Page 65 of The Moon Sister
Later that day, she donned her mourning veil, picked up two of her hens’ precious eggs and went to Ramón’s cave.
‘I wish you to write to the employer of my husband in Barcelona,’ she told him. Ramón was one of the fewgitanoswho could write, and for the odd gift of food or wood, he would willingly craft a letter. ‘Here, I have brought you these.’ She held out the eggs.
He put his hands over hers and shook his head. ‘María, I could never take any form of payment from you, certainly not at this time.’ He went to a cupboard and took out his writing implements, then motioned for María to sit at the kitchen table with him. ‘First of all, can this man read?’
‘I do not know, but he is a man of the city with a business, so we must assume he can.’
‘Then begin.’
‘Dear Manager of the Bar de Manquet,’ María dictated. ‘I believe that you offered a position to Señor José Albaycín as a guitarist some weeks ago when you met him and my daughter Lucía at the competition in Granada. If he is still working at your café, could you please pass on a message to tell him that his wife has urgent news for him . . .’
Ramón looked up at her, sympathy in his eyes, his pen hovering above the sheet of paper.
‘No,’ she faltered, realising suddenly she was writing to José and Lucía’s employer, who would not take kindly to a request from a wife, bidding his employees to return home immediately. ‘Thank you, but I must find some way to contact José directly.’
‘I understand, María,’ he said as she rose. ‘Anything else I can do, just ask.’
*
‘I have decided I must go to find Papá and Lucía in Barcelona. I cannot rest until they know what happened to Felipe.’ María eyed her sons over the kitchen table.
‘Mamá, I am sure that one of the messengers we sent with the news will find them soon,’ Eduardo said.
‘But not soon enough. Besides, this is news that only a wife and a mother should impart.’ María took a mouthful of the stew the boys had brought up with them from her mother’s house. She knew she would need all the strength she could muster.
‘But you cannot go alone. We will come with you.’ Carlos nudged Eduardo, who nodded uncertainly.
‘No. Your grandfather’s business has suffered enough recently from your absences. And you must stay here in case I miss your father on the road and he returns to find us gone.’
‘Then I will stay here and send Carlos with you,’ Eduardo suggested.
‘I said no,’ María repeated. ‘Carlos is lucky to have employment and we need the money he earns.’
‘Mamá, this is ridiculous!’ Eduardo banged his spoon against his bowl. ‘A woman cannot go on a journey such as this unaccompanied. Papá would not allow it.’
‘I am the head of the household now, and I say what is allowed!’ María snapped back. ‘So, I will leave tomorrow at dawn. I will take the train. Ramón says it is very easy. He has told me what to do and where to change.’
‘Has some spirit taken hold of your senses, Mamá?’ Carlos asked as she stood up and collected the dishes.
‘No, quite the opposite, Carlos. I have finally got my senses back.’
*
Despite her sons’ constant protests that at least one of them should accompany her, María rose before dawn the very next day, and packed a bag with water and a little food left over from the funeral. On Ramón’s advice, she wrapped a black tablecloth around her to form a cloak and covered her tell-talegitanacurls with a black shawl. On the road, she would be taken for a widow – which would at least command respect and ensure security.
Ramón had offered to take her to the station on his cart. He was waiting for her with his mule already harnessed.
‘Ready, María?’
‘Ready.’
As they set off, the sun was just beginning to climb into the sky, drops of morning dew trapped on the spines of the cacti that they passed along the narrow roads into the city. As they entered the city gate, and made their way through the already busy streets of Granada, María wondered if indeed she had taken leave of her senses. But it was a journey she knew she had to make.
At the bustling station, Ramón tethered the mule and came with her to help her buy a ticket. Then he stood beside her on the crowded platform until the train steamed into the station.
‘Remember to leave at Valencia,’ he told her, as he helped her into the third-class carriage. ‘There is a respectable boarding house called the Casa de Santiago right beside the station, where you can spend the night before continuing on to Barcelona in the morning. It is not expensive, but . . .’ He pressed some coins into her hand. ‘Vaya con Dios, María. Be safe.’
Before she could protest, the guard’s whistle blew and Ramón left the train.
