A Thunderous Whisper (2 page)

I clenched the pencil so hard I could feel it begin to bend between my fingers. A little more and it would snap. I stopped and relaxed my hand. I couldn’t dwell on the war anymore.… Papá deserved a good story. Closing my eyes, I hoped that my imagination would take over, but nothing happened.

It’d been the same the last few times I’d been to my tree. My thoughts would drift to the front lines, to the men dying and to the rumors that Hitler and his large German army were becoming more involved in the Civil War. It was bad enough that the country was tearing itself apart; now we had to fear that the Germans would help General Franco’s side.

“Think about an island. About princesses,” I commanded, squeezing my eyelids so tight that pink and blue spots appeared.

“Island princesses, huh?” a voice with a slight accent asked.

My eyes popped open, but the sunlight blinded me. All I could see was the silhouette of a person holding a large stick.

I shielded my face and braced myself for the attack.

TWO

“D
idn’t mean to scare you … at least not so much,” the voice said with a slight chuckle.

My eyes adjusted to the light, and I saw that the figure was just a boy, not much older than me, with dark brown hair and even darker eyes. He was twirling a
makila
, a Basque walking stick.

“I wasn’t afraid,” I said, jumping up to face my newest tormentor. “More like … startled.”

He tilted his head to the side as if sizing me up. “So, do you always talk to yourself?”

“No.” I was already annoyed with this boy.

“Guess you only do that sometimes, huh?” he asked with a smirk.

I crossed my arms and gave him my best glare.

“Really? Is that supposed to be a menacing look?” He laughed, took off his beret, and stuck out his hand. “Let me start over. I’m Mathias. Nice to meet you.”

I ignored his outstretched hand, choosing to raise a single eyebrow, a talent I’d inherited from my mother.

He kept his hand out. “C’mon. I just moved to Guernica.”

“Figured that out myself,” I muttered, hoping he would go away.

“Now what is
that
supposed to mean?” he asked, putting his beret back on and sticking his hand in his pocket.

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“What? Say it. I’m a big boy.… My feelings won’t get hurt. It’s my accent, right?” He shook his head. “Thought I’d gotten rid of it too. I was sure my Spanish was pretty good.”

“No, it is.” I sighed, as if the conversation were painful … which it was. “I just meant that lots of refugees have been moving to Guernica lately. Running away from the war and—”

“Listen, princess, my family doesn’t run away,” he corrected.

“Princess?” I gave him a sharp look.

“Weren’t you muttering something about being a princess when I got here?”

“No. I mean yes.” I rolled my eyes. “I wasn’t talking about myself.”

“Fine, if you say so.” Mathias took a seat on the grass, gazed up the hillside, and then turned his attention back to me. “So, what’s your name?”

The day had gone steadily downhill. Now I couldn’t even enjoy my time alone.

I plopped down, defeated, and tucked my legs under my long skirt.

“Anetxu,” I said, wondering why he was even talking to me.

“Gesundheit!”
he replied with a grin.

“Huh? What?”

“It’s German.… It means ‘Bless you.’ Like when you sneeze and go
achoo
. I said it because your name sounds—”

I could feel my shoulders tightening. “I get it. Very original.”

“
Tranquila
, princess. I didn’t mean any harm.” He yanked on a long blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers. “So, you’re from around here, right?”

“Mm-hm.” I leaned against my tree and half closed my eyes, hoping he’d get the hint and leave.

“I thought as much. I’ve only been here a couple of weeks, but it isn’t the worst place I’ve seen. Have you been to other cities?” he asked.

“Sure I have.”

A sudden flash of interest ran across his face, and he sat up. “Really, which ones?” he asked.

“Bermeo,” I declared, and immediately regretted it. I’d go there once in a while with Mamá to get the sardines from the fishermen, but it made Guernica look like a big city by comparison. Plus, the last thing I wanted to bring up was being Sardine Girl.

“Well, I haven’t been there, but I don’t think any place holds a candle to Berlin … except for maybe Barcelona.”

“I like Guernica,” I said.

“That’s because you haven’t been to other places.”

