Tell the Moon to Come Out Read online

‘That is true.’ Nick returned her smile.

  Later, when he and Jaime were washing out in the yard, Jaime asked him, ‘The girl? Is she going too?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘She can’t stay here, you know.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  In the morning, his father put the same question and Nick gave the same answer, but adding, ‘I am going to ask her.’

  ‘She won’t have a passport to travel.’

  ‘Neither do we.’

  ‘But we can tell the authorities that we have British passports back home.’ Both Nick and his father had dual citizenship, British as well as Spanish. ‘They’ll no doubt check before they let us land to make sure we’re not coming in illegally.’

  ‘There’ll be a way,’ said Nick. ‘They’ll have to let her come. We can’t leave her here.’

  ‘She may not want to come, have you thought of that?’

  Nick had, of course, thought of that, but he said nothing.

  ‘I think I should like to meet her now, Nick.’ His father’s voice was weakening.

  Nick went to fetch Isabel. She pulled up a chair to his father’s bedside and they spoke a few words together, not too many. There was so much they could have said that it was difficult to talk about small things, as she said afterwards to Nick. Sebastián Torres thanked her for saving his son’s life. She replied that it was nothing. He said that for him it meant everything.

  They left him to doze. Soon afterwards, Jaime came in, fresh from the sea, dropping his rubber boots off in the vestibule. He had gone out about four when it was still dark and the stars were bright in the sky. Nick had wakened when Jaime got up and had gone out for a breath of fresh air. He had walked to the end of the garden and stood listening to the steady pounding of the waves below and watching the little yellow lights twinkling out at sea. Fishing boats most likely, though perhaps one could belong to a coast-guard patrol. The night scent of jasmine had reminded him of the little garden at the back of his grandparents’ house and he had felt sad that he would never see them again.

  ‘Everything’s set up with my friend Miguel,’ said Jaime now. ‘He will take your father on board just after eleven o’clock tonight.’

  ‘Tonight? So soon?’ said Nick. ‘But that’s good.’ He must talk to Isabel; he could not put it off any longer.

  ‘It suits Miguel better. We have to get Sebastián along the street and down a flight of steps to the beach. The cliff is too steep here. Miguel will give us a signal to tell us whether the coast is clear.’

  ‘You can trust him?’

  ‘With my life.’

  ‘What about when we’re on the boat? The police patrol offshore, don’t they?’

  ‘Sebastián will lie in the bottom of the boat, covered with a tarpaulin. Miguel will be fishing, as normal, except that he is going to stray out of his usual waters. You will be his deck-hand. His boat is bigger than mine.’

  Would there be room for Isabel? Nick supposed she could be passed off as a deck-hand if she were to wear trousers and hide her hair under a cap. It would be dark. She was listening with an impassive face, giving Nick no clue as to what she was thinking. He had to talk to her straight away. He asked Jaime if it would be all right if they went for a walk.

  ‘Be careful, though. You don’t want to mess up our plans now.’

  ‘We’ve got papers. If we’re stopped we have a story ready. And don’t worry, we won’t let anyone know where we’re staying.’

  ‘Go east along the beach, away from the village. You’ll see a few fishermen but they won’t bother you. They don’t make trouble or talk to the guards.’

  Jaime checked the street first and then Nick and Isabel slipped out. At the far end they took the steps leading down to the beach, Nick registering how steep they were and how difficult it would be to manoeuvre his father down them in the dark. This part of the village sat high above the sea.

  They walked eastwards, as Jaime had suggested, clambering over rocky outcroppings to reach a wide, curving bay, protected by high cliffs on its landward side. Some fishing boats were drawn up on the shore and a handful of men sat mending their nets. They looked round at the couple as they passed, but no one called out a greeting.

  The day, like those that had preceded it, was calm and cloudless. Nick and Isabel walked hand-in-hand at the edge of the sea, letting the waves break over their ankles. Ahead they could see no other human being. On their left rose the lofty sierras. It was difficult to imagine war raging in such a place, shattering its peace.

  ‘Isabel,’ said Nick, summoning up his courage, ‘I must talk to you.’

