Golden Earrings

by Belinda Alexandra

  Jaime smiled. ‘I’m Spanish. I understand crazy.’

  I tried to imagine how the story of la Rusa’s otherworldly visit would sound to me if I were in Jaime’s shoes. Still, I took the leap, and relayed the story as factually as I could given the circumstances. I lost courage when I got to the part about the golden earrings, but something about Jaime’s open face made me press on anyway.

  To my great relief, while Jaime was astonished by my story he didn’t seem to think less of me. ‘I don’t believe la Rusa’s come to harm you,’ he said. ‘You would have felt the danger from her straight away. As it turned out, you took her for a living person at first. I’m sure the visit has something to do with her connection to your grandfather — and perhaps that explains your grandmother’s negative reaction when you mentioned her.’

  I reached out and squeezed Jaime’s hand. After my initial misgivings, I was glad that I’d told him about la Rusa: I desperately needed a confidante and a friend.

  It was seven o’clock and dark when Jaime dropped me back at the apartment in rue Spontini.

  ‘Are you sure I can’t entice you to have dinner with me?’ he asked. ‘Maybe we can go dancing afterwards? Have you even been to a disco? I’d like to see you knock some people out when you lift your leg higher than your head.’

  I laughed. He obviously hadn’t thought my story about my encounter with la Rusa to be so far-fetched that he didn’t want to see me again. It’s nice to have a Spanish boyfriend, I thought, and one who believes in ghosts.

  ‘I would have loved to go with you to a disco,’ I told him. ‘But I need to sort things out with Mamie. And Saturday night has always been our special night together.’

  ‘I understand,’ he said, touching my chin. And I knew that he did. He kissed me, and then restarted the Vespa. ‘Give me a call tomorrow, all right?’ he said, before heading down the road. ‘Let me know how you are.’

  I quickly crossed the courtyard, afraid that la Rusa might reappear after we had spoken so much about her that evening. Conchita’s light was on in her apartment and I could hear her listening to the radio. I was tempted to drop in and ask her if she knew why Mamie hated la Rusa so much, but something stopped me. Instead, I continued up the stairs to our apartment. All the lights were off when I entered it. For a moment, I thought Mamie might not be home. But I was relieved when I saw her keys were still on the hook.

  She wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room, although she’d covered Diaghilev’s cage. There were no dishes in the rack. She must have gone straight to her room after the day’s classes were over.

  I knocked on her door. ‘Mamie, I’m home. Are you there?’

  There was no answer.

  I knocked again. ‘Mamie, do you want some supper?’

  Silence.

  ‘Mamie! Please say you are all right. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ her soft voice came back. ‘Just leave me alone.’

  I went back to the kitchen and cut myself a slice of bread. I wasn’t hungry, but I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I wavered from the pleasure I felt about the afternoon I’d spent with Jaime, to the guilt about not having done any practice for my audition, to the upsetting feeling of being alienated from Mamie. In the end, I went to my room to read for a while, so I could put my mind onto something else.

  It was almost ten o’clock when Mamie knocked on the door.

  ‘Can I come in?’ she asked.

  ‘Please,’ I said, sitting up.

  Mamie was pale. It was obvious from her puffy eyes that she’d been crying. She sat down on my bed. I put the cover over her shoulders to keep her warm.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mamie,’ I said. ‘I never meant to upset you. I won’t bring her up again.’

  Mamie shrugged. ‘I am more shocked at myself,’ she said. Then she sighed and stared at her hands. ‘I didn’t always despise la Rusa,’ she said. ‘There was a time when I admired her greatly. Your grandfather introduced us, you know …’

  A faraway look came into Mamie’s eyes. I sat back against the pillows, knowing it was time for another story.

  For some reason, I had woken early that morning. The dawn light was seeping through the curtains of the bedroom I shared with Margarida. Although it was spring, the air was still chilly and I tugged the lace-trimmed quilt up to my neck and stared up at the ceiling light fixtures. With their domed glass and silver tips they reminded me of ramekins of crema Catalana, although Margarida said that to her they looked like breasts with elongated nipples. Gaspar Olivero’s face loomed up in my imagination, as it did every morning even though I hadn’t seen him for nearly a year. At first, when he didn’t appear at the opera again or at any of the social functions hosted by the Cerdà family, I was worried my mother had warned him away. But when I asked Xavier about him, he said that Gaspar had finished his law degree, but instead of joining a firm he was making a successful career of playing music in venues around Spain and South America.

