Alberto held the little boy’s hand tightly as they walked along the corridor. The smell of disinfectant was pervasive and the child wrinkled his nose. Towards the end of the walkway, they reached a long window and Alberto slowed, looking in.
A large metal bed stood in the middle of the room. Lying on top of the white sheets, bound in white bandages, lay a motionless figure. Wires and tubes appeared from under the wrappings and were connected to a machine beside the bed. A woman in blue pyjamas, cap and face mask was adjusting a drip.
Sitting in a chair beside the bed was Juan Carlos’s mother. A semi-transparent yellow garment covered her customary black dress, and plastic booties concealed her black slippers. She too wore a blue face mask and cap. Her eyes were shut and Alberto couldn’t tell if she was deep in prayer or dozing.
Leaning over the bandaged head, talking gently to the man within was his daughter. She was wearing the same clinical garments as her mother-in-law, her long, dark curls swept up into a cap.
Absorbed in watching his daughter, he didn’t notice Tino let go of his hand, stand on his tiptoes and peer into the room – not until he heard a small gasp. Looking down, he saw the boy’s mouth open in shock and his wide eyes filling with tears. Juan Carlos’s mother’s head snapped up in time to see the old man pulling the reluctant child away from the window.
Leading him to some nearby chairs, Alberto helped the boy into the seat and sat next to him.
‘Apu, was that really Papá?’ he whispered. Large tears ran down his cheeks.
‘Yes, it was,’ he replied gently.
At that moment, the door opened and Tino’s mother walked out of the room. He jumped up and ran to her, and she took off her mask and bent down to hug him.
Alberto stood. After some quiet words, his daughter wiped the tears from her son’s eyes and led him back to Alberto.
‘Well?’ he asked.
Rosa sighed. He could see she was exhausted.
‘The doctor was worried Juan Carlos would go into shock last night. But he’s done well over the past few hours and they say he is stable now. The pain relief is very strong. He’s not conscious, but we speak to him constantly, so he knows he’s not alone.’
Alberto nodded.
‘I’ve been talking to the nurses. They say over the next few days it is essential that he avoids any risk of infection.’ She stopped speaking and looked down at her son, who held her hand with both of his. ‘I cannot leave Juan Carlos. Could Tino stay with you a little longer?’
‘You know he can stay as long as is necessary.’
Smiling weakly, Rosa nodded gratefully to her father.
Tap, tap, tap – the long stick struck the top branches and a hard brown shower of nuts bounced onto the green netting under the tree. Tino waited until the last almond had fallen, then, picking out the occasional leaf, gathered the nuts and put them into a large plastic bucket. Then he stepped back to the edge of the netting as his grandfather moved over to some other almond-laden branches and began tapping again.
When the tub was full, Alberto carefully put down the stick. Nodding to the boy, he picked up the tub and carried it over to the edge of the terrace, where they sat, in the shade of a lemon tree. The sun was still in full heat, and the pale brown earth on the terrace was cracked like an over-baked cake.
Alberto opened a bottle of water he had brought and handed it to the boy, who took a long drink. The old man took a few gulps and settled the bottle in the shade. Then he and Tino set to peeling the hard, leathery husks from their harvest, throwing the skins on the ground and putting the nuts with their distinctive pitted shells into a canvas bag.
‘Apu?’ asked the boy as they worked.
‘Yes.’
‘If you don’t know when your birthday is, do you still get birthday presents or have a party?’
‘No.’
‘But just because you don’t remember the date doesn’t mean you can’t just pick another date.’
‘Hmmmm.’
‘It’s my birthday soon. I’m going to be eight.’
‘I know.’
‘Apu?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you like to share my birthday with me? We could have a party together.’
The old man stopped and looked at the boy. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said.
