Alberto's Lost Birthday

by Diana Rosie

  Isabel turned to Tino. ‘Your grandfather was a very good little boy. He never complained; he worked hard and rarely got into trouble.’

  Tino smiled proudly at his apu.

  ‘Señora Peña – I remember her!’ chuckled Alberto. ‘It always seemed that the thinner we became, the fatter she got!’

  ‘Oh, that woman!’ said Isabel, shaking her head. ‘And those priests. Always so cruel. I often chastise myself that I didn’t stand up for you children. As if you hadn’t been through enough.’

  This time it was Alberto who laid his hand on hers. ‘It was your cooking that kept us all going,’ he said.

  Isabel smiled, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and put her glasses on again.

  ‘Alberto, I’m so glad you visited.’

  ‘So am I.’

  For a while, they chatted easily. Isabel spoke of other children she recalled with fondness. Alberto explained they had met the man who had taken over the orphanage and Isabel said she recollected an unpleasant general had once visited the building as they were cleaning it for his arrival.

  Eventually, Andrés appeared and asked if they’d like anything else. A coffee perhaps?

  ‘Thank you, but no,’ said Alberto.

  Andrés nodded and smiled at his mother.

  ‘I think it’s time to continue our search,’ said Alberto to Isabel. Then, turning to the boy, he said, ‘Would you like to visit the church?’

  His grandson nodded excitedly.

  Alberto reached into his pocket.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Isabel, raising her hand. ‘Los Niños couldn’t accept your money, Alberto. And if you will come back later, I’d be delighted to cook for you once more.’

  Chapter Eight

  MIMI

  5 March 1937

  As I press myself behind the back of a giant barrel, I can smell the delicious old oak. Wedging my body between the cask and the stone wall, I smile. The boys will never think of looking for me here.

  I fold my skirt into my lap so they won’t see it as they pass. Néstor is useless at most games, including hide-and-seek, but Alberto might just spot me if I don’t hide well.

  I try to hold my breath, but I’m still panting from running through the cellars, so I concentrate on breathing as quietly as I can.

  Papá would probably be annoyed if he knew I was hiding here. He doesn’t like us playing in the cellars. He likes the stone caverns to be quiet and serene. ‘Let the wine age in peace,’ he tells us. But I like being down here in the cool. And I like being around the wine.

  Papá often explains to us how the wine is made. He makes a story out of it. My favourite bit is the journey of a little grape. Papá talks about how it needs to be nurtured while it grows on the vine. He tells us how only the best care will make sure the grape has the right flavours to make a fine vintage. When the grape is fully grown, then it allows itself to be picked and turned into wine.

  Néstor is always bored by Papá’s stories, but I love them. Papá tells Néstor to pay attention because one day the vineyard will be his, but Néstor isn’t interested. Last week, Alberto’s papá told my papá that he should pass the vineyard on to me because I have a natural feel for it. But Papá just laughed. Later, he told Mamá, and she laughed too as if it were the funniest joke they’d ever heard.

  Mamá said that for such a clever man, Alberto’s papá has some crazy ideas. I felt bad for Alberto’s papá. I know he was doing a nice thing for me. And I know Alberto tells his papá how mean Néstor is to me. Mamá and Papá don’t believe me when I tell them he punches and pinches me. They say not to tell tales, and my brother and I should play nicely.

  They would be pleased with me now. The three of us have been playing together all afternoon. We know that soon we’ll be back at school, so we’re playing while we can.

  I shift my position a tiny bit. It’s uncomfortable behind this barrel, but I know the moment I move, one of the boys will appear and find me.

  In the gloomy light, I look at my fingers. My nails are dirty again. Mamá despairs of me ever becoming a lady. I stick a finger in my mouth and work the grime out with my tooth. Then I suck the ball of dirt onto my tongue and stick it out, picking the grit up with my fingertip. I wipe my hand on the back of the barrel and move on to the next finger.

  By the time I’ve finished all ten nails, I have a metallic taste in my mouth, and I’m very bored. Where are the boys?

  Stiff and achy, I shift again, but this time I lose my balance. To steady myself, I plant my foot heavily on the floor under the edge of the barrel. I hear a splash and look down with dismay.

