A Thunderous Whisper (8 page)

“¡Las sardinas! ¡Qué bueno!”
she exclaimed. “Come in, come in. Go ahead and set that basket over by the sink.” She ushered us into the kitchen, which was full of the heavenly aromas of onions, garlic, and spices melding together. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, turning her attention back to the pot on the stove. “I have to finish this
sopa de ajo
or else dinner will be ruined.”

“Sí, señora,”
I said, watching a little girl run into the room and hide behind the woman’s long gray skirt.

“Oh, you can call me Lupe, and”—she pried the child away from her leg—“this is Carmita, my daughter.”

Carmita sneaked a look at Mathias and me before burying her face in Lupe’s skirt again.

“I’m Mathias, and that’s—”

“Mami,
carga
,” Carmita interrupted, raising her arms to be carried.

“Shhh,” Lupe said to the little girl before wiping her hands on the apron in order to shake our hands. “
Un placer
to meet the two of you.”

“Ma-a-ami!” Carmita tugged on Lupe’s dress.

Ignoring her daughter’s demands, Lupe turned back to the stove to stir the pot once more. “When Padre Iñaki told me that we were getting a few sardines to feed the homeless, I couldn’t believe it. I don’t know how that man stretches the little money we collect.”

“Mami, up, up,” Carmita pleaded, throwing her head back to look at her mother.

“Not now.
Mira
.” Lupe pointed to some coins on a small silver platter. “You can help me by giving those to the pretty girl.”

“No!” Carmita pouted.
“¡Carga!”
she demanded, jumping up and down with her little arms raised.

I cringed as I saw Lupe untie her apron. I’d seen Mamá do the same thing when I was young. Although, with me, it wouldn’t have taken this long before I’d have been facing the back side of a wooden spoon.

“Vamos.”
Lupe bent down and picked the little girl up, tickling her tummy.

Carmita squealed with delight.

A sense of relief washed over me, and a huge smile spread across my face as Lupe carried her daughter to go look at the sardines.

“So, are you now doing deliveries without your mother?” Lupe asked, peering into the basket.

“Um, I … no … I mean, yes.…” I looked over at Mathias in a bit of a panic. My mind drew a blank. Was I supposed to say yes or no? Obviously, Lupe knew who I was. No clever story came to mind.

“Cat got your tongue, princess?” Mathias smiled, then directed himself to Lupe. “We’re only doing this on Mondays since her mother’s busy with the market. You’re actually our final delivery.” He raised the last of our envelopes in the air before placing it on the table. “This is for Padre Iñaki. Will you make sure he gets it?”

I shuffled my feet and stared at the ground, wishing I could slap my head for being such an idiot. All I had to say was the truth, and I’d almost blown it. Sometimes I needed to forget about making up a story.

Lupe nodded. “Of course. I’ll give it to him as soon as he arrives.” She gave me a quick glance before looking back at Mathias. “Princess, huh? That’s sweet.”

Mathias seemed confused for a moment, then his cheeks began to blaze as he realized that Lupe thought his nickname for me was a term of endearment. “Oh no. That’s just Ani. I didn’t mean—”

“Are you really a princess?” Carmita asked, staring at me as if I were some wondrous creature.

“No, sweetie, Ani is just a very pretty girl like you.” Lupe readjusted the little girl on her hip as she tilted the large basket. “Oh my, are all these for us?”

“Um.” I stole a quick glance at Mathias. I had already mentioned to Señor Beltran’s maid that he was donating sardines to the poor. And all the other customers wanted only one or two fish, even if they paid for several more. This would fit our story.

Mathias gave me a shrug, picked up a little rag doll from the kitchen counter, and started tapping Carmita’s arm with it.

“Oh no, it can’t all be for us.” Lupe shook her head. “We don’t have nearly enough money for it. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I just got confused because you mentioned we were the last ones.”

I knew that the church would stretch the sardines to feed a lot of people, and we’d already been paid enough for my Mamá to be satisfied.

“No, you’re right. They’re all for the church. Some were donated,” I said.

“Oh, how wonderful!” Lupe reached over to give both Mathias and me a hug—Carmita and her rag doll also getting sandwiched in.

“We need to get going,” Mathias said, backing out of the group hug.

