by Sarah Bird
“Every person they passed shouted greetings, for the road to Granada was the most sociable in Spain. It was clogged that day with goatherds, muleteers, washerwomen, horse-dealers, and hawkers of every description. A couple of the vendors heading into Granada even reversed their direction and walked swiftly enough to keep up with the lumbering truck so they could ask the girls how they could live without the needles or pans or bits of lace they were selling. Being with Rosa made Clementina bold, and she yelled back retorts so saucy that one merchant, a boy really, barely older than the girls, was inspired to fling a lady’s souvenir fan painted with a view of the Alhambra into the back of the truck. He shouted honeyed piropos comparing Clementina to a rose, a dove, a lily until he was out of breath and stood by the side of the road watching as the truck carrying the two girls, giggling madly at his compliments and fanning themselves with the fan, disappeared from sight.
“Clementina and Rosa watched the Alhambra that had stood invincible over their childhoods grow smaller as one terrace after another slipped from view until only the top spire was visible, a shimmering rose patch above Granada. Clementina remembered her aunt’s stories about Boabdil, the last Moorish ruler. In 1492, when he was driven out by the Catholic kings, he looked back at the paradise his people had created and he had lost and wept. His bitter tears at the thought of never again seeing his beloved Alhambra caused his mother to scorn him, saying, ‘Weep like a woman for what you have not defended like a man.’
“ ‘What do you think happened to Señor Lorca?’ Clementina asked Rosa. When she received no answer, she looked over and found Rosa fast asleep against a bag of wheat. Clementina already knew what Rosa would answer: ‘Do you want to be sad? No? Then don’t think sad thoughts.’ She lay back next to her friend, let the sun pour over her, and repeated those words until the rumble and sway of the truck rocked her to sleep.
“A horrible scything sound followed by sudden stillness woke the girls. Rosa ordered Clementina to hop with her off the back of the broken-down truck and hide before the driver could discover the stowaways. Cursing loudly, the driver turned the engine over again. It sputtered and caught. Unfortunately, the girls couldn’t scramble from their hiding place fast enough to catch the truck and it rumbled off without them. Looking around, they found themselves in a forbidding landscape of lunar starkness. Pinnacle upon pinnacle rose up on all sides. Sheer precipices careened down from the rocky road. Stunted pine trees, moss-covered boulders, and an occasional white house perched like a watchtower in the distance were all that broke the landscape. A solitary vulture carved lazy, black Vs across a nearly white sky.
“ ‘Have we landed on the moon?’ Rosa asked.
“They might as well have for all the idea Clementina had of where they could be. She wondered whether it might not have been better to die quickly back in Granada rather than slowly of thirst out there in such a desolate wasteland. ‘We’re certainly not on the road to Sevilla.’
“ ‘That’s good,’ Rosa said in a chirpy voice that made Clementina wonder if the heat had overtaken her friend.
“ ‘It’s good that we are in the middle of nowhere with no idea which way Sevilla is?’
“ ‘Claro! Where would I go if I ran away from Granada?’
“ ‘To Sevilla, of course. To dance in the cafés cantantes and rule over the city of charm like an empress.’
“ ‘Claro. So, the first place El Bala is going to search is the road to Sevilla, verdad? Your father has probably alerted every guardia already, and they’ll be watching the main roads. So this is perfect.’ Rosa gazed around at the desolation and smiled. ‘Yes, this is just where we want to be.’ She found a bit of shade cast by a rock outcropping and plopped herself down in it with a satisfied sigh as if pleased with how events had worked out. Clementina stood beside the sun-blasted road, baffled by Rosa’s insouciance.
“ ‘You better get out of the sun, payo.’
“Clementina started to join her friend when the low-throated rumble of a truck laboring up the winding hill stopped her and she ran back into the middle of the road, ready to flag the driver down.
“ ‘Someone’s coming!’ Clementina’s joyous shout was cut short when Rosa abruptly yanked her off the road and shoved her behind the rocks. A second later Clementina saw that the canvas covering the back of the truck was painted with red stripes at the top and bottom, with a yellow stripe in the middle where a black eagle with a red beak perched clutching the arrows and the yoke of Fernando and Isabel. She saw that the army truck was filled with soldiers wearing the same dung-colored uniforms as the ones who had taken the poet Lorca away.
