A Thunderous Whisper (6 page)

“No, Mamá. Mathias is a friend.
Just
a friend.”

Mamá shook her head. “So pathetic … and naïve. As if a boy would really be friends with you.”

The words stung my heart.

“He would! He is! In fact, he wants to work with me.”

“Work with you?” Mamá raised a single eyebrow. “
¿Haciendo qué?
What could he possibly want to do with you?”

I took a step back, creating a larger gap between Mamá and me. “He wants to sell sardines.”

“Sardines?” She scratched her cheek. “Well, that explains why he’d talk to you, but we don’t need help. You and I manage fine on our own.”

“No, he doesn’t want to just help us. He knows people who’ll buy sardines, and we can split the profits.”

“Split? Well, that’s certainly not a friend.” She turned and walked to her room. I could hear her hanging the belt on the hook behind the door. “Sounds like a profiteer,” she called out.

I breathed a sigh of relief. At least the lashing was over. And I couldn’t expect Mamá to understand anything about having friends.… I’d never known her to have any of her own.

“Mamá, don’t you think we could make some extra money? I’d work on Mondays so I wouldn’t miss any of my deliveries with you,” I said, following her to the kitchen.

Mamá spun around, almost causing me to run right into her. “Mondays! That would just take business away from me in the market.” She shook her head. “You really don’t think about things, do you,
neska
?”

I looked down at the floor. “I’m pretty sure these people never buy from you at the market.” My voice was barely above a whisper. “That’s why they want the deliveries.” Pausing for a moment, I tried to think of something else to say. “Mathias knows these families because he runs errands for them. He’ll have them buy sardines either from us or from another
sardinera
.” Lying was much closer to storytelling than I’d imagined.

Mamá whirled around to face me. “Not that good-for-nothing, cheating Sonia? Is that who he’s thinking of asking?”

I latched onto the idea. “Yes, that’s who he mentioned as his second choice.”

“Figures.” Mamá grabbed two pot holders and pulled out a thick yellow omelet from the oven. I knew that most of the eggs she’d brought home yesterday and the leftover potatoes had been used to make it, although I couldn’t imagine what would prompt her to cook a meal like that. She stared at me, then said, “Don’t just stand there watching me work. Put a trivet on the table so I can set this down.”

My heart fell.
“Sí, señora,”
I said, not knowing how else to convince her about our plan. I’d been certain that losing sales to Sonia would make her say yes.

Mamá sliced the warm omelet into wedges, steam rising from each cut. “Who did you say his family is?”

“They’re new in town. The Garcías.” I rubbed my arm, which still stung. “His father works at the movie theater.”

“Hmph.” She looked up at me with an exasperated stare. “Plates,
neska
. We need plates. Do you think we eat like savages in this house?”

I dashed over to the dark wooden cabinet and pulled out two slightly chipped plates. I set them on the table and darted back to get the silverware, napkins, and glasses.

When I got back to the table, Mamá had placed a piece of bread and a thick wedge of the omelet on my plate. I could see the thin slices of potatoes layered inside. It had been a while since we’d had a meal like this.

As I devoured my dinner, Mamá spoke up again. “You’re feeling better, hmm?”

I nodded, my mouth stuffed with the omelet.

“And this boy? Is he the reason you wore your best dress?”

I couldn’t tell her about the movies.… That would lead to too many other questions. “Um, no. Not at all. I didn’t know I’d even see him.” Lying was becoming a bit easier. “I wore it because it was still clean from Sunday, and I knew I’d only be out for a little while,” I explained.

Mamá raised a single eyebrow. “Don’t know who you’re trying to fool.”

“Really.” I took a sip of water. “It was a coincidence that I ran into him.”

“Of course it was. How old is this boy?” she asked as she finished her own dinner.

“Um, fourteen, I think.” I set my glass back on the table and waited. The fact that Mamá was still calm even though she didn’t believe me was a good sign.

“Uh-huh.” She pursed her lips. “I suppose even a
neska
like you will eventually draw a suitor or two.”

“Oh no.” I blushed at the idea. “It’s not like that. Mathias is just my friend.”

