A Thunderous Whisper (9 page)

Mathias shrugged. “Still. You never know.”

“I think boys just like to talk about war,” I said.

Mathias closed his eyes again and laid his head back. “That’s because there’s always a war to talk about, princess. Always.”

TWELVE

T
he school day seemed to drag on longer than normal.

All I could think of was that there was an exciting world outside and that suddenly I was a part of it.

I stared at the pages of my book, not really reading the words. The jarring sound of the school bell and the rustling of the students getting up from their desks snapped me back to the world at hand. My usual routine of having to meet Mamá in front of our building to help with the sardine sales could explain why I was never in a rush to get out the door.

As I trudged along the school’s courtyard, my thoughts kept wandering to all the “what if” scenarios that working with the spies might bring.
What if we messed up and lost a letter? What if we got caught? What if—

“Hey, princess! Over here!” a voice called out.

Usually I kept my eyes fixed on the ground, but the voice made me look up.

“¡Aquí!”
It was Mathias, standing by the archway closest
to the front steps. He was waving his
makila
in the air, trying to get my attention.

My first instinct was to run over to him, but then I remembered where we were. School. Other kids were around. And he had just said “princess,” not “Sardine Girl.” This would not be good.

I casually walked over, looking around to see if anyone noticed. “What are you doing here?” I asked in a hushed voice.

“Father wants us to make more deliveries … on Fridays as well as Mondays. Can you do it?”

I glanced behind me. There still wasn’t anyone paying attention to me … as usual. “I don’t know. Mamá was happy with the money I brought home last night, but I don’t think she’ll let me skip a day of working with her.” I glanced up at the clock at the top of the school building. It was five after five. “In fact, she’s expecting me now. I have to get going.”

Mathias stayed put. “She’ll make extra money by selling on her own and having you make deliveries with me. Your mother will say yes if you just explain it to her.”

I shook my head. “You don’t know my mother.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw some boys on the other side of the courtyard cluster together.

“Ani, it’s important.” Mathias clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “Please,” he pleaded. “Father says there’s a lot of activity. He might even clue me in to what’s going on, but first we have to do this. We can do them real fast, in an hour
or so. I have to be home before sunset for Shabbat anyway, so you can meet up with your mom after we’re done. C’mon, I already told him we would.”

“You should’ve talked to me before agreeing to it,” I said, glancing over his shoulder just in time to see one boy point his finger our way. I looked back at Mathias. “And what’s Shabbat anyway?”

“Jewish day of rest and prayer. You’ve never heard of it?”

I shook my head, watching as a few boys began to cross the courtyard.

“On Fridays before sundown, Mother lights candles, and we have a special dinner. When we were in Berlin, I’d even go to synagogue with my grandparents and—Are you even listening to me?”

“Let’s talk about this somewhere else.” I put my hand on Mathias’s elbow, trying to usher him away from the school and the boys who were now making a beeline toward us.

“Why? What’s the rush? And you still haven’t told me if you’ll even do the Friday deliveries.”

“Fine, I’ll figure something out and do them.” I tugged on his shirtsleeve with a greater sense of urgency. “Let’s just go.”

“What has you—” He turned around to follow my gaze.

“
Mira, mira
. Sardine Girl has herself a boyfriend!” a voice exclaimed.

Sabino, the school bully, was now only a few feet away from us, with the rest of the boys huddled behind him.

“Ha!” He pointed to Mathias’s
makila
. “And he’s
un cojo
. Can’t even walk straight.… Isn’t that just perfect?” Sabino called back to his friends, who had stopped to watch.

I pulled on Mathias’s suspender. “
Vámonos
. Let’s just go,” I said, knowing that Sabino was not someone you messed around with. It was better to ignore and be ignored.

“You have a problem?” Mathias squared his shoulders and thrust out his chest as Sabino got within a few feet of us.

Sabino laughed while everyone in the courtyard stopped to stare. By now, he and Mathias stood only a few inches apart. “No problem here, my brother,” he announced in a loud voice. “Just surprised to see Sardine Girl with someone.”