He remembered the years that his wife had tried to do the same thing. Although the government had given him a date for his papers – 1 January – he had never thought of it as his birthday. Instead, María Luisa had suggested dates, both random and those that were important to them. He had never agreed, saying it was silly and pointless. But when their children had come along, he had enjoyed the presents and parties she’d organized for them, glad when they’d taken it for granted. That was how a childhood should be.
‘I’m too old for birthday parties now,’ he said, smiling.
‘But, Apu,’ continued Tino, ‘everyone should have a birthday. Even Grandma has a birthday every year – that’s how we know she’s so old.’
‘Do I need a birthday to know that I am old?’ asked Alberto.
‘No,’ agreed the boy. ‘But don’t you want to have a birthday?’
The old man shrugged. ‘I have managed all these years without one.’
‘Everyone should have a birthday, Apu.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because a birthday is your day. It’s the day when everybody comes to visit you. They bring gifts, and food, and you are with the people who love you. It’s a special day, Apu.’
Alberto looked at the boy, bemused.
‘You don’t know, Apu. Because you’ve never had a birthday. You don’t know how it feels. It’s a good day. I want you to know how it feels.’
Alberto nodded. ‘Well, maybe you’re right. But I would need a date for a birthday.’
‘You can share mine.’
‘No.’ The old man shook his head. ‘That is your special day, not mine. It’s good of you to offer to share it, but that day is just for you.’
Tino frowned, peeling the tough coat off an almond. ‘Then we will have to find your birthday,’ he said.
That evening, Alberto sat in his weathered armchair, sipping a glass of brandy. His other daughter, Cristina, had married well and she and her husband lived in Madrid. Each year at Three Kings, they would visit with their family. They would present Alberto with an expensive bottle of brandy, which he accepted uncomfortably and savoured in private.
The television shouted the results of the lottery, but Alberto paid it no attention. The conversation about his birthday tap, tap, tapped at his mind. It had unsettled him, and he could not understand why. He had spent so many years not knowing his birthday. Why should the idea of it start to nag at him now? Was it that he was getting old, that he wanted to know before he died?
Suddenly, a shriek came from the other room.
Running next door and switching on the bedroom light, he saw the boy sitting up in bed, glossy with sweat. They had been to Rosa’s apartment earlier and picked up a bag of clothes, so the child was dressed in his own pyjamas. A small, tatty brown bear lay discarded beside him on the bed.
Alberto moved the bear so he could sit down and gathered the boy into his arms, stroking his damp head.
‘Was it a dream?’ he asked gruffly.
The boy started sobbing, clinging tightly to his grandfather.
Alberto hushed the boy, rocking him gently.
‘Tell me,’ he urged in a whisper.
Hiccupping air, the boy burrowed his head deeper into his grandfather’s chest. ‘It was Papá. He was trying to get out of the bandages, but they just kept wrapping more and more round him. I was shouting to let him out, but they didn’t hear me. Apu, they wouldn’t listen to me.’
‘Shhh,’ said the old man. He held the child tightly and rocked him. He tried to reassure him with words he believed to be true. ‘The doctors and nurses are helping him get better. They’re looking after your papá. Soon they’ll take the bandages off and you’ll see him again.’
Reluctantly, the old man remembered in the years after the war seeing men horribly disfigured by burns. But, these days, the medics could do so much more for the victims. At least, he hoped they could. He felt the child’s tears soak into his shirt.
‘Now, now, little one. It was just a bad dream. Dreams like that don’t come true. Forget about it and think of things that make you happy. Think how when your papá is better, you’ll play football with him at the park.’
Tino snuffled noisily.
‘Think about your birthday party,’ whispered the old man. ‘Your cake, covered with cream, and all those presents waiting to be opened. And the party with your friends and the games you’ll play.’
‘And your party too, Apu,’ sniffed the boy sleepily. ‘When we find your birthday.’
Alberto smiled, relieved that something had distracted the child from his distress.
‘Yes,’ said Alberto quietly. ‘We’ll have a party when we find my birthday.’
