A Thunderous Whisper Read online

  For about a minute, neither of us said a word, and we didn’t move either.

  I watched a small smirk creep over his lips and realized I had never answered his question. “Your question isn’t even that hard,” I commented. “Being Basque has to do with your family history … where you come from.”

  He pinched his lips together, then shook his head. “Nah, that can’t be it, because what would that make me? I’m Basque on my father’s side, but German on my mom’s.”

  I straightened up. “Your mother’s German?” Suddenly his barely noticeable accent sounded much stronger, and the fact that he spoke several languages hinted at something much more dangerous.

  Mathias nodded and grabbed at another patch of fresh grass. “Well, she used to be anyway.”

  I moved forward an inch or two. “Used to be? What do you mean …? Is she, you know, dead?”

  He looked up at me, his eyebrows slightly scrunched together. “Oh no. God no,” he said, shaking his head vehemently. “There are new laws over in Germany that say if you’re Jewish or part Jewish, you’re no longer a German citizen.… That’s what I meant. They don’t care anymore if you were born there or if your grandparents and great-grandparents were all born there.”

  “You’re … Jewish?” I asked.

  Mathias nodded.

  I’d never met anyone who was Jewish before. All the people I knew, even the ones I really didn’t know, were Catholic. I stared at him. He didn’t look that different. But why was he talking to me?

  “You ever been to Germany?” I asked.

  “Of course I have,” he answered, as if that were the most ridiculous question ever. “I may have been born in San Sebastián like my dad, but I grew up in Berlin. Most of my mom’s family still lives there, but my parents and I have been moving around a lot these last few years. Lived in a bunch of different places.”

  “Like where?” I asked, thinking of all the places Papá used to describe. Maybe this would be what I’d write about in my letter to him.

  Mathias looked away, seeming to conjure up an image in his head. “Barcelona, Paris, Madrid, but Berlin is still my favorite. It’s beautiful there. Amazing architecture, food, history … It has to be one of the best places in the world.”

  “It can’t be that great if your parents left,” I answered.

  He shrugged, and started to wipe away some of the dirt streaks on his pants.

  I stayed quiet, waiting to see if our conversation was finally over and he’d leave. I still didn’t know why he was talking to me.

  Turning his head to look at me again, he asked, “So, since you now know all about me, what would you say I am? Basque, German, or something else?”

  My lips twitched. I resigned myself to the fact that he had no intention of leaving me alone. “You, Mathias—That’s your name, right?”

  He nodded.

  “I say you are”—I thought for a moment, then smiled—“annoying.”

  His lips lifted up to form a half smirk, then a grin, which soon transformed into full-blown laughter. He was laughing as if I’d said the funniest thing he’d heard in a week.

  It wasn’t the effect I was going for, but his laugh was contagious, and I found myself smiling too.

  After a few seconds, he caught his breath and lay back on his elbows. “I like you. You’re a straight shooter,” he said, staring at my face as if he were trying to decipher some secret code. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “I don’t think I could stop you,” I said.

  He tilted his head, ignoring my comment. “How come you don’t have any friends?”

  This was why I didn’t like talking to people. I could have had a perfectly nice time by myself, but now he wanted me to explain why I was unpopular.

  My hands twitched, and I almost got up. But if I left, then it’d be like surrendering my tree.

  “Not that I’m one to talk,” he continued. “I move around so much that it’s sometimes hard to make friends.”

  I crossed my arms and tucked my hands underneath my armpits. “I have plenty of friends,” I responded.

  “Haven’t seen you with any.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and not because of the cool wind that was now blowing through the field. “You’ve been spying on me?” I couldn’t forget that he was part German … or Jewish … or whatever.

  “Not really spying.” Mathias paused for a moment. “More like observing. I do that a lot.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and put aside any thought that this boy could pose a threat. “Hmph, sounds a lot like spying to me. You know what they do to spies, don’t you?”

