The Scotsman winced as she dabbed the wound and the iodine stung. ‘You’re a marvel, Encarnita.’
‘Sofia got it. She is very good, very kind.’
‘Like you.’
She blushed and looked away.
She picked some pieces of dried grass and dead insects from his hair. ‘Needs cut,’ she said. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And washed.’ Her hand accidentally brushed his cheek and their eyes met again and she was disturbed. She felt it deep down inside her. It was something she had never felt before. She moved back from him.
Don Geraldo’s book was lying open on the ground.
‘You enjoy it?’
‘Not an awful lot.’ When he saw that she frowned he added quickly, ‘It’s just that I didn’t like Jack much, the way he walks out on his mother and stays away for a year and doesn’t even let her know if he’s alive or dead.’
‘You leave your mother.’
‘But she knew I was going.’
‘And she approve?’
‘Not totally. She approved of the cause but she didn’t want me to be hurt.’
Encarnita nodded. That was how she had felt when she had watched Rinaldo walk out for the last time, his rucksack on his back. She had wanted to call him back, beg him not to go. But he would have gone anyway, just as the Scotsman would have done had his mother asked him.
She was disappointed, though, that he had not liked Don Geraldo’s book. She would like to think that the two men would be friends if they were to meet.
‘But you like books?’ she pressed. He must, surely he must, since his family was rich.
‘Oh yes! I like very much a Scottish writer called Robert Louis Stevenson. He lived in a house just along the road from me. Long before my time.’
‘I have his book!’ cried Encarnita triumphantly. ‘Garden of Verses.’
‘You do?’ He went on to recite some of the poems, most of which she knew herself by heart. ‘My mother used to read them to me when I went to bed,’ he said.
She could imagine such a scene. The land of counterpane. A boy with reddish-blond hair and blue eyes sitting up in bed, propped against fat white, lace-edged pillows, and a lovely lady with a sweet face reading. It was an image she took home with her as she recrossed the campo.
That evening, when they were having their meal – another fish from Juan – Sofia asked her what she found to talk about with the Scotsman.
‘We talk about books.’
‘Books! How many books have you read?’
‘Some. We like the same poems. It’s true!’
‘And you can understand what he says, in English?’
‘Not all the time. But enough. And he speaks some Spanish. We teach each other.’
Sofia pursed her lips.
A little later, a rap on the door announced the arrival of Juan. He had come to see if Encarnita would like to go for a paseo with him along the sea front. It was a fine night, he said. There was a moon. She excused herself, saying she was tired and had a headache. She avoided Sofia’s eye.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said when Juan had gone, wearing an air of dejection.
‘You are a fool!’ It was seldom that Sofia was angry but tonight she was. She banged a pot lid as she put it on the shelf. ‘Why will you not take him? Is he not good enough for you? I have been good enough to take you in and help you when you needed help. Do you think you are so special that you turn down an honest fisherman?’
‘You have been good to me, Sofia, and I love you,’ said Encarnita in a low voice, ‘but I cannot reward you by marrying Juan.’
‘I don’t want a reward. But I want my nephew to be happy. He would like you for his wife. What is wrong with him?’
‘Nothing, Sofia. He is a good man.’
‘Well then?’
Encarnita stood with bent head, feeling like a penitent, but unwilling to repent. Her mother had always said she was stubborn and maybe she was being stubborn now but she could not bring herself to marry a man she did not love, or for whom she did not feel some affection. She liked Juan well enough, she thought him kind, but she found his features coarse and he blew his nose between his fingers and spat in the street, like many men did but, still, she did not like it.
‘It was that Englishman in Yegen who put ideas in your head, wasn’t it? What was his name?’
‘Don Geraldo.’ It was true that Encarnita had admired his manners and his learning, which perhaps had made her more critical of the Spanish men she met. She could not say so to Sofia, who would only be further offended. Nor could she say that she liked having ideas in her head, things to think about, or even to puzzle over, for Sofia would not understand that, either. Why did everyone think it was so bad to have ideas put into your head? You didn’t have to keep them if you didn’t want to.
‘Well, you won’t find a man like him to marry here, so you can forget about that! Like sticks with like in this world. Your Scotsman won’t make you his bride, you can take my word for that. He’s more likely to end up in the hands of the Guardia.’
‘Sofia, you wouldn’t —!’
‘Of course I wouldn’t! What do you take me for? Do you think I would betray a man – any man? Even if he had fought on the other side?’
But what if he had killed her Pedro? Encarnita did not ask that question. Some questions were too difficult to ask.