He felt the exhausted child relax in his arms and laid him down on the pillow, tucking the bear into the crook of his arm. Then he stayed awhile, making sure the boy was sound asleep, before going back into the living room, leaving the door open.
Sighing, he rubbed his eyes, picked up the glass of brandy and swallowed the remainder, relishing the sensation as the liquid slid down his throat.
Over the next few days, Alberto and the boy spent all of their time together. The old man was concerned to see Tino subdued and tense, so spent as much time as possible on his land keeping the child busy.
Together, they visited tree after tree, tapping the almonds to the ground. When all the nuts were harvested and rid of their husks, the old man loaded the last canvas bags onto the moped and walked the heavy bike along the road.
Back at the apartment, Alberto took two chairs downstairs to the street outside his apartment. He and Tino sat on the pavement, the bags of nuts between them. The old man gave the boy a simple nutcracker.
‘Mind your fingers,’ he told him.
While the boy set to cracking his first nut, Alberto stood a tall log between his legs and took a small hammer out of his pocket. Lifting an almond out of the nearest canvas bag, he placed it on the top of the neatly cut log and brought the hammer down on it with a swift rap. The almond shell split neatly, and he swept the broken bits onto the ground as he dropped the wrinkled nut into a large glass jar next to the boy.
‘Apu?’ said Tino as he emptied broken shells onto the pavement.
‘Yes.’
‘Where was the orphanage you lived at?’
‘Inland. It was a big hacienda surrounded by farmland. In the summer, it was as hot as here, but in the winter, it was bitterly cold and often snowed.’
‘But, Apu, now you live by the sea. Why did you come here?’
‘When the war ended, we were moved to a bigger institution in the city. That was a terrible place and I left as soon as I could. But the country was very poor then and there were no jobs. I was young, but I went looking for work and took it where I could find it. At harvest times, I would work on the farms for my food and keep. At other times, I would work in towns to help the builders reconstruct everything that had been destroyed in the war.
‘I travelled all over the country, sometimes walking, sometimes catching a lift on the back of a cart. After a while, I came to the coast. I found work at a farm during the olive harvest. It was at that farm I met my wife, your grandmother.’
Alberto remembered the farm and the long, sunny days he’d spent plucking the fat black olives from the trees, chatting easily with the farmer’s youngest daughter. She’d had curvy hips, a sassy attitude and a raucous laugh. She’d made him smile, and at lunch when the family and workers had sat at a long trestle table to eat, she’d served him larger portions than anyone else.
Her father had joked that if María Luisa continued to feed him so well, Alberto would become too fat to work and they’d have to let him go. Alberto had blushed, not used to being included in the lively banter of close family and friends. But the family had warmed to the shy boy María Luisa adored, and when the olive harvest had finished, her father had found more work for him on the farm.
‘And so you wanted to stay?’ asked his grandson.
‘And so I wanted to stay.’
‘And you never went back to where the orphanage was?’
‘No.’
‘We should go there.’
‘Why?’
‘Because that’s where we should start looking for your birthday.’
‘Why do you think I’ll find my birthday there?’
‘I don’t know. But I think it’s the only place to start, Apu. Don’t you?’
Alberto smiled and nodded at the boy.
‘Well, if I were going to go looking for my birthday, you’re right – it’s the best place to start,’ he said.
Looking up from his nutcracker, the boy smiled at his grandfather. It was only a small smile, but Alberto was relieved to see it.
‘Well, you two look very pleased with yourselves,’ said a cheery voice.
A wide woman walked up the street towards them. She was dressed in a blue-and-white patterned dress and carpet slippers. Her rosy cheeks glowed, and her broad smile revealed a missing tooth. Her grey hair was set in large curls, the rollers only recently removed.
‘Señora Ortiz,’ said Alberto. He politely nodded his head and set down the hammer.
‘We’re going looking for Apu’s birthday, señora,’ said Tino gleefully.
