Page 54 of The Moon Sister
‘María, you are here! And my little Lucía too.’ Paola swept the child up in her arms. ‘Here she is, everyone!’ she called as she entered the sitting room next door. María followed her and stared blankly at a sea of faces she did not recognise, but was at least relieved that Paola hadn’t yet seemed to notice that her husband and sons were absent.
Lucía was surrounded by her relatives, who ranged in age from ancient to very young, and the cacophony in the hollow room as they greeted her made María’s ears ring.
‘Of course she will dance for us later, after lunch perhaps,’ Paola told them all.
María saw her father sitting in his usual chair and went to greet him. ‘How are you, Papá?’
‘I am well,querida. And as you can see, your mother is in her element.’ Pedro winked at her. ‘Personally, I will be glad when the whole thing is over and we can get back to normal.’
‘How is business, Papá?’
‘Good, very good,’ he nodded. ‘Thepayoslike my pots and pans and I am happy. And your boy, Eduardo, one day he will take over from his old grandfather and perhaps move inside the city walls. I have told your mother we have enough to build a small house there ourselves, but she refuses. Here, she is at the top and there we would be at the bottom.’ He raised his broad palms towards the ceiling.
‘Wegitanoslike staying with our own, Papá, don’t we?’
‘Yes, but perhaps too much. It is why thepayosdislike us; they do not know us and our ways, so they fear us. Well.’ He smiled gently. ‘There it is. Where is José?’
‘He is on his way here, Papá.’
‘Treating you well,querida?’
‘Yes,’ she lied.
‘Good, good. I will tell him he has a son to be proud of. Now, there is someone I wish you to meet. Do you remember your cousin, Rodolfo? You played together as children, and now like you, he has his own, a small boy about Lucía’s age. The boy has a gift.’ He signalled to a tall man standing nearby. ‘Rodolfo! Do you remember your cousin, María?’
‘Why, of course I do,’ Rodolfo said as he strode over to them. ‘You are as lovely as ever,’ he added as he greeted her with a kiss on the hand.
‘He obviously learnt his fine manners in Barcelona,’ Pedro chuckled. ‘Give your cousin a hug,hombre!’
Rodolfo did so, and as they talked, a small boy, not much taller than Lucía, came up to him and wound his arms around his father’s leg. He had clear nut-brown eyes, set deep into his face, and the dark skin of a pureblood. His hair stuck up in strange tufts and María thought how odd he looked.
‘I know I’m not handsome, señora, but I am clever,’ he said, gazing directly up at her.
María blushed, wondering how he could have known what she was thinking.
‘Chilly, don’t be rude. This is María, and she is your second cousin.’
‘How can she be my cousin when she is so old and sad?’ he asked his father.
‘Enough,’ Rodolfo said as he gave the top of his son’s head a gentle swipe. ‘Don’t listen to him, María, he must learn to keep his thoughts to himself.’
‘This is the boy I was telling you about, our littlebrujo,’ Pedro explained. ‘He told me earlier that I would be bald by the time I was sixty. I feel lucky that I have ten years left of hair!’
‘Why are you so sad?’ Chilly repeated, continuing to stare at María. ‘Who has hurt you?’
‘I . . .’
‘One of your sons is in trouble, señora, big trouble,’ the boy nodded vehemently.
‘I said enough, Chilly!’ Rodolfo clapped a hand over his son’s mouth. ‘Now, go and find your mother and ask her for your guitar. You are to play after lunch, so off with you to practise.’ Rodolfo smacked him on the bottom to send him on his way. ‘Perdón,’ Rodolfo said, sweating with embarrassment. ‘He is too young to know what he says.’
María’s heart was beating like acajónagainst her chest. ‘Is he usually right?’
Pedro, seeing his daughter’s distress, touched his full head of hair. ‘In ten years’ time we will know!’
‘Excuse me, Papá, but I must help Mamá.’ She nodded to Rodolfo and left the room, walking swiftly through the kitchen and out through the front door to look for José. There was still no sign of him, so she couldn’t tell her husband what the littlebrujohad said.
‘What to do . . .’ she murmured, searching the path for any sign of José. ‘Please God, make him wrong,’ she prayed.
