A Thunderous Whisper (4 page)

Before grabbing my dark blue sweater, I scribbled a
note saying I’d gone outside for some fresh air … just in case Mamá came home early. Then I set off for my day of extravagance.

The church bells of Santa María clanged four times as I ran down the cobblestoned streets around the Bank of Vizcaya. The movie theater, which had replaced an old dance hall, was up ahead, and I could see Mathias sitting on the building’s front stoop, staring at his hands, his
makila
lying across his thighs.

I slowed down. Suddenly yesterday seemed like a long time ago. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say to him. Perhaps he’d invited me out of pity. Or this was a prank of some kind. An overwhelming urge to turn around and go back home washed over me.

Something in the air must have told Mathias that I was near because he looked up just as I was about to leave. He waved me over, and, bracing himself on his
makila
, he stood.

“Hola,”
I said, not really looking at him as I approached the theater.

“Hi there!” he answered, taking a couple of steps toward me. “I’m glad you finally got here. Father wasn’t thrilled with the idea of my having invited—”

“Oh, I—I can leave,” I stammered. I could feel my face turning red. I knew I shouldn’t have come. What a stupid girl I was!

“No, no.” Mathias stuffed a hand into his pocket. “He’s fine with it now. I told him we’d clean and sit quietly in the back. He liked the fact that I finally have a friend.”

“Finally?” I asked.

“I mean here.” Mathias waddled side to side as he walked up the two steps to the theater entrance and then propped open the door with his walking stick. “Let’s go in. We need to start with the entrance, and then we’ll brush the velvet on each seat to make it look new.”

I walked past him into the theater lobby and stared at my surroundings. It was all so opulent. The brocaded wallpaper, the deep wine color of the cushioned bench in the corner, the large glass chandelier in the center of the room—and this was only the entrance. On the wall, behind a glass frame, hung a movie poster with a thin man wearing a tuxedo and a beautiful blond woman wearing a long gold dress.
SOMBRERO DE COPA
,
with
FRED ASTAIRE
and
GINGER ROGERS
, was splashed across the sign, and in small letters underneath
TOP HAT
was written. I guessed that was the real name of the movie. Excitement was building in my chest, and the movie hadn’t even started.

“Here.” Mathias handed me a broom. “Start with this, and I’ll clean the windows.”

In a bit of a daze, I peeled my eyes away from the poster and began to sweep the floor. After a few minutes, I wondered if Mathias had invited me so he wouldn’t have to do so much work. Perhaps his parents were like Mamá and he’d end up on the sore side of a belt if the place wasn’t spotless. Maybe that’s what had happened to his leg.

It didn’t take long for us to finish cleaning the lobby and move into the main theater. The decor there wasn’t quite as
elegant, but I was still impressed by the fifteen rows of velvet seats that filled the large room. It was easy to see how this had once been a grand dance hall.

Voices from the lobby warned us that the group had arrived for the private showing.

“You almost done?” Mathias asked, dropping a wet rag into a bucket.

I had finished sweeping and was now working on cleaning the last row of theater seats. “Pretty much,” I said as Mathias dimmed the lights.

“This way, ladies,” a deep voice said as the door swung open.

“Mathias! Mathias!” the man called out. “Please make the room a bit brighter.”

“Yes, Father.”

As the lights came on again, I could see a tall man with broad shoulders and eyes just like Mathias’s holding the door for everyone.

The first to enter were some ladies I recognized from church. They were the ones who always sat up front, wearing the latest fashions, and who covered their perfectly styled hairdos with fine lace mantillas in reverence of the Mass.

I slunk toward the back corner of the theater, hoping none of them recognized me as the
sardinera
’s daughter—or, worse, smelled me.

“Beatriz, why don’t you and the other ladies sit together?” A tall, bearded man I knew to be Tomás Beltran, a high-ranking government official, made his way in front of the
ladies. He gave his elbow to one of the women and walked her halfway down the aisle. “This will give you a perfect view … here in the middle.”

