Tell the Moon to Come Out Read online

  ‘Gil,’ said his wife, ‘you must tell Nick about his grandparents.’

  ‘Are they dead?’ asked Nick quickly.

  ‘I’m afraid they are. Your grandfather caught flu early on in the war and it turned to pneumonia. Then your grandmother became ill. I fear, too, they were short of food, with your grandfather no longer being able to fish. I managed to visit them once or twice but it wasn’t easy to get into Nerja without being challenged by the guards. I was shocked when I saw them. I took some food but that wouldn’t have lasted long.’

  Nick was saddened but not surprised by the news. He had sensed that his grandparents might no longer be alive.

  Luisa now urged the visitors to wash and refresh themselves. ‘You will feel better for it. And then we shall eat.’

  They washed out in the courtyard and put on clean clothes lent to them by Luisa and Antonio.

  ‘We are about the same size, Nick, which is fortunate,’ said Antonio. ‘I am pleased to get to know my Scottish cousin.’ He had an infectious smile, like his mother. Nick remembered them as a warm family, full of talk and laughter. The war may have subdued the laughter but the warmth was still there.

  They settled round the table in the kitchen and Luisa dished out steaming platefuls of bean and goat stew. The meat was rather tough and needed much chewing, but no one would complain of that. Food was food. With it they drank some of the village wine, made from sweet muscatel grapes grown on the slopes. The family had a smallholding outside the village, on which they grew grapes, avocados, olives and oranges, and kept a pig and, of course, some goats. Their goats, half a dozen in number, were walked during the day by the herdsman they had met earlier. In addition, to add to their income, Torres, father and son, worked as stonemasons.

  ‘You take work where you can get it,’ said Gil, topping up their glasses.

  They talked a little about the war to begin with, but only a little, the family presuming that Isabel was for the Republicans like themselves. She was quiet again during this talk. Nick would not dare to tell them that her father was a member of the Civil Guard.

  The wine was potent and as the evening wore on the laughter began to bubble. It was good to be able to laugh. Antonio was marvellous at telling stories. About the man who lost his pig and found it lying fast asleep on his bed, snoring. Or the old woman who thought Antonio was a ghost when a bucket of whitewash had toppled on his head and he’d met her in the street after dark. She’d gone screaming into her house. ‘My own fault,’ he said ruefully. ‘I had left the bucket badly balanced on top of a wall.’ He was expressive with his gestures and had a fluency with words and a natural charm. No doubt he exaggerated, but he did it amusingly. Nick saw Isabel watching him while he talked, her face alight, and he had to look away.

  She also listened closely when Antonio took up his guitar and played. Nick could play too; his father had taught him. Any Andalusian boy worth his salt should be able to play the guitar, his father had said. Nick was taken by surprise, though, when Luisa stood up suddenly, clasped her hands in front of her and, with a far-off look in her eyes, began to sing. She sang a plaintive flamenco song that spoke of grief and longing for a loved one who is gone. The expression on her face was so intense that Nick, even though he was used to such singing, found it almost too painful to look at her. When she sat down her husband said, ‘Bravo,’ quietly and touched her hand.

  They stayed late round the table until Luisa said, ‘I think our guests need to sleep. I can see them beginning to droop. Like flowers deprived of water.’ She smiled.

  It was long past midnight and not even Carmen had gone to bed. She seemed as lively as ever. Spaniards liked to go to bed late, Nick knew. It was the one area in which his father and mother did not agree, for she liked to go to bed early.

  Isabel shared Carmen’s room, and Nick Antonio’s.

  ‘Perhaps one day I will come and visit you in Scotland,’ said Antonio.

  ‘I hope you will,’ said Nick, struggling to stay awake, since it seemed that his cousin wanted to talk. ‘But there might be war in Europe first. Before I left people were talking about it. They said it might be the only way to stop Hitler.’

  ‘Don’t let’s talk about wars! We’ve had enough of that. Let’s talk about nice things. Girls. Your Isabel has very lovely eyes. She seems a nice girl?’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘She must think a lot of you to leave her family and come away with you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know? Isn’t she your novia?’ Your fiancée.

