The Phoenix of Montjuic
Page 32
Maria read the headline, “Am I Spanish? says US athlete.” She put the paper down, looked at her mother, and began to tremble a little. “Read it to me mother.”
Clara took the paper, and read. “Coral Johnson, a sprinter in the United States athletic team, reveals that she was adopted soon after birth, and wonders if her mother was Spanish. She has brought with her a bible which was found tucked inside her swaddling clothes when she arrived in the United States.”
Maria’s trembling increased and she grasped her mother. “You don’t think?”
“There’s more,” said Clara. “Miss Johnson says that it is a Spanish bible, and that there are names written in it, Spanish names. She hopes to find her Spanish mother.”
“Does it say any more?” gasped Maria. “Does it say the names?”
Clara shook her head. “No.”
“Do you think,” Maria hesitated, “that my name is in that bible?”
“It may be,” said Clara, “and perhaps mine is there as well.”
“And Sister Maria Montserrat, who gave you the bible in the first place. It’s too much of a co-incidence. What shall we do?”
There was a knock at the door, and Ambros opened it a crack. “Are you alright?”
“Just a moment,” said Clara. “I’m coming.” Turning to her daughter, she hugged her and said, “You need some time. I’ll keep the others out of the way. You come out when you are ready.”
All was quiet when Maria emerged from her bedroom. Clara had sent the family away, with strict instructions to say nothing. “After all,” she said, “whatever happens now is entirely up to Maria. If she decides to do nothing, we must respect her decision.”
Ambros and Clara were sitting, waiting quietly for Maria. For a moment no-one spoke, as Maria hugged her parents.
“I want to meet her,” she said at length. “For a while I thought I wouldn’t say or do anything, but then I started to think that I would regret such a decision for the rest of my life. This athlete may not be my daughter, but it seems very likely. It will be very strange.”
“What do you want to do?” said Clara.
“We must go and find her,” said Maria, “although I don’t know how.”
“I’ll make some phone calls,” said Ambros. “Are you ready to meet her today, if I can arrange it?”
“Yes,” said Maria. “Now that I’ve decided, I don’t want to wait.”
With his librarian’s skills, it was not long before Ambros had the information he needed.
“There’s a going to be a reception for the United States athletics team at the Arts Hotel this evening. It’s not the whole team, just athletes, but I think that’s the best way of tracking down Miss Johnson.”
“It’s going to be a very special meeting,” said Clara, “so it will be appropriate to have it at a grand location.”
“She may not be my daughter,” said Maria, “and I’ve just thought, she probably doesn’t speak Spanish.”
“Who do we know who could come to translate?” said Clara.
“Louis’s friend David speaks very good English,” said Ambros. “I’ll call him.”
The early evening saw the whole family assembled under the great bronze fish. They had told both Anna and Sister Maria Monserrat what was happening, but they claimed they both felt too frail for such a nerve-wracking experience. Even David, used to all kinds of family situations, and any number of shocking confessions, admitted to feeling nervous. Maria, with Clara and Ambros, accompanied by David who had agreed to be their interpreter, approached the broad entrance to the hotel with its fountains and limousines. The family sat at a table beside the pool, waiting.
With so many celebrities, politicians and members of royal families staying at the hotel, security was strict. Maria approached one of the young men in a tight, sharp suit, and diffidently asked to go to the American athletes’ party. She was instantly repelled. Ambros stepped forward and showed the newspaper cutting to the security guard.
“It’s about this report in the paper. It’s possible that I am this young lady’s grandfather, and my daughter here, is her mother.”
The guard looked at the newspaper and at the four anxious people facing him. They seemed genuine. He hesitated for a long time, then nodded and smiled.
“Take the elevator to the forty-first floor. There will be more security when you get there. They may not let you go any further, but you can try: good luck.”
Stepping out from the lift on the top floor of the hotel, the four were hit by the buzz of conversation, but before they could advance, a pair of huge American security men in military uniforms, stopped them in their tracks.
“Stay right there,” the first snarled in English, his hand on his gun.
“Do you have invitations?” the other said. “This is a private party.”
David stepped forward, taking the little scrap of newspaper from Ambros, and replied in English. “I expect you know about this story of your athlete Pearl Johnson, looking for her mother.”
The guard nodded and grunted. David continued, “These people think they may be her grandparents, and this lady is probably her mother.”
The guard looked from David’s dog collar, to the scrap of newspaper, to the anxious faces, and his impassive mask fell away. “You have any proof of this?”
Maria held out a small scrap of card, with the names and dates she knew by heart: ‘Maria Monserrat Mirlo, 20th June 1920; Clara Anna Bonet, 30th September 1933; Maria Anna Sanchez, 2nd March 1953; baby, born 20th June 1970, may God go with you.’ She handed the card to the guard. “If Pearl Johnson is here, give her this card. If the names in her bible match the names on this card, then I am her mother.” David translated, and the startled guard turned and walked into the throng of chattering athletes and coaches.
There was a sudden piercing scream, and through the crowd emerged a young woman with a mop of curly black hair: Pearl Johnson. She hesitated. Everyone went quiet. Clara pushed Maria forward. The two women, mother and daughter, stared at one another. Maria took another step and before she could go further, Pearl was upon her, embracing her tightly.
David turned back to Clara and Ambrose. “Some moments in life do not need translating,” he smiled.
There was a scattering of applause. The contingent of Americans was unsure how to react at first, but the clapping increased, and then the whooping and calling started. The noise increased as the word of what had happened spread around the room.
An older woman approached them. “I’m Pearl’s team captain. If you really are Pearl’s family, this has been a very special moment. Let’s find a quiet space for them to sit down and meet properly, and when they are ready, I think the champagne will flow.”
“There are other members of the family waiting below,” said Ambros. “I’ll get them. David, go with Pearl and Maria and help them. Clara, come with me.”
David, the only member of the group able to translate between English and Spanish, took Pearl and Maria to a quiet room.
One of the big security men accompanied Clara and Ambros, and soon they were returning with Emma and Eduard, and their children Louis and Monserrat, and Maria’s sister Marta and brother Jose.
David came out and greeted Louis briefly, “That was very hard,” he said quietly. “So many mixed emotions, and now here’s the whole extended family.
Maria and Pearl emerged arms around one another, red-eyed but smiling, and David did his best to introduce Pearl to her family.
Later in the evening, the team captain asked everyone to be quiet. “The theme for these Olympic Games,” she said, “is ‘Friends for Life’. This evening, before any race has been won, we have witnessed something very special. Our friend and team-mate Pearl told me that she was hoping to find her family. She was adopted soon after birth by a good Catholic family in California, but always kept her precious bible. For years, she’s imagined she had a family somewhere in Spain, but never considered that they would be right here, in Barcelona. She d
id not expect the quest to be so easy, and had no idea that within a few days of arriving here, her family would appear. She is amazed to find that she has uncles and aunts, grandparents, and several other relations. I am told that tomorrow she will even meet her great-grandmother.”
“Why wait for the morning?” came a voice from the doorway. Everyone turned. Pearl stepped forward a little, expectantly. There was Carlos, with a broad grin on his face, with two old ladies, one each side of him. Looking to his left, he said, “This is Sister Maria Monserrat, whose name is the first one in your bible,” and turning to his right, he added, “and this lady is Anna Bonet, your great-grandmother.”
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Copyright © Jeremy D Rowe, 2018
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Cover photograph by Ian Jones of the Olymipc Cauldron at the Lluis Companys Arena; cover layout by Ben Rowe
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