A Thunderous Whisper (11 page)

Mathias jumped up, getting between me and the man who’d grabbed me. “Let her go!” Mathias demanded.

The man was hefty, with light brown hair and a thin mustache. He pushed me back and then twisted the front of Mathias’s shirt as he pulled him closer. “Go ahead and fess up. I know spies when I see them!”

Thoughts sprinted through my head. Mathias still had the last envelope. What if he searched us? What excuse could we give? Maybe we could say that we just found the envelope or that we saw someone drop it. I started to build a story about a tall stranger in an overcoat who dropped it as he walked by us. We couldn’t see his face because his hat was pulled down low. I could do this. I’d read enough stories to come up with my own.

“No, we’re not spies. We were just following this tall man wearing an overcoat who dropped …”

Our attacker glanced at me before turning his attention back to Mathias. “Don’t deny it!” he said, shaking Mathias by the shirt. “Did Crespo send you? Thinks I’m seeing his girlfriend again?” His eyes had narrowed into little slits.

Mathias was already pulling back his fist when the man’s comment clicked in my head. We hadn’t been caught … not yet. He didn’t even know about the envelope.

“Yes, Crespo sent us,” I blurted out, holding back Mathias’s arm. “But we didn’t see anything. We’ve never done this before, and”—I used the line that I’d always hated hearing—“we’re just kids.”

The man released his grip on Mathias’s shirt. “Hmph. Of course you didn’t see anything! Nothing to see.”

I squeezed Mathias’s arm and widened my eyes at him, hoping he’d get the message to play along.

“But don’t tell me this is the first time,” the man continued, standing so close to us that I could smell the cigarettes he’d smoked. “I know when I’m being watched.”

“No, really. Maybe someone else was doing it before, but you caught us right away,” I said, giving him my most innocent look.

Mathias straightened his shirt and added, “You’re just too smart for us.”

I winced. Too much …

The man looked at the two of us and shook his head. “Stupid kids.” He put on his beret, tugged it low over his forehead, and shoved past us. As he started down the street, he
looked back and yelled, “You make sure to tell Crespo that if he was a real man, he’d confront me himself and not send sniveling children to spy!”

“I’ll make sure to tell him!” I said with relief-filled laughter bubbling over my words.

Our would-be attacker paused, clenched his fist, and glared at us.

I glanced over at Mathias, wondering if we’d have to make a run for it.

The man then stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. “No-good kids,” he muttered before walking away.

Mathias and I remained quiet until he rounded the corner, and then, the moment he was out of sight, we broke into hysterical laughter.

SIXTEEN

D
uring the next two weeks, Mathias and I continued making our deliveries, but we weren’t able to open any other messages. The envelopes were now sealed and taped, so either someone realized that we had opened and resealed one of them or Mathias’s father was being extra cautious. Regardless, we now kept our ears open for any information about the British or about merchant ships that were trying to get to Bilbao. The newspaper reported that more ships were being confronted in international waters by Franco’s destroyers, but so far they were still safe as long as there were escorts from the British navy. The problem was, once they got within three miles, it was up to the Basques to provide safe passage, and there were mines along the way.

“
Neska!
Don’t go too far. I’ll need your help carrying the fish back to the train station.” Mamá turned back to the wiry old fisherman who was haggling with her over the cost of his catch.

We’d come together to Mamá’s hometown of Bermeo to
get the sardines. It was a short trip by train that Mamá made several times a week, but on that Thursday morning she had insisted I help her because she wanted to get a larger order. In the past few days, with more refugees escaping the front lines and flooding into Guernica, our sardine sales had risen. Mamá still complained about all the people, but she did so a little less forcefully, and I didn’t dare say I’d been right about the increase in business.

I looked out at the calm waters of the port and the small boats that dotted the horizon. The morning sun coated everything around me in a golden light, and for a moment it seemed as if I were somewhere else. Somewhere peaceful and serene and not in the middle of a civil war.