  There is a puddle of red wine under the cask. One of my white socks is soaked with wine, and as I step into the light, I see red splatters all over the yellow skirt of my dress. Mamá is going to be furious.

  Just then, I hear steps running towards me. For a moment, I consider squirming back into my hiding place, but dismiss the thought. I have bigger worries now.

  ‘Ha! I found you!’ screeches Néstor as he runs up to me.

  I ignore him and try to wipe the wine off my skirt. After all the wine I’ve got on my clothes over the years, I know it is useless, but I have to try.

  ‘Ha, ha, ha, ha!’ my brother screams. He points a fat finger at my skirt.

  ‘Mamá’s going to be so angry with you!’ he shouts, glorying in his victory.

  I will him to shut up. The last thing I want is a fight with him. But Néstor just sneers at me, his chubby face glowing with delight.

  Another set of footsteps run towards us. Alberto has heard Néstor’s shouting. As I look up, he stops beside my brother. He stares at my dress.

  ‘Oh, Mimi,’ he says in a quiet voice.

  I know he understands how I am feeling. I am always spilling things and have ruined so many of my clothes. Mamá despairs of me and now I’ve done it again.

  Néstor is sniggering at me and pointing.

  ‘Let’s go to Chita,’ says Alberto.

  Yes, of course. Chita will help. She’ll be busy preparing the evening meal right now, but I’m sure she’ll do what she can.

  As I walk past my brother, he snorts, ‘I’m going to tell Mamá.’

  ‘Don’t be mean, Néstor,’ says Alberto.

  ‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ says my brother angrily.

  Ignoring him, Alberto turns and walks along the length of the cellar with me.

  I know Néstor well enough to know he feels humiliated and is fuming. Alberto is only a little older than him, but Néstor is such a baby it’s as if the age difference is huge. I’ve heard Chita say Néstor is spoilt and our parents indulge him too much. If it were up to her, she says, she’d give him a good spanking.

  Wishing it were up to Chita, I reach the cellar entrance, Alberto by my side. The wine has seeped into my shoe now and the leather squelches as I walk.

  Together, we climb the stone stairs and out into the shady courtyard. The sun is shining through the flowering jacaranda trees above, and the ground is covered in spots of light and purple petals.

  Crossing the courtyard, we watch out for any of the workers, but they’re all in the fields tending the vines. Papá will probably be out with them, and Mamá will be working at her desk. Since Papá’s accountant had to join the army, Mamá has been doing the paperwork. Papá says she’s very good with figures, and he hopes I’ve inherited her mental agility.

  Mamá sometimes complains about how things have changed since the war began. Chita can no longer make many of the family’s favourite dishes, and Mamá says she feels ill with worry that the Rojos will make the vineyard into a collectivo. Papá tells her it won’t happen and our area is safe from the Republicans.

  Alberto’s papá sometimes says perhaps it would be a good thing to let the workers have some of the profit from the wine they help make. But Papá says there’s not much profit these days, and anyway, he didn’t put his whole life into this vineyard just to hand it over to a bunch of scallywags in berets.

  P
apá always finishes the discussion by telling Alberto’s papá he respects their friendship too much to discuss politics. I think it’s Papá’s way of telling Alberto’s papá to keep his opinions to himself.

  Alberto’s papá works for my papá, but they are also very good friends. He and Alberto eat with us, and they live in an annexe attached to the house. Alberto’s papá is a chemist. He measures the levels in the wine, right from when it’s just grape juice to when it’s very old. He makes sure the wine isn’t too high in alcohol or tannins. I don’t really understand what he does, but Papá says he’s lucky to have such a clever scientist working with his grapes.

  These days, Alberto’s papá helps in the fields, too. So many men have left to fight that most of the workers in the fields are women. At harvest time, we all go to pick grapes. The neighbours come round too, and Mamá and Chita make as much food as they can for everyone to say thank you.

  As we walk across the courtyard to the kitchen, I can smell something frying. For an instant, I forget about my dress and imagine what might be for dinner. Perhaps padrón peppers, or butterbean stew.