“ ‘They might have given us water,’ Clementina said wistfully as the truck disappeared in the vast beige wasteland of rock and dust.
“ ‘The only thing men in uniforms give Gypsies is misery. Come on up here where there’s a breeze.’ Rosa clambered up the tallest rock, untucked her blouse, and lifted it out.
“Clementina perched next to her friend. ‘Tell me about the cafés cantantes,’ Clementina said.
“An updraft blew along the ridge. It filled the girls’ untucked blouses like wind in a sail and Rosa told Clementina again all the stories about the life they would have when they reigned as princesses of el baile in Sevilla.
“Hours later the screech of a wooden oxcart wheel axle interrupted Rosa’s stories. A farmer drove a two-wheeled cart up the mountain. He was a stoutly built fellow in worn, brown corduroy pants, an ancient cap perched jauntily on his head, bald except for a few silvery strands.
“Rosa stepped into the road weeping tears she summoned on the spot and sobbing sobs so piteous that they drowned out the shrieking of the cart. ‘Señor, señor, por favor.’ She held out a trembling hand and begged for him to stop, something the farmer, exhausted from a long day’s tramp and hungry for the supper waiting for him, was not inclined to do.
“ ‘We’re lost! My poor sister and I are lost! Our parents are dead. We’re going to our aunt in Sevilla. We have nothing. We’re lost.’
“With a gusty sigh of resignation, the farmer stopped and gestured for them to help themselves to his water barrel tied to the back of the cart.
“ ‘You don’t look like sisters,” he observed as pale Clementina sipped delicately out of the dipper and dark Rosa all but dunked her head, drinking directly from the barrel like a horse.
“Rosa laughed and shrugged. The farmer turned out to be a garrulous sort who accepted Rosa’s little subterfuge as a fine example of gracia, Andalusian wit. He was happy to join them in the shade where he passed around sausage and a flask of aguardiente.
“ ‘To kill the worms,’ he said, raising the aniseed brandy. Before the flask had gone around twice, the sun was slipping from the cloudless sky, coloring the bleak landscape with browns, hazels, reds, blues, and purples, and turning the distant olive groves bluish green. Far to the east, the delicately tapering peaks of the Sierra Nevada glowed pink in the fading light of day.
“Muttering about Long Steps, the most feared bandit ever to maraud the Sierra Nevada, the farmer heaved himself to his feet. He warned the girls that they shouldn’t stay out unprotected and offered to let them sleep in his barn, less than an hour’s walk away.
“ ‘Why should we tramp another hour to sleep where your ox shits?’ Rosa asked.
“The farmer roared with laughter. More gracia. ‘Take your chances with the bandits then.’ He whacked his ox until the creature moved and the wooden axle screeched.
“ ‘We have nothing to steal!’ Rosa shouted after him.
“ ‘Then Long Steps will steal you!’ the farmer yelled back.
“ ‘Only if he can find us!’ Rosa hurled back, already stealing away from the road. Beyond a stand of pines, dwarfed and twisted by the ceaseless wind, she found a perch at the very edge of the precipice. Clementina’s stomach lurched and panic clutched at her throat as she peered into the chasm below. Rosa, on the other hand, was as comfortable as a mountain goat bedding down for the night.
Rosa, who’d never slept alone in her life, snuggled up to her friend like a puppy settling in with its littermates. Clementina, who’d never slept a night with another human beside her since her mother died, was comforted by Rosa’s presence.
“ ‘Guess what?’ Rosa asked Clementina. ‘I’ve picked a stage name. In Sevilla, I will be known as La Leona, the Lioness. Just like my grandmother. Clementina, you have to change your name so your father won’t find you. What’s it going to be?’
“While Clementina pondered what her new name would be, Rosa fell asleep.
“Night fell with a stunning velocity. In the darkness Clementina became terrified of falling into the void below and was certain she wouldn’t sleep a wink on the rocky earth. But as the pricks of light that were the farmhouses below blended with the stars blazing overhead, it seemed as if she were swimming through a dark sea with diamonds floating and glinting all around and Clementina relaxed. Whether it was the farmer’s aguardiente or the unaccustomed solace of a warm body, Clementina joined Rosa in a sleep lighted by dreams of the golden radiance of the gas lamps of the cafés cantantes.