“Come basuras.”
A man stumbled along the pier, pushing aside anyone in his way. “That’s right, I think you’re all eating garbage.” He pointed a finger toward a small group of fishermen and shouted, “
Todos creen que se van hacer de dinero
. You believe you’ll actually be able to provide for your families doing this type of work day after long day. Ha!” He smirked as he walked past me and then pounded his chest. “I’ll show all of you.
¡Yo soy el que va a salir de aquí!
I’ll be the one who actually gets out of this godforsaken place!”

With those words, he promptly collapsed right by my feet.

I took a quick hop backward in case he decided to grab at my ankles.

“
Vamos
, Guillermo.” A man wearing clothes that looked almost like rags came to help the man stand up. “Let’s get you home. You’re obviously drunk.”

No one else seemed to be paying attention to what was happening. They were all too busy with their fish to be bothered with what was going on inches away from me.

“Raúl,” the drunk man said as he slumped down again, “you’re my only ffffriend.” Guillermo slurred his words. “Don’t hate me.”

Raúl glanced toward me and gave me a look, as if apologizing for his friend’s behavior.

“De veras,”
Guillermo continued as Raúl tried to pull him up again. “I had no choice. This sssstupid war will be over ssssoon enough anyway. Thissss was my chaaance.” He spun around in Raúl’s arms. “My one chance!” he shouted to no one in particular.

“Sí, sí.”
Raúl humored his friend. “You did what you had to do.” He looked around the pier. “Where’s my—Ughhh! I must’ve left my bag on the boat.” Propping Guillermo against a piling, he grabbed his friend’s face, forcing the drunkard to look at him. “Stay here,” he commanded. Then, turning to me, he said, “Don’t let him stumble into the water. I’ll be right back.”

Before I could respond that there was no way I could stop a grown man, Raúl was running down the pier.

Guillermo stared at me with glassy eyes. “You understand, don’t you?” he asked.

I nodded, glancing around, hoping that someone else would come by so I could leave.

“Look at them.” He pointed back to some of the fishermen. “Don’t even have shoes. I want more.… I deserve more.”

I said nothing and kept looking around.

“Right?” Guillermo asked.

“Yes. Of course,” I answered, facing him again.

He leaned back against the piling, a look of vindication washing over him. “That’s right.” He stumbled one step toward me and lowered his voice. “Waaant to hear a sssecret?” he asked.

I shook my head as he leaned back against the piling.

“Suuure you do.”

“No, not really.” I didn’t want to think about what a man like this would consider confidential.

“It’s the war that makes usss do these things,” he mumbled, scratching his unshaven cheek. “Besssidesss, those ships would’ve been sssstopped one way or another. Who cares iffff one more makes it to those ffffancy people in Bilbao? It wasss my turn to make sssome money from thisss war business. Plusss, they were being all sssneaky about it … coming in from Fraaance.”

I straightened up. This wasn’t just drunk-man talk. “Wait, what?
Señor
, what do you mean … exactly?”

“¿Señor?”
He smirked and stood upright. “You think I’m the type to be called
señor
?” He stared at me, then inched closer so that I could now smell the overpowering stench of alcohol, fish, and who knows what else. His face got very serious, and he whispered, “You just be careful tomorrow, little one. There’ll be potatoes flying through the air.”

The idea of flying potatoes must have struck him as quite funny because he started to laugh right in my face. My eyes
watered with the vile smell and I almost pinched my nose, but I kept staring at him … trying to understand what he was saying.

He stopped laughing and gave me a serious look. “Potatoes flying over the ssseven sssseas.” He clapped his hands together.
“Boom!”

“An explosion?” I asked, hoping to make sense of his words.

Guillermo held up his finger. “Just one. One really big one. The price to pay for a better life.” He burped as he said those last words. “Why should I care about those money-grubbing Brits?”

My jaw dropped and I inched back. “You—you’re going to set off a bomb?” I stammered.

“Me?” He pointed at himself as if I might be speaking to someone else. “No, no. I wouldn’t do sssomething like that.” He started to slur his words again.

He had my undivided attention. “But you just said—”

“All I did was pass on some information that I happened to come across. Can’t help what other people do with the secrets that I overhear, right?” He smiled, showing off a couple of gaps between his yellowing teeth.