  “Observing is not spying. And, yes, I know what happens to spies. They’re lucky if they get shot.”

  That reminded me of the war and Papá. I wondered if Papá had ever met a German. I wasn’t sure he’d approve of my talking to someone who was half-German. Then again, Papá was friends with a lot of people he’d met in his travels, so maybe it’d be all right with him.

  “Hey, is everything okay?” Mathias asked after a few moments passed.

  I nodded and felt my ponytail hook itself on a loose piece of bark. “Yeah, just thinking about stuff. My dad is fighting in the war.” I carefully untangled my hair from the tree.

  “Is he with the Itxasalde Battalion?” he asked.

  I gave him a slight nod, but concentrated on tucking the strands of hair that now dangled by my cheek back behind my ear.

  Mathias kept probing. “So, is he a communist?”

  I jerked my head up. “No! Not at all.” I knew Papá hated what the communists were doing in other parts of Spain. I’d heard some horrific stories of priests and nuns being killed. “He just wants to protect our ways … to keep things how they’ve always been. Are you a communist?”

  “Nope, don’t think so.” He shook his head.

  “Good. Anyway, my father isn’t really fighting. He helps in other ways. Works in the kitchen, I think.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. I’m sure that’s not what he wanted to do when he joined.”

  “Hmph. I’d rather he be safe in a kitchen than out on the front lines. Soldiers need to eat too. Anyway, how’d you know the battalion’s name?”

  Mathias shrugged. “I’ve heard some of the men from town talking about it. Like I said, I watch and listen. You’d be surprised at how much you can learn when you’re not busy talking.”

  I smiled. “So, I guess you’re not learning much today.”

  The edges of Mathias’s mouth twitched again before forming another big grin. “You can learn things by talking to people too.” He swiveled around and leaned against the tree. “And what do you do when you’re just sitting here?”

  “Nothing much. Think up stories, daydream.”

  “About island princesses?”

  “Huh? Oh, what I was saying when you sneaked up on me.”

  “I didn’t sneak up on you. That’s kind of hard to do with this thing.” He pointed to the makila, which lay on the ground next to him.

  My eyes darted from the walking stick to his right leg. Something about how his pants draped wasn’t right.

  “Were you in an accident or something?” I asked, motioning to his leg.

  He tugged on the pants, smoothing out the wrinkle by his calf. “Or something.” For the first time, he didn’t look at me.

  Minutes passed and we settled into an uneasy quiet.

  “So, you want to be an island princess?” Mathias finally asked, breaking the silence.

  “Hmm? Oh no. That’s just a story I made up a long time ago. I used to tell it to my father.”

  “You want to tell me?” he asked, staring straight out toward the horizon.

  “No.” I reached into my pocket, my fingers searching for the smoothness of the satin pouch.

  The streetlamps of Guernica were already shining in the distance and the sky was growing darker by the second. It was time for me to head home.

  I stood up and Mathias fo
llowed as I started to walk back toward town.

  “Besides fairy tales, what other stories do you like?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Adventure, I guess. How ’bout you?”

  He kicked a small rock that lay in the middle of the dirt road. “I’m not big into reading or hearing stories. I’d rather watch them.”

  “More observing?” I teased.

  “Nah.” He waved his hands in the air as if revealing an invisible sign. “I’m talking about films … Hollywood.”

  “Movies?”

  Mathias nodded. “I get to see them because of my father’s job.”

  “Is he in the movies?” An unintended excitement found its way into my voice.

  “I wish. He’s in charge of the new movie theater in town.”

  “Must be pretty rich.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

  “Nah, not even close. He doesn’t own the place; he just gets a theater started for the owners. Then we move to the next city.”

  I could see the paved road up ahead. We were now only a few blocks from my apartment. I wondered if he was going to follow me all the way home like a lost puppy.

  “Have you seen a movie before?” Mathias asked.

  “Um, sure.” I hesitated. “Lots of times.”