“Well, we’ll definitely look forward to your visits on Mondays.” Lupe smiled and gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

I walked out of that kitchen feeling warmer and lighter than I had … well, than I had in a long time.

“She was really nice,” Mathias said as we strolled toward my apartment, which was only a few blocks from the church.

“Yeah, I’m glad we gave her all the sardines.” I tossed around the empty basket, which Mathias had agreed I could carry again.

“What do you want to do now?” he asked as we approached the point in the street where the cobblestones ended and the dirt road that led out of town began.

I shrugged.

Mathias lifted his shirt up to his nose. “We’re kind of smelly, and it’s not that late.” He looked up at the cloud-filled sky. It wouldn’t be getting dark for at least another hour. “You want to air out? Go to the field?” He pointed down the road with his
makila
.

My nose couldn’t register the odor of sardines on my clothes anymore, but I accepted the fact that we probably did smell. “By my tree?” I asked.

Mathias rolled his eyes. “It’s not
your
tree, but yes … let’s go there.”

We started down the road, and I fell two steps behind Mathias just to mutter, “It
is
mine.”

For most of our walk to the field, Mathias whistled a tune that sounded vaguely familiar. I kept trying to place the song, but, so far, all I knew was that it wasn’t a church hymn or anything traditionally Basque. It was catchy, though, and the
tap-tap-tap
of his
makila
kept the beat.

It made for a nice accompaniment to what was turning out to be one of the best days of my life. I stared at the passing gray clouds overhead. Even without the sun shining, I felt
warm inside. A part of me wanted to run as fast as I could, then dance and twirl around my oak tree. But I knew Mathias wouldn’t be able to do it, and leaving him behind felt wrong.

The sound of trotting horse hooves made me turn around. An old farmer with white hair and a short beard was approaching us in his wagon.

“
Kaixo
, Mathias!” the old man called out, pulling on his horse’s reins, slowing down right next to us.

“
Hola
, Garza.” Mathias gave him a slight nod. “How’s Julián? Is he feeling any better?”

“Little bit. Got him some more medicine here.” He patted a small brown bag next to him. “You going up there now? Seems a bit late, but he does enjoy your visits.” The old man’s gaze went from Mathias to me. “Or do you have other plans?”

“We’re just going out to the tree.” Mathias looked over at me. “This is my friend Ani.”

“Ah, nice to meet you, Ani. I’ve seen you out in the field by the tree many times with your father.” He pointed to a small house, midway up the mountain. “My wife and I live up there.”

Mathias leaned closer to me and whispered, “He owns this land … including
your
tree.”

I glanced down at my shoes. “Nice to meet you too, Señor Garza. I’m sorry if we weren’t supposed to be on your land.”

The old man threw his head back and laughed. “
Ay, mija
. Your visits to that old tree are like a blue jay landing … always a welcome guest. And you can just call me Garza, everyone else does.”

I smiled.
How had I never met this man?

“I’ll let you two young folks enjoy your free time.” He snapped the reins and looked over at Mathias. “Will you be visiting Julián tomorrow?”

Mathias nodded and waved as the wagon wheels picked up the dust of the road and the old man headed home.

Just as I was about to ask who Julián was, Mathias leaned over with a sly smile. “Told you the tree wasn’t yours.”

ELEVEN

S
itting under the tree with a friend was different from being with Papá or being alone. The air felt charged with possible adventures … all of them real, not imaginary. Over the years, my tree had taken on the role of an old piece of furniture, like my bed … something familiar and comfortable. But now it was as if I’d put a different bedspread on it, making it new again.

“There.” He pointed to the three small stacks of coins that were on the ground between us. “The first one covers what you said was the cost of the sardines, and the other two are our profit. I split it evenly, if you want to check.”

“
Vale
, I believe you,” I muttered, stroking the satin pouch in my pocket.

“What are you doing?” Mathias asked.

I whipped my hand out. “Nothing,” I said.

“C’mon, what do you have in there? Is it a lucky charm or something? A rabbit’s foot?”

“Ugh! No.” I crinkled my nose at the idea of having an
actual rabbit’s foot in my pocket. I reached in and pulled out the blue satin pouch to show him.

He scooted closer to me to see. “So, what’s in it?” he asked.

