The Last Song (17 page)

Brianda began to drum her fingers on the table, deep in thought. I had the feeling that she had even forgotten that we were with her. Papa sat down again.

“Yes,” Brianda said, “I can help you.”

“How?” I asked.

She leaned closer. “There is an old shed in the back of our garden. It’s overgrown with weeds. Nobody ever goes in there. It’s dirty and uncomfortable, but you will be safe there. Nobody will think of looking for you in it. My parents will never know that you are there.”

“Do you realize, child, the danger you will be putting yourself in? The Inquisition is merciless. If it ever
found out that you helped us … well, you know what that would mean.”

“Your aunt is right,” Papa said. “Think over carefully whether you want to help us. We won’t think any less of you if you decide against it.”

“I love the mother church, but I must help you. You are my friends,” said Brianda firmly. “Come to our house tomorrow, after the moon rises to the top of the sky. The garden wall has a rear gate. Only the servants use it. It opens into the alley behind the house. Somebody will be waiting for you there.”

“If we can hide in that shed until we can leave for Morocco, we have a chance of surviving,” Papa said as we were nearing the front of our villa. “I just hope that Brianda’s courage won’t desert her.”

“Never! Not in a million years. Brianda has been my best friend forever. I know her better than anyone. She is brave as a lion. She is also loyal and generous.” Suddenly, I remembered her treatment of the slave Mara. “Her only fault is that she is sometimes careless of the feelings of others. We can trust her completely, though.”

“I am pleased that – ”

“Enrique, look!” Mama interrupted. Three horsemen were approaching. “Who are they?”

The horsemen’s mounts were kicking up so much dust that it was impossible to identify the men. We waited for them. As the dust settled, Luis and his father appeared before us. Habib, their slave, had accompanied them.

“What is the meaning of this? Why are they here?” Mama whispered. Papa helped her down from her horse.

“I can guess,” Papa said, lifting me to the ground. “Let me do the talking, Isabel,” he said under his breath.

Don Alfonso, Luis, and the slave dismounted. Luis’s father swept his hat off and bowed deeply. Luis merely nodded.

“Don Alfonso, Luis, welcome,” Papa said.

“It’s nice to see you, Don Enrique.” The cavalier bowed to Mama and smiled at me.

Luis handed his reins to his slave. His hat stayed on top of his head.

“You are just in time to share a meal with us,” Mama said.

Don Alfonso shifted from one foot to the other. “We don’t want to put you to any trouble, Doña Catarina. However, I would like to have a word with your husband.”

Luis fixed his gaze on the ground and remained silent.

Papa led us into the dining hall.

“At least you must have some ale,” Mama said.

“I won’t say no, mistress. Traveling during the summer is thirsty business.”

We settled around the table. Don Alfonso seemed nervous, fingering his mustache. Luis stared into the air, as if he didn’t see any of us.

A servant brought tankards of ale and set them down on the table. Don Alfonso drank greedily, but Luis pushed his cup away as if the mere sight of it made him sick.

Finally, Don Alfonso put his tankard down. “Don Enrique, Doña Catarina, Doña Isabel, you must be wondering why we are here.”

“You are always most welcome in our home,” Papa said pleasantly.

Don Alfonso began to fidget with the handle of his sword. When he finally raised his head, I was struck by the sadness in his eyes. “What I have to tell you is most distasteful to me as a cavalier. We live in perilous times. The Inquisition – ”

“Father! Have you lost your mind?” Luis cried. He jumped up and thumped the table. “What my father is trying to tell you is that I refuse to marry the whelp of a heretic!”

My father rose in his seat, his hand on the dagger
tucked into the sash at his waist. “How dare you talk to us like this!” He glared at Luis.

“I dare more than you know, Don Enrique,” Luis said. “Haven’t you learned your lesson yet? Don’t you understand that the Inquisition has long arms? I would be more careful if I were in your shoes.”

Papa took a step forward and drew his dagger.

