A Thunderous Whisper (20 page)

The old man immediately took his wife by the hand. “Come,” he said, walking back to the wagon.

“You know who showed up here? Wait.” She looked around. “You didn’t bring back a doctor?”

Garza shook his head. “Graciela, the town is in ruins. There are so many people hurt.” He looked up as a thick raindrop hit his shoulder. “They can’t spare anyone. After the storm passes, I’ll take those with the worst injuries to one of the makeshift hospitals they’ve set up.” He reached into one of the baskets in the back of the wagon. “But first, look at this.”

I watched as he pulled out a bundle wrapped in a blanket.

“¡Ay, Dios mío!”
Señora Garza clasped her hands before taking the bundle and cradling it in her arms. A tiny hand poked up. “But why did you bring him here?”

Garza pointed to the baskets in the wagon. “Padre Iñaki asked me to care for these four. He’s trying to find their families, but they need a place to stay for now. He sent a few others to the Eguiguren farm too. I told him the names of the other children we have, and he’ll try to find their relatives as well.”

The raindrops splattered against the ground, one drop landing on my forehead and then another on my hand. I barely noticed. The wagon felt like a magnet, lifting me off
the ground and pulling me closer. Seconds later, I was standing next to the wagon, peering over the side.

Garza gave me a strange look, then a flash of recognition crossed his face when he realized who I was.

“
Espérate
, aren’t you … Mathias’s friend?”

“
Sí
. I’m—”

“Is Mathias …,” he asked just as Mathias came around the corner of the house, still carrying the ax.

“Mathias!” he yelled, running toward him. “Mathias! I can’t believe … Are you … you look … 
¿y tus padres?
”

Mathias looked away, not wanting to meet the old man’s eyes. He didn’t have to answer his question. The look on his face said what had happened to his parents.

Garza stopped in his tracks and took off his beret, momentarily closing his eyes.
“Maldita guerra,”
he muttered.

“We have to end this war … once and for all,” Mathias told him. “You’ll help me, right?”

Garza put an arm around Mathias and walked back toward us as the fat raindrops continued to slowly fall. “The way things are going for us, I fear the end will be here soon enough.”

Mathias stopped. “Fear? Now’s not the time to be afraid. You fought with the French in the Great War. You weren’t afraid twenty years ago! You know there’s only one thing left to do.” His eyes met mine as he said, “I need to join the fight!”

Garza sighed. “
Ay
, Mati, you don’t even know what you’d be getting yourself into. You’re so young.… War is not what you imagine it to be.”

“Imagine?” Mathias pulled away from the old man. “I
don’t need to imagine it.… I’ve seen it up close. It was there on my parents’ faces when they were lying under a pile of rubble.” His eyes darted from Garza to Garza’s wife, then to me. “If you won’t help me, then I’ll do it myself. You’ll see. I
will
make them pay!”

He slammed the ax into the ground.

“And if you won’t help me, then you can all go to hell!” he yelled as he stomped back to the house before any of us could react.

I was frozen. I’d never seen so much hatred in someone’s eyes.

“Mathias!” Señora Garza called out.

Garza shook his head, looking over at his wife and me. “Leave him alone for now. He’s hurt and angry. I’ll talk to him later. Reason with him.”

The loud crackling sound of lightning followed by the powerful boom of thunder startled me and the babies. Instantly, they all began to cry as the heavens opened up and shed their own tears.

“Help me get them inside!” Señora Garza commanded, placing the baby she held into a basket and racing toward the house.

“¡Apúrate!”
Garza yelled over the now-pouring rain.

I felt my hair begin to drip with water.

“Niña”
—he grabbed me by the shoulders—“it’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. Now get the babies.” He picked up two of the baskets, one in each arm.

Slowly, as if lead filled my entire body, I reached for the last basket, looking down at the tiny crying baby inside. It
had a few small scrapes on its nose and cheek, but otherwise it looked … 
fine
.

“No,” I muttered, watching Garza run into the house, “it’s not fine.”

As if responding, the wind whipped up the rain and smacked me in the face.

