what I thought might have been a sob. It was difficult to hear, as holding my breath had only served to make the blood pound harder in my ears. Exhaling as quietly as I could, I crept as close to the door as I dared and tilted my head to lift my ear higher, like an animal listening for predators.
"I always knew he was a bad person," said Maria finally. "I knew he was up to something, but I never thought..." her voice tailed off.
"What is he up to?" Firmina prompted gently.
"All of these things that we have," said Maria, pushing the pan away with a scraping sound, "this is how he pays for them."
"Good heavens Maria," said my grandmother, exasperated, "tell me what you're talking about!"
"He's a killer!" Maria blurted out quickly.
There was silence again inside the room. Outside, the chirping of the birds in the trees all around sounded strangely out of tune.
"Who has he killed?" asked Firmina finally.
"I don't know!" Maria replied. I could hear the pain in my mother's voice and I wanted to run and hug her, but curiosity kept me rooted to the spot. "He's a matador, mother! An assassin!"
"For who?" asked Firmina. My grandmother knew as well as any of them how wicked
Moises could be, but even she sounded shocked.
"Does it matter?" said Maria. "I don't know who he works for, I don't know who he's killed,
I don't know their names, only..." she sobbed again, loudly this time.
"Only what?" asked my grandmother. Her voice sounded sympathetic yet eager at the same time. I thought my grandmother must be as desperate to know the truth as I was.
"The bag!" my mother cried between sobs. "Oh god!"
"What?" asked Firmina. "What about the bag? Maria, what's in there? What is it?" My mother didn't answer right away. Crouched near the door, I stayed as still as the stealthiest of hunters, but inside I was buzzing with so much energy I felt like I might explode. Inside the kitchen, my mother mumbled a word that I couldn't quite make out, and I held my breath again without realising it.
"What did you say?" asked Firmina quietly.
"Ears!" shouted Maria. I almost tumbled over in surprise. "He has ears in his bag, mother!
Human ears!" She started crying again. "Like souvenirs!"
My legs started to shake, I felt my stomach turn over and thought with alarm that I might throw up and give myself away. Forgetting all about the vegetables my mother had asked me to fetch, and without thinking why or where, I began to run. I raced towards the trees, my legs still trembling beneath me as though they might give in and collapse at any moment, and didn't stop when I reached them. I kept running until I was deep in the forest, leaping over fallen branches, not really seeing where I was going until finally I came to a stop, doubling over and panting with exhaustion.
I didn't know why I had fled. Maybe I couldn't take hearing my mother cry anymore. Maybe the truth frightened me like a monster, and I thought on some level that I might be able to hide from it. I always disappeared into the forest when I wanted to be alone, to escape my father's attention for a few hours and pretend that I was free to do as I liked. But I wasn't free. Sooner or later I would have to return home, and the truth would be waiting for me. My mother's sorrow would be waiting for me. Inside the house, inside the chest, the treasure chest I had joked about with Laura, the chest my imagination let my dream might contain gold, or jewels, or any manner of exciting things, the gruesome bag of ears would be waiting for me. And then, when he returned from his trip, my father would be waiting for me. My father the murderer.
I looked around at the trees that I counted on to provide me with shelter and comfort, and all I could think about was that night I had hidden amongst the tree roots and watched my father perform his ritual, spilling his own blood on the altar of skulls and bones. I remembered the ghostly voice I thought I had heard whispering through the trees, and I shivered. Underneath the canopy, the heat was fierce like an oven, yet I felt my blood run as cold as ice.
I had always thought my father was capable of murder. I would even say as much to my friends, who made fun of me for it. But hearing my mother say so, my mother who always defended him no matter what, my mother who chided me for thinking the worst of him, hearing her speak the truth made it real and suddenly the world had changed. I couldn't pretend anymore that I might be wrong. I couldn't pretend everything was going to be okay. My father was a murderer, in league with the devil, and he hated me. Every look he had ever given me took on a new significance. Every memory I had of him had a new meaning, every beating he had given me, every glare, every threat, and as they flashed before my eyes I felt afraid because I understood what that meaning was.
I was going to die.
I didn't return to the house for many hours, and when I did I found my brothers and sisters already returned from work, gathered around the table.
"Where have you been all day?" asked Maria, catching sight of me in the doorway. My mother's eyes were still red, but her expression was set again like a mask and I knew what the response would be if I tried to talk about what I had heard. Maria always said that we had to make the best of the life we had been given, and that was what she would say again. Nothing would change.
"I was in the forest," I replied. For a moment, I thought of admitting what I knew, but then I looked into my mother's eyes and couldn't bring myself to cause her more hurt. Not now. Besides, what good would it do?
"Well go and wash your hands at least," she said, peering at me suspiciously, "I'm about to serve dinner."