Mama plucked at his sleeve. “Enrique! You are forgetting yourself!” she cried. “Don Alfonso and his son are guests in our home.”

“Have you lost your wits, boy, to use such a tone?” Don Alfonso took Luis by the shoulders and shook him hard. “Be silent if you know what’s good for you!”

Luis sat down and turned his head away, but not before I saw the twist of his lips. Papa took a deep breath and sat down. Don Alfonso began to speak again.

“Don Enrique, Doña Catarina, it breaks my heart to tell you that a match between your daughter and my son cannot take place now.” He turned toward me. “I am sorry, Isabel, but such a union is no longer practical, or even safe, in the wicked times in which we find ourselves.” He gulped down more of his ale. “I hope that I have your agreement to the dissolution of the betrothal contract between our children,” he said to my parents. “And of course the dowry … I have spent some of the portion I already received.”

I felt Luis’s eyes on me, full of contempt. I didn’t care. I wanted to cry from happiness. I was no longer betrothed! I was free in the eyes of the law. I wondered what Yonah would say. I lowered my head so that my face wouldn’t betray me.

My parents exchanged quick glances.

“You have my agreement, Don Alfonso, to the breaking of the betrothal contract,” Papa said. “Return to me as much of the dowry as you can. The rest can be given back later.”

“I have long thought that our children would not be happy together,” Mama added.

Don Alfonso bent his head. “You are both kinder than I deserve. If we lived in another time … if the Inquisition wouldn’t have …” His voice broke.

Luis took a long drink from his tankard. “At last I have something to celebrate.”

“I would never have believed that Alfonso de Carrera would break his word,” Papa said after Luis and his father left.

Mama shrugged her shoulders. “Isabel would have been miserable living with that creature.”

“It’s over and done with now,” Papa said. “You were right. Luis must have reported me to the Inquisition.”

“He probably did, but we’ll never know for sure,” Mama said. “Thank God that Isabel doesn’t have to marry him.”

“I couldn’t be happier about it,” I said as I kissed their cheeks.

Mama stood up. “Let’s go upstairs. We can’t take much with us tomorrow night. I want to sort through my clothes.”

I went up to my chamber. It was hard to believe that I would be spending only one more night within the four walls that had been my home for as long as I could remember. I opened the shutters and the window. Dappled sunlight snaked into the room. I wandered around, touching my belongings. I picked up an earthenware cup full of smooth stones Brianda and I had collected when we were young girls. I folded a shawl I had carelessly thrown down on my bed. I took my jewelry chest out of the armoire and unlocked it. I tried on the necklace Brianda had given me for the last time. I put it back into the chest with a heavy heart for I knew that the Inquisition forbade Jews from taking gold and silver out of the country. I locked the chest and returned it to the armoire. Finally, I went back to the window. Anusim’s cage stood on the windowsill.

The little bird ruffled its feathers when it saw me. I opened the cage door and cradled it in my palm. I
smoothed down its feathers with a finger and kissed its head gently. I knew what I had to do. I leaned out of the window and opened my hand. The bird fluttered its wings, and then it was gone. It soared high into the sky before landing on the bough of a tree under the window. It broke into such a sweet song that my heart filled with hope. Then it flew away.

That night, after everyone in the house had gone to sleep, I returned to the orange tree. I dug up the silver kiddush cup Yonah had given me. I hid it among the clothes I had packed in a bundle made out of a petticoat even though I knew I shouldn’t.
I will decide what to do with it later on
, I said to myself. I would be taking the bundle with me. I also put into it the boy’s clothes that I had worn when I went to the Juderia.

The moonlight crept into the shed through a small window. I could see that somebody had recently tried to clean up the cramped space. The clay floor had been swept clean. Several hoes, rakes, a scythe, and two buckets were piled up in a corner. Three burlap sacks had been laid on the floor as our beds. An unlit tallow candle was placed on a wooden box, a flint beside it.

