Page 50 of The Moon Sister
‘Didn’t I tell you it would?’ María grasped her daughter’s hand as José ignored her and talked to the clamour of people around them.
‘You did, Mamá.’
‘Are you tired,querida? Shall you come home with Mamá now? I can put you to bed next to me.’
‘Of course she is not tired!’ José’s head swung around towards his wife. ‘Are you, Lucía?’
‘No, Papá, but . . .’
‘You must stay and celebrate your coronation!’ José said as someone from the crowd handed him a brandy and he gulped it back. ‘¡Arriba!’
‘¡Arriba!’ repeated the crowd.
‘Lucía, do you wish to come home with me?’ María said gently.
‘I . . . think I must stay with Papá.’
‘You must, yes. There are many people who want to meet you, and want us to perform.’ José shot a warning glance at his wife.
‘Then I will say goodnight,querida. I love you,’ María whispered as she let go of her child’s hand.
‘I love you too,’ Lucía replied as her mother took hold of Eduardo’s arm and walked away.
*
When she woke the following morning, María stirred and instinctively patted the bed beside her. Thankfully there was a warm body lying next to her and it was snoring like a pig as always. Turning over, she glanced down and saw Lucía, still in her dress, curled up on her pallet, fast asleep.
She crossed herself, hardly able to believe she’d slept through her husband and daughter returning, but she’d been so drained from the journey back and the tension of the day. She smiled as she looked down at Lucía. No doubt today there would be an endless procession of visitors to their door, wanting to find out more about ‘La Candela’, as La Macarrona had officially named her last night. They’d want to see her dance of course – and she as Lucía’s mother could bask in the reflected glory of her talented daughter. ‘And Iamproud,’ she whispered, almost to reassure herself she was not jealous, but also because she was filled with fear for her little girl. And her marriage . . .
Eventually, María hauled herself out of bed and dressed, smelling the acrid stench of her own sweat, but knowing there was no time to go and collect more water to wash with. She glanced behind the curtain to the boys’ bedroom, and saw that only Eduardo was asleep on the mattress.
María tried not to panic, reckoning that half the families of Sacromonte had relatives who had slept where they’d fallen last night. José’s three Catalan cousins lay on the kitchen floor, their boots still on, one still hugging his guitar to him, another with his arms round a brandy bottle. She picked her way carefully over them and went next door to feed the animals and collect kindling for the fire for cooking.
It was a glorious morning, the valley a verdant green under a cornflower-blue sky. The wild lantanas were in full bloom, their pink, yellow and orange flowers burgeoning above the grass, and the air was filled with the heady scent of wild mint and salvia. It was quiet in the village, most of the residents sleeping off last night’s exertions. There was still another day of the competition to go, so later the procession would once more make its pilgrimage across the valley to the Alhambra.
‘Buenos días, Mamá,’ said Eduardo, appearing in the kitchen as María stirred the thin maize porridge in the iron pot.
‘Buenos días. You have seen that neither of your brothers are here?’
‘I have. I saw them both at the Alhambra last night, but . . .’
‘What, Eduardo?’
‘Nothing, Mamá. I’m sure they’ll be home when they’re hungry.’ He took his bowl of porridge and went to sit on the step outside as the bodies stirred on the kitchen floor.
María spent the morning making endless bowls of porridge to relieve her relations’ hangovers and collecting water from the base of the hill. By lunchtime, there was still no sign of either of her other sons, and as José got ready to leave, she begged him to ask around.
‘Stop your worrying, wife; they are grown men, they can take care of themselves.’
‘Felipe is only thirteen; hardly a man, José.’
‘Will I wear my dress again today?’ Lucía asked as she appeared in the kitchen, and gave her train a triumphant swish. María saw there were smudges of what looked like chocolate all over her daughter’s face, and her feet were the same colour as the earthen floor.
‘No. Come, I will help you take it off – we do not want it spoilt, do we? And then when everyone has gone, I shall put you and it in the barrel and give you both a good scrub.’ María smiled.
‘Wear it,mi princesa, and everyone will know it is you when they see you again today,’ José decreed.
‘She is coming back to the Alhambra with you? Surely you are too weary to make the journey again,querida?’ she added to Lucía.
