The Threads of the Heart by Carole Martinez

Author:Carole Martinez
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Europa Editions
Published: 2012-11-12T00:00:00+00:00

The last ridge

At the foot of the last ridge stretched the plain, covered with fields, meadows, woods, black in places from the fires that had been lighted after the harvest, green with broad, shady trees, swarming with men moving about in every direction, passing from one house to the next, one road to the next, one hamlet to the next. So the world had not gone away: one day’s walk from the old mill, it still throbbed with life.

“We’ll have to tell them about the miller,” said Angela.

“No, don’t breathe a word,” said Martirio with all the authority of her seven years. “Nobody would believe you anyway.”

The vegetation was thicker on the side of the great embankment they were starting to descend, and the two younger girls forgot the mill and amused themselves flushing out the cicadas whose chirping stopped abruptly at their approach. Then they gathered so many flowers and leaves that the cart became a paso, with Clara sitting on the sacks playing the role of the Virgin.

Angela began singing a religious song, holding a big stick as a candle. The voice went on, trilling its hymn, intoxicated with freedom and joy. At this point, three men on foot, armed with muskets and pulling a donkey, and a bright-eyed horseman emerged from behind the stones. The song stopped dead, and the children huddled in their mother’s still white skirts.

“Just married and already all these children!” said the youngest of the men. “You haven’t wasted any time! What about the father?”

“He’s right behind us,” my mother lied.

“We’ve been watching you for a while and all we’ve seen is a woman alone in a big wedding dress pulling a cart laden with all her brats. Got anything nice in those sacks?”

“Flour to feed my children.”

“Well, your flour can serve another cause.”

As the men seized the sacks, my mother and Angela screamed and held onto them with all their strength. It took two men to contain Frasquita’s anger, while the third tried to hold off the smaller of the two harpies, protecting himself as best he could from her teeth and claws.

The horseman dismounted. “Seeing that you’re dressed like a princess,” he said with a smile, “do you really only have this flour to survive on?”

“Nothing else,” replied my mother, her hair all disheveled.

“Strange woman, don’t you think, Salvador?” said the man who had spoken first, whose name was Manuel. “She doesn’t look like the women from around here. Where do you come from, my dear?”

“From Santavela, on the other side of the sierra.”

“And you want us to believe that you’ve come all this way pulling this stuff by youself?” the man said irritably, letting go of his donkey to try to immobilize Angela.

“Here!” said Salvador, holding out a purse. “This is for your pains. You can buy what you need in the village. Your daughter, the one who’s defending herself tooth and nail, has a really nice voice.”

Frasquita calmed down and Angela took refuge with the others against her mother’s body.

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