  ‘Must you?’ Her voice sounded guarded.

  ‘I want you to come with us to Scotland. Will you come?’

  Twenty-Five

  ‘How could I come to Scotland?’ asked Isabel. ‘I don’t even speak your language.’

  ‘You could learn. My father learnt after he met my mother.’

  ‘I have no money. I have nothing to bring with me. No clothes even, except what I’m wearing.’ She held out her arms. Her blue cotton dress was bleached from the sun and frayed round the hem.

  ‘We can buy clothes for you.’

  ‘What work could I do?’

  ‘I would look after you. I would earn money.’

  ‘How could you do that? You have to go back to school. You said you had another year before you finish.’

  ‘I could leave. Get a job on a farm.’

  ‘That’s not what you want to do. You’d resent it after a while. You’d resent me.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘You want to go to university. You want to be a marine biologist, you’ve told me so. You said you wanted to be one ever since you were a small boy.’

  ‘I may not be able to. There may be a war. In a year or so I would be old enough to be called up.’

  ‘And what would I do if there was a war and you went away to fight? I would be left in a strange country, alone.’

  ‘You’d have my mother.’

  ‘I don’t know her. Nick, don’t you see, it’s impossible?’

  ‘It’s not, Isabel, it’s not! I love you, I really do.’

  ‘Dear Nick, I love you too.’

  They moved into each other’s arms. Nick held her tightly. It was going to be all right now. She loved him, she had just said so.

  ‘So you’ll come?’ he said.

  She shook her head. She was crying. ‘I can’t. It wouldn’t work. There would be too many problems.’

  ‘You don’t really love me, then?’ He drew back.

  ‘I do. But it is all too difficult, you’ve got to see that.’

  He saw nothing but that he wanted her to come with him. ‘Please, Isabel! I want to marry you. I don’t care if we’re too young.’ He set about trying to persuade her, to cajole her, but all the time she shook her head and cried. In the end he sat down on the sand and covered his face with his hands. She knelt beside him.

  ‘After a while you’ll see that everything I’ve said is true, Nick. You have to put your mind to getting your father back. That will take every bit of your energy. And there is no room for me in all of that. I would be an extra problem.’

  He felt gutted of energy, like the fish that Jaime had slit up the middle to pull out their innards.

  Isabel looked up and frowned. ‘Nick, there’s someone on top of the cliff watching us.’

  Nick checked. ‘You’re right,’ he said quietly. There always seemed to be someone watching. Danger was never far away. ‘It’s a guard.’ He could tell by the tricorn hat outlined against the sky.

  They got up and walked towards the shelter of the cliffs, resisting the impulse to run. Once underneath they would not be seen from above. Nick had noticed several cave-like niches in among the rocks further back. They retraced their steps until they found an opening and crawled inside. The roar of the waves slapping against the rocks drowned out all other sound; they would not hear anyone approaching. A few minutes later they saw a stout
pair of booted legs go lumbering past their hiding place. Nick reached for Isabel’s hand. There would be no peace for them until they got away. Both of them. He was determined to take her with him.

  When, finally, they decided to risk coming out, their arms and legs felt cramped and their knees were scraped from the rocks. There was no one about and they made it safely back to Jaime’s. Nick went at once to see his father.

  ‘You were a long time.’ Sebastián raised an eyebrow questioningly. ‘You talked to Isabel?’

  ‘She says she can’t come. But I’ve got to make her. I’ve got to.’

  ‘You can’t make people. You’re asking her to do a big thing. To leave her country.’

  ‘You left.’

  ‘I was older. She is very young to take such a big decision.’

  ‘But everything’s so terrible here. I can’t leave her behind. People are afraid of their own shadows!’

  ‘We have to hope that will change, given time.’

  ‘How much time? Isabel can’t even go back to her family. Her father would kill her!’

  ‘Because she went away with you?’

  ‘Partly. But also because he’s a sergeant in the Civil Guard.’

  ‘Then, of course, she never could go home.’