  ‘We’re not engaged.’

  ‘You’re not? I’m surprised then that she would compromise herself in this way. She doesn’t look that type of girl.’

  ‘She’s a wonderful girl…’

  ‘You will have to marry her then.’

  Nick did not reply. He went to sleep.

  They were to set off early in the morning in spite of their late night. In the heat of mid-summer it was necessary to take advantage of the cooler hours. Yesterday had taxed them to their limits.

  The whole family was up to see them on their way. Gil took Nick aside.

  ‘Don’t be too hopeful, lad. I didn’t think your father could last long.’

  At the moment Nick was feeling nothing, thinking nothing. A numbness had overtaken him. He only knew that he had to plod along until he came to the end of the trail. It was nearing its end. Once they reached the coast there would be nowhere else to go, except back to France, or to Scotland.

  ‘I’m glad you all survived the war, at least,’ he said.

  ‘Not all of us,’ said Gil quietly. ‘Don’t you recall we had another son? Our eldest, Luis. He would have been twenty next week.’

  ‘I’m sorry!’ Nick had forgotten but now remembered a boy, older than himself, a quiet boy who liked to read. He remembered, too, the song that Luisa had sung last night.

  ‘We are not the only family to have suffered,’ said Gil.

  They shared a final embrace, holding on to each other for a few seconds, reluctant to let go.

  ‘I’ll be back, I promise,’ said Nick. ‘Sometime.’ In those few brief hours he had felt the bonds of family renewed between them.

  ‘You will always be welcome. You are one of us.’ Nick had been told that before, by Francisco, early on in his journey. All the people who had helped him had made him feel ‘one of them’. ‘You remember the address I told you, of Jaime the fisherman?’ asked Gil. ‘Good. So for now, Nicolás, good luck! And try to let me know about your father.’

  Isabel was kissed farewell by Gil and his wife and children in turn and told that she, too, would be welcome. ‘We bless you for having saved Nicolás for us,’ said Luisa.

  Nick and Isabel made their way down the road, turning at the corner to wave, then they were on their own again.

  ‘What nice people,’ said Isabel.

  ‘Antonio thought you were nice.’

  ‘I thought he was, too.’

  ‘Yes, you did, didn’t you?’

  Isabel glanced sharply at him and he looked away.

  Before breakfast, he had been alone for a few minutes with Luisa in the kitchen. She had had a quiet word with him. ‘Isabel is a delightful girl. We have taken her to our hearts already. You must look after her. I am sure you will treat her honourably, especially since it is quite unusual for two young people like yourselves to be travelling in this way. Once it is known that she has been with you, no other man will take her.’

  Isabel was moving ahead with her long easy stride. He wondered if he would ever be able to take her walking with him on the Scottish hills.

  They did not say much for a while. Ahead lay another long day’s walk but, at least, this time, they were going mostly downhill, which was easier on the legs and lungs. Their route today lay to the east of the one they had taken yesterday, though the terrain was much the same. By the time they stopped for lunch and a siesta, they had made considerable progress. Not far below them lay the whit
e buildings of Torrox, another Moorish village, and beyond that, the blue, glittering sea, their goal.

  They reached it in the late afternoon. They approached it cautiously, but once they’d seen that there were no guards about they went right down on to the shore. The waves were gentle, making little frills of white along the edge of the sand as they rippled in. Out at sea lay a couple of small becalmed fishing boats. Isabel and Nick pulled off their outer clothes and plunged into the cool salty water. They frisked and frolicked about, ducking their heads below the surface and re-emerging, tossing their heads and laughing. Nick swam out a little way but came back in as soon as he realized that Isabel could not swim. Being brought up in a landlocked village kilometres from the sea, she would not have had the opportunity to learn.

  She came out first and pulled her dress back over her head. Then she stretched out, letting the sun dry her. A few minutes later, Nick joined her.