  While my ‘courtship’ with Francesc seemed to be progressing well, according to the doyennes of Barcelona society, he too had a propensity for disappearing for weeks at a time for some sporting activity such as skiing and mountain climbing, or vanishing to Europe or America for car-racing and baseball. And here I am, I thought, not even able to walk to the end of the street without a chaperone!

  I turned and looked at Margarida. How had my sister done it? How had she avoided the smothering supervision that went with being ‘eligible’ and secured for herself a kind of freedom unknown to all the other women in our circle? The latest idea she had was that Spain was soon going to be a republic again and she was going to join the parliament to represent women and the poor. I prayed to God that she wouldn’t express that idea to Pare, otherwise my parents might lock me up and throw away the key! When I thought about it further, I saw that Margarida could enjoy her freedom because she cared nothing for marriage or having children. I wanted children, so I had no choice but to obey the rules.

  I rested my hands behind my head. I had resigned myself to the idea that I would have to marry Francesc, but that didn’t stop me thinking about Gaspar. I imagined scenarios where we would meet again at the Liceu, or at a soirée, and the Olivero fortune and name would somehow have been restored. Then my parents would agree that Gaspar and I were a good match. I had no idea how he felt about me — I couldn’t be anywhere near as exciting as the exotic people he must be meeting on his travels — but losing myself in these fantasies helped me cope with being powerless to control my own destiny or to choose for myself.

  I was drifting back to sleep when Mama’s voice woke me. ‘Margarida! Evelina!’ The urgency in her tone roused me. I sat up to see her standing in the doorway in her dressing gown. ‘Come quickly!’

  She looked pale and frightened. My first thought was something had happened to Feliu. ‘Is everybody all right?’ I asked.

  ‘What’s happened?’ asked Margarida, rubbing her eyes.

  ‘Just hurry!’ ordered Mama. ‘Before the servants wake up!’

  Margarida and I jumped out of our beds and tugged on our dressing gowns and slippers before following Mama out of the room. My worst fear came to life again when she led us towards Conchita and Xavier’s apartment.

  ‘Is Feliu all right?’ I asked.

  Mama turned and put her finger to her lips. ‘Yes, he’s fine.’

  ‘Crazy Conchita hasn’t stabbed Xavier, has she?’ Margarida asked.

  Mama spun on her heels. ‘Whatever do you mean?’ she demanded. ‘A family does not make jokes like that about each other!’

  Although it was unkind of Margarida to have said such a thing, I too had noticed that Conchita’s behaviour was becoming more erratic. Immediately after Feliu was born, she had been a doting mother. But as soon as he began to crawl and then walk, her attitude towards him changed. She treated him in the same standoffish manner she treated the servants. Even at only a year old, he often seemed bewildered by her coldness.

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nbsp; We continued up the stairs and into the apartment. Xavier was in the drawing room with Feliu asleep in his lap. My brother’s eyes were red-rimmed and the distressed expression on his face upset me. Mama led us into the bedroom where Doctor Castell was standing next to Conchita, who was prostrate on the bed with her wrists wrapped in bandages. She was lying still and staring at the ceiling; every so often she emitted a low groan.

  ‘What is it?’ I cried. I glanced at Margarida. Did she know something about Conchita that I didn’t?

  ‘This will not go beyond the two of you and your brother,’ Mama whispered. ‘I’m not even going to tell Pare or the de Figueroa family, do you understand?’ Tears came to her eyes and she shook her head. ‘And we of all families, such devoted Catholics!’

  ‘I could organise a nurse to watch over her,’ said the doctor. ‘Her lacerations are not too serious.’

  Mama shook her head. ‘No, the four of us will do it,’ she replied. ‘We are her family now and we will take care of her.’

  The following morning, I rose early to take over from Xavier in watching Conchita. ‘Don’t forget to come at ten o’clock,’ I reminded Margarida as I dressed. ‘I have a class with Olga this morning.’

