Tell the Moon to Come Out Read online

  Civil wars must be the worst wars of all: they made people distrust even their best friends.

  Eight

  Marina did not let him down. A little before six, she shook him gently by the shoulder. ‘Time to get up.’ She had laid out his clothes, freshly washed and dried, over the chair at the foot of the bed.

  He felt uncertain on his feet when he got out of bed and had to stand still for a moment to get his balance.

  ‘Are you sure you will be all right?’ Marina’s arms were ready to catch him if he should fall. ‘What a silly question! Of course you’re not sure. But you are going anyway.’

  He went to the toilet along the corridor, taking care to make as little noise as possible so that he would not disturb Dr Fuentes. He had to touch the wall all the way along to keep himself steady. When he returned Marina was laying out food on the bedside table, which she insisted he eat straight away.

  ‘I won’t let you go until you do!’

  And in a brown paper bag, ready for him to pick up, she had put half a round of bread, a dozen or so black olives, a wedge of cheese, a sausage, and some tomatoes that had the smell of being freshly picked. She must have been out in the garden in the dark. How good she was. And how stupid he had been to doubt her. He felt ashamed now.

  In addition, she had packed a roll of new bandages, a packet of lint, some plasters and a tube of antiseptic cream.

  ‘Whatever else you do, you have to keep that wound clean, remember! And these pills will help if you get any pain.’ She gave him some round pills, which he put in a trouser pocket.

  ‘I will always remember you, Marina. You have saved my life.’ Along with Isabel. But he tucked that particular thought away into the back of his mind.

  ‘I’ve done nothing much. But I’d like to know you’re all right once you get to your destination.’ She had never asked him where he was going.

  ‘I’ll try to send word. A letter. I won’t sign it, but you’ll know.’

  ‘You must do that.’

  She embraced him and he held on to her, wishing he did not have to leave, not yet. If only he could have waited until he felt a bit stronger. Could he make it as far as the cave? He was about to find out.

  A bird was beginning to send up an occasional chirp.

  ‘You had better go,’ said Marina. She went ahead of him.

  A door opened further along the dark hall. Nick stopped.

  ‘Good luck, lad,’ said Dr Fuentes. ‘And if your hand gets worse again you must come back.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for everything.’

  Marina opened the front door. The morning air smelt fresh and clean and Nick’s spirit lifted. He gave Marina a last hug, went up the path, opened the black, wrought-iron gate, and headed out across the campo as dawn was breaking over the fields.

  For the first few yards he had a surge of energy and walked with quite a springy step, but after that his stamina dropped sharply. His legs felt so weak he was not sure he would be able to make it as far as the cave. Twenty minutes from there to the village, Isabel had said. He reckoned that would be about a mile and, in his present state, it might take him half an hour.

  It took two hours. He had to crawl for the last part of the way, or rather wriggle his way over the ground, since one hand and arm were out of action. His good hand propelled him forwards, as well as dragging along Marina’s bag of food. His legs had given up and folded under him, as if they were stuffed with straw. Drops of perspiration dripped from his forehead. At one point he lay still, face down on the earth, wondering if he would ever be able to move again, or whether he would have to lie there, letting the sun overhead bake him until he was nothing but a dried-out husk. Then he rallied and made the last spurt that carried him as far as the cave.

  He lay on its soft floor, panting from the exertion, relieved to be out of the sun, then he groped around until he found his water-bottle. It was only partly full so he was careful to drink no more than a few drops, not knowing when next he would be able to go as far as the spring. At the moment, making the smallest journey seemed like scaling the highest peak in the Sierra Nevada mountains near his grandparents.

  He would not stay long. To linger could be dangerous since it was here that Isabel had found him. Once it was discovered that he was missing she might tell her father about the cave. Would the sergeant think he was important enough to come after him? He had no idea. He could not be bothered to think. He dozed.

  Voices roused him. Men’s voices, calling to each other. Nick blinked, wondering where he was, and then, panicking, he struggled up into a sitting position. There was no chance, however, that he could make a run for it.

  The men were right outside the cave and there seemed to be three of them, as far as he could make out. He strained to hear what they were talking about. A horse, was that it? At least it did not appear to be him! They were having an argument. He gathered that there was only one horse and three men but he could not understand why they did not know to whom the horse belonged. The voices were becoming more and more heated and more and more aggressive and then came the sound of scuffling and swearing. Finally, one of them let out a scream that sent a shiver up Nick’s spine.

  After that there was silence until it was broken by one voice saying, ‘Idiot! Fool! Vamos!’ Let’s go!

  They went. Nick listened to the trample of the horse’s hoofs until they faded and all was quiet around him again. What about the man who had let out the bloodcurdling yell? Was he moaning? Or was it the wind sighing? Nick did not go out to look. He stayed where he was, apprehensive, wondering what next would happen.

  Some time afterwards, the Civil Guard arrived, two of them. Nick thought he recognized the voice of Isabel’s father. They were not looking for him, though. It was the man who had screamed who was interesting them.

  ‘That’s one of them all right.’

