A Thunderous Whisper (7 page)

He shook his head. “And you didn’t think about keeping a few
pesetas
for yourself? C’mon, you can’t be
that
honest.”

I shrugged.

“An honest spy … I don’t know about this,” he muttered.

“What’s the exact address of our first delivery?” I asked as we walked toward the outskirts of town. We were now entering the area where all the big landowners had their chalets.

Mathias pulled out the sealed envelope from his vest pocket. “Twenty-Five Carretera San Bernardo.” He held the envelope toward the sun and squinted.

“
Vale
, that means the house should be up a little further,” I said, watching as he tilted the cream-colored envelope to different angles. “You’ve looked ten times. You’re not going to be able to see what’s inside.”

“Yeah, I know. I wish my father had told me what he wrote, though.”

“Fat chance.” I shifted the weight of the oversized sardine basket in my arms. With only enough fish for six customers, there really was no need for such a large basket, but Mamá had only two sizes: big and huge. It was no wonder all the
sardineras
carried their loads on their heads.

Mathias put his free hand on the edge of the open basket. “Let me carry it for a while.”

I pulled it away from him. “Don’t worry. I got it,” I said,
giving his leg and the
makila
a quick glance. “Plus, we’re already here.” I pointed at the path that led to the large two-story house.

“Wonder who owns this place?” Mathias asked, his eyes transfixed on the automobile that was parked by the side of the house.

“Tomás Beltran. He was the tall man with the beard.”

“You sure? There’s no name on here.” He flipped the envelope over to double-check.

“Of course I am. Señor Beltran practically runs the city. He’s always there with all the politicians whenever a president or leader comes to take the oath under the Guernica Tree. Everyone knows his house.”

“Well, obviously not everyone,” Mathias muttered.

As we walked closer to the large double doors at the front of the house, I couldn’t help but notice how everything around me seemed to be coated with a layer of wealth. I even imagined the small statue in the fountain spilling out diamonds instead of water. Living here must be like living in a movie, I thought … a very rich movie.

“You know, I was thinking about the Guernica Tree.” Mathias interrupted my dream. “I mean, when I lived in Bilbao—”

“You lived in Bilbao?” I asked.

“I told you, I’ve lived in a bunch of places. Anyway, when I lived there, I’d hear about the famous tree in the middle of Guernica where all the kings and rulers of Spain would come and promise to leave the Basques alone, but have you ever wondered why?”

“Why?” I asked, slowing down as we approached the front door.

“Yeah, why do the ceremony
under a tree
?”

I shrugged. “Guess ’cause it’s just the way things have always been done. Don’t you know Basque history?”

“Yeah, I know some of it.” Mathias rapped on the door with its large iron knocker, then looked back at me. “I just think it’s strange that they actually do it. C’mon, a tree, when the king of Spain is used to a palace?”

I thought about it for a moment, looking around at everything Señor Beltran owned. “All the money in the world can’t make something significant. I mean, I’d rather have my tree than all the ones in some park. And mine doesn’t have the tradition that the Guernica Tree has.” I shifted the basket again to balance it on my right hip.

Mathias leaned on his
makila
and gave me a funny look. “
Your
tree? You mean the one out in the field? Who said it was yours?”

I shrugged. “I’ve been going to it since I was little.”

“But you don’t own it. Just because—”

A heavyset woman wearing a maid’s uniform opened the door and glared at us. “Don’t you two know anything?”

“We’re here—” Mathias began to explain.

The old woman raised her hand to silence him. “
¡Basta!
Don’t want to hear it. Deliveries go to the back. You don’t come to the front door like an invited guest.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I turned to go around to the back.

She shook her head and looked at Mathias, her eyes
pausing at his walking stick. “Well, you’re here now. The damage has been done. Let me see what you have.”

I tilted the basket so she could see the sardines.

“Don’t know what’s possessed Señor Beltran to start eating sardines when he can eat anything he likes,” she muttered, taking three of the fish and placing them on a sheet of newspaper that Mathias held out for her.

I glanced around her and into the foyer. I could see a small dark wooden table and a gold-crested mirror above it.

“Probably feels pity for the likes of you.” She reached into her white apron pocket and took out several coins. “Here, he told me to give you this amount,” she said, dropping the money into Mathias’s palm. “Though it seems he’s paying way too much for such a small amount of sardines.… Very strange.”

“He’s also buying some to be given to the poor.” My eyes darted back to the old woman, and I smiled as innocently as I could. Who knew I was so good at this lying thing?

Mathias handed her the envelope with Señor Beltran’s address on it. “This is for Señor Beltran too,” he said.

“Yes, yes,
me lo imagine
. I didn’t think it was a love letter for me.” She scowled.

Mathias gave me a quick glance. “It’s an invoice for the sardine deliveries made to the poor … and it’s sealed.”

“Now look here, boy, I don’t know who raised you, but I know better than to open envelopes addressed to Señor Beltran. I’ll give it to him just like I give him every other invoice and piece of mail that comes to this house.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mathias gave her a slight nod and tugged on my sleeve, directing me to leave.

“Next time, use your brains and remember to come to the back door,” the old woman called out. “Don’t be such idiots!”

Mathias waved and kept walking.

I turned, immune to being called names, although a part of me had secretly hoped that things would somehow be different.

“And you, Sardine Girl, don’t you think your boyfriend there should carry the basket instead of you? Not much of a gentleman, is he?”

I stopped and spun around.

“¿Qué?”
the old woman challenged, but I had no response … though I wished I could let loose a tirade of insults about her wrinkled skin or tell her how we were more than what we appeared to be.