  ‘That was wonderful,’ she said. ‘I’ve often wondered what it would feel like, to be in the sea. Do you live far from the sea in Scotland?’

  ‘Not far. Scotland’s not very wide so you can get to the coast quite easily. But the sea’s not as warm as this.’

  Isabel sighed and sat up. ‘I could stay here forever but I suppose we should get moving. We want to get to Nerja before dark, don’t we?’

  Her face glowed in the mellow rays of the early evening sun. Nick moved closer to her and kissed her.

  ‘Do you remember what I told you way back?’ Way back. How long ago was that? It seemed like a lifetime. Time had lost any definition for them, in terms of days of the week or weeks of the month. They had lived from sunrise to sunset.

  ‘That was before you knew me properly.’ She smiled.

  ‘I knew you well enough.’ He kissed her again. ‘I meant it. I mean it now.’

  They had not noticed a fishing boat coming in until they were disturbed by men’s voices. The boat bumped on to the shore and two fishermen jumped out to haul it up on to dry land.

  ‘We’d better go,’ said Nick.

  They followed the coast round. It was going to be a magnificent sunset. The rapidly sinking sun was sending shafts of pink and red across the sea, whose own colour had bled away to a pale milky hue.

  They were so taken by the sunset that they had forgotten to be watchful. They turned a corner and walked into the arms of two members of the Civil Guard. Each carried a rifle and had a pistol tucked into his belt.

  ‘Papers!’ came the immediate demand.

  They produced them.

  ‘You are strangers here, we see. What are you doing in Nerja?’

  Nick had his answer ready. He said they had gone to Málaga to look for their grandparents and found that their apartment had been bombed. One of the neighbours had told them they had left the city and gone along the coast.

  ‘You’re sleeping rough, I suppose?’

  Nick tacitly assented.

  ‘Just stay away from the coast itself, understand? We have nightly patrols out. Anyone prowling about is liable to be shot.’

  Nick nodded again. They were allowed to move on, but the encounter had made them nervous. They left the shore and completed their journey by road.

  Nerja was another of the small fishing villages spread along the coast. The light was fading fast as they came into its narrow streets. Women gossiped on corners. Children in the usual ragged clothes played in the road. As in all these little settlements, whether on the coast or in the hills, life would be harsh and difficult. They were poor places. A fisherman on a corner was standing beside his paltry catch, a dozen or so small silver fish in a wooden box. Two women were haggling with him. He was saying he had to eat, as did his children. Dogs skulked close by, their mouths ready to snap on any fallen morsel.

  Nick asked an elderly man, sitting on a chair outside his door, for directions.

  Keep going, he told them, past the church and the Balcón. ‘You can’t miss it. Then take the first street angling round on the right.’

  The Balcón was the Balcón de Europa, Balcony of Europe – a wide piece of land jutting out into the sea, resembling a balcony, and fringed with palm trees. People were out doing the paseo. Isabel and Nick took a little detour to join them, stopping at the Balcón’s outer edge to admire the magnificent view. They turned to look back towards Málaga, where the sun was about to slide down into the water. They lingered, glad to be part of a crowd. Nick was at the stage of wanting to arrive quickly at the final address, yet wanting to hold off at the same time, apprehensive in case he might be greeted with bad news.

  ‘Come on,’ said Isabel, taking his hand and leading him away.

  It was almost dark when they reached the street of Jaime the fisherman. Here and there a lamp glowed at a window. Isabel’s hand tightened round Nick’s.

  They found Jaime’s house easily: a low, one-storeyed dwelling, on the right-hand side of the street, the sea side. Its shutters were closed and no light showed. Nick knocked. They stood back, feeling the quietness of the street wrapping itself round them.

  They were beginning to think no one was coming, when they heard shuffling at the back of the door. It opened a crack.

  ‘Yes?’

  Nick cleared his throat. ‘I’m looking for Sebastián Torres.’

  Silence.

  ‘I am his son Nicolás, from Scotland.’

  ‘Who is with you?’

