Page 38 of The Moon Sister
‘Yes, it is.’ He looked at me as though I had suddenly given him the key to life itself. ‘I mean, I have enough money – I could sell the business and just . . . stop.’
‘You could. Now.’ I looked at my watch. ‘I’m really going to have to leave you. I have work to do.’
‘Really? You have hardly touched your wine.’
‘I don’t want to fall asleep at the wheel. I hope the tour this morning wasn’t too disappointing for you.’
‘Oh no, it was not disappointing in the slightest.’ He eyed me as I stood up and walked towards the door.
‘Tiggy?’
‘Yes?’
‘I am leaving tomorrow, but may I say, it has been a pleasure to meet you.’
‘And you,’ I said. ‘Goodbye then.’
‘Goodbye.’
*
‘You have been busy, little Hotchiwitchi. I smell a man,’ said Chilly later that day as I doled out his lunch into his tin bowl.
‘There you are,’ I said, ignoring his comment and placing the bowl on the small table next to him.
‘You take care. He ain’t what he seems.’ Chilly paused then, with his head cocked on one side, scrutinising me. ‘Or maybe heis!’ he cackled. ‘You smell danger, Hotchiwitchi? You should.’
‘Really? I’m not sure I smell anything at all. I hardly know him,’ I said. I was getting used to Chilly’s dramatic sweeping statements, but I was interested that he’d picked up on a man being around. And also, if I was truthful, the sense of discomfort I felt around Zed.
‘Now, sit down there and tell me what your daddy say ’bout where you did come from,’ he said as I placed a cup of the revoltingly strong coffee he liked to drink next to him.
‘Well, he said that I had to go to a city called Granada, and that opposite the Alhambra was a place called Sacromonte. I have to knock on a blue door and ask for someone called Angelina.’
At first I thought that Chilly was having some kind of fit, because he was doubled up and making strange guttural sounds. But when he lifted his head, his expression showed he was either laughing or crying, because there were tears streaming down his cheeks.
‘What? What is it?’
He mumbled under his breath in Spanish, and fiercely wiped his cheeks with his fists.
‘What? What is it?’
‘The wind did blow you here to me. After all these years, you came as was told.’
‘What was “told”?’ I frowned.
‘That you would come and I do guide you home. Yes, you were born in a cave in Sacromonte, little Hotchiwitchi, and I did already know it,’ he nodded vehemently. ‘The seven caves of Sacromonte . . . Sacromonte . . .’
He then repeated the word over and over, continuing to cradle his emaciated frame, arms clasped around his chest. I felt strange and shivery as I suddenly remembered those visions I’d had of being lifted towards the roof of a cave . . .
‘It is . . . your home,’ he whispered. ‘Why be afraid? Kin knows kin, you were sent here to me. I do help you, Hotchiwitchi.’
‘This place . . . Sacromonte, why is it so special?’
‘Because it isours. A place that do belong to us. And also because . . .’ his finger pointed to the brass bed, ‘of that.’
I looked at the bed but could see nothing, except a brightly crocheted blanket.
‘That, girl.’ Chilly realigned his finger, and I saw he was now pointing to a guitar that stood against the wall. ‘Bring it here,’ he ordered me. ‘I show you.’