‘Don’t say anything about him to Juan, please, Sofia!’
‘I know when to keep my mouth shut.’ Sofia subsided with a sigh. ‘I just ask you again, Encarnita, not to make your mind up too quickly about Juan. I will tell him you need time and he should try not to rush you.’
Encarnita was on edge for the next two days because she was unable to go into the campo. Continuing army manoeuvres on the main road were making it impossible to leave the pueblo without being seen. She could tell that Sofia was secretly pleased even though she was saying nothing. While the older woman was up in the cemetery, Encarnita sat in the house and studied A Child’s Garden of Verses and when she heard her coming she hid the book under her pallet. It made her happy every time she opened it.
On the third day, the road was quiet again.
‘I suppose you are going back to him?’ said Sofia.
Encarnita was brushing her hair in front of the pockmarked mirror on the dresser. She brushed it and brushed it with long even strokes, until it glistened. She shook the long dark locks back from her shoulders.
‘I can’t abandon him now.’ She was studying her reflection. Her gaze was level and unblinking. Her life was shifting on its axis, about to change, she felt sure of that.
‘How long does he intend to stay out there?’
‘Until his wounds have healed and his arm is mended.’
‘And do you think he’ll manage to get away even then? How will he escape the patrols?’ Sofia did not expect an answer and did not get one.
There was no traffic at all on the road today. Encarnita raced across and was soon heading inland. As she neared the house, though, she slowed, wanting to savour the moment of seeing him again, to stretch it out. She felt as if her whole body was tingling with excitement.
But when the house did come into view and she saw that he was standing in the doorway leaning against the lintel, she broke into a run.
‘You are leaving?’
‘I was considering it. I thought you might be finding it too difficult to come again and that perhaps I should try to move on.’
‘But not strong enough to move?’
‘No.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘My legs feel as if they’re filled with sand.’
She led him inside and he dropped like a sack onto the ground. ‘You shouldn’t have tried to walk!’ She fussed over him, changing the dressings and swabbing the sounds, which were looking a little better. ‘You need more time to rest.’
‘But I’m worried about getting you into trouble, Encarnita.’
‘I can take care of me.’
‘I couldn’t bear it if one of those butchers were to lay a hand on you – you are so lovely! I would want to kill him with my own bare hands.’
Encarnita’s heart was racing so madly that she thought he must hear it. ‘I am not lovely.’
‘You are! You’re beautiful.’ He slid his hand round the back of her neck and drew her face towards his. Her lips met his. She had known since their first meeting that this moment would come. She thought she might even have willed it.
He began to caress her, to stroke her hair and her body, to murmur into her hair, to kiss her eyes. She had not imagined a man could be so gentle. She offered no resistance. She was ready for him; her passion matched his and as his desire quickened so did hers until they reached such a feverish pitch that their cries would have been heard outside the house should anyone have been passing. Only the goatherd was, and he went on his way, fearful for them.
Afterwards, they lay at peace, entwined together, forgetful of the world that existed beyond the four broken-down walls, aware only of each other.
‘Your arm?’ she murmured.
‘It’s fine.’ He swivelled his head and kissed her cheek. ‘Salt! You’ve not been crying? I didn’t hurt you, did I, Encarnita?’
She shook her head, so happy that she did not want to speak. He smiled at her and she knew that he understood. She felt he understood everything.
‘Say my name, Encarnita. You never have.’
‘Conal,’ she said. ‘Very short. Me, I am Encarnita Pilar Maria.’
‘And I am Conal Alexander Roderick MacDonald! Quite a mouthful! After my father and two grandfathers.’
‘Tell me the names again.’
He repeated them and she tried to say them after him, making him laugh. ‘I like the way you say them. I like everything you say.’
She stayed with him all day and left only when the sun was dropping.
‘I wish I can stay with you all night.’
‘But you can’t,’ he said sadly.
‘I’ll come tomorrow.’
‘Don’t, if the Guardia are around!’
He insisted on coming to the door to watch her go. She looked back at him several times until it was too dark to make out anything but the bare jagged outline of the house. Thick cloud was obscuring the moon.
Her legs were scratched and cut by the time she arrived home. Sofia was sitting at the table.
‘Well, come in and shut the door. Don’t just stand there.’
‘I hope you weren’t worried?’
‘That wouldn’t stop you, would it? So you’ve lain with him. Don’t try to deny it. I can smell him on you.’
‘I love him, Sofia,’ said Encarnita, her voice quiet and pitched low.