  Neither Nick nor Isabel had any appetite when it came time for the evening meal, but they ate everything on their plates, knowing that each fish was precious to Jaime. None of them spoke. Jaime was a man of few words anyway. When he got up to go and see if Sebastián wanted anything other than the bread and milk he’d requested, Nick put his hand over Isabel’s where it lay on the table top.

  ‘You can still change your mind. I want you to change your mind.’

  ‘I know.’ She didn’t look up.

  ‘What would you do if you stayed? You can’t go home. Would you go to your aunt in Madrid? But how would you get there? You can’t walk all that way. You can’t go on your own.’

  ‘Doña Rosalía said that I could come and live with her in Málaga. She would like that. She has never had a daughter.’

  That chilled him. So she had discussed it with Doña Rosalía back then. ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘That I would think about it.’

  ‘And what are you thinking?’

  ‘That I could live with her. She’s a very kind person.’

  ‘So you have made up your mind?’

  Isabel did not answer.

  Jaime returned, carrying an empty bowl. ‘It’s good that he’s eaten something. I think, Nicolás, we had better start getting ready. Can you help your father to wash and change his shirt?’

  Isabel got up to clear the dishes and wash them in a bowl outside in the yard. Nick went to his father. It took some time to help him wash and change. Each movement was painful for him. Nick saw the spasms contorting his father’s face and wondered if it would be possible to get him all the way to Scotland.

  Soon it was time to roll up his blanket and pack his haversack.

  ‘Isabel?’ He appealed to her for the last time.

  ‘I’m going to say goodbye now,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t bear to come and watch the boat taking you away from me.’

  Twenty-Six

  JULY 1946

  Nick stood on the deck of a tramp steamer en route from Marseilles to Algeciras on the south coast of Spain. It was the cheapest passage he had been able to find. He was enjoying the sea breeze. Even offshore it was hot. On land the temperatures must be climbing to over a hundred degrees. He remembered hot sweltering days in the high sierras, where there had been little respite from the gruelling sun. He remembered his relief when he’d reached Scotland and felt the cool air on his skin. Since then he had fought in the desert in immense heat and in the Italian mountains in intense cold.

  He had spent most of the journey on deck, watching the Spanish coastline unfold. As they drew further south his binoculars were seldom far from his eyes. His interest quickened when one of the deck-hands pointed across the water and said, ‘That’ll be Motril. That’s Andalusia across there, my homeland.’

  A series of small white fishing villages were coming up. Nick had a map of Spain with him. Almuñecar. Maro. Nerja. Was that one Nerja? He recognized the Balcón de Europa jutting out into the sea, remembered standing there with Isabel, gazing at the horizon, watching the sunset. He kept his gaze fastened on the straggly white line of buildings that comprised the village until they were left behind. What would Jaime the fisherman be doing now? Still fishing, probably. He might even be in one of the small fishing boats lying close to shore. He intended to visit Jaime and thank him properly for what he had done for his father. He thought, too, of Marina. She had asked him to send back word about his safety, which he had not been able to do. If he had sent a letter with a British stamp, the Spanish authorities would probably have opened it. He would write from Málaga, but he would phrase his letter carefully in order not to cause trouble for her or Dr Fuentes. He would also write to Salvador and Eugenia, and Francisco, the first person to take him in and give him shelter.

  Now he looked beyond the coast, up to the sierras. Somewhere up there among those jagged peaks lived his cousins. His family. He hoped no harm would have come to them, that they would not have fallen foul of Franco’s regime. From what he had heard that was still easy to do. He would visit them. He wanted to be reunited with them, to get to know them better. Carmen would be twenty years old now; she might even be married. Antonio would be twenty-four, one year older than him. He might also be married, but Nick put that thought out of his mind.

  There was no doubting Málaga when it came into view. It was so much busier than any of the other settlements, a busy seaport with a fair-sized town behind it. A number of ships of varying size were docked in the port, commercial vessels mostly, tankers, coal boats, fishing trawlers. Church spires spiked the skyline. Among them was Los Santos Mártires. Nick thought of Sister Encarnata and Doña Rosalía and, of course, of Isabel.