I looked up at the storm clouds above me and yelled, “Did you hear me? NOTHING will EVER be fine again!” Then I bolted toward the house with the basket in my arms, not waiting for the storm to answer.

THIRTY-EIGHT

B
y early evening, the damp, musty odors left by the afternoon storm had faded and were being replaced by the smells of Señora Garza’s cooking.
Marmitako
was being prepared, and the smell of onions, potatoes, and fish filled the air, comforting me more than anyone’s words ever could.

I had hoped that while we were all trapped inside the house, Mathias would have had a change of heart and reconsidered his plan to join the war. But that didn’t happen.

In fact, nothing much happened during the entire afternoon. Diego stayed in the back room with his mother, the children played with each other or the babies, and I helped Señora Garza in any way I could. The only one who barely moved was Mathias.

I knew he must be tired from chopping all the wood, but it was more than that. He wasn’t sleeping or resting, but instead he sat upright with his back against a corner, his eyes focused on some distant unseen horizon and a scowl on his face. He didn’t move or twitch, barely even blinked. He would
probably have stayed there all afternoon if Garza had not enlisted his help in taking the severely injured back to town to be treated and the dead to be buried.

As I walked toward the back bedroom, I passed Carmita, who was now playing a game of hide-and-seek with Julián. She was crouching underneath a table, giggling, hands covering her eyes, while Julián rolled his wheelchair past her.

How quickly they had adapted to their new life! Or maybe they were too young to understand that their old life was over … that there would be no going back to their families or homes.

I gently knocked on the bedroom door before walking in.

Diego sat in a wooden chair next to the bed, his head resting on the edge of the mattress by his mother’s arm.

“Who’s there?” he asked, with a start.

“It’s me,” I answered, taking a cautious step closer. “I thought you might want something to drink.”

“Ah, the storyteller.” He smiled and lifted his head. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t realize … I mean, I thought you were … um, well, Señora Garza told me what happened to you, to your mother.”

“Oh.” I looked down at the glass of water I’d brought for him.

“I’m really sorry … about everything.” He stood and offered me his chair, not knowing that there was another one a few feet away. “Are you okay?” he asked, fumbling to take a seat on the bed.

“No.” I looked at the floor where the two bodies had lain.… It looked strangely bare, as if nothing wanted to be
where death had been. “But I’ll survive,” I said, sitting in the wooden chair by the bed.

“Yeah,” Diego muttered.

An awkward silence followed.

“Oh, here’s some water.” I took his hand and wrapped it around the glass.

“Gracias.”
He gulped it down, and then, leaning over, he reached out, searching for the night table.

I put my hand on his arm. “Here, I’ll get it,” I said, taking the glass from him and placing it on the table.

“Thanks.” He gave me a small smile. “I wish I could see.… I’d be more help to everyone.”

“You’ll get better soon,” I said, staring at him. It was a curious thing to be able to look at someone so intently and not have them notice. With his light brown hair, tan skin, and strong jaw, he was actually very handsome.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Diego answered.

“Um, what? What do you mean?” I asked, flustered at the thought that he somehow knew what I was thinking.

“About my seeing again.” He touched the bandage that covered his eyes. “I have a feeling I won’t.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t say that.”

He shrugged. “It’s okay. I think I knew the moment the bomb exploded.”

I reached out and touched his knee. “I’m sorry.”

Diego covered my hand with his. “I made a deal with God not to complain if we got out of there alive, and I’m sticking to it.” He squeezed my hand. “I am sorry for everything you’re going through, though.”

A little bit of the heaviness that sat on my chest seemed to lift. Sharing my grief with someone helped. Now, unlike a few minutes earlier, we sat together in a comforting stillness.

“I’ve got to ask you … do I know you from school?” Diego shifted his weight and scooted back against his mother’s hip. “I heard the kids call you Ani, but I just can’t place you.”

I gazed down at his hand still holding mine and slowly pulled away. I thought of Sardine Girl. Would he have heard of her? I glanced at the door.

I could see his eyebrows scrunch together under the bandages. “Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” I paused, not sure if I wanted him to know who I was—or at least, who I used to be. “I don’t think we’re in the same grade.”

