Page 184 of The Moon Sister
‘The fact I’ve had to steal back what is mine and sell my possessions so that Papá’s wife, daughter and grandchild can survive makes me want to vomit,’ Lucía had spat as they had settled themselves in their cabin on board the ship.
María wondered whether the rift between father and daughter would ever be mended, but as they’d sailed east towards her beloved homeland, neither had she much cared. The freedom and relief she felt as the ship edged ever closer to Spain was overwhelming.
‘Whatever Lucía decides, I am never going back to him,never,’ she told the dolphins that had swum alongside the ship as they crossed the Atlantic.
Despite what she knew she must face there, ironically, María had actually enjoyed the voyage itself. With almost every passenger a returning native, there was a festive atmosphere on board.
And in her new clothes, with her hair styled just like the other women on board, María had basked in the anonymity of being ordinary. She had even spoken to other guests at the dinners around the beautifully laid large round tables. Yet whilst María began to step out of her normal shell, Lucía retreated into hers. She spent most of her time in her cabin, sleeping or smoking, refusing to join the rest of the guests for dinner, citing seasickness and fear of being recognised. Gradually, her usual high spirits were lost beneath a palpable veil of despondency and despair.
The arrival on Spanish soil had not provided the spur María had hoped it would. Lucía lay on the bed, listlessly smoking one of her endless cigarettes, as María unpacked their trunks in the twin hotel room.
‘Now, I am hungry,’ María announced. ‘Will you come downstairs and have your first taste of a Spanish sardine after all these years?’
‘I am not hungry, Mamá,’ Lucía said, but María ordered them up to their room anyway. Getting Lucía to eat anything was becoming an impossible task and María worried constantly for both the health of her daughter and the child inside her.
The next morning, María took herself downstairs into the lobby and sought out the concierge.
‘Señor, myself and my daughter are newly arrived from New York and wish to rent afincain the countryside. Perhaps you could tell me of a company that deals with such things?’
‘I am not sure I know of any, señora. For almost ten years, people have been desperate to leave Granada rather than to find somewhere to rent here.’
‘Surely there must be a number of properties that are lying empty?’ María – lifted to euphoria by the fact she could for the first time in years converse fluently with a stranger – refused to be brought down.
‘Sí, I am sure there are many, although what state of repair such places might be in, I do not know.’ The concierge studied her more closely, as if mulling something over. ‘How many people?’
‘Only myself and my daughter. We are both widows, just arrived from New York,’ María lied. ‘And we have dollars to pay.’
‘My condolences, señora. There are many who find themselves in such a position just now. Let me see what I can do.’
‘Gracias, señor,’ she said.
The following day, Alejandro – as he insisted María call him – had news for her.
‘I have a possible suggestion for you to look at. I will take you there myself,’ he added.
‘Will you come and see thefincawith me?’ she asked Lucía, who had hardly moved from her bed since they’d arrived in Granada.
‘No, Mamá, you go, I am sure you will choose us something nice.’
So María went with Alejandro and they drove through Granada. The streets were almost empty of other vehicles, as everyone else was on foot, or encouraging emaciated mules to pull their carts. As they went further from the grand hotel, the buildings turned to slums, and where María had once remembered restaurants and flamenco bars, the windows were boarded up and beggars sat in doorways of abandoned buildings, their eyes following Alejandro’s car. Three or four kilometres outside town, the road began to cut through the wide verdant plain, burgeoning with olive trees.
‘This may not suit you, señora, because it is so isolated and you would need transport to get you into town,’ he commented as he turned off onto a dusty track that wound through an orange grove. A few seconds later, they arrived in front of a basic one-storey building, fashioned out of brick, its windows boarded up against intruders.
‘This is the Villa Elsa, home of my grandparents, who both perished in the Civil War. My sister and I have tried to sell it, but of course there are no buyers,’ Alejandro explained as he led her up the shallow wooden steps onto an overgrown vine-covered terrace that shrouded the front of the house from the glare of the evening sunset.
Inside, the house smelt musty and María saw there was mould growing up the walls. With the windows boarded up, the concierge used a candle to show her into the sitting room, filled with heavy wooden furniture, a kitchen that was small but serviceable, and the three bedrooms placed in the cooling shadow of the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains.
‘It is probably not suitable for someone who has lived in such a sophisticated place as New York, but—’
‘Señor, I believe it is perfect, even if it will take some scrubbing, and I must learn to drive!’ she laughed. ‘Both are possible.’ She nodded as she stepped out onto the terrace, then out of the corner of her eye, caught a familiar shape high above her. She craned her neck far to the left, looked up, and saw the Alhambra sitting far away into the distance. This made the decision for her. ‘We’ll take it. How much?’
*
‘Thefincais perfect, Lucía! And because it is in a bad state of repair, and Alejandro is obviously desperate, I have taken it for next to nothing! You must come up and see it tomorrow.’
‘Maybe,’ Lucía sighed. She was lying huddled in her bed, her face turned towards the wall.
‘You can even just see the Alhambra if you look to your left, Lucía,’ María confirmed, buoyed by the fact she had managed to find them a home so fast and negotiate a deal all by herself. ‘Alejandro treated me with such respect, I don’t think he even suspected I was agitana,’ she said, glancing proudly at her reflection in the mirror. ‘How the tables have turned! Apayowantingourmoney!’