I untied the little rope around the top and pulled out my secret treasure. “My father gave it to me.”

“
¿Una bellota?
He gave you an acorn?”

“It’s not just any acorn. It’s the one we’re going to plant together when the war is over so that I’ll have my own tree.”

Mathias smiled and tilted his head. “I was just bothering you about that whole not-your-tree thing.”

“I know,” I said, standing up for a moment to tuck the pouch back into my skirt pocket. “But this one holds a promise.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a long story … one I made up when I was younger.” I sat down in front of him, excited to share one of my stories. “It’s about a princess who’s able to return home because of an acorn that—”

Mathias leaned back against the tree trunk. “Ha! You see? I knew you had royal blood in your veins. That’s why I called you princess,” he teased.

I gave him a scowl. “If you don’t want to hear the story …”

He nudged me gently with his leg. “I’m just foolin’. Go on.” He closed his eyes.

I stayed quiet.

A few seconds passed, and he opened one eye to look at me. “Aren’t you going to tell me the story?”

“Nope. Not anymore I won’t.”

“Fine, it probably wasn’t that good.”

“Oh no, it was really good … but you’ll never know.”

He shook his head. “Girls,” he muttered.

I stared up at the leaves overhead. “So, how do you know the Garzas?”

“Long story.” He paused for a moment, relishing our switch in roles, but when I didn’t react, he continued. “Garza and my grandfather fought together during the Great War. When we moved here, my father went to see him.”

“That’s it?” I asked.

“Um.” He paused. “Yeah.”

“Wow.” I widened my eyes in fake surprise. “That
was
a long story.”

“Funny.” Mathias’s gaze dropped down to his feet. “Thing is, when we got there, we found out his daughter and son-in-law had died and his grandson had polio.… They’d gotten it a while back during the epidemic in Madrid.”

“Polio?” I grimaced. “Can’t you catch that?”

Mathias shrugged. “He’s not contagious anymore. Plus, it’s not gonna hurt me anyway.… I already had it.”

I looked over at his leg. “Is that why you use the
makila
?”

Mathias nodded. “The poor kid has it really bad, though. He can’t walk at all.”

“How old is he?” I asked, thinking about my brother who’d died.

“Seven. But don’t get me wrong, he’s plenty tough.”

“It’s nice that you visit him.” I rolled on my stomach to watch a small black ant climb up and over one of the tree roots sticking out of the ground.

“Yeah, he gets bored living on a farm without other
kids around.” Mathias took off his beret and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Plus, I’ve been helping Garza around the farm.”

“Doing what?”

“Anything … everything. His sons joined the war, so he doesn’t have much help. Plus, I like the work.”

I lifted my head to look at Mathias. “Farming?”

Mathias moved to lie flat on the ground. He stretched his arms over his head as if willing himself to get taller. “Yeah. Anything wrong with that?”

“No, just didn’t think you liked that sort of thing. Thought you were all about being a spy … making a difference.”

“There are lots of ways to make a difference. Garza says I’m a natural farmer.”

“What else does Garza tell you?” I teased.

“He tells me stories and stuff that might come in handy one day. Besides, I could be a spy and use being a farmer as my cover.”

I propped my head on one hand. “What kind of stories?”

“Mostly war stories. Tips on how to be a good soldier. Like remembering to breathe and listen before firing your gun because you can aim better when you know which direction the enemy is shooting from. Also to never run in a straight line because zigzagging targets are much harder to hit.”

“Sounds pretty obvious.”

“Well, of course.” He rolled his eyes at me. “Good advice usually is. But the one thing he says I should always remember is, if under attack, find a foxhole and stay there … especially if there’s a bombing run.”

“Bombing? Hmph, I don’t think that’ll really happen.” I stuck out my finger and watched a little ant crawl up and over it, continuing on the path set by the other ants. “Look how many false alarms we have every week. Lots of people don’t even go to the shelters anymore when they hear the bells and sirens.”

“That’s because they take things for granted. My father makes us go down to the shelter near the theater every single time.”

“Well, my mother says that when your time is up, it’s up. She keeps on selling … siren or no siren. Plus, what could anyone really want to destroy here … the Guernica Tree? What kind of commander wastes bombs on an oak?”