‘Love, huh! How many stupid girls have I heard say that! Myself amongst them. And do you think he loves you? He’ll be like all men. They want you while they lust after you. They’ll lie with any woman who’s willing.’
‘He’s not like that!’
‘How do you know what he’s like? You’ve read a few poems with him, dressed his cuts. Do you think if he was in his own country he would want you?’
‘We’re not in his country.’
‘But he’ll go back there. If he lives long enough. I knew this would happen.’
‘He’s made me happy!’
‘Women are stupid,’ muttered Sofia. Then she lifted her head. ‘There’s an egg there for you and some bread. But before you eat maybe you should go and wash. Wash as much of his seed away as you can.’
She said nothing in the morning when she saw Encarnita getting ready to go out, except to warn her to come back before nightfall.
There were a few army trucks on the road but Encarnita lay low in the undergrowth, awaiting her chance, until the road was clear to cross. Nothing would keep her from him today. She flew across the campo as if her feet were winged, stopping once only, to pick some wild flowers, anemones, orchids, dianthus, to which she added two flaming poppies even though she knew they would not survive for long. She carried the bouquet in front of her like a torch.
He was waiting for her. He buried his nose in the blooms, then laid them aside to take her into his arms. They made love even before she attended to his wounds.
‘They can wait,’ he said, ‘but I can’t.’
It was overcast and the rain came on later but it served to make their hideaway even cosier. The piece of roof that remained kept them dry and their bodies generated heat. They rejoiced in the crackling of the thunder and the flashing of the lightning. They fell asleep in the late afternoon and awoke to find that the storm had passed and it was pitch dark.
‘How will you get back?’ asked Conal.
‘I won’t,’ said Encarnita, pulling him to her. ‘I stay.’
The dawn was quiet, except for the calls of the birds. When she went out to fetch fresh water she thought that she had never seen the campo look more beautiful. Back lit by the rising sun, every tree, every blade of grass, rimmed with beads of dew, stood out more clearly than she could ever remember. For a moment she remained quite still.
She returned to Conal, taking him the cool, sweet water. She held the cup to his lips and when she took it away she kissed him. He pulled her to him.
‘Don’t leave me yet,’ he begged.
And so she stayed for another hour or so, or perhaps more. They had ceased to register time passing. She kept saying that she ought to go, the sun was climbing up in the sky, and Sofia would be worrying; and he kept saying that he could not bear the idea of her going, yet he knew that she must. Before she finally did leave she went out again and gathered oranges and olives for him. It was not enough to build a man’s strength but the best that she could do. She would come back later and try to bring some cheese and sausage.
Even now, she lingered. This was madness, they agreed. They kissed, parted, came together again, and it was then that he said, ‘I love you, Encarnita, I want you to know that,’ making it harder for her to leave in one way, yet in another way, not. She could hold the thought of his love inside her while they were apart.
‘And you? Do you love me?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said, but he had known that already.
Finally, they separated, knowing that they must. They stood back and looked at each other.
‘Hasta pronto, Encarnita!’ he said. ‘Muy pronto!’
She could feel herself smiling as she made her way back across the campo, and at one point she threw back her head and laughed aloud, from sheer happiness. Lost in her reverie, she ran straight into the two guards without a chance of avoiding them. The fat one, the one she hated, seized her arm, pulling her to a halt.
‘So, Señorita, what have you got to be laughing about?’
No longer laughing, she concentrated on keeping her voice steady. ‘It’s a lovely day.’
‘What do you do out there in the campo?’
‘I like being out in the country. I don’t like the town.’
‘You steal fruit, don’t you?’
‘Only the ones on the ground. They’d go rotten if I didn’t lift them.’
‘That’s still stealing.’
‘No one owns them now. They would go to waste. It is wicked to waste food.’
Unable to think of anything else, he pushed her away. As soon as she was out of their sight she began to run. The encounter had unnerved her. Did they suspect her of meeting someone? But if they did they would have followed her, wouldn’t they? She thought – hoped – that they had been merely idling around and that the fat one liked to amuse himself by tormenting her.
Sofia was in the cemetery. ‘So you managed to tear yourself away?’
‘We could hardly bear it.’
‘We?’
‘Yes, him too. Sofia, I could never have imagined anything to be so wonderful.’
‘You do have a good imagination, I can say that.’
‘We love each other.’
Sofia sighed. ‘It’s not new. How many times have I heard it! Sometimes the ending is good, often bad.’
‘You look too much on the dark side, Sofia.’
