A Thunderous Whisper (5 page)

“Wait. You’re Largazabalaga’s daughter, aren’t you?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes, sir,” I managed to whisper.

Padre Iñaki glanced back at the men and said, “Her father volunteered to go fight, even though he is … well, let’s say he’s not a young man.”

The other men looked at each other in silence.

“He’s the husband of the
sardinera
,” Padre Iñaki added.

This caused a few knowing nods of recognition, although I doubted that men of their level in society associated with people like my family.

“So, you’re the
sardinera
’s daughter?” Potbellied Man looked at me with new interest.

I gave him a slight nod.

“Hmm, that
is
interesting,” he said, rubbing his bald head and glancing at the now very silent thin man with the gray mustache.

Mathias’s father gave me a hand getting up and ushered me out the door to where Mathias was waiting.

As we stepped into the dark supply closet, Mathias shouted back to the men still in the projection room. “We can help with whatever you’re doing. I know we can.”

Mathias’s father glared at him before quickly shutting the door, stranding us in total darkness.

Immediately we both pressed our ears against the door.
Just outside, I could hear one of the men saying something in Basque.

“I can’t understand them. What are they saying?” Mathias whispered.

I listened closely, not wanting to miss any part of the conversation.

“Tell me,” Mathias insisted, pulling his ear away from the door.

“Wait,” I whispered.

I could hear the voices drifting back to the other room.

“They’re talking about us,” I said in a hushed voice.

“No? Really? I could’ve figured that out myself. What did they say exactly?”

“One of them said something about it being bad enough that they were using their wives as an excuse to come to the theater, hiding behind skirts.”

“Uh-huh. What else?” Mathias asked. I turned to face him, and although I couldn’t see him, I could sense him standing behind me, one arm propped against the wall of the small closet.

“They said the fight is doomed if it depends on children.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, and I heard him clasp his fist in excitement.

“Yes?” I asked.

“It means they’re actually considering letting us help in the fight.”

“What could we possibly do? We don’t even know what
they’re
really doing. I think we’re in for a beating and nothing more.”

The door opened suddenly, and Padre Iñaki motioned for us to join the others in the projection room.

Everyone in the room was silent and staring at us. The short, heavy man lifted up his monocle to inspect me a little closer. “This could work out very well.…”

“I still disagree.” Mathias’s father shook his head. “They’re too young.”

“I’m fourteen … almost old enough to fight,” Mathias argued. “And Ani, she’s …” He leaned over toward me. “How old are you?” he whispered.

“Uh, twelve. Thirteen in May,” I answered.

“And Ani’s almost thirteen,” he declared. “We’re not too young!”

Padre Iñaki smiled. “It does seem God may have set His hands in this.”

My eyes went back and forth, watching each man’s face as they reached some type of silent agreement.

“Joaquín.” Padre Iñaki faced Mathias’s father. “There would be little risk for them. It’s obvious we can’t continue to meet here.”

“But my son, he has a bad leg.…”

“My leg is
not
a problem.” Mathias clumsily took a step forward, shifting most of his weight onto his left leg.

“And you, young lady? This requires your cooperation. Are you willing to help too?” Señor Beltran gave me a cold, hard stare. “And not say a word to anyone?”

I stood motionless. This was not happening. I was supposed to be invisible.

“What do you want us to do?” Mathias asked, squaring his shoulders.

Señor Beltran completely ignored him, keeping his focus on me. He drew closer, and I could smell his mixture of soap and cologne. “You understand what we’re doing, don’t you? Why we are fighting.”

I still said nothing. I couldn’t.

“Good God, girl! Can’t you speak?” he exclaimed.

Mathias gave me a jab in the ribs.

But before I could say anything, Potbellied Man called out, “Aren’t you a true Basque?”

“Of course!” I said in a voice that came from deep inside me.

“Fine,” Señor Beltran calmly said, resuming his politician’s demeanor. “Then you understand that we must do everything we can to protect our way of life. If Franco and his army win, they’ll strip us of who we are. They’ll force us to be Spaniards instead of Basques. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“No, of course not,” I answered, taking a step back toward the door behind me.

