The Last Song (8 page)

I snuck upstairs to my room without anyone seeing me. Sofia helped me change. I was rushing so much that I was still out of breath when I went to look for Mama. She was in the courtyard, walking. She kissed me on the forehead.

“Luis is coming for supper tonight,” she said.

“Again?” I asked, stepping in line with her stroll.

A tightening of her lips was the only sign that she had heard me. “Change into another dress,” she continued.

I lifted the green skirt of the gown I was wearing. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Nothing. Your dress is pretty enough, but you have nicer ones.” She cocked her head. “Let me see … wear your yellow gown, the one embroidered with silver threads. It’s important that you look your best tonight.”

She quickened her pace and walked toward the entrance to the house, leaving me behind.

I called after her. “Oh, Mama! You know how I feel about –”

She turned around and stopped. “No time for that now!” she said with an impatient wave.

I did not dare to disobey her.

Sofia tamed my curls with a snood. I changed into one of my most elegant dresses. My skirts whispered along the stone floor in a dignified manner as I walked. Only the tips of my jeweled slippers were visible. I could not have looked more different from the grimy Jewish boy I’d pretended to be at the city gates. I kept my eyes cast down modestly as I made my way toward the ornate trestle table in the middle of the dining hall. Papa and Luis rose from their seats.

Mama looked as handsome as ever in red silk. “You are late, daughter,” she said.

The doors to the hall burst open. Two servants entered, carrying a suckling pig on a large silver tray. A large apple was in the pig’s mouth, and the animal was surrounded by a mountain of cabbage and other vegetables from our garden. I glanced at Mama. This was the first time that I had seen pork served in our home.
She did not meet my gaze, her hand fluttering at her throat. I sat down beside her, across the table from Luis. He nodded in my direction but did not greet me.

“So much food for the three of us. The servants must be hungry!” Papa laughed.

He sliced off a large piece of pork and put it on Luis’s plate. He cut another slice and started to pass it to Mama.

She pushed away his hand. “My stomach is queasy. I better not eat anything tonight – although there is nothing I like more than pork roasted in a pit!”

“You must have some of this delicious meat.” Papa’s voice was steely. “It’ll settle your stomach.” He put the meat on Mama’s plate and added some cabbage. Then it was my turn before he helped himself to the pork.

My father ate calmly, his face determined. Mama cut her meat into small pieces. I noticed that she ate only the cabbage, that not a single mouthful of the pork touched her lips. She toyed with her food, covering the meat with the rest of her cabbage. I chewed and chewed, but the unfamiliar taste made me nauseous. I shot a quick glance at Luis. He was intent on tearing away at his meat greedily with his hands, grease shining on his chin.

Suddenly, he looked up. My expression must have revealed my disgust.

“You don’t approve of my appetite, my lady? Or
perhaps you don’t like pork?” His voice was harsh.

I realized that it would be foolish and dangerous to antagonize him. I smiled flirtatiously. “Pork is my favorite dish. I am glad that you are enjoying your food. A man must eat to remain strong!”

He laughed. I balled my fists to prevent myself from hitting him.

“Tell me, Isabel, how was your day? What did you do today?” Luis’s eyes burrowed into my face.

I forced myself to speak in a languid tone. “I must confess that I was lazy today. I walked in the rose garden. You should come with me sometimes, Luis,” I forced myself to say.

He grunted in reply.

“After my walk, I worked at my loom. I saw Father Juan for my weekly catechism lessons. Then I rested in my room for a while.” I leaned toward him. “What about you, my lord? How did you spend your day?”

Mama was staring at me in surprise. She was used to curt replies whenever Luis addressed me.

“I went with friends to the bullfight.”

I picked up my fan and hid behind it. “Was it to your liking?”

“Excellent. The matador gored the bull.” He laughed at the poor animal’s cruel fate and turned his attention back to his meal.

“Sofia, come and help me get ready for bed!” I called down the stairs.

She rushed into my bedchamber, her face flushed, her skirts askew.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I am glad that you called me, young mistress. It gave me the excuse to get away from that Habib!”

“Habib?”

“Don Luis’s new servant. You would think that he had more hands than an octopus.” She straightened her skirts. “You can be sure that I boxed his ears!” She came closer. “Be careful, mistress,” she whispered. “Habib was asking about you. He wanted to know where you had gone today.”

Were secretiveness and deceit another two of Luis’s virtues? He had not revealed his suspicions to me at dinner tonight. “What did you say to Habib?”

She drew herself up to her full height. “Young mistress, you know that I would never betray you. I told him exactly what you told me to say if anyone asked – that you were resting in your chamber most of the afternoon.” She shook her head. “I still don’t think you should be gallivanting about with that Jewish boy, especially without a chaperone, even if the Jews are not as
bad as I thought before. They seemed no different from other folks when I went to their Juderia.”

I patted her hand. “Thank you, Sofia. I know how much I can rely on you.” I could see by the smile playing on her lips that my compliment pleased her.