Realizing that I had nothing to say, the old woman dismissed us with a wave of her hand and closed the front door.

“Estúpida,”
I muttered under my breath. I looked over at Mathias, who’d been watching with mild interest. “Ignore her,” I said. “She doesn’t understand that you can’t do certain things because of … um, you know, the way you are.”

I waited for Mathias to smile or thank me for understanding. Instead, his expression hardened into a glare. He turned and started walking back toward the main street.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” I called out, shifting the basket to my other hip. “Wait up!”

Mathias didn’t answer. He wouldn’t even look at me; he just kept walking at a faster pace than before.

“Mathias?”

After a few minutes, the air between us was thick with resentment. “Are you mad because I came up with the story about giving the sardines to the poor?”

More silence from Mathias, and he was not slowing down.

“I thought she was getting suspicious and we needed a cover story. Aren’t spies supposed to improvise and think on their feet? Don’t get all upset just because you didn’t think of it.”

He froze in his tracks, his eyes blazing. “Of course that’s not it. Unless you think ‘the way I am’ doesn’t let me come up with stories too.”

“What is
that
supposed to mean?” I asked, sensing that his seething anger was about to spill over into a full-fledged fight.

“You know what it means,” he answered.

I put the basket down on the sidewalk and crossed my arms over my chest. “I was being nice.”

“Well, I don’t need you being nice or your pity.” He leaned closer toward me. “In fact, I pity you.”

“Me?” I took a step back.

“Yeah, you. A girl with no friends. That’s really sad. That’s the only reason I decided to talk to you.”

“What?” I couldn’t believe he was confirming my worst fear. “You mean when I was by my tree?” I grabbed at the long sleeves of my dress, trying to regain some control.

“There you go again. It’s not
your
tree. You’re just some stupid girl who daydreams by someone else’s tree.”

I wanted to run away and leave him behind. Do the deliveries by myself. But he had the envelopes, and so I did the only thing I could think of: I kicked him in his good leg.

“Ow!” he yelled, grabbing his shin. “Are you that much of an idiot?”

“Not as much as you,” I replied, snatching up the basket and marching down the street.

When I reached the corner, I waited as a group of women passed by, each carrying a week’s worth of rationed food. The usual chatter of voices was now being replaced more and more often with quiet sighs and the semi-defeated looks of people fighting for survival.

I stayed still, waiting to hear the
tik-tik-tik
of Mathias’s
makila
hitting the pavement. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of turning around, but it was pointless to deliver the sardines without the envelopes.

After a minute or two, I glanced back, nervous that Mathias had left me behind and my career as a spy had already come to an end. I squinted, barely making out the shape of a boy sitting on a bench about a block and a half back, twirling a
makila
in front of him. I had walked the wrong way.

“Ugh,” I grunted, heading over to him.

As I got closer to Mathias, I started thinking how it probably wasn’t very smart to smack him on his one good leg … even if I was really mad. What if he was sitting because he couldn’t walk or something?

“Glad to see you finally figured out we had to go this way,” he said, standing up.

Obviously, my kicks weren’t bone-breaking. “Guess we have to work together no matter what.”

“Yep,” he answered.

We walked in silence for about ten steps before I halfheartedly mumbled, “Sorry for kicking you.”

Mathias gave me a look out of the corner of his eye. “Guess I kinda deserved it.” I saw a sheepish smile cross his face. “It’s been a while since someone booted me that hard.”

We kept walking, not saying much else.

As we turned onto a street lined with several apartment buildings, Mathias spoke up again. “By the way, what I said about pitying you”—he turned his head to face me—“that wasn’t true. There’s nothing to pity about you.”

My shoulders relaxed. The last remnants of my resentment toward him drifted away.

“I still don’t understand why you got so mad,” I said, glancing over at the address written on the envelope Mathias held in his hand.

He shrugged. “I don’t like being treated like that.”

“She was just a cranky old lady,” I replied, adjusting my grip on the basket.

“Not her.” He pointed to the top floor of a redbrick building. “That’s our next stop.” He paused to look at me. “I know enough to ignore people like that old woman.… I meant you.”

“Me?”

Mathias sighed. “It’s bad enough that other people see
me as different because of my leg. I didn’t think you did.” He shook his head. “I could’ve carried that basket.”

The weight of his words landed on me like a pile of concrete. I knew that feeling. Always being seen as incompetent—less than what I was.

Mathias pressed a button next to the building’s main door marked
GOICOCHEA
. “My father said he’ll probably be home since he keeps bankers’ hours.”

“Vale,”
I whispered, wishing I could say something to prove that I understood how I’d made him feel.

The main door buzzed, although no one had asked who we were.

“Let’s go,” Mathias said, pushing the glass door open.

“Hey, Mathias, you want to take the basket for a while? It is getting heavy,” I said as we walked into the lobby.

“¿Ahora?”
he asked, and pointed with his
makila
to the tall spiral staircase in the center of the room. “You want me to carry it
now
?” He chuckled. “You’ve carried it this far, I think I can wait until we come back down the four flights of stairs before I help.”

I smiled. As usual, my timing was perfect.

TEN

W
e saved Padre Iñaki for our last delivery. It was a little after six-thirty when we approached the church rectory and knocked on the side door. Mathias had been carrying the basket with one hand and occasionally trying to balance it on his head. I’d offered to help carry it by holding up one side, but Mathias said we’d do it that way next week.… I knew he had something to prove. A young woman with long, dark hair opened the door and greeted us with a smile.