I wasn't hungry, but I sat and ate quietly as the rest of the family talked around me. I didn't hear what they were saying. My mind was drowning in thoughts and I couldn't concentrate on anything else. As soon as I felt I was able without attracting too much attention, I slipped away to my room, climbed into bed, and lay staring up at the ceiling.
As darkness fell, my brain finally began to slow down, and amidst the chaos, and fear, and doubt, one truth stood out. I needed to know more. If Moises were my enemy, I needed to know exactly what kind of enemy I was dealing with. I needed to know exactly what these terrible things were that he had done. I couldn't just wait around, knowing something terrible might happen at any moment.
I was only a girl, and maybe there really was nothing I could do. But I had to know the truth, the whole truth. I had to get my hands on that book again.
When my grandmother came to bed, I pretended to be asleep. I couldn't face talking about it just yet. I didn't know what I would even say. But I didn't sleep that night, and I wasn't the only one. Flickering candlelight crept under the door now and then, and I knew that it was my mother pacing the hall. She didn't know what to do either, I thought. She was making sure that her children were all safely tucked up in bed, but they were not safe. She was doing the only thing she could do, and she must have known that it wouldn't be enough, but what else was there? My mother was a s
trong woman, she had to be to make it this far, but she couldn't protect us from my father. She knew that. I knew that.
I would have to protect myself.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sweets
I COULD FEEL my mother’s beady eyes on me at breakfast again the next morning, but I did not meet them. I didn't want to talk about what had happened the previous day, as I knew that she would only make excuses for my father again, tell me to be a good girl and to keep my head down, and most of all to leave my father's things well alone. Of course, I had no intention of doing that. But neither did I particularly want to feel anymore guilt about going against my mother's wishes than I already did, so it was best, I supposed, if we just didn't speak about it. I ate quietly with my head down, and then made to follow my brothers and sisters out of the kitchen as they set off to work.
"Lorin?"
I stopped suddenly, causing Julia to walk straight into the back of me.
"What is the matter with you?" muttered Julia, shoving me roughly. I stumbled out of the door, walked a few paces to make sure that I was out of my mother's sight, then doubled back around and ducked down underneath the window. Julia gave me a funny look, rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, but I wasn't paying her any attention. My ears were pricked, trying to hear what was being said inside.
"I need you to fetch some things from the shop," I heard my mother say. "I made a list." I heard the soft crinkling of paper and fought the urge to poke my head up and peek into the room. Instead, I waited silently for Lorin to appear and chased after him as he headed towards the stables.
"What's that look on your face?" he asked, amused, as I fell into bouncy step next to him, a mischievous smile playing about my lips.
"Take me with you," I said. I had tried to make it sound like a polite request, but I was so used to being stubborn that the words sounded more like an order.
"To the stables?" asked Lorin, amused. "Sure."
"To the village," I said. I was hopping around him now on the balls of my feet, like an excited little monkey.
"Who's going to the village?" asked Lorin, innocently.
"Don't lie to me," I warned him. "I heard mama ask you to go."
"You shouldn't spy on people," my brother chided.
"I wasn't!" I protested. "I just heard it."
"Mhm," Lorin nodded seriously, "that often happens when you spy on people.”
"Take me with you!" I demanded again, stamping one foot on the ground as we reached the stable door.
"Don't you have work to do?" he asked.
"Nope," I shook my head a little too hard.
"Do you do anything useful around here?" he asked, reaching for a pitchfork propped up against the wall.
"I'm being useful now," I replied, matter-of-factly.
"How are you being useful?" asked Lorin, one eyebrow raised.
"I'm helping you fetch things from the village," I replied, looking up at him with as plain a face as I could muster. He couldn't help but laugh at the brazen cheek of it.
"Oh alright," he said, "you can come."
"Yay!" I jumped for joy and then threw myself upon him, narrowly avoiding being impaled upon the pitchfork's rusty prongs.
"Calm down you idiot," said Lorin, "I'm not leaving yet."
"Why not?" I released him and took a step back, slumping with disappointment.
"Unlike you," Lorin replied, "I actually do have some work to do first. We'll leave in a couple of hours."
"Okay," I said, already turning to run away.
"If you're not here, I'm going without you!"
I didn't know exactly what to expect in the village, but I knew there would be people there and I didn't want to go looking like a boy. In an effort to deflect my father's unwanted attentions, I had dressed every morning in hand-me-down shirts and baggy trousers, even going so far as to bind my breasts with cloth to try to hide them when they became too obvious to ignore. Today, though, Moises was gone, and I would be taking a step out into the big, wide world, even if only a little one. The occasion called for a special effort.
I raced down to the river, shrugged off my clothes and dived in, ducking my head completely under the surface to let the flowing waters wash away every scrap of dirt and sweat and worry. Then I lay out on the soft grass and let my hair, which spent most of its time these days tucked under a shabby cowboy hat, dry in the warm breeze. By the time I rose to head for home it was falling all about my face in thick, red-gold curls. For the first time in a long time, I felt like a proper girl.
