The Winterlings (26 page)
âSweet Mother of Mary! It's the red stockings made from the parachutes of the German enemy! What I wouldn't give for a pair like that ⦠They even match my car!' He let out a chortle, but seeing Dolores' severe disposition, he stopped laughing and continued talking. âBut none of us believed him ⦠the priest, that is. The womenfolk were sure the body of that Tomás, your Tomás, was in the cowshed, because one time Meis' Widow said she saw a hand rising out of the gorse branches. And also, someone saw you getting him down off the wagon when you arrived in Tierra de Chá â¦'
âI think I'll put this dress on her,' said Dolores, again speaking as if she couldn't hear a word of his macabre speech. âGive me a hand, please, lift up her feet.'
Tenderlove did as he was told, but he couldn't keep his eyes off the stockings. He was holding up her feet when Saladina's mouth popped open. Her new teeth shone whiter and brighter than ever. The dental mechanic stopped in his tracks and stared at them. Dolores understood at once.
âGet of here at once, you tooth-pulling quack! Out of my house!'
Tenderlove took a step back.
âI'm sick of being treated like a monster,' he boomed. âPulling out teeth from dead peoples' mouths is nothing compared to pulling out brains and killing husbands ⦠No one asked you to return. We were just fine here. Don't you realise now that both of you need to get away from here ⦠that
you
need to go, at all costs? I can't even explain it to you! You should never have come back!'
Dolores grabbed the broom and raised it in front of the dental mechanic. But suddenly she stopped.
âExplain yourself! Can someone explain this to me? Why do you need me to leave? And what the hell happened to my grandfather on that October night in 1936?'
But Tenderlove wouldn't say a word more. He closed the door and walked off, lightly swaying, down the main road.
The Winterling shook with fury as she dressed her sister. âTurn over, Sala, turn over,' she said. âGive me your hand, Sala, I'm going to dress you, help you get dressed. When at last she had her ready, she plaited her hair and put lipstick on her. âThere we are!'
With great difficulty, she managed to get her into the box.
20
1936 â¦
As he walked down the road, Mr Tenderlove saw the images of that frosty October night file past in his mind.
The priest had told him that Don Reinaldo was hiding in the church. In the vestry there was a trapdoor, and the Winterlings' grandfather had spent months down there, stashed away next to the supplies he sent up every day to be shared out.
After barely two days, the whole town was gathering there. From the trapdoor, they asked for the return of the contracts of sale for their brains, saying that they didn't want to end up like Esperanza and old lady Resurrección. It was this, and not the food, that truly had everyone worried. Don Reinaldo repeated that if that was what they wanted, then they needed to give him back the money.
There were insults and arguments.
Two days later, the Civil Guard arrived at the church. Someone had informed them that the Bolshevik doctor, friend to the poets, was hidden inside somewhere. At gunpoint, they rounded up the whole village. They tried to force the priest to reveal the secret hiding place in the vestry, but he refused; he said he'd never be a snitch like Tenderlove.
Then the guards started shouting and asking the others to collaborate.
Everyone was there, sitting among the pews: the baker's wife, the shoemaker, Uncle Rosendo, who hung his head, Meis' Widow, who trembled slightly, Tristán, who was giggling nervously â¦
Finally the priest, cornered, said that it wasn't up to him to decide if they'd give up Don Reinaldo. He said that everyone else in the pews knew exactly where that man was hiding too.
One by one, the guards asked around. First Uncle Rosendo said that Don Reinaldo was close, very close ⦠Then Meis' Widow said that that was true, he was somewhere in the vestry. The guards inspected the vestry, and without finding anything, they continued their interrogation. Two old ladies began crying, and Tristán commented, as if it were nothing, that there was a trapdoor in the vestry. Aunty Esteba told them exactly where it was. It was the priest who, at last, told them how to open it, because there was a bit of a trick to it.
It was raining, and the bats flew in circles up and down through the air.
Dolores went out of the house and walked towards the shed. She got out the shovel, and began to dig next to the fig tree. When she had a nice big hole, she dragged her sister's coffin out of the house. She put it in the hole and covered it with dirt. Then she went back inside. With determination, she picked up one of the Singer sewing machines and went upstairs. She dragged it over to the window. She was shaking. âOf course we had some good times,' she said to herself. And then she hurled it out.
The machine bounced off one of the branches of the fig tree and shattered on the ground.
She went back downstairs, and then came up again with the second Singer. She hurled it out the window as well.
Throwing the machines away like that seemed so beautiful to her.
Two hours later, Tenderlove's car came around the corner, followed by a group of people.
Those inside got out. At the head of the party was the priest, with a mean glint in his eye. Behind him came Tenderlove and Tristán, and some of the women. Uncle Rosendo cowered behind the Widow's swollen belly.
The rain kept falling. They opened their umbrellas and positioned themselves in a circle around the front door. Black crows cut through the grey day. They saw the remains of the sewing machines, the spools broken, the wheel in pieces. The earth turned over next to the fig tree.
A pair of Civil Guards also came with the group, and they stopped in front of the house and knocked on the door. They yelled that they had come to search the cowshed, due to some neighbours locating a suspicious cadaver ⦠that had been wrapped in a sheet and tied with cord.
But no one responded. The Winterling was no longer there.
Nobody saw her slip off through the cornfields.
Perhaps along the road that leads to Portugal.
Author's Acknowledgments
I would like to thank Luciana Gil, Elisabeth Sánchez-Andrade, Patricia Sánchez, and especially Nuria Barrios for their generous and patient critiques.
I would also like to thank my aunts, especially MarÃa Paz, who inherited their passion for storytelling from my grandmother, for their patience in bringing all these stories and characters back to life. And thanks also to my mother Bárbara, who accompanied me through the lands of Galicia in search of family memories.