  ‘Looks like he’s been stabbed. Yes, he has. And see, there’s the knife.’

  ‘Any sign of life?’

  ‘No. He’s a goner.’

  ‘OK, we’ll have to get a donkey to bring him over to the station.’

  And that was that. Life was cheap here. Nick had learnt that since crossing into Spain.

  The guards moved away.

  He was trapped now in his cave, unable to move while the dead man lay outside awaiting a donkey to carry him away. It seemed a long time before anyone returned. Nick fancied he heard the drone of flies.

  The two men who eventually arrived were not guards. They might be the owners of the donkey. They were obviously not pleased at being sent out on this job and had a few words to say about the sergeant that were not complimentary. Then they sat on the ground and smoked cigarettes. Nick began to wonder if they would stay there all day.

  The cigarettes finished, they had a struggle to raise the dead man and lift him on to the animal. After a lot of shouting and cursing on their part and braying and stampeding on the donkey’s, they appeared to manage it.

  ‘Vamos!’

  Nick let out a sigh of relief once they had finally gone. He realized then that he was hungry; it had been a long time since breakfast. He opened Marina’s bag and took out the tomatoes. They were bashed and split from being dragged along the ground but they tasted good. He tore off a hunk of bread and ate it with a couple of olives and a piece of the spicy sausage, ending with a swig of water. Food had taken on a different meaning since he’d arrived in Spain. Each mouthful was something to be grateful for, especially when he knew that some people were starving. Later on, he would go to the spring to refill his water-bottle. He would stay in the cave overnight. After all, he reasoned, the guards had been right outside and not looked for him, so it seemed unlikely they would return.

  In the early evening, when it was cooler, he ventured out. It felt good to be in the open air again and able to stand upright. He stretched himself. Surveying the horizon, he saw no sign of any other human being, only the pale blurs of sheep in the distance. He felt stronger and his h
and was less painful. His mind was more at peace, too. Perhaps his luck had turned.

  He stayed a while at the spring, drinking from it, filling his water-bottle, holding his good hand in the water, enjoying the coolness. He watched as the sun began to sink, flooding the fields with gold. Feeling refreshed, he began to walk back towards the cave.

  He stopped before reaching it. Standing in front of the entrance was Isabel.

  Nine

  ‘How are you?’ Isabel asked. ‘How is your hand?’

  ‘Better,’ Nick said gruffly, glancing away from her.

  ‘Are you going to sleep here tonight? In the cave?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Now he did look her in the face. ‘So that you can run back and inform your father?’

  ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘What else? You did, didn’t you? Leave me at the doctor’s and run on home to tell your father?’

  She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t like that. Can we go into the cave? I don’t think we should stand out here in the open.’

  ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘Of course! Look for yourself if you want to!’

  Nick hesitated. Everyone is an enemy until proved otherwise. Yet another of Jean-Luc’s cautionary warnings. He scrambled up a small knoll which would give him a vantage point. It was not much of a climb but it taxed his strength and he had to rest at the top to let his heartbeat slow down. From here he could look across the campo almost as far as the village.

  There was not a soul to be seen, unless somebody was hiding in the copse of almond trees, tinged pink in the evening sun. Nothing seemed to be moving, not even the wind. He slid back down the hillock, stumbling as he reached the bottom and feeling a little ashamed. Doubting Thomas! He avoided Isabel’s eye again.

  She put out a hand to steady him. ‘You’re not well yet, are you? You should be resting. Come on, let’s go into the cave.’ She led him inside and helped him to sit down. Then she sat herself.

  ‘Sorry I haven’t got any chairs,’ Nick said.

  Isabel might have smiled but the light in the cave was too dim for him to see the expression on her face. He could just discern her outline. She had her knees bunched up to her chin, with her arms encircling them.

  ‘My young brother saw us coming into the village,’ she said. ‘He saw me taking you into Dr Fuentes’ house. He told my father.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have blamed you.’

  ‘I don’t think Pedro intended any harm. He probably saw no reason not to mention it.’

  ‘Why have you come?’

  ‘I was worried when I heard you’d gone. I knew you couldn’t have recovered that easily.’

  There had been a rumpus in the village, she told him, when his absence was discovered. Dr Fuentes and Marina were claiming to know nothing about it. ‘They said you must have gone in the night while they were asleep.’

  ‘But they didn’t come out looking for me? The guards?’ Nick did not want to say ‘your father’.

  ‘They were too busy looking for bandits.’

  ‘Bandits?’

  ‘Three of them. They hit a farmer over the head with an iron pipe and made off with his horse.’

  ‘And the farmer?’

  ‘He’s in hospital, unconscious. And one of the bandits was found somewhere out in the campo, dead.’

  ‘Stabbed,’ said Nick, going on to tell Isabel how the bandits had quarrelled over the horse. ‘Just outside here. I heard every word.’

  She shrugged. Such happenings were not uncommon since the end of the war.

  ‘And the other two men?’

  ‘Father is too busy to go chasing after them. They’ll be off his territory by this time.’

  Nick was glad to think of them being far away. There would be little chance of their returning to the scene of their crime.