“You probably can’t wait to leave me too,” she muttered, wiping her mouth and tossing the napkin on her plate.

“Leave?”

Mamá stared at me from across the table. “Never mind that. I also saw that he’s
cojo
 … walks around with a limp. Is he sick or something? I won’t be caring for a handicapped boy.”

“He’s not sick.” I focused on the remaining speck of egg on my plate and tried to scoop it up with one of the fork tines so I wouldn’t have to look at Mamá’s reaction. “He just has a bad leg, that’s all.” I sneaked a glance over at her.

Her mouth twitched. She never had much compassion for the sick.… Then again, she had little sympathy for anyone.

“So I suppose you’ll go with
el cojo
after school on Mondays to deliver the sardines? How many customers does he have, and how much do they want?”

“His name is Mathias, and his customers want about a pound each,” I said, bringing the nearly empty fork to my mouth so I could savor the last morsel of the omelet. “I think he might have six or seven customers.”

Mamá leaned back in her chair, thinking things over for a moment. “And you’ll bring home
all
the money?”

This was it. I could feel the excitement rising inside me. “Yes, ma’am. I mean, I’ll bring
our
share.”

“Don’t get smart with me or I’ll give you another whipping.” She pushed back her chair and took her plate to the sink.

“I’m sorry,” I quickly answered, but butterflies were now filling up any empty space left in my stomach, and all I wanted to do was jump up and down to celebrate.

“If these new customers are wealthy, the two of you will probably look pitiful enough to them to even get you some nice tips.” She looked at me over her shoulder as she put the dishes in the sink. “You have to bring that money home too. No keeping any of it for yourself, you hear me? I won’t tolerate a thief.”

“Yes, Mamá.”

“And I better not find out that it’s any of my customers from the market.” Mamá took a bowl that had been drying on the kitchen counter and put it on the shelf above the sink.

I waited. I could sense how close I was to having my whole life change.

She walked to the table and picked up my empty plate, looking at me from head to toe. “Fine. We’ll try it once with this boy. Next Monday I’ll leave you some sardines before I go to the market.” She shook her head and muttered, “This better be worth it.”

I jumped up to hug her, but she took a step back. Instead of embracing, we stood there in the kitchen facing each other, neither of us moving.

A brief sigh escaped from Mamá’s lips before she walked around me and headed toward her bedroom.

My excitement evaporated. It was clear some things would never change.

EIGHT

B
y Sunday morning, I was becoming genuinely concerned about my new life of espionage. I hadn’t heard from Mathias, even though I’d hung my brightest neck scarf in the window on Wednesday to show him that Mamá had agreed to our idea. Maybe he’d changed his mind, or the real spies had decided not to trust a pair of kids.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the strong, woodsy-smelling incense that filled Santa María Church. Hearing the Latin prayers I had memorized as a little girl seemed to quiet my worries … at least temporarily.

“Vámonos,”
Mamá whispered before the service was over. “We have a lot to do today.” She genuflected at the end of the pew and headed toward the door.

I hesitated. I thought I’d have a chance to speak with Padre Iñaki after Mass, maybe get a sign that the plan was still on. A glance toward Mamá, standing with her hands on her hips by the side door in back, told me that there’d be no waiting around for Mass to finish.

I quickly made the sign of the cross and joined her.

“What took you so long? When I say go, I mean go.” She pushed open the heavy door, and the morning sun was such a contrast from the darkened church that we both shielded our eyes.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She shook her head. “No point spending time in there if you aren’t paying attention.”

I said nothing as we walked down the church steps.

“I bring you here, try to do right by your soul, and that’s how you decide to thank me … by daydreaming. Your brother, God rest his soul, would never have been so distracted. He was focused … helpful to his mother.”

I’d heard all this before. I could never live up to the brother who’d died before I was even born. I just nodded.

“He was too good. I didn’t deserve a child like that,” she said.

We continued to walk down the quiet street. I guessed Mamá thought I was the child she deserved. All I knew of my brother was what my father had told me. His name was Xavier, and he was a funny, outgoing boy who’d become sick while Mamá was pregnant with me. It always felt as if Mamá somehow blamed me for his death.