“That’s not it. You’d feel different if you were Basque.”

“Ah, but you’re wrong. I
am
Basque. My dad was born in San Sebastián, and that’s as Basque as any town.”

“So? That doesn’t make
you
Basque.”

Mathias took off his beret and ran his fingers through his dark hair as if thinking about what I’d just said. “Guess you have a point about that.”

“Of course I do,” I muttered. It felt like a small victory.… I just wasn’t sure what I’d won.

Nothing else was said for a few moments and I thought about walking away, but I refused to give up my tree to the likes of him.

“Well, what do you think really makes someone Basque?” he asked.

I shrugged. This was getting to be worse than school. At least there I was mostly ignored.

“Think about it. If it’s not where you’re born, then is it what you speak?” He paused for a moment, then shook his head. “Nah, that can’t be it. Anyone can learn a language.… I already know three, even if I can’t understand much in Basque. There’s got to be something else,” he said.

“Does it really matter?” I asked, staring off at the horizon, pretending not to be curious about this boy. “If you’re Basque, you just know it,” I said.

“Hmph, typical of a girl,” he said, tugging on another blade of grass and rolling it into a ball.

I turned to face him. “What does that mean?”

He leaned back on his hands and smiled. “Relax, princess. It’s a fact that most girls don’t like to think about
complex things. Cooking and sewing are what they’re suited for.”

I narrowed my eyes and shot him a look, one that would certainly help us win the war if the army could turn it into a weapon. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Boys are usually the ones who don’t think.” I could feel my blood boiling. “And don’t call me princess … ever!”

For about a minute, neither of us said a word, and we didn’t move either.

I watched a small smirk creep over his lips and realized I had never answered his question. “Your question isn’t even that hard,” I commented. “Being Basque has to do with your family history … where you come from.”

He pinched his lips together, then shook his head. “Nah, that can’t be it, because what would that make me? I’m Basque on my father’s side, but German on my mom’s.”

I straightened up. “Your mother’s German?” Suddenly his barely noticeable accent sounded much stronger, and the fact that he spoke several languages hinted at something much more dangerous.

Mathias nodded and grabbed at another patch of fresh grass. “Well, she used to be anyway.”

I moved forward an inch or two. “
Used to be?
What do you mean …? Is she, you know, dead?”

He looked up at me, his eyebrows slightly scrunched together. “Oh no. God no,” he said, shaking his head vehemently. “There are new laws over in Germany that say if you’re Jewish or part Jewish, you’re no longer a German citizen.…
That’s what I meant. They don’t care anymore if you were born there or if your grandparents and great-grandparents were all born there.”

“You’re … 
Jewish
?” I asked.

Mathias nodded.

I’d never met anyone who was Jewish before. All the people I knew, even the ones I really didn’t know, were Catholic. I stared at him. He didn’t look that different. But why was he talking to me?

“You ever been to Germany?” I asked.

“Of course I have,” he answered, as if that were the most ridiculous question ever. “I may have been born in San Sebastián like my dad, but I grew up in Berlin. Most of my mom’s family still lives there, but my parents and I have been moving around a lot these last few years. Lived in a bunch of different places.”

“Like where?” I asked, thinking of all the places Papá used to describe. Maybe this would be what I’d write about in my letter to him.

Mathias looked away, seeming to conjure up an image in his head. “Barcelona, Paris, Madrid, but Berlin is still my favorite. It’s beautiful there. Amazing architecture, food, history … It has to be one of the best places in the world.”

“It can’t be that great if your parents left,” I answered.

He shrugged, and started to wipe away some of the dirt streaks on his pants.

I stayed quiet, waiting to see if our conversation was
finally over and he’d leave. I still didn’t know why he was talking to me.

Turning his head to look at me again, he asked, “So, since you now know all about me, what would you say I am? Basque, German, or something else?”

My lips twitched. I resigned myself to the fact that he had no intention of leaving me alone. “You, Mathias—That’s your name, right?”

He nodded.

“I say you are”—I thought for a moment, then smiled—“annoying.”