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Twelve … I’ll be thirteen in a couple of weeks. And you?”

“Fifteen.” Diego tilted his head as if trying to recall all the younger girls he knew. “Hmm, I didn’t know that many of the seventh graders.… Guess that’s why I don’t remember an Ani.”

“Yeah … Ani,” I muttered.

“Hold on, isn’t that your name? I didn’t get you confused with someone else here? It’s kinda hard not being able to see who people are talking to.”

“No, I mean, yes … that’s what they call me now.”

Diego paused, listening to the stillness in the air. “You don’t like having all your friends call you that?”

“All my friends?” I almost laughed at the thought. Sardine Girl had no friends and I wasn’t so sure if Ani still did.

“Yeah, from school or whatever.”

I didn’t want to think about Sardine Girl anymore. “Ani is fine. I like it.” I nodded to emphasize my point, even though he couldn’t see me.

“Hmm,” he muttered, unsure whether to believe me or not. “So, maybe I should call you something else.”

I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does. What do you want to be called?” Diego felt around the bed until he found his mother’s hand. He mindlessly started to rub it while waiting for me to answer. “Names are important. My mother always quotes an old Basque proverb that says,
‘Izena duen guztiak izatea ere badauke.’
Which means—”

“ ‘Everything with a name exists.’ I know.”

Diego and I stayed quiet for a moment.

“Well.” He grinned and a long dimple appeared. “How about if I call you Storyteller … until you decide what I should call you?”

“Her name is Ani,” a very matter-of-fact voice answered.

I glanced over to the doorway to see Mathias standing there with his arms crossed.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting, but Señora Garza says we’re eating. Bring him with you … if you want,” he said before walking away.

Diego leaned closer to me and whispered, “Who was that?”

“Oh, that’s Mathias.” I reached over to help Diego stand up.

“Boyfriend?” I could see Diego’s eyebrows arch up over his bandages.

My cheeks began to burn. “Oh no. Not at all. We’re friends, at least I think we still are. He’s just been through a lot.”

“Hmph. We all have. Sounds like a really nice guy.” The sarcasm of his words was obvious.

“He actually is,” I said, looking back at the empty doorway.

“Well, then I guess he just doesn’t like me,” Diego said, holding on to my arm so I could guide him out of the room.

“Don’t take it personally,” I said.

Diego paused in the doorway. “I won’t. But he should know the feeling is mutual.”

THIRTY-NINE

L
ightning flashed, temporarily lifting the darkness from the room and casting strange shadows on the wall. I pulled a few strands of my wet hair across my nose and breathed in the clean, soapy smell. It helped me forget the odor of war, which was forever engraved in my memory.

I was glad Señora Garza had insisted that I bathe and put on some of her clothes before going to sleep. Not that sleep was coming easily to me. Even my old clothes, crumpled in the corner and waiting to be washed in the morning, reminded me of the bodies buried beneath the rubble. I closed my eyes to block out the image, but that only made me think of more heinous things.

Thunder echoed in the distance.

Sitting on a red blanket on the bedroom floor, I stared out the window at the black sky, which rippled with another lightning flash. The slow rumble of thunder shook the wooden floorboards beneath me. A slight shiver ran up and down my spine. I pulled my legs close to my chest and tucked
them under the large yellow-flowered dress that Señora Garza had let me borrow.

I thought about the children in Julián’s room and whether they’d be able to sleep. Could they still have sweet dreams, or had those been taken from them as well?

Earlier in the night the Garzas had decided that the little ones should sleep in Julián’s room, the women would stay in the Garzas’ bedroom with the babies, and the men would sleep in the living room in case there was some sort of ground attack. After a few hours of feeding the babies and changing diapers, I was thinking I’d rather take my chances with the ground attack.

“¿Todo bien?”
Señora Garza asked, rolling to her side. She was sleeping on the floor next to me since the beds were being used by Diego’s mother and the old lady.

“I’m all right. Just thinking,” I said, falling back against the faded red blanket.

“
¿Seguro?
Sometimes just giving a voice to your thoughts helps.”