“Of course, Tomás.” The woman, wearing an emerald-green dress, motioned for the other ladies to follow, like a mother duck leading her young.

The other men stayed behind, near the theater’s entrance, until Señor Beltran rejoined them. Mathias looked over at his father, then at me, and shrugged.

I sat down in the last seat, in the far back corner, and waited.

The women’s voices carried through the theater, and I could hear them talking about the latest gossip. In contrast, the men were still huddled together, and their voices did not go above a hushed whisper.

A crackling and flicker of light on the huge screen interrupted the general chatter. Mathias dimmed the lights and silently made his way down the back row until he reached the seat next to me.

“Don’t know why these women love this movie so much.… They’ve each seen
Top Hat
at least three times,” he whispered, using the English name for the movie. “I think their husbands must be bored out of their minds.”

I barely heard him because my eyes were fixed on the screen and music had filled the room. Within minutes I was swept away by the sight of Fred Astaire dancing and traveling through Europe. I gladly became absorbed into that world, forgetting everything except the subtitles on the screen and the images that accompanied them.

It felt like magic. A story come to life. Then a sudden stutter, flicker, and bright light jolted me into reality. The women began to talk casually among themselves as if this were a normal occurrence.

Mathias leaned over. “They’re probably changing the reels,” he whispered.

I nodded, half understanding what he meant.

“Hey, you want to go see the projection room? We can finish watching the movie from up there. Father might even need my help.” He braced himself against the seat’s armrests and stood up.

I glanced around, noticing that all the men had left. A small window above us was dimly lit, and I could see the light from the projector beaming through it, illuminating the entire theater. “Um, sure. If you think we can help,” I said.

Mathias gave me a strange smile and led the way up some stairs. As we approached the semi-closed door, I heard voices arguing in Basque. Mathias raised a finger to his lips and inched toward the door.

Eavesdropping wasn’t a good idea. It was a surefire way to get a beating. Mathias waved me over.

I shook my head and pointed back down the stairs. This was not what I had bargained for.

Mathias smiled, rolled his eyes, and waved me over again.

Realizing that he’d known what we might be getting into when he’d suggested coming up here, I mouthed a silent “No.”

He mouthed back, “Don’t. Be. Scared.”

I was certainly not afraid, and to prove it, I climbed the
final step and stood toe to toe with him … my head not even reaching his shoulders.

“I can never understand what they’re saying,” he whispered. “You speak Basque, right? What are they talking about?”

The truth now dawned on me. He had invited me only because he needed a translator, not because we were going to be friends.

“Princess?”

I was about to tell him not to call me that when the voices from the other room became more heated, catching my attention. I listened for a moment.

“C’mon, tell me. We’re in this together … you and me.”

I sighed. Even if it wasn’t real, it still felt nice to pretend to have a friend.

“They’re talking about …” I paused to listen for a few more seconds, not sure if I was hearing correctly. “I think they said something about a German warship off the coast of Bilbao,” I whispered. My eyes grew wider as I listened more intently to the flurry of voices arguing in the other room. “Someone is saying that the information they’ve been getting has been right so far and they need to just relay the message.”

Mathias squeezed his hands around his walking stick. “Ha! I knew it,” he whispered.

“Knew what?” I asked.

“Can’t you tell?” Mathias’s eyes gleamed.

“You mean …?” I didn’t want to finish the thought, but Mathias did.

He nodded, unable to contain the smile spreading across his face. “I think my father’s a spy.”

FIVE

T
he narrow hallway felt as if it were getting smaller by the second. The voices on the other side of the door were now all speaking at once, some in Spanish and others in Basque.

One voice rose above the others. “Capture the German ship? Are you insane? God help us if this makes things worse.”

My skin prickled. I knew that voice. It was the same one I’d been listening to every Sunday since I was born. It was the parish priest, Padre Iñaki!

The other voices rose in protest.

Spies. Even people I never thought would be involved with the ugliness of war were plotting conspiracies. I studied Mathias’s face. How could I be sure which side he was helping? How could they? His family was part German.