I tossed and turned in my bed for hours that night, my fears keeping sleep away. Had Luis recognized me at the gate to the city? If he did, why didn’t he say so?

C
HAPTER 7
 

I
t was the week before Christmas and the house was filled with the aromas of cooking. I knew that an elaborate feast would be waiting for us when we returned from mass. Tia Juana and Brianda would be joining us. I was glad of their company, for our house seemed so empty. Two days ago, Papa had left us for the royal court in Granada. The armies of Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand were waging war against the Moors. Their majesties were embarked upon the re-conquest of the Kingdom of Granada and of the Alhambra Palace, the Moorish stronghold. The armies of the caliphs had occupied Granada many years ago, but our queen and king were determined to win it back for Christendom. I missed Papa and prayed every day for his safe return.

There was another absence – and I was glad of it. Luis had left Toledo to spend the holidays on his family’s estate in the kingdom of Aragon. I felt safe for the first time since I met him. Mama shared my feelings.

“It’ll be a pleasure not to have to serve pork, as we always do when he comes for dinner,” she said.

The air was fresh and cool when Mama and I walked to the cathedral, the Church of Santo Tome. Yussuf led the way, making way for us through the streets. We found Tia Juana and Brianda waiting at the church, in the midst of an excited crowd. Their manservant was with them, making sure that nobody jostled them.

“What’s happening here?” Mama asked.

“Three heretics are trying to enter the house of our Lord,” Tia Juana said. “The crowd won’t let them go inside.”

“Perhaps we should go home,” Mama suggested. “I don’t think it’s safe here.”

“I don’t want to miss mass! It’s Christmas next week.”

Mama slapped her forehead with her palm. “You are right, Juana. I forgot for a moment. Let’s wait a little longer and see what happens.”

I was standing close enough to hear the little sigh that had escaped her. “You may leave us, Yussuf,” Mama said. “Ahmed will see us home safely.”

Tia Juana’s burly slave nodded his head.

“There are so many people here, Doña Catarina,” Yussuf protested.

“Don’t worry. We will wait beside the entrance until everybody has gone inside.”

The Moor reluctantly bid us good-bye and left.

The people around us began to jeer when the three young men in the sambenitos tried to fight their way through the mob, only to be pushed back, again and again. One of them fell, but his friends saved him from being trampled by quickly pulling him to his feet. The boy turned around and – for the first time – I saw his face. It was Alberto from Yonah’s Torah class in the basement of the bakery. His nose was bleeding and one of his eyes was starting to swell shut. His elegant clothes were in tatters. His eyes widened when he saw me, but he turned his head away. I felt certain that he had recognized me.

I took a step toward him, but Mama pulled me back. She was right to do so. What could I do against the anger of so many people? There was no way I could help Alberto.

“These boys should go home,” I told Mama. “This crowd will never let them into the church.”

“They can’t go home,” Mama said in an expressionless voice. “The Inquisition ordered them to confess
their sins publicly in church every Sunday. They must listen to Father Juan’s sermons in order to learn the teachings of our Lord. If they don’t follow the rulings of the Inquisition, they will be punished.”

“The holy office should have ordered them to be burned at the stake! They are Marranos who commit heresy.” Tia Juana spat on the ground. I was shocked not only because of her crude behavior, but because I didn’t recognize the aunt I knew, always ready for jollity, always full of compliments. “Look at what they are doing.” She pointed her fan at the desperate young men.

Alberto had torn off his sambenito and was twirling it over his head. The crowd parted in horror, leaving an open path to the church.

“Go away! Don’t touch us with that sambenito! Keep it away from us!” they cried.

Alberto kept twirling it around and around. He was grinning as he and the other penitents rushed into the church. The people surrounding them streamed in after them, careful to keep their distance. We were the last to enter. The carved wooden pews at the front, where we always sat, were waiting for us. The boys knelt in front of the altar, loudly confessing their sins.

“Repent!” cried a fat senora beside me.

“Give yourself up to Christ or you won’t be saved,”
Father Juan said to them as he came to stand at the pulpit.

He began his sermon. I tried to pay attention, but my eyes became heavier and heavier. They flew open when I felt Brianda’s elbow in my side.

“Thank you!” I whispered.

I looked around to keep awake. The church’s walls were festooned with the sambenitos of the heretics who had been burned alive at the stake during different autos-de-fé.

“So many sambenitos,” I whispered to Mama. “They should take them off the wall.”

She rolled her eyes. “They are supposed to be reminders to the families of the condemned heretics. They are warnings to them not to follow in the footsteps of their relatives,” she whispered. “They are a warning to us all.”

Her words filled me with fear.

The sermon was finally over. Organ music filled the church, entering my soul. The smell of incense was pungent and familiar. When it was my turn to kneel before Father Juan to receive the sacraments, the wine tasted sour in my mouth and the host was bitter. I thought that my heart would break.