‘Are you? Well, I hope I can come to the party when you find it!’ said the señora. She winked at Alberto.
‘Oh yes, Apu. We’ll have to organize your first ever birthday party! Mamá can make all the food and there will be presents.’
‘That’s a lovely idea, little one,’ said the señora. She reached down and pinched Tino’s cheek. ‘The whole village will come to Alberto’s birthday party.’
Alberto smiled and shook his head at the silliness.
‘But, Papá, I don’t understand,’ said Rosa, frowning.
‘It’s just for a few days. I think it will be good for him.’
The old man had thought long and hard about it. Each evening, they had come to the hospital to look through the window at Juan Carlos, and each night, the nightmares had returned. Despite spending a busy day outdoors in the sunshine, the child had grey shadows under his eyes.
Worried about him, Alberto had let his grandson chatter on about the search for his birthday, happy that it distracted him from the anxiety he felt over his father. Finally, a week after Juan Carlos’s accident, he’d decided to ask his daughter if he could take his grandson away. They would travel inland to the orphanage – if it was still there. Most likely, that would be the end of the search, but at least the journey and change of scene would take Tino’s mind off his father.
‘But a family should be together – especially at a time like this,’ said his daughter. ‘And what about Tino? Shouldn’t he be near his father?’
‘He’s having nightmares, Rosa. Seeing his father like this upsets him. He doesn’t want to say anything to you, but he’s afraid to come into the hospital.’
His daughter looked at him, still confused. ‘But what about me, Papá? Doesn’t he want to be with me?’
The old man looked at his daughter and saw the anxiety in her eyes. Perhaps he shouldn’t have suggested it. A nurse had taken Tino off to the canteen to get a drink and Alberto had seen his opportunity to talk privately to Rosa. But it seemed he had made a mistake. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her more. His daughter knew what was best for her son, not him – it should be her decision.
‘Let him go,’ said Juan Carlos’s mother from across the corridor.
Alberto and his daughter both looked round in surprise. They hadn’t realized she had heard their conversation.
‘But—’ said Rosa.
‘No. It’s not good for him to see his father like this. He enjoys being with his grandfather. And a trip will be good for both of them.’
‘We’ll only be away a few days,’ said Alberto gently. ‘And Cristina arrives tomorrow afternoon. You’ll have your sister with you.’
‘Well . . .’ said his daughter.
‘By the time they come home, his father will be much better,’ said Juan Carlos’s mother firmly.
‘Ask him, Rosa,’ said Alberto. ‘Ask the boy what he wants to do.’ As his daughter looked up at him, Alberto nodded to her. After what seemed like an age, she slowly nodded back at him.
Alberto looked across at Juan Carlos’s mother as she prepared to go back into the hospital room, tying her mask behind the back of her head. He smiled his thanks at her.
‘But,’ said Rosa, ‘where did you say you were going?’
‘He wants to find my birthday.’
‘And, after all these years, you want to look for it?’
‘Rosa, it’s caught his imagination. It’s all he talks about. And I let him, because while he’s thinking about my birthday, he’s not thinking about his father in hospital.’
‘But what about you, Papá? Do you want to go back?’
‘It was sixty-five years ago; we won’t find anything. I expect nothing.’
But in truth, he was looking forward to the trip. As a young man, he had spent years on the road, never knowing where the next day would take him. Meeting people and seeing new places had given him an education, and sometimes he wished he’d travelled further to see what the world had to offer. But marrying and settling down had been good for him, and he had cherished the security he had found with his small family.
The thought of the trip filled him with a sense of anticipation he hadn’t experienced in many years.
‘Well, if you do find your birthday, I hope you’re not expecting presents for all those years we missed!’
Alberto smiled warmly – it was the first time since Juan Carlos’s accident that he had seen his daughter’s face relax and her eyes soften. If Tino was happy to go, perhaps this trip would be good for all of them.