“Ahem.” The thin man cleared his throat, but his gaze was elsewhere, as if he didn’t want anything to do with the conversation.

“Tomás, let me explain it to her.” Padre Iñaki gently moved Señor Beltran out of the way and then took my hand. “You know that the Basque people have always been a proud, independent group.”

I nodded, and he gave me a small smile.

“We’ve accepted Spain’s rule as long as they accepted who we were. But that will change with Franco. All we’ve ever wanted was to be left alone, but that’s not an option. We need to protect ourselves. Perhaps we’ve made a deal with the devil, but—”

“It’s the devil we know!” shouted Potbellied Man.

Padre Iñaki rolled his eyes, but continued. “We just need to be prepared and help stop any attacks without appearing to be
involved
. Just in case.”

“Just in case?” I asked.

“In case Franco wins,” Señor Beltran explained.

“You’ll help us, won’t you? Make your father proud?” Padre Iñaki asked.

I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into, but I nodded.

“So, what do you want us to do? Infiltrate something?” Mathias asked.

“No, no. Nothing that dangerous.” Padre Iñaki dropped my hand, and his smile grew wider. “We just need you two to be our … let’s say, communications officers.”

I glanced over to Mathias, and from the look on his face, he was as confused as I was. Mathias’s father was quiet. His only reaction to the conversation was to constantly run his fingers through his hair.

Señor Beltran moved closer to Mathias’s father. “Joaquín, when do you expect another message?”

“I’m not sure. I usually receive supplies early on Monday mornings. If there’s information, it will come then.” Mathias’s
father gave his hair another quick fingering. “I don’t know about this new plan.”

“It’ll work perfectly,” Potbellied Man proclaimed. “You just have the girl deliver the information with the sardines.” He pointed over to me. “All of us will become loyal customers, buying at least a pound each. The boy can help her.”

I could see their plan now. They would no longer need to meet at the theater if Mathias and I carried messages to them. I reached into my pocket and touched the smooth edge of the satin pouch Papá had given me.

“But what of the girl’s mother? We’ll need to ask her too,” Padre Iñaki said.

“And if she says no, then what? More people who’ll know what we’re doing? Better to keep this among us.” Señor Beltran looked at me again. “Girl, you’ll need to deliver sardines to us on a regular basis, maybe every Tuesday. Even if there’s no message, you’ll have to come to our homes.… Can you do that?”

I swallowed hard and spoke. “I have to help Mamá on Tuesdays.”

“Mondays,” Mathias announced. “We can do it on Mondays.” He turned to face me. “Instead of daydreams at your tree, we’ll be living the story.”

“That could work,” muttered the thin man, who’d barely said a word.

“But what do I tell my mother?” I asked.

“Tell her we’ll be paying a little extra or make something
up.” Señor Beltran reached for his coat, as if the issue had been settled and it was time to leave. “You kids are always coming up with lies to tell your parents.”

I thought about the story I’d told about being sick so I could come to the theater. It had been my first real lie, but clearly, it would not be my last.

SIX

W
alking home that evening, with the sky turning purple, I felt as if I’d been pulled into a moving picture show and everything around me was part of a movie set. Nothing seemed real … not even me. It felt as if I were watching a version of myself walk by the storefronts and apartments of Guernica. The old women sitting on a bench near the town square, the pigeons that flew overhead, even the dirt that settled in the streets, all seemed posed. The only thing that kept reminding me that this day had not been a figment of my imagination was the sound of Mathias’s voice.

“Once your mother agrees to it, then you should send me a message by hanging a handkerchief or something on your window,” he said, his words finally making their way into my brain.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, looking over at him.

“You haven’t been listening to me at all, have you?”

I shrugged.

“I was saying how you need to tell your mother that I can get you several wealthy clients on Mondays, but that we need to split the profits.”

“Split the money? She’s not going to like that.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t give you all the sardine money if they’re my customers.”

“You can’t have customers if you don’t have any sardines to sell,” I countered.