  Suddenly, there’s a shout. ‘Hey!’

  Alberto and I turn to see Néstor standing at the top of the cellar stairs. He has an ugly sneer on his face.

  ‘You can’t tell me what to do!’ he shouts at Alberto.

  ‘Be quiet, Néstor,’ I hiss at him.

  Néstor ignores me and stares at Alberto.

  ‘I’m not. I just think you should be nicer to your sister,’ says Alberto.

  Although we are the best of friends, I know that Alberto wishes he has brothers and sisters. His mother died when he was a baby, and his papá has never remarried.

  ‘She’s just a stupid girl,’ Néstor scoffs, walking towards us.

  I think my brother wishes Alberto was his friend, and he’s jealous of my friendship with him.

  ‘Don’t call her stupid,’ says Alberto. He sounds a bit angry now.

  ‘I can call her what I want,’ he says. ‘It’s you that should be careful. You’re not a member of this family. You shouldn’t even be playing with us. You should be playing with the workers’ children.’

  ‘Néstor!’ I shout. ‘How dare you speak to Alberto like that? You know that Papá and Alberto’s papá are friends. Now just stop all this and grow up.’

  I am a year and a half older than Néstor, and I know the one way to drive him crazy is to tell him to grow up.

  He turns to me, and his small eyes flash with anger. All of a sudden, he steps towards me and, with his size able weight behind him, shoves me hard.

  My foot turns and I fall. As I hit the ground, I hear the sound of my sleeve ripping. This is becoming the most awful day I can remember.

  Néstor hears the noise too and he begins to laugh.

  Then, suddenly, Alberto rushes towards my brother and throws a punch at him. It hits him in the face and Néstor falls heavily backwards, holding his nose.

  Alberto turns to me. ‘Are you all right?’ he asks.

  I nod, but I’m worried. Papá will not be happy about Alberto hitting Néstor, no matter how good friends he is with Alberto’s papá.

  He realizes what I’m thinking and says, ‘I’ll talk to my papá.’

  ‘He’s not your papá!’ screams Néstor.

  Alberto and I both turn to him. Like me, Néstor’s still sitting on the courtyard ground. His nose is bleeding and blood drips onto his shirt.

  ‘Just ignore him,’ I tell Alberto. I have a horrible feeling in my stomach – as if something is about to happen that will change everything.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ asks Alberto. He obviously does not share my fear.

  ‘I heard Mamá and Papá talking one night,’ says Néstor quietly.

  ‘Néstor, I’m going to tell Papá you’ve been eavesdropping again.’

  He ignores me and carries on. ‘They were talking about how when your papá married your mama, she was already expecting you.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ says Alberto, but there’s a tiny note of uncertainty in his voice.

  ‘Your mamá was expecting you, but the man she married wasn’t your real father.’

  ‘Shut up, Néstor!’ I shout as loud as I can, hoping to drown out what I know is coming.

  ‘You’re a bastard,’ says my brother. A nasty smile breaks out on his face.

  Alberto stands looking at him. He shakes his head. ‘You’re a liar,’ he says.

  Néstor starts to laugh a screeching, spiteful laugh.

  ‘Take it back,’ says Alberto loudly, but Néstor is still laughing.

  I hear footsteps coming towards us, but I can’t break my stare from what’s happening in front of me.

  ‘Take it back!’ yells Alberto. He runs towards Néstor and throws himself on top of him, punching and kicking him with all the strength he can muster.

  At that moment, Mamá appears from the entrance to the house and Alberto’s papá appears at the courtyard’s exit. They arrive in time to see Alberto viciously hitting Néstor, and they both run over.

  ‘Alberto!’ shouts Alberto’s papá. He pulls Alberto away, and he clearly can’t quite believe what he just saw. ‘What were you doing?’ he asks crossly. Then he sees that Alberto has tears running down his face. He can’t look at his papá, staring instead at his boots.

  Mamá kneels next to Néstor, fussing over him. She wipes the blood from his face with her handkerchief, asking why Alberto was hitting him. But, for once, my brother remains silent, his mouth tightly set.

