Page 51 of The Moon Sister
‘Of course she isn’t!’ José answered on his daughter’s behalf. ‘Last night she was crowned the new queen by La Macarrona herself! Do you expect her not to bask in the glow of her success, but stay at home with you instead, eh, Lucía?’ He turned to the child and winked.
‘Can I go, Mamá? Later tonight they announce the winners, you see.’
‘Of which you cannot be one,’ María muttered. She wiped Lucía’s face quickly with a damp cloth and did her best to smooth down her black hair, although there was no time to oil it and restyle it into a neat coil. As soon as she could, Lucía wriggled out of her mother’s grasp, her wild black curls flying behind her.
‘Come, Lucía, I will saddle the mule and you will ride to the Alhambra to greet your admirers.’ José offered his hand to his daughter and she skipped towards him and took it.
‘Please don’t bring her back too late,’ María called from the cave entrance as the three cousins stumbled past her from the kitchen to follow José.
As she’d expected, María dealt with an influx of visitors throughout the rest of the day. Everyone had heard about the little girl who had the spirit of theduendeinside her. Even when María said Lucía wasn’t at home, some of them poked their noses into the rooms at the back just to make sure she wasn’t hiding there. María wanted to die of shame – she had not yet had the time to make the beds, and the sleeping quarters stank of tobacco, sweat and stale alcohol.
‘She will be here tomorrow,’ she assured them all, ‘and yes, she may dance down at the big cave.’
Even Paola ventured up the hill to see her daughter and granddaughter.
‘I hear she put on quite a show,’ Paola said as she sipped water from a tin mug and wiped her brow. The heat of the day was oppressive.
‘She did, yes.’
‘Your great-grandmother, thebruja, always told me a special child was coming. Perhaps it is Lucía?’
‘Perhaps it is.’
‘Well, there is time to see if the prophecy is true, for Lucía cannot legally work until she is older. Not that that stops many families around here. I hope it will stop yours.’ Paola’s brown eyes flared at her daughter.
‘José wishes her to become a star, and Lucía wishes it too,’ sighed María, her usual guard slipping.
‘But you are her mamá! You will say what goes under your own roof. Honestly, María, I sometimes think you have become as timid as a mouse since you married José. He doesn’t beat you, does he?’
‘No,’ María lied, because occasionally, when he’d drunk too much, he had. ‘He is trying to do what he thinks is best for our daughter.’
‘And to line his own rotten pockets too,’ Paola sniffed. ‘Really, I still cannot understand what you saw in him beyond what hung between his thighs. And there was us ready to make you a good match with your father’s cousin. Well, you made your own destiny and as I knew you would, you now live to regret it.’ She paused to let her words sink in. ‘I am here to tell you that you and the family are to come to us tomorrow with Lucía. We have many relatives from Barcelona here for the festival and they wish to meet my famous granddaughter. I am putting on a spread, so at least you will all get fed,’ she said, casting a glance at the wretchedly small pile of carrots and a single cabbage – all that was left for supper that night.
‘Sí, Mamá,’ María agreed despondently as her mother rose from the stool.
‘One o’clock sharp,’ Paola said as she swept out.
María sat where she was. She wondered how a life that had started off full of expectation had somehow disintegrated into this moment. A moment in which she felt she had failed as both a wife and a mother. Tears filled her eyes, but she wiped them away harshly. She had no one to blame but herself.
‘Hola, María.’
She looked up and saw Ramón, her neighbour, hovering by the door. The two of them had been friends as children – he’d been a sweet boy, quiet and thoughtful, with a personality that had perhaps evolved from being the youngest of nine far noisier siblings. He’d married a cousin from Seville and the two of them had built their cave home next door. Juliana had died giving birth to her third child two years ago, leaving Ramón a widower with hungry young mouths to feed.
‘Come in,’ María gestured with a smile.
‘I brought you some oranges.’ He proffered the basket and María salivated at the sight of the fragrant, gleaming spheres.
‘Gracias, but how did you get them?’ She looked at him with a frown.
‘That was what thepayospaid us in this week,’ he mumbled, tipping the fruit into her own basket. ‘They said the profits from the harvest were too small for pesetas.’ He shrugged. ‘But I will not complain. At least the farmer offers me steady and honest work all year round. Although I am a little tired of eating oranges.’
‘Then thank you.’ She reached into the basket and pulled out the plumpest one. Peeling it open, the bright scent burst from it and she took a bite, the fresh juice exploding in her mouth and dribbling down her chin. ‘It seems so unfair that they grow everywhere around here and yet we cannot afford to buy them for ourselves.’
‘As we have both learnt, life can be unfair.’
‘May I offer you some water? Presently, it is all I have.’
‘Sí, María,gracias.’