‘That’s what life has done to me.’
‘I’m going back to him later.’
‘What am I to say if someone asks where you are?’
‘No one comes to the house in the evening, except Juan. And he might not come for a while, since he’s annoyed with me.’
‘What if he does?’
‘Couldn’t you tell him I’m asleep?’
‘You want me to lie for you now?’
‘Oh, Sofia, it would only be a little lie!’ Encarnita put her arms round her. ‘I’m sorry I’m upsetting you but I can’t help it!’
‘That’s what they all say,’ muttered Sofia.
Encarnita washed her body and her hair and put on clean clothes. She spent a few pesetas in the shop buying cheese, sausage and half a loaf of bread. She would gather oranges on the way. They would have a feast.
She waited until late afternoon to set out again.
Sofia issued her usual warning to take care and keep her wits about her. ‘Your head’s in a whirl.’
Near the burnt-out house where Encarnita picked oranges, the two guards were lying in wait.
The fat one seized her bag and looked inside. ‘And who would all this food be for?’
‘I was going to have a picnic.’
‘A picnic, eh? Who was going to share it? It’s a lot of food for one.’
‘I thought I’d give some to the goatherd.’
‘Oh, you did, did you? What would you give a man like him food for?’
‘He’s so thin. He looks starved.’
‘What a kind chica you are! Trouble is I don’t think you’re telling the truth.’ Suddenly he lifted his hand and slapped her across the face.
She stepped back, putting her hand to her cheek.
‘Now tell me who the food was for? Your uncle?’
‘No one.’
He hit her again, this time across the mouth. ‘Who?’
She gulped, tasting blood. She shook her head and he lifted his hand again but his companion said, ‘Let her go. We’ll talk to her later. We haven’t got time, we’d better catch up with the others.’
Go home, they told her, stay in the house and don’t dare to leave it.
She stumbled as she went, blinded by tears, but when she heard goat bells she sniffed and dried her eyes on the back of her hand. The flock came into view, their keeper close behind.
He stopped beside a bush and motioned to her to join him. He scanned the landscape before he spoke.
‘They’re everywhere, the rats. You’ve come across them, I see. I overheard them talking earlier. They were saying that a man had been sighted near a ruined house.’
‘No!’
‘They weren’t sure where it was exactly but they’ve called up more forces. I managed to get there before them.’
‘You think they’ve found my house?’
‘Yes, but I was there first. I told the man to leave with me straightaway.’ The goatherd said that he had shown him how to reach a cave further up the hill.
‘How do I get there?’ asked Encarnita.
‘You can’t go just now.’
‘I must!’
‘Not with all the patrols around.’
‘I could try.’
‘Don’t! It would be too dangerous. You might even lead them to him.’
Encarnita was silent now, recognising the truth of what he had said.
The goatherd added, ‘They may be looking for you after they search the house.’
‘Why?’
‘He remembered he’d left something. We couldn’t go back. It was too late.’
‘What was it?’
‘A book.’
‘No!’
‘He was worried because it had your name in it.’
‘It does!’ Don Geraldo had inscribed on the fly-leaf, ‘To my good friend Encarnita.’
‘He also asked me to give you his love.’
Encarnita thanked the goatherd. He had taken a considerable risk himself, though he waived aside her praises.
When she arrived home she told Sofia everything. The older woman wasted no time in recriminations. She bathed Encarnita’s lip, put some clean clothes and a food in a bag and rolled up a blanket, then told her to come with her. She knew a safe house, a place where Republicans on the run had been able to lie low until escaping by boat. Encarnita added to the bag her books and the drawing done by Don Geraldo’s friend Carrington.
They made their way safely through the dark streets until they reached a house with shuttered windows. Sofia glanced around before knocking on the door. After a moment a voice behind it asked who was there.
‘It’s me, Sofia. And a friend. We need help.’
An elderly man let them in, bolting the door behind them, and took them along a passage to a kitchen at the back where his wife sat knitting. No introductions were made and the elderly couple asked no questions, requiring only to know that Encarnita must lie low for a while.
‘Until we decide where she can go,’ said Sofia and Encarnita realised then that she would never be able to go back to Sofia’s house.
‘I hope they won’t give you a bad time,’ she said anxiously. The Guardia Civil were bound to question Sofia.
‘Don’t worry. I will tell them that you ran off into the campo and I have not seen you since. They’ll get nothing more out of me.’
They kissed and the older woman left without another word.