“Don’t call her that,” Mathias said in a voice deeper than his own.

Sabino laughed. “Why not? That’s what she is.… Can’t you
smell
that I’m right? She’s just plain old Sardine Girl.”

I pulled at Mathias again. “Forget it. Let’s go.”

Mathias pushed away my hand. “I said not to call her that!” His eyes narrowed as he stared at Sabino.

“Fine, tough guy.” Sabino forced another chuckle. “If you like Sardine Girl, I don’t mind. Guess there’s no accounting for taste”—he pinched his nose and looked to the crowd—“or smell.”

Laughter broke out all around.

That’s when Mathias did it. In a split second, he let go of his
makila
and drove his fist forward, landing it squarely on the side of Sabino’s jaw.

A hush fell over the schoolyard as Sabino staggered back a step. I waited for him to unleash his fury on Mathias, but instead his eyes glazed over, his knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground.

“¿Alguien más?”
Mathias asked, looking at the boys in the crowd, his fists ready for a fight.

No one stepped forward.

In fact, people started walking away and turning their backs on the whole scene while a couple of boys dragged Sabino off.

“Just go,” an older boy who had rushed over told Mathias. “No one needs any more trouble from the likes of you.”

“Trouble from us?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Eres un idiota,”
I muttered, shaking my head. “You have no idea what really goes on here.”

The boy just shrugged and tried to break up the crowd.

“Vamos,”
I said to Mathias as I bent down to pick up his
makila
. “I think you proved your point.”

“Good,” he said, rubbing his knuckles for a moment. He had a smug look as he whispered, “Guess my dad was right.”

“About what?”

He clenched and unclenched his hand, trying to stretch out his fingers. “He always says that the one who punches first punches last.”

A smile spread across my face as I realized we were truly friends. I held out the
makila
for him. “Sabino had it coming. But I have to admit, I didn’t know you could hit like that.”

Mathias took the walking stick, and we headed out of the schoolyard. “Yeah, well, the truth is, I’m pretty sure I only had one punch in me.”

I gave him a little nudge with my elbow. “Don’t worry. With a fist like that, that’s all you’ll ever need.”

THIRTEEN

A
bird screeched overhead. I glanced up as it circled once before landing on the corner of my building. I could see the twigs from its nest sticking up, and I imagined baby birds greeting their mother with open beaks. One day soon those birds would be old enough to fly, and then
bam!
Their mother would kick them out of the nest. Fly or fall … no in-between.

“
¿Qué tú haces?
Looking into that gray sky, waiting for the world to end?”

I turned my attention back to the cobblestone street to see Mamá standing next to me with the large basket on her head. “No. I’m just—”

“Doesn’t matter. We have work to do. Are you ready to go?” She thrust the brass scale and weights into my hands.

For two days I’d been waiting for the right moment to ask Mamá about doing the Friday deliveries with Mathias, but there never seemed to be a good time. Lately, she’d been in a fouler mood than usual. Always complaining about the
refugees escaping the front lines and flooding into Guernica or about the failures of the government that got us into this Civil War mess. I had to be extra careful to stay out of her way while I was home just to avoid the belt.

At least school wasn’t bad. At first I was worried that there’d be some kind of fallout from the Mathias-Sabino fight, but it had all been relatively normal. There were whispers and a few fingers pointed in my direction, but I think Sabino took more grief about it than I did.

“
Vámonos, neska
. The main streets are filling up with riffraff from every other neighboring city, and it’s going to be tougher to make our sales.”

I followed her down the street. “But won’t some of them buy sardines? Maybe become our customers?” There had to be a way to put her in a better mood.

She turned quickly around, never losing the balance of the basket that was perched on the small rag atop her head.
“No seas tonta.”
She pursed her lips as if she couldn’t believe I was her daughter. “You can’t be that ignorant.” She reached up to shift the basket. “Those people won’t buy anything. They’re living on handouts. Running from the front lines and coming here. If anything, we might get a few of them trying to steal the sardines. So walk faster and watch our things. We need every
peseta
we can get.”

