by Kerry Postle
Yet, after nearly four years of being trapped in Madrid, both Alvaro and his daughter knew they were the lucky ones, alive, and with the same hopes and beliefs that they’d always had. And every day the sight of the sea and the vast, blue sky reminded Maria of the dreams she’d had for her future as a young girl. She might laugh at her younger self, but she could not deny that here, in Malaga, she was living one of those dreams.
Today was Friday, the day Maria went to wait by the monument of Antonio Muñoz Degrain in the botanical gardens. Often she’d been late to it. Sometimes she’d not been able to get to it at all. But today there was nothing to stop her. She pushed open the shutters and breathed in the fresh, sweet air. ‘Malaga!’ she said. And although it struck her that by the time the sun had set later that day she would not have found Luis, she exalted in the hope that she might. She looked up at the sky above, so blue, so infinite, just as she’d done as a child. Her heart swelled as it filled with the purity of her dreams, thankful that war had at last released its blood-soaked talons sufficiently for her to be able to go after them. She’d left Madrid, turned down the opportunity to leave the country. She prayed that fate would do the rest.
Maria picked up the sunflower pendant lying on top of her carved wooden jewellery box. As she put it on, she missed a breath as her mind took her back to Paloma and the hopes and dreams she’d had for her future. She gave a whimper at the loss but stopped herself from remaining in the past. If war had taught her anything it was that neither self-pity, self-destruction, nor blaming herself or others could bring Paloma back to life. The futures they’d longed for would never be. Maria no longer looked to be happy. She knew she could never be that. But what she could do, what she had a duty to pursue, was a future with a purpose, a life with meaning, with people she loved and who loved her in return. And that Friday morning she would run to embrace it.
She started by picking up the book whose pages had protected Luis’ letter for so long and placed it in her basket. Then she wrapped the chocolate she’d bought the day before, along with some almond biscuits that she’d made, in some paper and put that in too. Oh, and she’d nearly forgotten. It was Lola’s birthday tomorrow. She picked up the red polka dot scarf she’d chosen for her friend. Maria wondered about wrapping it up but then looked at her watch. ‘Too late!’ she exclaimed, hopping around while she attempted to guide her toes into her shoes.
Malaga buzzed and crackled beneath her feet as her heels mutely clicked along its wounded streets. The body of Malaga had received a savage beating during the war, yet it still managed to dazzle Maria with its tattered beauty. It had a voluptuous sensuality to it that not even the bombings had been able to obliterate, nor the victorious troops had succeeded in suppressing; the music of tragedy and ecstasy cried out from upstairs windows around the narrow streets of the old town, voices plaintive, guitars rousing, hands clapping, more beautiful than she could ever have imagined.
As she walked along the Calle Carreteria she came across a tram stop. As the tram was in, it caused a temporary hold-up as people fell in and out, one after the other. Men dressed in smart suits, polished shoes, dark hair brilliantined and combed back; one or two in overalls. Women in fitted cotton dresses, hair pulled back with a ribbon or tied up in a chignon, small heels. Maria watched them all, fascinated, moving again as they moved. All were smoking, many chatting, the throng dwindling as a couple tumbled into a bar here, a café there. Pairs of nuns punctuated the chaos. Maria loved to observe it in all its infinite variety.
When the mass of people had finally dispersed all that was left was a little boy: a skinny strip of nothing. He walked down the side of the road trying to disappear down the cracks. Maria looked in her basket. She went over to him and gave him the chocolate. She could give chocolate to Paloma another time.
*
‘Tia!’ Ten minutes later and Maria was standing at Lola’s door. It was Malaga that Father Anselmo had succeeded in moving them to after all. The moment the door opened a girl’s little legs skipped their way past her. ‘Why are you always late?’ her sing-song voice asked as she placed her small, pudgy, pale hand in Maria’s soft, brown one. Maria made saucers of her eyes then led the girl’s to the contents in the basket. Stubby fingers picked up the scarf, their owner’s eyes confused.
‘No, silly,’ Maria said. ‘That’s for Mama. For tomorrow. It’s this I think you might be more interested in.’ And with that, Maria gave the wrapped package that contained the almond biscuits a shake.