  ‘You can fuss over Conchita if you want,’ said Margarida, ‘but I’m not participating in this ridiculous charade.’

  ‘You have to help,’ I told her. ‘Conchita’s your sister-in-law!’

  ‘She’s a black hole, that’s what she is,’ replied Margarida. ‘She’s destroying Xavier! He sleeps on the sofa because Conchita doesn’t want any more babies. She doesn’t want to go out, but she complains when they stay in. She’s made his life miserable.’

  ‘She can’t help it,’ I said. ‘Can’t you see she’s sick?’

  Margarida sat up and glared at me. ‘Sick or manipulative, Evelina? If you think she’s sick, then you look after her. I say she’s a drama queen who wants attention and expects us to be responsible for her. The sooner everyone stops pandering to her, the better.’

  ‘But Margarida,’ I pleaded, ‘my ballet lesson —’

  ‘It’s your decision to give that up for Conchita and her antics,’ Margarida replied, rolling over and pulling the covers up around her ears. ‘Don’t try to put that one on me!’

  Conchita was quiet when I sat with her. She ate her breakfast roll thoughtfully, tearing it into small pieces and dipping it into her milky coffee. I watched her and tried to understand what made her so unhappy. In many ways, I related to Conchita. In the de Figueroa family, she was not only the eldest but by far the most beautiful of the sisters, which meant the pressure for a spectacular marriage had been placed firmly on her. Xavier was a devoted husband and father, but that didn’t seem to be enough for Conchita. Maybe it was that, like me, she felt she’d never had any choice in her life. I thought about Gaspar and wondered if Conchita had loved someone else but had been pressured by her family to marry Xavier. Apart from their good looks and their wealthy backgrounds, Conchita and Xavier were different. She loved the prestige of being a Montella and Xavier hated it. If they had been free to chose, I doubted they would have chosen each other.

  Conchita lifted her eyes to me. ‘Evelina,’ she said, ‘go and open up my wardrobe.’

  I thought that she may be feeling well enough to dress for the day, so I did as she asked.

  ‘You see that dress under the organza cover? Take it out.’

  When I lifted the cover, my breath was taken away by a shell-pink beaded dress with bell sleeves and intricate lacework around the cuffs.

  ‘I want you to have it,’ Conchita said.

  ‘But no!’ I protested. ‘You’ve never even worn it!’

  She shook her head. ‘You’ll have to take it in a bit, but it will look beautiful on you. Try it on.’

  I did as she said and admired my reflection in the mirror. The sinuous skirt swirled around my legs when I moved, and the slightly tapered waist was more flattering than the previous year’s straight styles. Conchita directed me to add a matching mesh hat with white flowers on the side and evening shoes from her wardrobe, then told me to go to her dresser and dab on some Chanel No 5. I had never felt so glamorous. I paraded up and down the room for her and she smiled with genuine delight.

  ‘You should dress up like that every day,’ she said. ‘It’s your turn to be a society princess. Once you get married and become a mother, people don’t observe you the same way. You no longer bring expressions of enchantment to their faces when you walk into a room. All the enthralling possibilities you once represented are gone. There is only one predetermined fate for you.’

  She pushed her dark hair back from her face. Even though she wasn’t well, she was still beautiful. She didn’t possess one feature that was less than perfect, from her straight nose to her slim feet. She’s too beautiful, I thought. And it’s become a curse for her.

  I changed back into my ordinary dress and read the social section of the newspaper to Conchita until she fell asleep. I glanced at the clock. It was a quarter to ten. I would have to send someone to tell Olga I wouldn’t be having my lesson today.

  The bedroom door opened and I turned to see Xavier standing behind me.

  ‘Has she been all right?’ he asked.

  His clothes seemed to be hanging off him and his shoulders were hunched. He looked as though someone had sucked all the life out of him. I thought about what Margarida had said that morning about how Conchita was ruining him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked. ‘You are supposed to be sleeping. You were up all night with Conchita.’

  Xavier slumped into the chair on the other side of Conchita’s bed. ‘Don’t you have a ballet lesson at ten o’clock? I don’t want you to miss it.’