“What?” Mathias widened his eyes, as if I were the one whose father was involved in espionage.

I shrugged. “Nothing. I think we should go.” I turned to
head back down the stairs. Adventure stories were one thing, but real life was something different.

Mathias pulled on my arm. “Just one more minute. Tell me what they’re saying now.”

“No!” I said, yanking my arm away from him. Unfortunately, I said it a little too loudly right when there was a lull in the conversation on the other side of the door.

Mathias grimaced.

Before we could take two steps, the door was flung open and hands grabbed the back of our collars.

I tried to get my balance, but I was already being lifted off my feet and tossed into the small room. Mathias fell down next to me, his
makila
still in the stairwell.

My heart pounded in my chest. I glanced at Mathias and then stared up at the men surrounding us.

“Mathias! Eavesdropping? You know better than that!” Mathias’s father was red with rage. “I let you bring a friend to the theater and this is how you repay me?”

“I—I—I …,” Mathias stammered. “I mean, the movie stopped and we thought the reel might need to be changed and—”

“And you thought I would need your help? Really?” Mathias’s father balled and unballed his fists, but glanced over at the film projector.

I wanted to run out of the room, pretend none of this had happened, but Mathias seemed to relish the fact that we’d been caught.

“Father, no, that’s not it.… But now that we’ve heard what you were talking about, we can—”

“Don’t say it, Mathias!” His father glared at him.

Padre Iñaki shook his head as he closed the door. “I feared this.” He had Mathias’s
makila
in his hands. “If children can sneak up on us, we’ve obviously not been careful enough.”

A thin man with gray hair and a bushy mustache who’d been pacing back and forth in the tiny room raised a finger to his lips. “Padre, please,” he said, silencing the priest. He then turned to face Mathias and me. “What did you two hear exactly?”

Mathias’s father took a step to block the old man’s intense gaze. “Federico, I’m sure they didn’t hear anything. My son barely understands the Basque language, and, well, I don’t even know this girl, but they are both just children, after all.”

A short man whose large belly pushed at the buttons of his dark suit placed his hand on Mathias’s father’s shoulder and guided him away from us. He then turned around and squatted next to me. “We’re not going to do anything to you,” he said in a voice so calm that I couldn’t believe he was sincere. “We won’t even be upset, but I need you to tell me what you heard.”

“
Nada
, nothing,” I said, keeping my eyes on the ground. It was always better to fade into the background.

“They heard too much. I can tell,” the man I knew to be Tomás Beltran said. He pointed a long, skinny finger at Mathias. “The boy, he may keep quiet—after all, he is your son—but the girl? She’ll probably be gossiping with her friends by
tomorrow afternoon, telling everyone that we’re meeting here. Something has to be done!”

“We can help with whatever you’re planning,” Mathias offered.

I flashed an incredulous look at Mathias. Obviously, he and I had very different ways of handling the situation.

“Help? You’ve helped enough, young man!” Mathias’s father spoke through clenched teeth.

“But, Father, listen.” Mathias sat up a little taller. “We’re involved now, and we won’t tell anyone about the German ship or all of you meeting here. No one has to worry about us saying anything.… Neither of us has any friends in town.”

A wave of embarrassment washed over me. It didn’t matter that we were in serious trouble—that was something I didn’t like to admit … even if it was true.

The potbellied man threw his hands in the air and stood up. “Hmph! Tomás is right. We can’t continue like this. These visits already look suspicious … and Franco has informants everywhere. Imagine how this would be seen by my people at the bank. We’re all supposed to be neutral parties. What happens if Franco wins? What happens to us then?”

Señor Beltran took one last look at us and then directed his comment to the group. “We need to talk … in private.”

Mathias’s father nodded. “There’s a supply closet out in the hall. The children can wait in there.”

“Good idea,” Padre Iñaki said, handing Mathias his
makila
and opening the door to the hallway.

Mathias and I looked at each other.

“Go!” Mathias’s father whispered.

As I was about to stand, Padre Iñaki knelt down on one knee, his black cassock draping around his ankles as he stared at me.