The Poet's Wife by Rebecca Stonehill

Author:Rebecca Stonehill [Stonehill, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Historical, Women's Fiction, Contemporary Women, Contemporary Fiction, Romance, Sagas
ISBN: 9781909490529
Amazon: B00NFZTSDC
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2014-09-25T16:00:00+00:00

Luisa

Autumn 1937

As the people of my country continue to murder one another, the fall of the orange tree awakes in my husband a primal anger that now comes cascading out of him, breathing fire like a dragon. Of course, it is not just the tree that suddenly transforms Eduardo into a more political being, it is the death of García Lorca and it is his sense of injustice and I am certain it must also be his love for all of us; to right the wrongs that good people the length and breadth of our country are suffering. He begins to attend rallies, calling for the return of democracy, and though to begin with he only goes once in a while, it is not long before he is attending as many as possible, as though making up for all these years that he has been politically apathetic.

‘This is what Federico would have wanted,’ he tells me, his eyes shining bright with feverish excitement, ‘do you not see that it’s the only way? That if enough of us come together, we can overthrow the fascists?’

I breathe deeply, trying hard not to show him how terrified his words make me. Has he completely forgotten what Miguel said to us? There are eyes and ears all over Granada and people that we love have vanished without trace. But I know how Eduardo feels about Miguel and, in his volatile state, I cannot bear risking his fury by bringing his brother’s words to his attention.

So life continues in this troubling way. I write often to Isabel and María and draw comfort from the letters they both write back to me as often as they are able. How different their lives are from one another. My first-born is witnessing the effects of war at its very worst and yet, despite the suffering of those she is nursing, her letters are growing in maturity and I sense, perhaps in the way only a mother is able, that she has found her path in life. María, on the other hand, could not be further from the horrors of war and I feel nothing but relief for her. Dear Solomon is making her happy and they are living high-society life in Geneva, with weekend trips out to a chalet in the mountains Solomon has bought. I shake my head and smile. My daughters could not be more dissimilar; it is small wonder they have never been close.

Eduardo is no longer able to work. Even had this been otherwise, his income would not be much comfort to us, for the price of food from the market has rocketed. I leave the house twice weekly with one or two others to go to the black market districts. It sickens me that I am forced to purchase basic foodstuffs, the right of every human, for such an extortionate price. Yet this is a time of war and, though it does not feel like it, I know we are one of the lucky families.

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