Page 64 of The Moon Sister
‘I am with you, Felipe. Mamá is here.’
He gave a small smile, mouthed ‘Te amo’ and, a few seconds later, he closed his eyes for the last time.
*
As word was sent to anyone travelling to Barcelona to fetch José and Lucía home, María and her family went into mourning. Felipe’s body was laid in the stable after the animals had been moved out, so that relatives and villagers could come and pay their respects. White lilies and bright red pomegranate flowers were set all around, their strong scent adding to that of the incense and candles that burnt beside him. María sat there day and night, often in the company of others who joined her to help ward off the spirits. Micaela cast the traditional spells and charms to protect Felipe’s soul so it would fly off unfettered to the heavens. Again and again, María asked forgiveness for all the ways in which she had let her son down. No one touched the body for fear of interfering with the spirits.
Her most constant companion was Carlos, who wept and wailed for his brother. María knew he was terrified of Felipe returning to haunt him for the rest of his days. Twice, he made the pilgrimage up to Sacromonte Abbey at the top of the mountain, to pray for his brother’s soul. Perhaps he’d felt that this was a way to get out of sitting hour after hour in the fetid heat of the cave, but María was prepared to believe the best of him.
Life was put on hold for everyone in the family – custom demanded that no one could eat or drink or wash or work until Felipe had been laid to rest.
On the third day, as María felt she might faint from thirst, hunger, shock, and the smell of rotting flesh which permeated the air, Paola sat down beside her and handed her daughter some water.
‘You must drink,mija, or we will be following your coffin soon.’
‘Mamá, you know we are not allowed.’
‘I am sure that Felipe would forgive his mother taking some water as she watches over him. Now drink.’
María did so.
‘Any word from Barcelona?’ Paola asked.
‘No.’
‘So I beg you to lay Felipe to rest without José. Apart from anything, the smell is terrible . . .’ Paola wrinkled her nose. ‘It is already attracting flies and will spread disease.’
‘Hush, Mamá.’ María put her finger to her lips, fearful that Felipe might hear the way his earthly remains were being discussed, as if they were nothing more than a hunk of decaying meat. ‘I cannot bury our son without his father. José would never forgive me.’
‘I say that it isyouwho should not forgivehimfor leaving when his son was thrown into jail. María, you must bury him tomorrow. And that is that.’
When her mother left, María followed her out of the stinking stable and staggered into the kitchen. Even she knew that she could hold the funeral back no longer.
She allowed herself a small smile as she glanced around the kitchen. It seemed the whole village had come by with a gift of food, brandy or sweetmeats. At least she would have something to offer after the funeral. Lighting a candle, she went to kneel under the faded image of the Blessed Virgin. She asked for forgiveness from her, then turned away and asked the same of the spirits in the Upperworld. Then she walked outside, to find Eduardo and Carlos smoking listlessly.
‘Can you put word around the village that we will hold the funeral tomorrow?’ she said.
‘Yes, Mamá, we will go now. I will take the lower path, and you take the high one,hermano,’ Eduardo suggested to Carlos.
‘Boys . . .’ she stopped them as they made to run off. ‘Do you think your father will be angry?’
‘If he is, then he deserves it,’ Eduardo replied tersely. ‘He should never have gone away to begin with.’
*
The funeral procession wove up the hillside, peppered with cypress trees and flowering cacti, accompanied by the heady scent of the lilies that adorned the mules. María walked ahead of the coffin her father had fashioned with help from her sons from remnants of oak in his workshop. A mournful wail went up and María recognised her mother’s voice as she began to sing a funeral lament. Though rough with age and emotion, Paola’s voice soared as the crowd began to sing along with her. María let the silent tears fall down her face and onto the dry earth below her.
The ceremony was a strange hybrid of a traditional Catholic funeral, side by side with Micaela quietly muttering indecipherable words to protect Felipe’s soul and those left behind.
María cast her eyes down the valley and up again to the Alhambra, which had seen so much bloodshed in its thousand-year history. She’d always feared it for some reason, and now she understood why. It had been where her son’s death sentence had been given.
14
María woke the next morning, feeling as if every last ounce of energy had been sucked from her. She made sure her sons left on time for work. Carlos was the first to rise of the two. If there had been anything good to come out of Felipe’s death, it was that the guilt Carlos felt had – at least for the present – reformed him.
After pouring herself some orange juice from the fresh batch Ramón had delivered yesterday evening, María sat on the step and sipped it. Once they’d been a family of six; now they were down to half their number. Somehow, she had to accept that Felipe would never come back, but her husband and daughter . . . She blinked away tears in the strong sunlight, fearing that they too were becoming mere wraiths in her imagination.
‘Where are you?’ she asked the skies. ‘Please, send me word.’
