The Return (23 page)
Authors: Victoria Hislop
Tags: #British - Spain, #Psychological Fiction, #Family, #British, #Spain - History - Civil War; 1936-1939 - Social Aspects, #General, #Granada (Spain), #Historical, #War & Military, #Families, #Fiction, #Spain
They repeated the
soleá
and the
bulería
from their first meeting, and then Javier played a sequence of other dances for Mercedes. As the hour went by, almost without a break, she relaxed. They almost entirely forgot the presence of María Rodríguez. Occasionally she quietly joined in with the
palmas
but she did not want to distract them.
soleá
and the
bulería
from their first meeting, and then Javier played a sequence of other dances for Mercedes. As the hour went by, almost without a break, she relaxed. They almost entirely forgot the presence of María Rodríguez. Occasionally she quietly joined in with the
palmas
but she did not want to distract them.
Eventually Javier stopped.
‘I think that’s probably enough for today, isn’t it?’ the old woman said.
Neither of them seemed to have anything to say.
‘So I think another rehearsal, same time next week, and you should be ready to perform together. I’ll work on a few things with you, Mercedes, meanwhile. Thank you,’ she said to Javier, smiling. ‘I’ll see you both next week.’
‘Yes . . .’ said Mercedes. ‘See you next week.’
She looked across at Javier, who was packing away his guitar. His eyes met hers and he seemed to hesitate.There was no doubt that he was on the point of saying something but he changed his mind.
A moment later he was gone. Within minutes, having changed her shoes, Mercedes too was outside on the cobbled street, but Javier had already disappeared.Their contact had been so intimate and yet so distant.
Mercedes’ stomach churned with anxiety and confusion. She thought of nothing but Javier and counted not the hours but the minutes until she would see him again. She confided in her friend Paquita.
‘Of course he isn’t going to think of you in that way,’ said Paquita. ‘He’s five years older than you! He’s nearly Ignacio’s age!’
‘Well, I don’t think of him as a brother,’ said Mercedes.
‘Just be careful, Merche. You know the reputation of those
gitanos
. . .’
gitanos
. . .’
‘You don’t know anything about him,’ answered Mercedes defensively.
‘But neither do you really. Do you?’ teased Paquita.
‘No. But I know how I feel when I am dancing with him,’ she said very seriously. ‘It is as though the whole world is contained in María’s small house. Nothing outside it exists or matters.’
‘And when will you see him again?’
‘He’s coming back in a week’s time. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t think of anything else. There
is
nothing else.’
is
nothing else.’
‘Has he kissed you?’ asked Paquita inquisitively.
‘No!’ exclaimed Mercedes, almost affronted. ‘Of course he hasn’t!’
They were in the courtyard of Paquita’s home. Both sat silently for a while. Paquita could not doubt her friend’s sincerity. She had never heard her talk in this way. They had both spent many hours of their lives hanging about in the city’s squares exchanging flirtatious words and glances with boys of their age, but these feelings Mercedes had for Javier Montero appeared to have nothing to do with such childish crushes.
For Mercedes, the days passed with agonising slowness until the next rehearsal. Concha noticed the dark shadows beneath her daughter’s eyes and her listless manner. She also became concerned about the uneaten food on her plate.
‘What’s the matter,
querida mia
?’ she asked. ‘You look so pale!’
querida mia
?’ she asked. ‘You look so pale!’
‘It’s nothing, Mother,’ she replied. ‘I had to finish some school work last night.’
It was an explanation that satisfied Concha. She had, after all, been nagging Mercedes to take her studies more seriously.
The day for the second rehearsal arrived. Mercedes was almost overcome with nausea when she woke that morning. At five o’clock she went to La Mariposa’s house. She was not due there until six, but she wanted to be the first there this time.
Mercedes put on her shoes and warmed her wrists by rotating them round and round and back again, tapping her feet as she sat there to create a rhythm:
one
two,
one
two,
one
two, one two
three
, one two
three
, one two . . .
one
two,
one
two,
one
two, one two
three
, one two
three
, one two . . .
Still María had not appeared. Mercedes stood up and her feet resumed the rhythm of the
seguiriya
. She began to turn and her steel heelcaps hammered on the floorboards of this tiny house. There was only just enough room for her hands to stretch upwards without touching the ceiling, and the walls could scarcely contain the volume of noise that she was making. As she twirled, Javier’s playing filled her imagination.
seguiriya
. She began to turn and her steel heelcaps hammered on the floorboards of this tiny house. There was only just enough room for her hands to stretch upwards without touching the ceiling, and the walls could scarcely contain the volume of noise that she was making. As she twirled, Javier’s playing filled her imagination.