“Sí, señora,”
I replied, walking alongside her.

This was it. Things weren’t going to get better. I had to speak up. With a deep breath, I took the plunge. “Mamá, I know how we can make some more money.”

She didn’t break her stride nor cast a glance my way.

I continued. “Mathias says his customers want deliveries twice a week—Mondays and Fridays. I can do those deliveries while you do the normal sales and we’ll both be making money.”

“Hmph, sounds like sardines are becoming more fashionable.” She paused and placed the basket on the ground. “Or the rich are becoming more like us poor folks.”

“I guess,” I muttered, not wanting to press her for an answer.

She wiped her face with her shirtsleeve and stretched her back. I’d just joined her, but she’d been selling all day.

Those few seconds seemed to last forever. Finally she spoke up. “Guaranteed sales are always a good thing,” she said, almost talking to herself instead of me. Her lips twitched back and forth before she gave me a slight nod. “Fine, I’ll do the Friday rounds on my own. After all, before you were born,
neska
, I always did them by myself.” She heaved the basket back up to her head. “Never expected you to stay with me for too long,” she said before resuming her walk down the street, yelling in Basque and Spanish,
“¡Sardina frescue! ¡Sardina fresca!”

I guess baby birds weren’t the only ones learning to leave their nests.

As we rounded a corner, strong winds whipped around Mamá’s billowing black skirt, puffing it out like a parachute. Even though we hadn’t made any sales, I wore a silly grin on my face, knowing that I’d soon have another day of deliveries with Mathias.

“¡Señora! ¡Señora!”
someone from behind us called out.

Mamá and I turned around, thinking we were about to make a sale.

It was the postman, carrying his gray sack across his body and waving an envelope.
“¡Una carta!”
he shouted.

“A letter?” In one quick motion, Mamá removed the basket from her head and dropped it on the ground. She ran over because we both knew who it would be from.

I picked up the large basket, which sat in the middle of the street, struggled a bit with its weight, and waddled over to join Mamá, who had already torn open the envelope.

“It’s from Papá?”

Mamá nodded without looking at me. She was completely immersed in what Papá had written.

After a minute or so, I saw her eyes begin to glisten with tears that would never be allowed to fall.

Her shoulders sagged and she sighed. “The fool,” she whispered, thrusting the paper toward me and grabbing the basket.

I walked and read the letter at the same time.

Papá wrote that he was safe, but that he was being reassigned from his job in the kitchen to actually fighting on the front lines. Apparently, some of the injured were being sent to prepare the food, and those who were still healthy like him were being sent to battle.

I stopped reading for a moment as I crossed the street. Mamá never once looked back to see if I was still there.

I returned to Papá’s letter. He said that he was fighting to protect us and his homeland, and that he’d do his
best to come back in one piece. He asked that Mamá and I take care of each other and never forget how much he loved us. At the bottom of the letter, he’d drawn a picture of our oak tree.

I stopped walking. My heart and thoughts wanted to soar into the sky, catch the April breeze, and float until they found Papá.

Why did he leave us? Weren’t we more important than this stupid war? How could he risk his life when I needed him so much?

Fear and pain stewed into anger.

“¡Neska!”
Mamá called out.

I clenched my fist and crinkled the letter. I wasn’t sure if I was mad at Mamá for thinking Papá was a fool, or at Papá and myself for being foolish enough to think we could make a difference.

By eight-thirty the streets had grown dark and we were headed home. Long shadows cast out whenever we walked near the lampposts, and although we’d sold almost all the sardines, our mood could not have been more grim.

Mamá and I didn’t speak, because nothing needed to be said. We both knew where our lives were headed, and it was a road that we’d apparently travel without Papá.

As we got closer to our building, I saw the familiar silhouette of a boy with his
makila
.

I sighed. I definitely didn’t want to hear any of Mathias’s talk about war or doing something important. I just wanted to be left alone.