  By now, Chita has heard the commotion and runs into the courtyard. Seeing the boys are being attended to, she heads over to me and helps me to my feet.

  ‘What happened, chica?’ she asks, beginning to brush the dust off me. She hasn’t noticed the wine stains. I follow the boys’ lead and do not say anything. I don’t think I could say it out loud – not when Alberto’s papá is so close.

  Alberto’s papá is bending over Alberto with his hands gripping the tops of Alberto’s arms. He’s looking directly into Alberto’s face, but Alberto doesn’t even glance up.

  Then Alberto’s papá turns and walks towards the house. I don’t know what this means. Is he now refusing to talk to Alberto? What’s going to happen next?

  He disappears into the dark of the house, but when he returns, he is rolling down his shirtsleeves and putting on his jacket. He carries Alberto’s jacket and hands it to him.

  Alberto takes the coat without saying anything. Alberto’s papá turns to Mamá and says, ‘Please accept my apologies for Alberto’s behaviour. He and I are going to take a little drive to discuss what’s just happened.’

  Mamá nods and looks at Alberto. I thought she would be angry with him, but she doesn’t seem to be. Instead, she appears concerned.

  With his hands on Alberto’s shoulders, Alberto’s papá leads him past Chita and me. I stare at Alberto’s face, but he doesn’t look up – not even for a moment.

  Their steps become quieter; then I hear the car doors slam and the engine roars to life. I watch as the old black car chugs past the courtyard, leaving a small cloud of dust behind it.

  Waking up, I squint at the light shining through a crack in the shutters. I am mid-stretch when I remember what happened yesterday. I throw back the bedclothes and leap out of bed. In my nightdress and barefoot, I run down the stairs and through the house to the kitchen.

  There, sitting at the table, are Mamá and Papá. Chita is at the stove, cooking eggs. No one is speaking as I burst into the warm room.

  ‘Well?’ I plead.

  Mamá shakes her head.

  Alberto and his papá are still not back. When they left last night, we thought they would go for a short drive. Maybe to the river, where Alberto’s papá sometimes takes us all fishing.

  Chita had postponed dinner, but it became so late Mamá said we would eat and Chita could put theirs aside. After grace, I could only manage a few mouthfuls, and Néstor just pushed his food around his plate. Even Mam�
� seemed to struggle. Only Papá had eaten well, complimenting Chita on her excellent stew.

  After dinner, Mamá had suggested Néstor and I go to bed early, and for the first time ever, we agreed. I had gone to sleep straining to hear the sound of the old engine complaining as Alberto’s papá drove it up the drive.

  Papá looks at me and sees the tears starting to well in my eyes. He pushes his chair back and nods to me. I climb onto his lap and push my face into his chest, feeling the bristly hair through his white shirt.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mimi,’ he says softly. ‘I’m sure it’s just that that old car has broken down. I don’t know how Raúl has kept it going so long, but it can’t go on forever.’

  I look at Mamá and she nods reassuringly at me.

  Only Chita does not seem to agree, as she bangs and clatters far more than is necessary to cook eggs.

  Mamá asks very softly, ‘Mimi, sweetheart, can you tell us what happened yesterday? Why were Alberto and Néstor fighting?’

  I don’t know what to say, so I burrow my face into Papá’s chest.

  Mamá perseveres. ‘Your brother won’t get out of bed today. He says he’s not well, but apart from a black eye, I can’t see anything wrong with him. Won’t you tell us what happened, Mimi?’

  I think about the question, but I don’t know what to say. I’m too confused. And right now, I’m too worried about where my friend is.

  Papá says to Mamá, ‘I’m sure it was nothing.’ Then he kisses the top of my head and says, ‘How about some of Chita’s delicious eggs?’

  I drag the long stick along the dusty earth, leaving a lined furrow. Leaning over, I take a close look at the vine I’m standing beside. Gnarled and cracked and charcoal grey, it looks ancient. Papá says Noah planted the first vine when he got off the ark. Looking at this vine, I can believe it.

  The workers are all having a siesta. It’s a hot, dry day and usually I would be in the cool of the house. But I want to be out in the vineyard, waiting for Alberto to come back.