“In the dream, she learned what her stage name would be and awoke eager to tell Rosa, but when she opened her eyes, the only creature she beheld was a lone eagle riding high above a pink dawn.
“ ‘Rosa. Rosa? Rosa!’ Her shouts grew louder when a search turned up nothing but a few lizards that skittered away, twitching their tails in the dust.
“The only evidence that Rosa had ever been there was the fan flung to them by the smitten young man on the road to Sevilla. Clementina found it crumpled behind a rock, near a dark spot still damp from where Rosa had relieved herself. The impression of a man’s boot heel was pressed into the small circle of mud. Long Steps. Rosa had been stolen by bandits. Tears flooded Clementina’s eyes. She opened Rosa’s fan. Each time she waved it in front of her hot face, it dried one tear and two more poured out. Soon all her tears had spilled and she regretted every single one because a thirst worse than any she had ever known burned in her throat. Shriveling like a chile drying in the early morning sun, Clementina was so thirsty that she forgot Rosa, she forgot her hunger, she forgot everything except water.
“When Clementine heard the rattle of an approaching vehicle, she didn’t care who it belonged to. If it was Franco’s soldiers, at least she’d have a quick death instead of dying of thirst. A car like her father’s, an Hispano-Suiza, approached in a cloud of dust. Unlike her father’s, however, this once-luxurious automobile was now an ancient rattletrap. She dragged herself into the middle of the road and the car stopped. Espectáculos Vedrines, the name of a famous variety show that toured the country, was written on the side. The man driving barely slowed down long enough for one door to fly open and a woman with dark red lipstick, her hair covered by a snood, to gesture to Clementina. ‘Come on! Come on! Get in or he will leave you here!’
“Clementina jumped in the back and wedged herself between trunks, hatboxes, and a guitar.
“ ‘Hurry, Gustavo!’ the woman yelled at the driver.
“ ‘Elena, you’re the one who told me to stop!’ Gustavo ground the car’s gears in his haste.
“ ‘Yes, well, you’re the one who couldn’t keep up with the rest of the company and now we’re lost in this godforsaken place!’
“ ‘I? I was the one? Was it I who made the tire on this pile of junk blow out? Was it I who lost the ration coupons so we couldn’t buy petrol? I know it was I who had to steal enough petrol to get us here! And we are not lost! Where else would this road go if not to Sevilla?’
“Clementina noticed that the handsome couple, though they yelled everything they said to each other, seemed to enjoy the yelling. At least they were going to Sevilla.
“ ‘And again, I ask you, was it I who insisted we stop for this, this, this—’ The man waved his hand in Clementina’s direction but could not decide exactly what to call her.
“ ‘And I suppose you were just going to leave her by the side of the road?’
“ ‘Why not? You’re too softhearted. If it was up to you this car would be filled with skinny dogs and’—he glanced at Clementina in the rearview mirror—‘skinny girls. Maybe she lives on a nearby farm.’
“ ‘Look at her. A farmer’s daughter? You must be insane.’
“ ‘I’m insane? Who’s standing in the middle of the road in the middle of nowhere?’
“Elena whispered to Gustavo. ‘Maybe she is a little...’ She tapped her temple.
“ ‘I’m not crazy,’ Clementina felt obliged to tell them. The couple blinked at each other as if surprised she could speak even though they had not given her a chance to do so.
“ ‘Good!’ Gustavo boomed. ‘Then maybe you can tell us if we are in rebel or Nationalist territory! We have to know which flag to put up so we won’t be killed!’
“ ‘I don’t know, but a truck filled with soldiers passed by yesterday.’
“ ‘Did you hear that?’ Elena yelled at Gustavo.
“ ‘I heard! Of course I heard! Do you think I’m deaf? An army truck, yes. But which army? The rebels? The loyalists? The Falangists? Which one?’
“ ‘I don’t know.’
“ ‘She doesn’t know!’ Elena shouted at Gustavo before asking Clementina. ‘The flag? What did the flag look like?’
“ ‘It had stripes.’
“ ‘Stripes!’ Gustavo bellowed. ‘They all have stripes! Elena, show her the flags!’
“ ‘But Gustavo, is it safe?’
“ ‘Is it safe to drive around flying the wrong flag? We can’t make a mistake! Show her!’