“I am sorry that I can’t make you more comfortable, but I was afraid that somebody would notice if
I had furniture brought in here,” Brianda said.

“We’ll manage,” Mama said.

“We won’t be here long. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll be gone tomorrow night,” Papa added.

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Mama and I said together.

“Don’t light the candle unless you absolutely have to. I am worried that someone in the house might notice the flame.” Brianda walked to the door. “I must go now, before I am missed. My slave will bring you something to eat. I am afraid that it won’t be much. My mother knows the contents of our larder to the last mouthful. I don’t want her to suspect anything.”

“We want to thank you again, Brianda,” Mama said. “You are saving our lives at great risk to your own.”

Brianda walked back toward us. “I wish that I could do more, Tia Catarina.” She wrapped her arms around Mama’s waist and put her head on her shoulder. “I just wish that my parents would …” Her voice trailed off.

My mother patted her back. “When somebody is afraid, it’s hard to do the right thing.”

“You have a forgiving soul, Tia Catarina.” Brianda straightened up. “I don’t dare stay here any longer. Your food will be arriving soon. I told Mara to knock three times when she comes. Don’t open the door unless you hear three knocks.”

“Can you trust the slave?” Mama asked.

“Absolutely!”

“You said that she was stupid and clumsy,” I said.

“You know this slave girl?” Mama asked me.

“You’ve seen her, too, Mama, the last time we visited Tia Juana. She served us cakes.”

“Ah yes. The girl with the ebony face.”

Brianda had the grace to blush. “You know my cursed temper. Mother is always telling me to control myself. After you left that day, I told Mara that I realized that it wasn’t her fault that the cake fell to the floor. She is reliable – the only one among the servants who wouldn’t betray us,” she said as she walked back to the door and left us. The door clicked shut behind her.

As soon as she was gone, I realized that we had forgotten to say good-bye. I wanted to run after her, but Papa grabbed my arm.

“Do you want us caught? Let her go!”

“But I’ll never see her again!”

“That can’t be helped.”

I knew that he was right, but it still hurt. I buried my face in Mama’s neck. When I was finally able to stop my tears, I settled down on one of the burlap sacks.

Mara brought us dark bread, a chunk of cheese, and some ale for our supper. After we finished eating, we sat in the darkness for a while, talking. I couldn’t stop
thinking of Anusim, and of the sweet song I’d never hear again. I also remembered all the fun Brianda and I had together.

“We might as well try to get some sleep,” Papa said. “I’ll go to Natan Abenatar’s house tomorrow morning and let him know where we are.”

“No, Papa! It’s too dangerous for you to go. The Grand Inquisitor’s men will spot you right away. I’ll go.”

“Absolutely not! I –”

Mama stopped him. “Isabel can do it – she’ll have many dangers to face. This isn’t the greatest of them.”

Papa grudgingly agreed, and before long I heard him snoring on his scrap of burlap. I lay in the darkness, my palms sweaty. I traced the outline of the kiddush cup in my bundle and felt better. I began to pray. I prayed that Torquemada’s cruelty would not affect us again. I prayed that all would go well tomorrow night and that we would be able to leave our beloved Sefarad with Yonah and his father. I also prayed that Yonah and I would … I wasn’t sure how to complete this prayer. I fell asleep and Anusim serenaded me in my dreams.

C
HAPTER 17
 

T
he Juderia was a place of ghosts. The streets were completely deserted. Gone were the merchants selling their wares. There was no sign of women gossiping in the doorways. The children playing in the streets had vanished. The horses, the donkeys, and the carts that the animals pulled had disappeared. And strangest of all was the silence. The noise of the throngs who frequented the lanes and alleys of the Juderia was stilled.

I began to worry. Had everybody gone already? Had we been left behind? I told myself not to be foolish. Yonah would never leave without saying good-bye and telling us of the change in his plans.

The silversmith’s shop was deserted. I banged on the front door, but nobody opened it. I was about to leave when I heard a faint, distant sound.