  ‘A friend. Isabel. We have just come from Cómpeta, from the house of Gil Torres, my father’s cousin. He gave us your address.’

  The door opened further. Nick’s throat was bone dry.

  ‘Is my father here?’ he asked, his voice squeaking from the strain.

  ‘He is,’ said the man, and opened the door fully.

  Twenty-Four

  Nick was shaken by the sight of his father even though he had been forewarned. Sebastián Torres was a shadow of the man he had been three years before. He lay on a couch in a back room, his limbs stick-like, the hollows in his face accentuated by the dim lamplight. Nick squatted beside him, holding his hand.

  ‘I am so happy to see you, son.’ His father’s eyes shone with tears. ‘Last time I saw you you were a boy. Now you are grown into a man. A fine man, too, from what I see.’

  ‘Father, I am going to take you home and we will get a good doctor to treat you.’

  ‘I want you to take me home, if you can. I want it more than anything else! I want to see your mother again. As for the doctor who will make me better, I doubt it. I think I am “not long for this world”.’ He said the last part in English – they had been speaking Spanish. ‘Isn’t that what your Scottish grandmother would say? She used to announce it when her cheeks were full of colour and her eyes as bright as buttons. And we used to say she would see us all out!’

  ‘You will get better, Dad! You’ve got to,’ insisted Nick. He would bring his father through with the strength of his own body. He would transmit his energy to him.

  ‘You were always stubborn, Nicolás.’ His father smiled. ‘You never did give in easily, even though at times you should have done! Now, tell me about your mother. And then how you got here. I want to know everything.’

  They stayed for a long time, Nick talking, his father listening, putting in the occasional question.

  ‘There are so many good people in the world,’ sighed Sebastián, ‘helping me, helping you. You have been passed from hand to hand by friends, people you will never forget. Jaime, my host here, my old friend, is a poor fisherman, but he’s willing to share his last crumb with me. And to run the risk of having me here in his house.’

  Nick told his father then about Isabel, who had stayed in the other room.

  ‘Is my son in love? I think you blush. I must see this girl, if she is as wonderful as you tell me! Perhaps not now, though. In the morning. Tonight I want to think only about you and the new person you’ve become.’

  ‘You’re tired. I’ve tired you.’

  ‘How could you do that? It’s my body that t
ires me.’

  Nick leant over and kissed his father, then he rose and left the room. Outside in the corridor he shed the tears that he had been holding back.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s all right,’ said Isabel softly. ‘It’s good to cry.’ He turned to her and let her put her arms round him.

  When he had recovered they went through to the kitchen, where their host was cleaning his catch. The sparsely furnished room smelt strongly of fish. A bucket speckled with fish scales stood in the corner. The room was hot, too, from the charcoal-fuelled stove.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Jaime, ‘and help yourself to some wine. Or water.’ There were two flagons on the table. ‘In a few minutes we shall eat.’

  He put a pan on the stove, poured in some oil and then flung in the newly cleaned fish. They began to sizzle madly and within minutes were on their plates on the table.

  ‘And, so, Nick,’ asked Jaime, as he came to join them, ‘what do you think of your father?’

  ‘I’m worried. He’s in bad shape.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re right. He was badly wounded and on top of that he got dysentery. It was rife in the camps during the war. Nothing could stop it.’ Jaime raised his arms in a shrug. ‘I’ve done what I could for him but I couldn’t fetch a doctor. It would have been too much of a risk. But I’m hoping to arrange a lift for him to Gibraltar in a friend’s boat.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Can you make it as soon as possible?’ asked Nick urgently. ‘I must get him to a doctor.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘From Gibraltar we should be able to get a boat to England!’ Since Gibraltar belonged to Britain, British ships must call there.

  ‘We will have a problem even getting him into a fishing boat. He can’t walk more than a few steps. He’s not really fit to travel.’

  ‘But he’s determined to.’

  ‘Men can do many things when they are determined,’ said Jaime.

  ‘Women, too,’ said Isabel with a little smile.