  ‘Why did you leave the doctor’s house?’ asked Isabel. ‘Is it because you don’t have any papers?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Was she going to ask him why he had none and where he was from, and what he was doing wandering around the countryside? How could he tell her that he was looking for his father, who had fought on the opposite side to her father? If he did, she might turn against him. Her allegiance must lie with her family.

  He heard her sigh and shift her position a little. It was dark now in the cave.

  ‘I can’t tell you why,’ he said.

  ‘Were you fighting in the war?’ she asked in a low voice.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m glad. If you’d fought on the Republican side, it would be difficult for me to be friends with you. My older brother, Juan, was killed by the Republicans.’

  It was Nick’s turn to be silent. Her father would certainly not show mercy to any wandering Republican sympathizers who crossed his path.

  ‘He was killed at the battle of Teruel. He was eighteen.’

  Teruel! The name rang a bell. His father had fought there, too, with Francisco, though Nick knew it unlikely that it would have been his father who had killed Isabel’s brother. Thousands of men had fought at Teruel. Thousands had died there. Perhaps his own father among them.

  ‘Juan didn’t want to fight. It was not in his nature. He was a gentle boy, he loved working with animals. He would have liked to have been a vet if my parents could have got the money together for him to go to college. My father made him go to the war. He told him it was his duty.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Nick.

  ‘I hate war!’ Isabel exclaimed violently.

  ‘So do I!’

  ‘So many people have died.’

  Suddenly she was weeping, her head bowed in her hands. Nick thought of his father who, for all he knew, might also be dead, and he could not hold back his own tears. He reached out in the dark and put his arms round this girl whom he barely knew and she allowed her face to rest against his shoulder.

  After a little while they were quiet, drained of emotion. He rocked her a little. How could he have ever doubted her? She had taken risks for him, was taking one even now by being here in this cave with him. He trembled to think what might happen to her if her father should find them.

  ‘Won’t your father be wondering where you are?’ he asked.

  She lifted her head and dried her eyes on the back of her hand. ‘Yes, I’ll have to go.’

  ‘What will you tell him?’

  ‘That I went for a walk.’

  ‘In the dark?’

  ‘It was still light when I set out.’

  When they emerged from the cave they saw that there was an almost full moon. To Nick the campo looked eerie and fraught with concealed dangers in the cool white light. But this, of course, was known territory to Isabel. He warned her, however, to be careful. The two bandits with the horse might have got away but others could be lurking. He wished he could walk with her as far as the outskirts of the village but he would not have the strength. If he were to try he would probably collapse before they got there and then he would be a burden to her. He had burdened her enough as it was. Would he see her again? Could he expect to see her? Could he expect her to put herself in more danger for him?

  ‘I don’t even know your name,’ she said.

  ‘Nicolás. Though mostly I am called Nick.’

  ‘Nick,’ she said, trying it out. ‘You know I am Isabel?’

  He nodded.

  ‘You must take care of yourself, too, and get plenty of rest. Don’t try to do too much.’

  ‘I’ll have to move on sometime.’

  ‘Not yet, though. You wouldn’t get far.’

  He knew that himself and hated this feeling of weakness in his body. He had seldom had a day’s illness in his life and had prided himself on his fitness.

  ‘I’ll try to come tomorrow, though I can’t promise. If I were you I’d try to conceal the mouth of your cave with some branches. And thyme makes a sweet-smelling bed.’

  And then she was gone, moving sure-footed and silently over the uneven ground. He sto
od until his eyes were strained with the effort of peering into the distance, then he went to look for a dead tree and some thyme.

  After he had camouflaged the entrance of the cave as best he could, Nick settled down on his bed of thyme. Isabel was right: it did smell sweet. Although he was tired sleep was slow in coming to him that night. He lay in the darkness, kept awake by the fever which still pervaded his body and also by a confusion of thoughts and emotions.

  Ten

  Nick awoke to the sound of a church bell tolling. Was it Sunday? The days of the week had ceased to have any meaning for him. He felt disorientated in time and place. He had no idea where he was in Spain, other than north of Madrid somewhere. He had no idea what the village was called whose church bell was calling its people to Mass. Among them might be Isabel. And her father.

  His hand was throbbing more than it had yesterday. He ought to try to take off the blood-stained bandage, clean the wound and put on a new dressing. But first, he would have breakfast.

  He ate his bread and cheese sitting outside in the sun. There was not a cloud to be seen in the great blue expanse of sky. The heat was welcome at this time of day; he had wakened feeling chilly. Later, he would have to keep to his shelter. He drank water from the spring and washed his face and head. Then he went up to the top of the knoll to spy out the land, his legs feeling infuriatingly weak still.

  There appeared to be no one working in the fields. The villagers would be in church. Under this regime of Franco’s everyone was expected to attend, and if they did not their absence was noted, so Francisco had told him. Remember, on a Sunday you will be more conspicuous outside a church than inside. He had many things to remember since it had been out of the question to write anything down. Would he be able to recall all the names and addresses he had been given and might need on his journey? It seemed a tall order. His head felt befuddled. The fever still had a partial grip on him.