His lips lifted up to form a half smirk, then a grin, which soon transformed into full-blown laughter. He was laughing as if I’d said the funniest thing he’d heard in a week.

It wasn’t the effect I was going for, but his laugh was contagious, and I found myself smiling too.

After a few seconds, he caught his breath and lay back on his elbows. “I like you. You’re a straight shooter,” he said, staring at my face as if he were trying to decipher some secret code. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I don’t think I could stop you,” I said.

He tilted his head, ignoring my comment. “How come you don’t have any friends?”

This was why I didn’t like talking to people. I could have had a perfectly nice time by myself, but now he wanted me to explain
why
I was unpopular.

My hands twitched, and I almost got up. But if I left, then it’d be like surrendering my tree.

“Not that I’m one to talk,” he continued. “I move around so much that it’s sometimes hard to make friends.”

I crossed my arms and tucked my hands underneath my armpits. “I have plenty of friends,” I responded.

“Haven’t seen you with any.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and not because of the cool wind that was now blowing through the field. “You’ve been spying on me?” I couldn’t forget that he was part German … or Jewish … or whatever.

“Not really spying.” Mathias paused for a moment. “More like observing. I do that a lot.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and put aside any thought that this boy could pose a threat. “Hmph, sounds a lot like spying to me. You know what they do to spies, don’t you?”

“Observing is not spying. And, yes, I know what happens to spies. They’re lucky if they get shot.”

That reminded me of the war and Papá. I wondered if Papá had ever met a German. I wasn’t sure he’d approve of my talking to someone who was half-German. Then again, Papá was friends with a lot of people he’d met in his travels, so maybe it’d be all right with him.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Mathias asked after a few moments passed.

I nodded and felt my ponytail hook itself on a loose piece of bark. “Yeah, just thinking about stuff. My dad is fighting in the war.” I carefully untangled my hair from the tree.

“Is he with the Itxasalde Battalion?” he asked.

I gave him a slight nod, but concentrated on tucking the
strands of hair that now dangled by my cheek back behind my ear.

Mathias kept probing. “So, is he a communist?”

I jerked my head up. “No! Not at all.” I knew Papá hated what the communists were doing in other parts of Spain. I’d heard some horrific stories of priests and nuns being killed. “He just wants to protect our ways … to keep things how they’ve always been. Are
you
a communist?”

“Nope, don’t think so.” He shook his head.

“Good. Anyway, my father isn’t really fighting. He helps in other ways. Works in the kitchen, I think.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I’m sure that’s not what he wanted to do when he joined.”

“Hmph. I’d rather he be safe in a kitchen than out on the front lines. Soldiers need to eat too. Anyway, how’d you know the battalion’s name?”

Mathias shrugged. “I’ve heard some of the men from town talking about it. Like I said, I watch and listen. You’d be surprised at how much you can learn when you’re not busy talking.”

I smiled. “So, I guess you’re not learning much today.”

The edges of Mathias’s mouth twitched again before forming another big grin. “You can learn things by talking to people too.” He swiveled around and leaned against the tree. “And what do you do when you’re just sitting here?”

“Nothing much. Think up stories, daydream.”

“About island princesses?”

“Huh? Oh, what I was saying when you sneaked up on me.”

“I didn’t sneak up on you. That’s kind of hard to do with
this thing.” He pointed to the
makila
, which lay on the ground next to him.

My eyes darted from the walking stick to his right leg. Something about how his pants draped wasn’t right.

“Were you in an accident or something?” I asked, motioning to his leg.

He tugged on the pants, smoothing out the wrinkle by his calf. “Or something.” For the first time, he didn’t look at me.

Minutes passed and we settled into an uneasy quiet.

“So, you want to be an island princess?” Mathias finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Hmm? Oh no. That’s just a story I made up a long time ago. I used to tell it to my father.”

“You want to tell me?” he asked, staring straight out toward the horizon.

“No.” I reached into my pocket, my fingers searching for the smoothness of the satin pouch.

The streetlamps of Guernica were already shining in the distance and the sky was growing darker by the second. It was time for me to head home.