“That’s why we split the profits evenly. Plus, it’s not as if my family has much money either. We’d like to have a little extra food every once in a while too.”

“Hmph. Mamá’s not going to be happy about getting just half.”

“It’s only fair, and I’ve seen your mother at the marketplace.… She won’t care as long as you’re bringing in extra money. Anyway, why are you arguing? It’s not like they’re really our customers.” He dropped his voice. “We’re spies, remember?”

“More like couriers. Like those pigeons up there.” I pointed to the birds sitting on the crumbling concrete edge of my building. “And, by the way, it wasn’t very nice of you to trick me into going to the theater just so you could have someone translate for you.”

“Trick you?” Mathias stopped walking as I pulled out a large key from my pocket. “I invited you because I thought we were becoming friends.”

“Uh-huh.” I was not going to be played for a fool twice.

“Okay, it helped that you could translate, but I could’ve
asked someone else. And now we get to do something important.”

“Important?” I rolled my eyes.
“¡Por favor!”

“No, seriously. We’ll be making a difference.… We’ll be heroes.”

A hero. That wasn’t insignificant. It wasn’t a nothing. In fact, it was most definitely something. A big something.

I took a deep breath and put the thought aside. Mathias almost had me convinced … for a moment.

“I have to go in. It’s nearly seven, and Mamá will be home soon.”

“Okay, how early can you be here next Monday?”

“I’ll come as soon as class lets out … a little after five.” I glanced up at the window, thinking I’d seen the curtain move out of the corner of my eye. For a split second I worried that Mamá would be home, but she’d never be there this early. She would sell sardines until the streetlamps turned on.

“Perfect, I’ll meet you then.” Mathias turned and started walking back to the theater. “Don’t forget the handkerchief,” he called out.

“I won’t!
Agur
.” I waved as he rounded the corner.

A small bubble of excitement rose in my chest, and I had to take a deep breath to push it back down. I couldn’t allow myself to think that my world might change. Then again, I apparently now had a friend, we were spies, and one day, I might be a hero. The invisible bubble started to rise again, but this time I let it grow a bit. Could it be like in the movies, where anything was possible? Could I, the invisible, nothing girl of Guernica, actually matter?

I took the stairs two at a time until I reached the door of my apartment on the third floor. I was just about to slip the key into the lock when, as if sensing my hand, the door jerked open.

Mamá stood in the doorway, black leather belt clenched in her hand.

SEVEN

M
y heart stopped. If I could have shrunk into the cracks in the floorboards or melted into the peeling paint on the walls, I would have. Instead, I stood frozen as the black leather belt flew through the air, finding its mark: me. Instinctively, I grabbed my arm, already throbbing from where the belt had made contact.

“You worthless little liar!” Mamá yelled, dragging me into the apartment and kicking the door closed. She raised her arm to strike me again.

“No, Mamá. You don’t understand.” I shielded my face with my arms, but Mamá was swinging lower this time.

Crack!
The belt stung my thigh.

“I understand plenty. And to think that I rushed through my route to come and check on you. You ungrateful child!”

She hit my other leg, this time with a backhanded swing.

“No, Mamá. I left you a note,” I pleaded, trying in vain to block the quickening lashes to my arms and legs.

“
¡Mentirosa!
Liar!”
Crack! Crack!
“You think I didn’t
see you with that boy? What did I do to deserve such a disgraceful, wretched child?” She topped off her question with her strongest swing yet, which wrapped the belt around my left ankle.

Somehow, in the middle of the whipping, I realized that for the first time I might actually deserve this punishment. I
had
lied. But Mamá’s words were not biting through me as they usually did.

I was going to be a hero. I was more than a nothing.

“You are wrong, Mamá.”

Something in the way I spoke made Mamá stop. Perhaps it was the fact that I said those words at all. I made the most of the brief reprieve.

“I left you the note because I was feeling better and wanted to go outside,” I explained.

“Ha! And the boy? You just happened to run into him? You, a girl who’s never had any friends.” She dropped her belt-wielding hand just a bit. “I know what boys want with girls like you.”