Time seemed to stall as I took in everything the drunk man had said. I studied his face to see if this was some sort of prank.

“Flying potatoes over the ssseven ssseas, flying potatoes over the ssseven ssseas,” Guillermo sang, oblivious to everything else around him.

“Sorry I took so long.” Raúl interrupted my thoughts and grabbed Guillermo’s arm, putting it around his shoulder. He
looked back at me as he propped up his friend. “You’re a good kid. Thanks for watching him.”

Guillermo’s eyes had a glazed look, and he smiled at his friend. “You ffforgive me, right, Raúl?” he slurred.

“Of course, of course.” The two of them stumbled as Raúl tried to walk with the off-balance Guillermo.

Guillermo turned back to look at me and put a finger to his mouth. “Remember, shhh.”

SEVENTEEN

T
he screeching of the train’s wheels announced our arrival back at Guernica’s station. The short trip from Bermeo hadn’t given me much time to decide what I should do, but I knew I had to do something. Even if the drunkard was talking nonsense, I couldn’t take the chance. People might die.

I had to find Mathias.

Pushing my way around a few people, I walked toward the train door, waiting for it to open.

“Really,
neska
? Where is your head today?” Mamá pointed to the basket I’d left behind.

By the time I went back and got it, most of the people were off the train and Mamá was waiting for me outside on the platform.

“Took long enough,” she muttered, avoiding the crowd by going around the main building.

I waddled after her. “I’m sorry.” I readjusted my grip on the rim of the basket. “It’s heavier than usual.”

Mamá balanced her oversized basket perfectly on her head, the brass scale hanging off a loop on her belt. “Don’t complain,
neska
. More sardines mean more sales. More sales mean more food. What you need to do is carry it like I do.”

I nodded, but kept mine pressed against my stomach. I feared that carrying it the way Mamá and the other
sardineras
did would seal my fate as one of them forever.

“Now give me the weights for the scale.” She held out her hand, and I gave her the small brass pieces. “If you hurry up and drop off the basket at home, you’ll still be able to make it to your precious school before the afternoon session starts.”

“Sí, señora,”
I said, moving as quickly as possible but still struggling with the basket.

Mamá pursed her lips. “Carry it that way and it’ll take you twice as long,
neska
.” She was already halfway down the street, carrying her own, heavier load with ease. “You decide what’s important.”

I sighed and lifted the basket on top of my head, balancing it with both hands. I was definitely able to walk a little faster. With every step, I repeated, “I am not Sardine Girl. I am not Sardine Girl.”

The day felt warm for mid-April, and the combination of the quick pace, heavy basket, and fear that someone might spot me made me feel even hotter. Sweat trickled down my back. I had to make it just two more blocks without being noticed, but that was getting harder as more people filled the streets. It was a little past noon, and I’d already decided to
skip all my afternoon classes in order to find Mathias. We had to tell his father what I’d heard.

Then, when I was just a few steps away from my building, I heard those dreaded words.

“Hey, Sardine Girl! Over here!”

I spun around, causing the basket to wobble dangerously, and spotted the face I least wanted to see … Sabino.

EIGHTEEN

H
e sprinted toward me. “My oh my.” He smirked. “Guess your school days are over, huh, Sardine Girl?”

“Get out of here, Sabino,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Ooh, it talks. All these years I thought you were mute.”

“You’re not worth the breath it takes to talk to you.” I balanced the basket with one hand and pulled out my house key.

From behind Sabino a woman in a pretty blue dress waved at me.
“Gracias,”
she called out as she got closer. “Thank you for waiting.”

She looked up at the basket still on my head and then at Sabino. “Sabi, didn’t you tell her how much I needed?”

He shuffled his feet. “Um, we hadn’t gotten to that yet.”

She shook her head and smiled at me. “My son—what am I supposed to do with him? Always sweet-talking the pretty girls.” She pinched his cheek and pointed up to the basket. “I’ll take six of your largest sardines, please.”

Sabino … sweet-talking
me?
I almost laughed out loud at how clueless this woman was.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.