  Mathias looked at me closely. “Really?”

  I guess it was an obvious lie. “No.”

  Mathias perked up at my admission. “You want to go? I’m sure I can get you in. Father will make us clean the theater or something, but it’ll be worth it.”

  The thought of seeing a movie was exciting. It was a luxury I’d never had or even thought of having. A chance to see a story come to life.

  “That sounds good,” I said, trying to be nonchalant.

  “Yeah?” he asked, stopping to look at me.

  His excitement was contagious. “Yeah,” I answered with a smile.

  “Perfect.” He twirled the makila in one hand before using it to keep walking. “How about we meet there tomorrow?”

  “Um.” I had school, and Mamá expected me to help her sell the sardines in the evening.

  “You don’t want to?” Mathias asked.

  “No. I mean yes … I want to go, but I have school. Don’t you?”

  Mathias shook his head. “Uh-uh. We’re always moving around, and my mother used to be a teacher in Germany, so she teaches me at home.”

  “Oh.” Although I didn’t like school very much, it was better than being home all day. I also couldn’t imagine Mamá being anyone’s teacher. The only thing she’d ever taught me was how to remain quiet and make sure no one noticed me. During a war, I figured, that was pretty useful.

  “Can’t you miss the afternoon session?” Mathias asked.

  “I suppose, but …” School was the least of my worries. Mamá would be the real problem. It’d have to be on a day when she didn’t need me to work. “How about next Monday?”

  We’d reached the city’s first streetlamp, and under the glow of the light, I could see Mathias rub his chin. “No, the theater isn’t open on Mondays. You sure you can’t make it tomorrow?” He paused for a moment before continuing. “It’d be perfect because Father is giving a private screening at five and he’ll let us watch from the back if we help with the cleaning before the bigwigs get there.”

  I mulled it over. I couldn’t think how I’d manage it, but then again, how often would I have a chance like this? I bit my bottom lip.

  “Don’t worry,” Mathias said. “We’ll leave it for another day.” He pointed toward the center of town with his makila. “I’m down that way.”

  “I’m over there.” I glanced along the row of three-story buildings.

  “See you around, then.” He took a few steps toward the shadows of the narrow street, his makila making a tapping noise against the cobblestones.

  It felt as if this were the end. I wouldn’t see the movie or Mathias again.

  “I’ll meet you tomorrow!” I called out, surprised at the force in my own voice.

  He spun around. “¿De veras?”

  “Yes, really.”

  Mathias slapped the side of his leg. “Perfect!” he exclaimed. “Tomorrow it is. You’re going to love it, princess.” He waved before heading back toward town.

  “My name is not Princess!” I called out.

  “Oh, right. Sorry. See you tomorrow, Ani.”

  No one ever called me Ani either, but if I was going to have a friend, I supposed it really didn’t matter what I was called. That’s when I knew. A friendship, whether I wanted one or not, had been formed.

  THREE

  I opened the door to our dark apartment. The green velvet drapes over the window were closed, and the silence in the room confirmed that Mamá had not yet returned from her day of striking deals at the market.

  Mondays always seemed to foretell my week. If Mamá sold all her sardines, she’d buy vegetables, eggs, and perhaps a piece of meat. If she didn’t, we’d be eating mostly leftover salted sardines. Usually, it was somewhere in the middle, and we’d at least avoid eating fish for all our meals.

  I flicked on the lights, stacked my two schoolbooks on top of the bench, and hung up my sweater. My reflection in the mirror by the door greeted me. I stared at my face as if my mother were the one seeing it.

  How was I going to persuade her to let me go to the movies? For as long as I could remember, every day, after school, I’d been expected to work with her selling sardines. She would carry the basketful of sardines on her head, and I’d hold the scale and the brass weights used to weigh the fish.

  “Ama, I have some wonderful news!” I said, clasping my hands together the way I’d seen the rich, proper ladies do in church. “I was invited to the movies.”

