Page 49 of The Moon Sister
‘¡Olé!’ shouted José, pausing after the fourth bar.
‘¡Olé!’ repeated the crowd as Lucía leapt onto the stage then sashayed over to the centre of it. Immediately, there were shouts of disapproval, and ‘Get the baby off and back to her cradle!’
In horror, María saw a large man climbing up the steps towards her daughter, who had taken up her opening position, her arms raised above her head. Then the sound of those extraordinary tiny feet began to beat the ground, Lucía holding her position as she stamped out a mesmeric pulsating rhythm. The large man attempted to walk onto the stage and grab her, but another man stopped him as Lucía turned in a circle, her feet still beating, maintaining her opening position. By the time she was back facing the audience, her hands were clapping in apalmasin tandem with her feet. Her chin was raised and her eyes looked heavenward.
‘¡Olé!’ she shouted as her father resumed his playing.
‘¡Olé!’ rejoined the audience as her feet continued to beat out the rhythm. José watched his daughter take centre stage, the turn of her head majestic as the audience quietened in awe. María looked at her daughter’s eyes, bright under the spotlight that was now trained on her, and knew she had travelled to a faraway place where she could not be reached until her dance was over.
José’s voice – never usually his strong point – soared out from the mountain as he accompanied her.
With a sigh of exhaustion, María looked beyond her husband and daughter to the great fortress of the Alhambra, then sank to her knees, dizziness overwhelming her.
Tonight, she knew she had lost both of them.
She came to minutes later, to the sound of cheering that seemed to go on and on.
‘Are you well, señora? Here.’ A flask of water was thrust at her by a neighbour. ‘Drink some, it is very hot.’
María did so, her senses slowly returning to her. She thanked the woman and rose unsteadily to her feet.
‘What has happened?’ she asked, still dazed.
‘The little girl has caused a riot!’ the woman said. ‘They are calling her “La Candela”, for she burns so bright.’
‘Her name is Lucía,’ María whispered as she regained her bearings and stood on the tips of her toes to see her daughter standing on stage with a woman in an ornate white flamenco dress. The woman was on her knees in front of her daughter.
‘Who is that?’ María asked her neighbour.
‘Why, it is La Macarrona herself! She is bowing to the new little queen.’
María saw La Macarrona rise, take Lucía’s hand in hers and kiss it. More cheering from the audience followed as woman and child took a further bow, then La Macarrona swept Lucía off the stage.
‘Who is she?’ was the chat amongst the crowd as María made her way towards the stage to collect her daughter.
‘She’s from Seville . . . Madrid . . . Barcelona . . .’
‘No, I have seen her dancing by the fountain here in Granada . . .’
There was a crowd of bodies twenty deep at the side of the stage. María could not see her daughter in the centre of them, only José smiling beneficently. Just as she was about to kill to find her daughter, José bent down and hoisted Lucía onto his shoulders.
‘She is safe, she is safe,’ María panted as she stared with the rest of the crowd at the jubilant child.
‘Mamá?’
‘Eduardo!Gracias a Dios,’ she said, tears of relief falling down her cheeks as her eldest son embraced her.
‘It was a triumph!’ Eduardo murmured. ‘Everyone here is talking about Lucía. We must go and congratulate both her and Papá.’
‘Yes, of course we must.’ María scraped her knuckles across her wet eyes and pulled away from her son’s chest. ‘She must come home now; she will be exhausted.’
It took another few minutes to push through the crowd surrounding José and Lucía. Even though the next performer was on stage, they had created a court of their own at the side of it.
‘Congratulations,querida. I am very proud.’
Lucía, her train trailing down the side of her father’s body, glanced down at her mother.
‘Gracias, Mamá. Theduende, it came,’ she whispered as María reached up to hear her.