  ‘But you need my help,’ I said.

  Xavier rubbed his eyes. ‘I don’t expect you to suffer because of me. Conchita is my responsibility. I want you to go and enjoy your lesson.’

  I moved to his side of the bed and sat on the armrest of the chair. ‘What happened, Xavier? Why did she do it?’

  A look of anguish came into his eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘No matter what I do for her, she is never satisfied. She seemed fine when we said goodnight. Then early yesterday morning I heard a cry come from the bedroom and I rushed in to find her arms covered in blood.’

  Xavier and I sat with our cheeks pressed together for a few moments before he nudged me. ‘You’d better get going.’

  I embraced him. ‘Thank you,’ I said. I knew in that moment that I loved my brother dearly and that I would do anything to see him happy again.

  By early summer, Conchita had recovered enough to be left on her own, and also to accompany Xavier to social functions or to join me and Mama for strolls along the passeig de Gràcia.

  One morning, to my surprise, I walked into the drawing room to find Gaspar Olivero sitting there, talking with Xavier and Margarida.

  ‘Evelina! Good morning!’ he said, rising to his feet.

  Something about him had changed. He had never been shy or awkward and he’d always been a gentleman. But as he stood before me in his pinstriped suit, every hair on his head combed into place, he exuded the kind of polish that must have come from rubbing elbows with some of the most talented people in the world.

  ‘How are your ballet classes progressing?’ he asked me.

  The mere fact that he’d remembered I was learning ballet made my heart jump with joy.

  ‘Very well,’ I told him. ‘My teacher is pleased with me.’

  ‘And that prima donna doesn’t give praise easily,’ added Margarida, glancing from me to Gaspar.

  ‘I dropped by to invite you all to come to the Samovar Club tonight,’ Gaspar said. ‘I have a table booked for us. The flamenco dancer la Rusa has returned from her world tour and will be giving her first performance in Barcelona in nine years.’

  I had no idea who la Rusa was, but I would have gone to see a circus of fleas if it meant I could be with Gaspar again.

 
He turned to Xavier. ‘You must bring Evelina tonight. La Rusa is a stupendous dancer. Her performances are wonderful, really wonderful.’

  Xavier invited me to sit down with them, and a maid brought us some coffee and cakes. The conversation moved to Gaspar and his travels, but I didn’t hear one word about the clubs in Cuba and Venezuela. All I could think about was what I was going to wear that night. Surely Xavier and Margarida would have to let me go with them to the Samovar Club if Gaspar had invited me? Neither had voiced any objection, which was a good sign.

  When Gaspar left, I turned to my brother and sister.

  ‘Can I really go with you this evening?’ I asked Xavier.

  ‘Mama would never hear of it!’ said Margarida. ‘The Samovar Club? They play jazz and people dance the Charleston there. It’s too scandalous!’ she said in a mocking tone.

  I considered trying to make Margarida feel guilty that the reason I was so obsessively guarded was because of her. But I knew Margarida was impervious to guilt. I looked at Xavier, who seemed to be less decided on the matter.

  ‘Please,’ I begged him.

  ‘Who is going to chaperone you?’ Xavier asked.

  ‘You and Margarida,’ I told him.

  Margarida laughed. ‘As if Mama and Pare would trust me.’

  ‘Then what about Conchita?’

  Xavier shook his head. ‘She won’t want to come, Evelina. It’s not her kind of place.’

  ‘Well, that’s it,’ said Margarida. ‘You can’t come, Evelina.’

  I was crestfallen. To go to the Samovar Club was the only thing I had wanted as much as ballet lessons. But I knew not to be so childish as to cry. I turned and walked out of the room. As I was shutting the door behind me, I heard Xavier say to Margarida, ‘I don’t see why Evelina can’t join us. Mama and Pare don’t have to know. We can sneak her out of the house. God knows, you did it yourself often enough!’

  ‘She’s not like me,’ Margarida replied. ‘She’ll be seen.’ Lowering her voice so that I could only just hear her, she added, ‘I’d love her to join us, but it could damage her marriage prospects if the Cerdà family finds out she’s been going out at night. It’s one thing for me to go to places like that, but people expect differently of her.’