  They sailed on, passing Torremolinos, Fuengirola, Marbella, and other small villages, until they saw the Rock of Gibraltar ahead. The sight of it brought back vivid, emotional memories for Nick. Getting his father ashore from Miguel’s rocking fishing boat. Carrying him up on to the rocks, leaving him to lie alone in the dark. Going to seek help, finding a lodging house where they could stay cheaply for a few days until he found a ship that would agree to take them, on the promise that their passage would be paid once they reached Southampton. He did not know how but, in the end, he had managed it all.

  They were rounding the Rock, heading into the port of Algeciras. Across the Strait of Gibraltar lay Morocco. The distance between Spain and North Africa was narrow here. Soon he would be back on Spanish soil again. His heartbeat quickened. He put away his binoculars.

  This time he was arriving legally in the country, carrying a British passport and a Spanish visa. He need not fear the Civil Guard, though he had been warned that it would be wise to be wary of them and avoid altercations, since Spain was a police state and Franco ruled as a dictator.

  In his wallet he had enough pesetas to pay for his travel and board and lodging in modest fondas. He would not have to sleep rough. When he had been demobbed from the army the previous month he had been given a sum of money, to which his mother had added. ‘Stay there as long as you like,’ she had told him, ‘stay as long as you need to. After all, you’ve waited seven years.’ He had had no other choice but to wait, with the Second World War intervening.

  When they docked, a customs official came on board. He examined Nick’s passport and visa and handed them back with a curt nod. He was free to go ashore. Slinging his rucksack over one shoulder, he made his way down the unsteady gangplank, taking care not to jar his right knee. He had been wounded in Italy and as a result walked with a limp. His long excursions up into the Scottish hills were curtailed now, but he had not let his injury stop him completely.

  The quays were bustling. Seamen, dockers, fish sellers, traders, swarmed about, shouti
ng to each other at the top of their voices. Spaniards tended to be noisy, Nick remembered, though immediately after the Civil War, when he had last been there, they had been more muted. A swarm of young gypsy girls appeared suddenly, as if from nowhere, surrounding him so quickly that he had no time to turn round. One of the girls held a bunch of red roses aloft.

  ‘Buy a rose, kind sir! Guapo señor!’ Handsome sir!

  Nick tried to push through. Hands tugged at his arms, fingers scratched his face.

  ‘Buy a rose for your sweetheart!’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘He has no sweetheart!’ Their laughter burst around his head. He made his escape, with the girls following before they dropped back, having sighted a new target. He wiped his brow on the back of his arm. He did not intend to stay long in Algeciras. His father had always said it was a hectic place.

  The bus to Málaga wound its jolting way around the coast, calling in at every tiny settlement. At times it stopped for a break and then Nick got out and walked by the sea or else he found a shack where he could buy a cold drink. They arrived at their destination as it was getting dark.

  He had often arrived at destinations when the sun was dropping, entered strange streets under cover of darkness. He felt more relaxed now that he was no longer walking in the full light of day. A hangover perhaps from those previous times. The pink-stained western sky and the glittering of the lamps in the purple dusk were evocative and brought back memories that made his throat tighten. They brought back memories of a girl with long black hair walking with a smooth even stride.

  The streets of Málaga had been cleared of the rubble that had once littered them. Rebuilding had taken place, though gaps remained. He passed two members of the Civil Guard who gave him curious looks and he felt a little shiver run up his spine, even though he was now a legal visitor. Once the guards were out of earshot, he stopped a woman and asked her for directions to Los Santos Mártires. It was only a few minutes’ walk, she said. He needed the few minutes to compose himself.

  Now that he was here, he was wondering if he had been mad to come. He had not seen this girl – this young woman – for seven years, and had known her for no more than a month, an intense, emotional month it was true, but only for that short span of time. She might have left Málaga. She might be married. She might have married his cousin Antonio. She had liked Antonio and he had liked her. Hadn’t she been charmed by his stories? Antonio had made her eyes light up. She might have gone up to Cómpeta to visit the family. Luisa had invited her to come back any time. And if she did still happen to be here in Málaga and free, what could he offer her? In October he would go to university to study marine biology on an ex-serviceman’s grant. For the next four years he would have little money.