Page 188 of The Moon Sister
‘Perhaps it is just squatters who have taken over the place and are nothing to do with our family,’ Lucía shrugged. ‘We must not get our hopes up.’
‘I know, I know, but . . .’
‘Mamá, do you want to stay here and I will go and find out?’
‘No, whoever is in our cave, I must see for myself.’ María flapped her fan violently in front of her face. ‘Okay, so, we go.’
Only seconds later, they were standing in front of their old front door, the blue paint now cracked and faded.
‘Shall I knock, or will you, Mamá?’
‘I will.’
María did her best to compose herself, knowing that behind the sturdy piece of timber lay the answers to the questions she had asked herself a thousand times since she’d left Sacromonte. She lifted her hand, which shook violently, to tap against the wood.
‘You’ll have to knock harder than that, Mamá,’ Lucía encouraged. ‘Even a dog with his ears pricked wouldn’t hear it.’
María knocked harder, holding her breath to listen for footsteps coming towards the door on the other side. There were none.
‘Maybe they’re out,’ shrugged Lucía.
‘No, nogitanowould ever leave a fire burning in a cave that was empty,’ said María firmly. ‘There’s someone in there, I know there is.’ She knocked again, and still there was no response, so she went to the small glass-paned windows to try to look through them, but they were covered in the thick lace netting that she herself had sewn and fixed at the windows to prevent prying eyes such as hers.
‘¡Hola!’ she said, tapping on the windowpane. ‘It is María Amaya Albaycín. I used to live here. I have come back to find my family. Please let me in! Hello!’
‘It is Lucía, her daughter, here too. We mean no harm,’ Lucía added plaintively. ‘Please open up.’
What Lucía had said obviously did the trick. The heavy sound of footsteps was heard approaching the door from inside, the latch was pulled up and the door opened by no more than a few centimetres.
One green eye peered from behind the door. Lucía met its gaze.
‘Here is Lucía,’ she indicated herself, and then, grabbing her mother, pulled María into the line of the eye, ‘and my mother. Who are you?’
Finally, the door was opened. And there in front of them was a familiar face – a face now criss-crossed with age, the hair as white as the snow that fell on the Sierra Nevada mountaintops, the body so enormous it filled the doorway.
‘¡Dios mío!’ the woman whispered in shock as she gazed at them. ‘María . . . and little Lucía, whom I helped into the world on the night of Chorrojumo’s granddaughter’s wedding! I cannot believe it! I just cannot believe it!’
‘Micaela?! It is you!’ María exclaimed as the villagebrujaopened her arms to embrace both women against her massive bosom.
‘Come in, come in . . .’ Micaela said, her eyes flickering nervously along the dusty path as she stepped to the side to allow them in. Shutting the door firmly behind her, María saw the pine rocking chairs that Carlos had made for her. The sight of them brought tears to her eyes. And hope spinning up with them.
‘Well, of all the people in all the world . . . never did I think I would lay eyes on either of you again,’ Micaela chuckled, her laughter echoing around the walls of the cave. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘We have come partly because of Lucía’ – María indicated Lucía’s bump – ‘and partly to find out what happened to my sons and their families.’
‘So.’ Micaela placed a hand on the bump. ‘You have a girl in there, a treasure, and a fighter. She is very like you, María,’ she said as an aside. ‘Who is the lucky papá?’
When neither woman answered, Micaela nodded.
‘Ay, I understand. Well, let us be happy that at least one of a new generation ofgitanaswill arrive soon into this terrible world of ours. So many are lost to us . . .’
‘Do you know the fate of my sons, Micaela?’ María shook her head and reached instinctively for Lucía’s hand.
‘I cannot say that I do, María. If I remember, you were still here when both of them disappeared into the city.’
‘Yes, I was. And they have not been seen since?’
‘No, I am so sorry, María, but few of our menfolk, who either were taken by force or simply never returned from the city, have been sent back to us . . .’ Micaela reached for María’s other hand.