‘Aaah!’ the child said appreciatively, her free hand reaching out to take it.
‘Oh no. They’re not for now. They’re for later. We have to go to the gardens first!’
‘Quick then Tia. Let’s go,’ she cried, pulling on Maria’s hand.
‘Bye, my sweet girl,’ Lola called out. ‘Thank you for the scarf. It’s lovely Maria. Be a good girl for your Tia!’ she reminded Paloma.
‘I will, Mama. I promise.’
When Lola had closed the door Maria picked her best friend’s namesake and niece up in her arms and gave her a kiss. ‘Oh, my little white dove. How dear you are to me!’
By the time Maria arrived with Lola’s daughter at the botanical gardens the little girl had biscuit crumbs around her lips and down the front of her clothes on her lips and the birds had been screeching happily above for hours. People were milling about, passing the time of day, and children were playing. ‘Don’t run off now!’ her proud guardian called out just as the little girl proceeded to do precisely that.
Not far from them stood a man. Handsome, strong build, with strange and beautiful eyes. Maria did not notice him. He was no longer standing at the monument and she only had eyes for it and the child. He had noticed her, however, and he could not move. It started with the words, the voice that caused a hot-cold feeling to run through him like an electric current. Then, as sound became form, he remained transfixed. He saw it was her. Maria.
She was dressed in black, like most people these days, though a touch of yellow escaped over the buttoned up jacket, lighting up her face. There she was, with her flicked-up nose, brown, almond shaped eyes, her full lips a deep pink. And she was smiling.
She was alive. She looked happy.
He’d been waiting for this moment for so long.
When the life returned to his limbs he went towards her. But as the little girl flung herself into Maria’s arms he stepped back. He watched in wonder as Maria’s dark hair, as unruly as he remembered it, waved lawlessly around her head, getting in her eyes so that she could see no further than the noisy round limbed child that she was swinging round in her arms. Something about the scene caused the rhythm of his heart to change from a frantic beating to a low, dull, heavy thump that hammered him ever more forcibly to the spot.
This child, with red-blond curls and bright pink cheeks, could be no older than three, four at the oldest, Luis calculated as he looked on. His instinct told him to walk away. That it was over. That his purpose in coming here now had no sense, would only bring heartbreak, spread confusion. Yet he made himself watch. He had to make sure, make sure she was happy.
He studied Maria carefully, in spite of the pain it caused him. He had to know. She beamed with delight at the child, a beatific smile on her beautiful face. He would not have expected anything less. To see the tender way she kissed the small girl’s pale forehead while drawing loose tendrils of golden hair away from her eyes with the lightest of touches was an exquisite torture.
He had come to claim her. He saw that it was too late. Maria’s eyes shone with hope at the wondrous child who now danced around in the dappled sunlight, unburdened by the cares of the adult world. Waving her arms around like a windmill she orbited Maria as a planet does the moon.
A gypsy woman looked on and was saying something to him. He was deaf to her; he only had eyes and ears for the young woman with the long, dark hair.
‘My darling Paloma!’ The second Luis heard Maria call the child’s name he knew. It was time for him t
o tear himself away. He looked at Maria for one last time. She’d closed her eyes and turned her face heavenwards to feel the warmth of the sun on her cheeks. He recognised the enamel sunflower pendant around her neck as she twiddled it between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Do you still do that for luck?’ he whispered. As if she’d heard him, she looked up along the path in his direction, scouring the benches and groups of people with her eyes. But she didn’t spot him. ‘You’ve already left the past behind, my love/’ Luis sighed.
Maria. The love of his life who was no longer his future. He watched her, his angelic eyes stubbornly cloudy. But he’d seen enough. She’d had a child and she’d called her Paloma. That had always been her wish. They’d talked about it together in the ruined hut outside Fuentes. Despair stabbed at his heart but it was right that she was happy and he would do nothing to spoil that. It was time for him to walk away from his sun, stars and moon.
As he made his way back to the university he wondered what would have happened if he’d not turned her away when she’d offered herself to him that last night. A lump came to his throat. Too late, he thought. He thanked God that the woman he loved would live a happier life than the one destiny now had in store for him.