  I wrinkled my nose at the girl in the mirror, making the freckles that formed a bridge toward each cheek bunch together.

  Saying something like that would never work. Mamá would be suspicious the moment I used the Basque word for “mother,” even though she always called me neska, which was “girl” in Basque. When I was younger, I thought it was a nickname, like Papá calling me preciosa, but eventually I realized—“girl” was just a description, nothing more.

  My mother was not going to be easy to convince. I thought of another approach.

  “Mamá, wait until you hear what happened to me today!” I bounced up and down like a three-year-old.

  Ugh! I shook my head. That would just annoy her. It annoyed me.

  “Mamá, can I ask you for a favor?” My voice pleaded, and I tried my best to create pitiful eyes.

  I stuck my tongue out at the reflection. Mamá would cut me off the moment I asked for something. She’d be telling me how we couldn’t afford anything and how I was lucky to have shoes, because growing up as an orphan in Bermeo, she was always barefoot. Then she would say how all I did was take and never give back, how children shouldn’t be heard unless spoken to, and on and on.

  I rolled back my shoulders and lifted my head up high. “Mamá, I’ve been invited to the movies tomorrow afternoon. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  The door lock clicked.

  Mamá was home.

  I hurried toward the kitchen and tried to act busy.

  “¡Neska! ¿Neska? Where are you?” Mamá draped her wool shawl over the empty hook next to my sweater.

  “Aquí, Mamá. I’m right here.” I wiped my hands on the back of my gray skirt.

  “Don’t just stand there. Come help me with this.” She held out a brown paper bag.

  I took a peek inside, happy to see that she hadn’t come back with a basketful of sardines. There were three potatoes, some chickpeas, a few onions, and eggs.

  “What? You thought there would be something new in there? Hmph!” She shook her head. “Always like your father, thinking life is going to give you more,” she muttered.

  I said nothing, but I secretly loved being compared to Papá … even if she hadn’t meant it as a compliment.

  I carried the brown bag into
the kitchen and started to take out the week’s worth of rationed groceries, which, a lifetime ago, might have been our food for the night.

  “Wash and peel a potato. I’m making a soup with it,” Mamá called from the bathroom.

  “Sí, señora,” I said, slightly disappointed that we’d be having potato broth … again. I knew it was the best way to make a potato last for two days, but it still didn’t soothe my grumbling stomach. I guess the sardines Mamá carried in her basket would have to do.… Not that I had any desire to eat another sardine ever again.

  Mamá came into the kitchen and wrapped a white apron around her long black skirt. “And no complaining about what I was able to bring home. We’re lucky that I didn’t give up being a sardinera when I married your father and I can help provide for this family. I don’t want to hear that you’re hungry for a piece of meat or—”

  “I never say—”

  She slammed the kitchen drawer shut and spun around. “Are you now calling me a liar?”

  I shook my head so hard that I could feel my ponytail swing side to side. “No, Mamá. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Hmph! It better not be what you meant.” She turned back to the sink and began filling a pot with water. “An ungrateful child … Nothing worse,” she muttered.

  Except for the occasional slurping of the soup or the crackling sound of the crusty bread being torn, dinner was silent. I knew it would be futile to ask to go to the movies. Mamá would think it was a waste of time—time that could be better spent earning money through sardine sales. As I cleaned the kitchen after dinner, I debated what to do.

  Going to the movies might be selfish on my part—after all, Mamá always worked and never asked for a day off. But I always did what I was told, and rarely complained. Yet all I had to show for it was smelly clothes and zero friends. Plus, Papá would want me to go. And it wouldn’t cost us a thing.… Mamá could make the sales by herself. She always said that having me there for the evening sales was better because people felt sorry for a mother and daughter having to work so hard, but one day wouldn’t hurt. She’d say I was sick, and that might make people buy even more sardines. Yes, this could work. I just had to be convincing when I spoke.