"Come on you freak!" Lorin called from the back of the horse and cart as he caught sight of me approaching. "Or you'll be left behind." I ran to catch up as the rickety wheels squeaked along the dusty road, and my brother reached out a hand to help me climb aboard. "I see you found your hair," Lorin observed as I sat down next to him. I didn't reply. I was too excited to think of a witty retort.
The trip didn't take too long. I thought I could probably have run it if I had to, and in truth the village itself was little more than a bumpy road lined with a handful of houses, a couple of bars and a large, iron-roofed shed.
"What's that?" I asked, pointing to it.
"That's where we're going," Lorin replied, pulling on the reins to bring the cart to a halt.
"That's the shop."
"That is?" asked I, doubtfully. "It doesn't look much like a shop." I had imagined big windows full of items and posters, just like I had seen in pictures in the magazines my sisters occasionally brought home on the rare occasions they had been allowed out of our father’s sight.
"Come inside," said Lorin, hopping down. "You'll see."
I jumped down too and followed him through the shed's door. My mouth fell open. Just about every inch of floor and shelves were covered with tins and bags and packets of all kinds. Ahead of them, a counter displayed colourful boxes and tubes and bags - sweets at the front and tobacco behind. There were magazines, to, over a dozen different kinds, all shiny and new-looking.
"Hello," said a voice close by, making me jump and spin around. I found myself face-to-face with a boy around Lorin's age, with dark, African skin and a bright, friendly smile.
"Hey Carlinho," said Lorin, "we're just here to pick up a few things."
"Whatever you need," Carlinho replied. He was still smiling at me, and I felt my cheeks burning as I looked quickly down at the ground.
"Oh," said Lorin, "this is my sister, Emilia."
"It's nice to meet you," said Carlinho. Still staring hard at the floor, I opened my mouth to try to talk, but no sound came out. Heart pounding, I turned and fled back out to the cart and clung to it for support as my knees trembled beneath me. What was that? I thought to myself. I had never felt so shy around the other children at school. What on earth was going on?
It took a few moments for my legs to steady themselves enough for me to let go of the cart without falling down, and when they did I went for a short wander to look at the other buildings. They were just houses really, much like their own back on the farm, except for the bars which were a little bigger. All of the doors were closed though, and nobody seemed to be around. The only really interesting thing here, I thought, was the shop. But I couldn't go back in there now. Not after that. How embarrassing.
"Are you staying here?"
I looked around to find Lorin lifting a couple of bags full of items on to the back of the cart.
"No," I replied, walking towards him. "I want to go home."
"This morning you couldn't wait to come here!" said Lorin in disbelief. "How are you in such a hurry now to leave?"
"I just--" I began, but stopped suddenly as Carlinho appeared in the doorway, not three feet from me.
"Here," he said, holding out a brightly-coloured tube of sweets. "For you." I found myself staring at the ground again without realising it. My arms appeared to be frozen by my sides. "Don't be rude," said Lorin. I forced myself to look up just for a second, and take the sweets from Carlinho. As I
did so, my fingers brushed his and I felt my stomach do a somersault.
"Thank you," I muttered.
"Do you like fishing?" asked Carlinho. I nodded without looking at him. "I have a great fishing line," he went on. "Perhaps we could go down to the river together sometime?"
"Careful now," said Lorin seriously. "If our father hears you talking like that we'll be fishing you out of the river." He climbed up onto the back of the cart and helped me up after him, the little tube of sweets still clutched in my other hand.
"I'm not afraid of your father," said Carlinho, confidently.
"You don't know him as well as we do," Lorin replied, grimly. He flicked the reins, and the cart began to move. "Take care Carlinho.”
"See you soon," replied the shop boy. Even his voice sounded nice, I thought. Warm, and friendly, and happy.
"Carlinho likes you," said Lorin, once we were out of earshot.
"Don't be ridiculous," I snapped back, feeling my cheeks beginning to glow again.
"He does!" Lorin laughed.
"I don't want anybody liking me," I said. I had thought that for so long, but now hearing the words come out of my mouth, they sounded like a lie.
"Carlinho's a good guy," said Lorin. "It's a shame our father is..." he fished around for the right words, but none seemed to come. "But you never know," he went on, "maybe he'll change." I didn't reply for several minutes. The gentle trundle of the cart's wheels along the bumpy dirt road mimicked the thoughts rolling around in my cluttered head. All day I had managed to not think about the box, but now we were on our way home it began to loom large in my imagination once more.
"What do you think he does?" I asked finally.
"Who?" asked Lorin.
"Our father," I said.
"I think he works on another farm somewhere," Lorin replied, shrugging. "A big one, not like ours. But I don't know what he does there. Why?"
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