Page 62 of The Moon Sister
She passed him a small loaf of bread and watched him wolf half of it down, then hide the rest under his thin shirt.
Leaving him when visiting time was over was one of the hardest things María had ever had to endure. She cried all the way home, wishing she had José to talk to. She did not want to burden her other sons.
‘I will cope, if only for Felipe,’ she told herself as she arrived back to her silent cave. She hadn’t yet had the heart to tell Felipe that his father and little sister had left for Barcelona.
‘¡Hola!’
María turned round and saw Ramón at the entrance to the cave.
‘Am I intruding?’
‘No,’ María shrugged. ‘Everyone is . . . out.’
‘I brought you something,’ he said, holding out a basket.
‘More fresh oranges?’ She gave him a weak smile.
‘No, just cakes my mother brought round, that we cannot eat.’
María knew that themagdalenasin the basket were delicacies thateveryonecould eat until they were bursting, and was touched by the gesture.
‘Thank you.’
‘How is Felipe?’
‘He is . . . struggling,’ she said, as she bit into one of the cakes, hoping that the sugar would make her feel less faint.
‘I am sure he is. Well, I will leave you, but anything I can do to help, please let me know.’
‘I will, thank you,’ she said gratefully.
Ramón nodded at her and left the cave.
*
Every day that went by in that hot and dry July, María stoppedgitanotravellers either when she was in the city, or when they passed through the city walls into Sacromonte. Not one of them had any news from Barcelona. She consulted Micaela when she went to collect Felipe’s potions.
‘You will see them sooner than you think,’ was all she had to offer.
At least, as each day passed, it was one day closer to Felipe coming home.
Finally, the day she’d been dreaming of arrived. María stood in excitement and trepidation with the other mothers outside the jail. The gates opened and a motley, dishevelled line of men trooped out.
‘Mi querido, Felipe!’ María ran to her son and clasped him to her. She could feel he was skin and bones, his clothes hanging like rags off his body and the stench of him bringing bile to her throat.No matter, she thought, as she tucked his scrawny arm through hers.He is free.
Although she had brought Paca the mule, the long trek home was a struggle. Felipe’s deep cough rang through the cobbled streets of Sacromonte as they finally wound their way up the steep hill, and she had to steady him as he could barely sit upright on the mule’s back.
When they arrived home, María stripped him of his clothes and gently washed the filth off him with a hot cloth, then wrapped him tightly in blankets in his bed. What was left of his clothes were crawling with lice, and she put them aside to be burnt later.
Throughout her ministrations, Felipe lay on the bed hardly speaking, his eyes closed and his chest heaving.
‘Would you like something to eat?’ María asked him.
‘No, Mamá, I just need to sleep.’
All through that night, the cave echoed with the sound of Felipe’s coughing, and when María rose in the morning, she found both Eduardo and Carlos asleep in the kitchen.
‘We moved out because of the noise,’ said Eduardo, as María handed him flatbreads for his breakfast. ‘Mamá, Felipe is very sick. He has a fever, and that cough . . .’ He shook his head in despair.