“Elena opened the glove box, dumped maps and documents onto her lap, then felt around until she dislodged a partition covering a secret compartment, and retrieved a handful of scarf-size flags. ‘Which one was on the truck?’ She showed Clementina a flag with red, yellow, and purple stripes and another with just red and yellow stripes. There were several others, but Clementina ignored them as she plucked out one with red stripes at the top and bottom and a yellow one in the middle where a black eagle with a red beak perched clutching the arrows and the yoke of Fernando and Isabel.
“ ‘Falangists!’ Gustavo yelled. ‘They’re the worst of them all! Get that flag up!’
“Elena leaned out of the window, the wind tore off her snood, and with her black, curly hair streaming behind, she tied the Falangist flag to the car antenna. When she’d finished, she packed the other flags back into their hiding place, shut the glove box, and turned to Clementina. ‘So what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere waiting to get run down or shot by soldiers?’
“ ‘I was on my way to Sevilla with my friend, Rosa, and the bandits stole her. Her father back in Sacromonte promised her to El Bala and she was going to have to live the rest of her life in a cave with an ugly old man so we ran away.’
“ ‘Your “friend,” eh?’ Elena caught Gustavo’s eye and winked at him. ‘So Rosa was stolen by the bandits. I had a “friend” once myself whose parents wanted her to marry a rich old man, but my “friend” was stolen too.’ Elena nuzzled up next to Gustavo and nibbled his ear as she crooned in it, ‘Stolen by a handsome bandido. Don’t worry, Rosa, your “friend’s” secret is safe with us.’
“ ‘Do you have any water?’ Clementina was too thirsty to care that Elena thought she was lying.
“Elena handed her a jug of water that she drank dry.
“Then Gustavo asked, ‘Have you eaten today?’
“Clementina shook her head no, and Elena produced from a basket at her feet a yellow pear and she began to cut up. The smell of the perfectly ripe pear and the sight of juice dripping from Elena’s knife made Clementina’s mouth water.
“ ‘Do you like pear?’ This time Gustavo was the one who winked at Elena as he added, ‘Rosa?’
“All her life, Clementina had been taught to bow her head as if she had just taken Communion and accept her sino. Her father and Tía Rogelia had believed that her fate would arrive in the form
of a young man from a venerable family. When Gustavo called Clementina by her vanished friend’s name, she realized what her true fate was. Elena reached around and handed Clementina a slice of pear with a kind and understanding smile. Clementina bowed her head and accepted the pear as politely as she had always accepted her fate.
“ ‘And what do you intend to do in Sevilla?’ Gustavo asked.
“ ‘I will find work as a flamenco dancer at a café cantante.’
“Gustavo studied her in the rearview mirror. ‘A café cantante?’
“ ‘Yes, maybe the Kursaal or Café Silverio. Or any of the cafés on the Alameda de Hércules.’
“ ‘The Kursaal? Café Silverio?’ After each name, Elena burst out with an eruption of laughter louder than the last.
“The well-brought-up Clementina simply blinked several times at Elena’s rudeness, causing Elena to explain kindly, ‘Oh, niña, the last café cantante in Sevilla closed more than ten years ago.’
“ ‘That’s not possible. I was going to be La Leona, the Lioness, like my grandmother.’ Somehow, the shock of learning that Rosa’s dream world had vanished made it seem all right to claim it as her own.
“Elena turned in her seat, holding a piece of pear in her hand. ‘You had a grandmother who danced in los cafés cantantes?’
“The juicy slice of pear glistened in the morning sunlight, slanting into the big car. Clementina nodded yes and Elena handed over the bit of fruit. Clementina told La Leona’s story and was rewarded with a slice of pear. The tale of El Chino and Delicata won her an even bigger slice. The first time Clementina told the story of Rosa’s life as her own, she was driven to it by hunger. But in the telling Rosa’s life became much more real to Clementina than the lonely, uneventful one she had led, so real that it truly did seem to be her own. Clementina didn’t think that she had stolen her friend’s name, her history, her life. She intended only to borrow them for a while. It would be much safer to be Rosa than Clementina. There were so many Rosas. Who would notice one more? A Clementina? Yes, a Clementina would be noticed and, eventually, her father would come. But a Rosa, una gitana? Even Rosa’s own family would not search for her since that would mean going to the enemies of the Gypsy people, the police, la guardia civil. No, no one would be looking for Rosa.