A woman wearing a bright red polka dot scarf passed Luis as he headed back to work and for a moment she paused as though she recognised him. ‘Buenos dias, Seňor,’ she said, convinced that she did. Her face broke into a broad smile to prove it. But Luis didn’t smile back. He neither heard nor saw her, despite seeming to look straight at her, so locked were his thoughts on the woman he would always love and might never see again.
By the time the bright red scarf had permeated his conscience Luis was nearly at the university and the woman wearing it had moved on. Her sights were now set on someone else she knew, and who most certainly knew her, causing her to quickly forget the man with the faraway eyes.
‘Paloma!’ she said. The girl ran to be picked up. ‘Mama!’ she cried.
‘Well, I never!’ the gypsy woman said to no one in particular.
Chapter 56
That night, lying on top of his sheets, Luis told himself once more that he was happy for Maria. He stared at the ceiling fan whirring round and round. He ought now to go and lead his own life, he thought. It would be a half-life to begin with, he had no doubt, but while he still had a life to live, he owed it to those who had died, he owed it to his parents, to live it as best he could.
The next two Fridays he stayed away from the park. He started to accept invitations to dinner from well-meaning matchmakers intent on introducing him to some very lovely young ladies from good families. Reports wafted their way back to his mother. Her boy, once he’d found one of their own to marry, might even consider returning to the fold. But her hopes were to be short-lived. Luis attended such dinners four, possibly five times. It was no use. His heart wasn’t in it. He wasn’t fooling anyone, especially not himself.
And so, on the third Friday, Luis went back to the park. He turned up at nine – ridiculously early – and waited, sitting far enough away from the monument not to be seen, but near enough to know if Maria had turned up or not. The madness of love had taken hold of him.
Nine-thirty came and went. Ten. Ten-thirty. Eleven. She was late. But Luis had been early and he was going nowhere. His gypsy friend waddled over to keep him company.
‘She will be here,’ she said to him. ‘She comes here most Fridays. I know because I see her.’
‘Who does?’ Luis asked, not wanting to open up his heart to a relative stranger, little realising that he’d done so already in every move he made.
‘It’s written all over you,’ the kind-hearted woman replied. ‘The One. She’s your fate, she is.’ Luis did not reply, but her words rang true. It was Maria. It would always be Maria. She was his future and he would not run away from it if that was what was best for her.
Dirty fingers with even dirtier fingernails grabbed Luis’ arm. ‘The One’s just arrived.’ She chuckled. ‘You’ve gone all hard,’ she cackled as she felt every sinew in his body tense up.
Heavy chains wrapped themselves around Luis’ heart. ‘She loves that child like it was her own, doesn’t she?’ she added, mischievously, hoping to rattle them a little. But Luis didn’t notice.
Instead his eyes were drawn to a woman that looked like a dark-haired version of the little girl. He’d seen her before somewhere and it perturbed him that he couldn’t place her. He watched her as she walked up to Maria and kissed her on the cheek, going over in his mind where he’d come across her. And she reminded him of somebody.
Both women sat down on a bench.
‘What you wouldn’t give, eh, to hear what they’re talking about?’ Luis’ companion whispered in his ear.
‘Mama! Mama!’ The fair-haired little girl ran towards the two women.
‘Now you can’t fail to hear that.’ Luis’ friend snorted. ‘My, she’s got a fine pair of lungs on her! Watch this!’
The curly haired child hurled herself at Maria’s friend and smothered the woman with kisses. Luis watched as Maria put out a hand to stroke the little girl’s hair and kiss her goodbye. He watched as the familiar-looking woman walked away with the child. Luis missed a breath. ‘Oh, if you was a fiddle your strings would snap, you’re pulled so tight,’ the gypsy joked with him again. ‘No child. And no husband if I’m reading the signs right. I knows these things.’ She nudged him in the ribs again. ‘I can see them,’ she added, mysteriously. He moved along the bench, giving her a puzzled look. ‘Her hand! Can’t you see?’ she whispered loudly now that he’d moved away from her a little. ‘And I thought it was my eyes that were misty!’ The clairvoyant one wiggled the fingers of one hand then pointed to where a ring should be with the other.
