Maria Barbal - Stone in a Landslide

I jumped up and threw myself into the day. I was so happy that it was only a dream! The amount of work that needed to be done didn’t worry me. The rooms for the cousins from Barcelona had to be prepared. They weren’t arriving for days yet but Tia hadn’t sat still since reading the letter. So much work, your husband never at home and soon we’ll have the house full of people.

Rather than the end of August they were thinking of coming up for the second fortnight of July. Ventura had been ill and the climate in Barcelona wasn’t suiting her at all.

We were going to clean from top to bottom, Jaume would whitewash the walls, and the night before the festival of the Mother of God I would make the beds.

It was difficult to understand how something that gave Tia so much satisfaction could also make her so bad-tempered. Probably other things contributed. Jaume was overworked. Since the spring Elvira had been in service at the Pujalts’ house in Montsent. She was learning how to run a big house and to cook fine food. Every afternoon they gave her two hours to go and learn how to sew. On the one hand, Tia wanted it that way, but on the other she regretted it, even though Angeleta helped her a lot. Angeleta was hard-working and docile but she didn’t have as much drive as Elvira, and you had to supervise her more. It’s true to say though that sometimes she had enough to do just looking after Mateu. Wash him, dress him, give him breakfast, watch him in the plaza. Now, go and feed the rabbits, go to the vegetable garden to get a handful of chard. Later we’ll go to the fields. We’ll count the poplars. We’ll gather flowers — soapwort, St John’s Wort, Cupid’s Dart, roses — watch out for the ants! No, you can’t hold the sickle yet. We have to wait until you are bigger, tall like a bell tower, strong like a bull.

Now Angeleta’s going to go on her own to let the cows out and Tia will bring us a snack around twelve o’clock. Soup, a bit of ham and some salad. You can’t drink wine yet. A little water. We’ll see if the walnuts have grown, and the hazelnuts, and then I’ll make you a bed under the big walnut tree so you can sleep while Mother finishes her work. Father is coming later, I think.

Shame that the Augusts have given him work right now, in the middle of the summer… but he couldn’t say no. Least of all to families like that, who think they are doing you a favour. I go there myself every year to help out when they slaughter the pigs, and then it’s Conxa here, Conxa there, they don’t know what to do with me. And as soon as the work is done, they act like they don’t know you.

Suddenly we see Delina coming towards us, flapping her arms like a bird. Mateu laughs at her. She arrives, hot, as red as a tomato. She speaks. I came to tell you that at the market I met old man Sastre from Torve. He asked me to tell you that they have settled on your Elvira for their son. And she adds, They’re a very good family, don’t think about it too long.

I am astonished. But she’s not even sixteen yet… and here’s Delina advising me, Delina who didn’t want to get married and will soon end up being a housekeeper for her brother.

I listen as she continues. If it sounds good to you, you could meet at the market next Monday to arrange for them to visit each other. Try to convince your husband. Now I must hurry, we have a cow that wants to calve…

She’s gone before I have a chance to speak and leaves me feeling as if I’d been run over. I watch her racing towards her house. I think of Elvira. Maybe time is passing too quickly. Just then what I dreamt comes back to me and I feel a chill down my spine.

Barcelona, 20th July 1936

Mrs Encarnación Martí

Dearest cousin and all the family,

I hope that on receiving these lines you find yourself enjoying good health as we are here, thanks be to God.

We just received your letter concerning our arrival up there. We have decided that, for the moment, we are going to say that we are not coming. The news about the uprising is rather worrying, and we think that because of the insecurity it would be better to wait until things have calmed down before we go away anywhere.

Please do not think that it was an easy decision to make; Ventureta was really looking forward to it and she does nothing but cry and say she wants to go up north. Thanks be to God she is much better, so it was not necessary that we came for her health; but please believe that we are all sorry and will truly miss this longed-for holiday and the days out and the fine food up there. We are sorry that dear Conxa has already made up the rooms, but we must resign ourselves. It must be God’s will.

We are sending you some fabric we had bought to make a dress for the girls. Well, I say girls, but Elvira must be a woman now, and Ángela too.

We hope for everyone’s sake that nothing will happen and that we might still come up in August.

There is nothing else to say save that everyone here sends everyone there much love, especially from Ventureta and my wife Elisa.

Your devoted cousin,

TOMÁS OLIVELLA

After the news that some soldiers had revolted in Africa, everything turned upside down at home. Our cousins didn’t come up. Tia was in bed with a stomach bug that left her exhausted. Between work outside the village and the trips to Sarri, where they had just installed the water, Jaume was never at home. Monsignor Miquel complained, as much in the pulpit as on the street, that so much disorder would necessarily have to be met with order and that this Republic was a disaster. The sermon lasted longer than the Mass. Clearly he wanted to vent his feelings, because the sermons had nothing to do with the gospel of the day. What’s more, I continued to have that awful dream almost every night. The children were the only ones who were the same as ever. Elvira, happily in service at Montsent. She was learning so much, so happy to be there. In sewing class they showed her how to make a dress… Mateu, thin as always, but strong as a rock. Angeleta, helping me in everything and everywhere, poor little thing.

Little by little news comes. Some people talk about fighting and deaths in the south of Spain… others talk about atrocities in Barcelona. They say that the priests have gone into hiding. Ours hasn’t been seen for two days. Jaume is exultant. He keeps saying that what the people have decided freely cannot easily be set aside, not even with guns. What does he mean, the people? The people means all the men and women who live in this country. I back away from these conversations and feel suffocated. Better not to ask anything. Today he told me off because I mentioned the marriage proposal for Elvira. As if it’s my fault someone wants to marry her. Don’t I say and keep saying that she is still a little girl? But he was like a wild animal. Is it that she’s a nuisance? A nuisance, my daughter? And then he went on about the heir’s family. He shouted: What do they want with a little girl of sixteen? Has the world gone mad?

Big tears roll down my cheeks. My heart sinks. I say I am going to wash clothes in the river and leave the room. Jaume has stopped talking. I leave him staring at the glass in the window.

The rattling of the engine made me drowsy, but I was wide awake. I wasn’t dreaming now. On one side Elvira, on the other Angeleta and faces all around me. All unfamiliar, all quiet and withdrawn. No, this was no dream. It was real.

They’d called at midday and asked in Spanish for the wife and children of Jaime Camps. Tia had answered all their questions calmly. I’d just obeyed. I had to get into the lorry with my children. We could snatch a little to eat for the day. Quickly. At the last minute, Tia had given a mattress to Elvira. It seemed unnecessary to me, but I didn’t say anything. I looked at the weapons and those tall strong boys, and they looked at Elvira out of the corners of their eyes. I just went along. Old Mrs Jou came and asked them to have mercy and let the little boy stay with his grandmother because he’s only six and he’s sick. They pushed her away but they didn’t take the boy, who clutched Tia’s black dress like a leaf curled up by the wind against an old tree trunk.