The Click of a Pebble by Barbara Spencer

Author:Barbara Spencer [Spencer, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781838590888
Publisher: Troubador
Published: 2019-06-22T22:00:00+00:00

15

The following day, from out of nowhere, a bitter wind arose signalling the end of summer, and sending the two little girls scurrying into the shelter of Maestro’s arms. The grape pickers caught on the open hillside ceased their chatter, the heat of the previous day lapsing into memory as quickly as the wind had arisen. Flying along lines of greenery, they ripped bunches of ripe grapes from their stems, determined to clear the field before the icy blast had time to sour the juice and ruin the vintage. Aching backs were forgotten as they ran the heavy crates up the slope, the ancient tractor lumbering to the rescue like some knight in rust-pitted armour, as anxious to gather up the harvest as the pickers were.

Eventually leaving the final few rows, they hurried along the track from the winery, Pepe pushing the handcart at a speed that made Delors and Tatania shriek, their delight mingled with fear at the pace he was setting. Following behind, the coloured scarves of the women fluttered in the brutal wind as bright as the banners of an invading army.

By now every vestige of light had vanished, the air midnight-black, with lowering clouds so heavy with water they brushed the treetops, and by the time they had reached the shelter of the barn, they were wet through.

A week of rain followed, the children cooped up indoors. Unused to girls and overwhelmed by their noisy chattering, Yöst wandered about the house finding the rain-soaked days wearisome, almost unending. It was a new experience. On the island, rain had made little or no difference. He and his friends had gone about as Zeus intended, frolicking in and out of the ocean, none of them overly bothered by the wet conditions. Only if the beaches were ice-ridden did they don jackets and trousers and perhaps play cards round the fire, gossiping about everything and nothing. Sometimes one of the cobs, too old for the annual migration or desirous of spending more time with a new woman, would entertain the youngsters, telling tales about lands they had visited where tigers and elephants ruled; others describing mountains so tall they were snow-covered all year.

But here, powerless to speak freely, forced to examine each word before speaking it aloud, that first week of idleness proved so long-drawn-out, it could well have lasted seven years rather than seven days. Witnessing his restless wandering, Pascual set him to teach the younger ones their letters, while the older girls worked at their sewing. Despite her intervention, only their family meal in the evening offered any real respite from the tedium. Even then, Katarina had not donned her gold dress and black shoes again, to conjure up the magic of the dance. Nor had Maestro kept his promise to play his guitar. His good humour had vanished with the sun, replying with a grumbling and spiteful answer to any request, and ignoring his guitar, leaving it untouched in a corner next to his bed.

‘What a fool that boy is,’ he sneered, watching Rico struggle with a heavy pail of water for the horses.

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