Before reaching the corner, Mamá abruptly stopped to look at me.

I searched her caramel-colored eyes. Somewhere in there was the girl Papá had fallen in love with. I could almost see that version of her in the wedding picture that hung in the living room. An eighteen-year-old with hope and excitement
written all over her face standing next to a much older, but equally happy, man.

“Still so much like him …,” she said, slightly shaking her head.

I wasn’t sure if we were talking about my dead brother or Papá.

Mamá’s shoulders dropped for a moment, and her face softened. “During Mass, you were thinking of your father, weren’t you?”

On any other Sunday, all my thoughts would’ve been with Papá. But today, I’d been thinking about me, Mathias, and our “special deliveries” … not that I expected too much to come of them.

I played with a loose button on my sweater. “Yes, I was thinking of him,” I answered, not wanting to miss out on Mamá’s kindness.

“Thought so.” Mamá gently stroked my hair, her hand resting for a moment on my back. I wished it were more, that she would just wrap me up in her arms and hug me, but I was grateful for even this small bit of affection.

Ring, ring
. A boy chimed his bike’s bell as he sped by us. In his wake, I could sense Mamá’s mood changing. She was being taken back to an earlier time, a time before I was born. I watched as the boy turned and disappeared down a side street.

Mamá sighed and pushed back her shoulders. “Stupid, really,” she said. “The two of you … your father and you.” Her voice cracked before regaining its normal strength. “Him for
leaving, thinking he was going to make a difference, and you for worrying so much. Better to learn it now,
neska
. Nothing good comes from thinking you deserve more from this life than what it hands you. We’re all insignificant. Just whispers in a loud world. Fifty years from now, no one will care if we even existed.”

I stayed rooted to the sidewalk as Mamá made her way down the street. Instinctively, my fingers searched for the small promise of hope I held in the pouch Papá had given me. Mamá was wrong. I was not going to be insignificant … at least not anymore. Someday I would exist.

NINE

M
onday afternoon arrived like any other day. I was still the girl in the back of the class, the one who walked home alone and spent most of her evenings delivering sardines with her mother. I was still an afterthought to most people, but now I was grateful for my invisibility. It could be a spy’s best trait.

The moment the teacher dismissed the class, I bolted from my seat and practically sprinted home. Mamá had promised to leave me some sardines in the apartment, and I didn’t want to be late for my new pseudo-career … even if I still wasn’t sure whether that meant being a glorified courier or a spy. I just hoped the plan was still on.… I hadn’t heard from Mathias, and I didn’t want to have to explain any failure to Mamá.

As I rounded the corner, I spotted Mathias leaning against a lamppost. He was wearing a slightly wrinkled white shirt with the cuffs rolled up and gray pants held by brown suspenders. His clothes looked a little disheveled, almost as if
he’d been working in someone’s yard, although there were no yards in the city. For a moment, I had a vision of him spending his days sitting under my tree doing nothing, and a twinge of jealousy flared inside me.

Mathias gave his beret a slight tug and twirled his
makila
just the way Fred Astaire had done in the movie with his top hat and cane. He was trying to be so smooth and sophisticated, but instead, he dropped his walking stick and it rattled along the cobblestone street.

I doubled over laughing.

“
Mala
. You don’t have to laugh so hard,” he said, bending over to pick up the stick.

“I’m sorry. You just look so …”

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. “Dashing? Debonair?”

“Ridiculous!” I laughed again.

He rolled his eyes. “Girls,” he said, smiling and shaking his head.

“I’ll be right back. Mamá left the sardines in the apartment.” I raced up the steps to the front door of the building.

“How much did your mother leave?” Mathias called out before I opened the door.

I looked back with the key in my hand. “I told her you had like six or seven rich customers.”

“What?” he shouted. He made his way up the steps as quickly as he could. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Didn’t you count? There were only five men in that room besides my father.”

I glanced around, just in case someone happened to pass
by. “Yeah, but aren’t they paying us extra? Too much money might make Mamá suspicious, so I thought it’d be better to just say we had a few more customers.”