Page 123 of The Moon Sister
‘Mamá, I know any mother must say that her daughter is beautiful, but I know I am not. It is life. So –’ Lucía looked around the room – ‘you are well? The cave seems much more comfortable than I remember it.’
‘I am well, yes. Although I must tell you that both your grandparents were taken by an outbreak of typhoid in the summer.’
‘That is indeed sad news.’ In truth, Lucía could hardly remember them.
‘But at least before they passed away, your grandfather’s business had thrived thanks to your brothers’ help. Both of them have been so kind to their mamá. It is Carlos who is responsible for all the new furniture and the kitchen, mind you. Do you remember how as a child he was always whittling pieces of wood?’
Lucía did not, but she nodded.
‘Between you and me,’ María continued, ‘I know that your grandfather had been in despair over Carlos’s clumsy metalwork at the forge, but had noticed his passion for woodwork. He gave Carlos some pieces of pine and suggested he try to make a table. So it turns out that your brother is a talented carpenter, and now bothgitanosandpayosflock to buy his furniture. Would you believe, he is just about to open a shop in the city as a showroom for his wares? His wife, Susana, will run it for him.’
‘I see.’ Lucía could hardly keep up with what her mother was telling her. ‘And where do they live?’
‘They built a home in a cave next door to your grandparents, at the same time as Eduardo and Elena did. They have Cristina and her older brother, Mateo, and I am soon to have a third grandchild—’
‘Slow down, Mamá! My head is spinning with all these names!’
‘Forgive me, Lucía, it is the shock of seeing you, my tongue is running away with me and—’
‘I understand. We are both nervous, Mamá. It has been a long time.’ Lucía put her hand out towards her mother’s, her face softening. ‘It is wonderful to see you, and I am happy that all has gone well with you and my brothers since we left.’
‘Not at the beginning. The first few years were very hard indeed. But enough of that.’ María smiled brightly. ‘Tell me more about you, Lucía.’
‘Mamá, first I must tell you that I finally know what happened between you and Papá.’ Her earlier resolve that her parents’ marriage was none of her business melted away in the moment. ‘He admitted he had left you here and taken me against your will.’
‘Lucía, we were both at fault.’
‘I don’t think so, Mamá, and I cannot help but have a deep anger for all the years when I thought you did not care about me, why you did not come to see me. Now I understand.’
‘Lucía,’ María whispered, her voice breaking. ‘I have missed you and prayed for you every day since I left you, believe me. Every year, in the month of your birth, I sent a small parcel to your father to give to you. I hope that you received them?’
‘I did not,’ Lucía stated flatly. ‘Papá never gave me anything like that.’
María could see her daughter’s eyes narrowing and her expression darkening, so she hurried on. ‘Well, perhaps they were lost on the long journey. Your father did what he thought was right. He did it for you.’
‘And forhim,’ Lucía hissed. ‘What really happened, Mamá? I only remember a few things about that time, like after theConcurso. . . and Papá was shouting at Carlos – he was crying on the floor, right here.’ She pointed at the spot. ‘Then we left for Barcelona and many weeks later you came. You told me that my brother Felipe was up in heaven with the angels.’
María shut her eyes, as the memories flooded back to her. Haltingly, she told Lucía the tragic circumstances of Felipe’s death.
‘It was thepayojail that killed him, Lucía. He died the day after he was released. So I came to Barcelona to tell you and your father.’
Lucía reached out and took her mother’s hands in hers, the deeply tanned skin rough with hard work. Then she bent her head over them and cried. Back here, the loss of her childhood, and her brother, hit her fully.
‘Mamá?’ came a voice.
Lucía looked up in surprise, wiping the tears from her face. Pepe had come back into the kitchen, clutching his guitar.
‘Why are you both crying?’ he asked, as he walked forwards.
Lucía looked more closely at Pepe’s face, and registered the large dark eyes, the strong planes of his cheekbones and the mass of black hair.
‘Is this . . . is h-he . . . ?’ she stuttered.
‘Yes, Lucía.’ María nodded solemnly and brushed her own tears away. ‘This is your brother. Pepe, say hello to yourhermana.’
‘Hola,’ he said shyly, and gave her a grin. Without a doubt, he was the image of José.
‘It is nice to meet you, Pepe.’ Lucía managed a smile.