Above the kitchen, there was a space under the roof, high enough for someone to sit up in, though not to stand. It was ventilated by an opening in the gable-end wall. The man brought a ladder and climbing up, he dislodged two wooden planks in the ceiling, making a hole for Encarnita to crawl through.
‘You can spend some time here in the kitchen with us,’ said the woman. ‘We are quiet people. We are seldom disturbed.’
Encarnita was exhausted and ready to retreat to her warm eyrie, which smelt of woodsmoke from the stove in the kitchen. She felt stunned. Everything had happened so quickly. She lay on top of Sofia’s blanket and listened to the murmuring of the old couple’s voices below and she thought of Conal. She could not stop thinking about him. She felt deeply afraid for him and imagined him in the hands of the army or the Guardia Civil. When she heard a shot she jerked upright and sat there in the dark, listening to the thudding of her heart. It was a long time before she slept.
She wakened when she heard the floor boards being shifted and sat up, once again, in alarm. A balding white head bobbed into the space.
‘It’s only me. Nothing to worry about. We thought you might like some breakfast and to relieve yourself perhaps.’
She relieved herself in the yard while the wife kept watch, then she sat with them at the table and shared their bread and coffee. There was little they could talk about, but when the husband said that he had taken a stroll along the front earlier Encarnita asked if he had seen any sign of the Guardia Civil patrols. He had not but had met a man who’d told him that they’d been searching the campo the day before for a fugitive.
‘Did he know if they’d found anyone?’
‘He didn’t think so and he’s a man who hears most things.’
That was a relief, if only a partial one. Encarnita felt desperate to go out and track down the goatherd but she knew it was not possible. She found it unbearable to be so confined and helpless.
‘Patience, child,’ advised the wife. ‘I’m afraid it’s the only answer.’
Was that the only answer now for all of them, to sit, resigned and quiet, and wait until some miracle happened and General Franco was brought down? Encarnita did not voice her thoughts as she would have done had she been with Sofia. Sofia would have told her to hush and pray to Our Lady. She missed her friend. She missed even her scolding and their arguments. Her hosts here were kind, but passive. She would not get to know them no matter how long she stayed. Perhaps that was how they had managed to hide fugitives; they had contained their curiosity, or perhaps had had none, so that the people they had hidden had come and gone and left few traces for them to erase.
The wife taught her to knit socks, which helped to pass some of the time, and Encarnita read her book until each word was lodged deep in her brain. She lived day and night with the boy in the land of counterpane who in her dreams turned into a man with red-gold hair and penetrating blue eyes. When she lay awake in the night she talked to him in her head, telling him that she had not forgotten him, that she would come and find him. During the day she sat for short spells out in the enclosed yard to breathe the air but her lungs felt deprived and her legs restricted. Once when she complained of feeling restless, her elderly host said quietly, ‘Imagine what it must be like for our men in prison,’ and she felt ashamed. But what pained her more than anything else was her separation from Conal and not knowing what had happened to him. At times she thought she would go mad, shut up in such a tight space, and she would come down into the kitchen ready to tell her hosts that she must leave, but when she saw their patient faces she had known that she must bear it, for a while yet.
A week passed, and then another. After four weeks, one evening, after dark, Sofia came. Encarnita fell on her and held her in a tight embrace, reluctant to let go.
‘Any news?’
Sofia shook her head. She had heard nothing, which might mean he had got away.
‘Have they been looking for me?’ asked Encarnita.
‘Of course. They had the book. I told them you hadn’t come back that day. They probably think you went with him.’
‘Good.’ Encarnita wished that she had. She wished that she had risked going to find him in the cave but then she might have risked his life.
‘You have to leave Almuñecar, Encarnita. I got word to my sister Arrieta in Nerja, and she has agreed that you can go there. The two guards who knew you have been moved up to Jaén so it’s safer now for you to make a move. I’ve arranged for you to get a lift tomorrow morning with Miguel.’ Miguel was a second cousin of Sofia’s. He delivered vegetables and various other commodities along the coast in an old van. ‘He will be outside at seven o’clock.’
‘I wish you could come with me, Sofia!’
‘You know I can’t.’
They took a sorrowful farewell of each other and when the door had closed behind Sofia Encarnita wondered how many more people she would have say goodbye to. Her heart felt like a stone in her chest.
She rose in the morning before first light and made her way into the dark campo. She thought the goatherd would be out with his beasts while the dew was still on the ground. Dawn was breaking when she caught up with them.
‘He’s gone,’ he told her. ‘He left two weeks ago, heading west, for Gibraltar. He said to tell you he would come back for you.’