Maria wasn’t married.
‘Well? What are you waiting for?’
Luis watched as Maria picked up the large tome she’d just taken out of her basket. He laughed as he guessed what it was. ‘Go on!’ his companion urged him. ‘She’s staying for something, and to see her eyes swivel round like beacons in a lighthouse it’s certainly not for that doorstop she’s holding in her lap!’ As if on cue Maria craned her neck from side to side to check the path. ‘There! See! She’s doing it again!’ Luis’ gypsy friend leant over to nudge him meaningfully in the ribs yet again and drew her index fingers like guns and pointed them in the young woman’s direction. ‘She’s on the lookout for someone. And I swear on the Blessed Virgin, she’s on the lookout for you.’
Maria sat there, looking far away, before plunging her head back into her weighty tome.
‘Get over there!’ Luis stood up but his legs wouldn’t move. ‘Go on!’ Luis’ friend hissed at him. ‘Life doesn’t wait. And love can haunt you for the rest of your days if you turn your back on it. Ignore the call of the destiny at your peril.’
But what if she’s happy? Luis looked at Maria as she let the weighty tome lie heavy in her hands. She didn’t seem so very happy. As he saw her beautiful eyes full of sadness, her shoulders dropped as though carrying an unimaginable burden, his heart lurched towards her. But his feet still refused to move.
‘Put the girl out of her misery,’ the gypsy shouted. ‘Take that blasted book out of her hands!’
As Luis walked towards her his soul swam through the memories of his past. He revisited the first time he saw her in Fuentes de Andalucía, recalled her courage at his parents’ dinner, her spirit when they found themselves alone. His Maria. Fiery, outspoken, good. How the memory of her had made him determined to make wise choices when surrounded by all the wickedness of the last four years. Because of her he had striven to be stronger, better, kinder. Her goodness and beauty had helped him withstand the ugliness of war.
One step: What am I doing? Two steps: My heart’s beating faster. Three steps: I’m nearly there. Four steps: I feel light-headed. Five steps: ‘Maria!’
As her name came out of his mouth so the joy and light of the world entered his soul. Maria looked up, her eyes
full of love. ‘At last, Luis,’ she said. ‘It’s you.’
Chapter 57
Three months later and Luis was eating with the Alvaros again. ‘I’m home!’ the doctor called out. ‘Is Luis here?’ Maria jumped up, smoothing the creases out of her dress.
‘We’re coming, Papa. We’re just cooking.’
Doctor Alvaro smiled to himself. His daughter radiated joy. Happiness lit her up from within, causing her eyes to twinkle and her lips to dance, while her whole body cried out that she was alive. As Luis de los Rios appeared behind her, no less glowing, Doctor Alvaro fought the urge to shield his eyes. He too seemed vibrantly alive. The older man felt sure that he could even see the young man’s heart pounding within his chest. It was strangely glorious.
Still, he was the girl’s father, after all, and no matter how transcendent the feelings between her and Luis, he’d rather not see them, nor bear witness to their intimacy.
‘Let’s eat,’ Maria said.
This was the thirty-seventh time the three of them had sat down to have dinner together. Neither one had asked about the war experiences of the other; perhaps they never would.
Instead they focused on the everyday. ‘I met the kindest woman today,’ ‘I bought a novel,’ ‘I queued for bread.’
Ten minutes later and the meal was done, finished by everyone. Even faster than the last time, Doctor Alvaro noted as he surreptitiously glanced at his watch before furtively peeping at his daughter and the man that she undoubtedly loved. Doctor Alvaro’s joy to know that his daughter was blessed enough to have tender feelings for Luis de los Rios fooled him into letting his eyes linger longer than usual on the lovestruck pair. Long enough to understand the meaning behind their meaningful glances. This was something else Doctor Alvaro would have preferred not to have seen. Fingers brushed, feet flirted. He was beginning to find it all quite unbearable. He pulled at his collar; the atmosphere in the room was getting stifling, despite the fan spinning round on the ceiling above. He stood up and cleared his throat.