Though Mercedes was oblivious to the racket she was making, it was audible in the street outside. For a few moments, Javier stood watching her through the window. What he could see was a young woman entirely lost in her own world, almost hypnotised by the rhythm of her own movements. What he could not see was the vision of himself that filled Mercedes’ imagination.
In her mind he sat on the low chair in that room almost shredding his fingers with the passion of his playing.
Perhaps five or six minutes went by as she performed her private, solemn dance. He was transfixed not merely by the sight of the raw emotion she expressed so openly and so unreservedly; it was a lack of inhibition that was only possible in one who was dancing unobserved. What also held his attention was this combination of technical virtuosity with something that seemed almost wild. As she spun round and round and round again, she was like a creature possessed. Javier knew that to make those disciplined, precisely practised steps appear improvised was almost impossible. This girl was achieving it and watching her thrilled him to the core of his being. Such
duende
was so rare. It was like an electric current passing through him.
duende
was so rare. It was like an electric current passing through him.
A moment before Mercedes stopped dancing, he felt a tap on his shoulder. María Rodríguez. He had no idea how long she had been standing there and whether she had observed him spying on Mercedes. He did not ask. He felt like a voyeur.
‘Let me take that from you,’ he said, taking her basket of shopping to cover his embarrassment. ‘It looks heavy.’
‘Thank you,’ said the old woman, acknowledging his gesture.
‘I don’t know where she gets this fury from. It just rages up from inside her. And then she channels it into her dancing. You clearly recognise that this girl is exceptional.’
He nodded. Her comments were enough to indicate to Javier that María knew he had been watching her young protégée.
When María opened her door, Mercedes was still panting from the exertion of the dance. She was virtually steaming. She gave a shy smile, which for Javier seemed at odds with the overt sexuality that he had witnessed through the windowpane.
Mercedes had thought obsessively of this
guitarrista
in the past week, and it seemed natural that he should be back there, sitting on the low chair tuning his guitar. It was as though neither of them had moved from this very room in seven days.
guitarrista
in the past week, and it seemed natural that he should be back there, sitting on the low chair tuning his guitar. It was as though neither of them had moved from this very room in seven days.
They exchanged a few polite words of greeting and María Rodríguez took a seat in the corner of the room, ready to listen and observe.
‘What would you like me to play?’ asked Javier.
‘A
seguiriya
,’ she said firmly.
seguiriya
,’ she said firmly.
Javier bent his head low over his guitar and smiled to himself.
Mercedes picked up the rhythm from his introductory chords and soon she was dancing.
Whenever Mercedes glanced at Javier he was utterly absorbed in his playing and when he looked up to watch her, she seemed far away. They were unaware of each other’s interest.
This time, as Javier looked up to observe, he noted that her movements were crisp and her timing exact. Her
zapateado
, the quick toe, sole and heel movements, were as faultless as before but she held something back this time. She seemed more reserved, shy like her smile. When he glanced across to where María had been sitting, he saw that she had disappeared from the room. He stopped playing, emboldened by the absence of their chaperone.
zapateado
, the quick toe, sole and heel movements, were as faultless as before but she held something back this time. She seemed more reserved, shy like her smile. When he glanced across to where María had been sitting, he saw that she had disappeared from the room. He stopped playing, emboldened by the absence of their chaperone.
‘Come and sit down,’ he instructed her gently, indicating the empty chair next to his.
Mercedes was surprised by the sudden cessation of his playing and his invitation.They had never sat so close to each other before. She did not hesitate for a moment. Even if she did not always do what she was told, she was used to being given instructions by adults.
Once she was sitting down, he reached out and took her hand. It trembled violently against his own. He suddenly realised that he had nothing in particular that he wanted to say and that it was purely for the opportunity to hold her hand that he had stopped her dancing.
‘You dance so beautifully, Merche.’
It was all he could think of to say.
He held her hand tightly and then, in a moment that seemed one of madness even to himself, he brought it to his lips and kissed not the back of it but the palm. Even for someone who had bedded dozens of women, it was a gesture of surprising intimacy.
Instinctively, Mercedes gave him her other hand and Javier held them both in his. They sat like this for a moment, their eyes meeting for the first time, and nothing needed to be said.
When María came back into the room, Mercedes got to her feet. Javier resumed his playing and within the hour they had gone their separate ways once again. In spite of his gypsy blood, Javier knew where the boundaries lay.
Their first performance together was the following week, but in the meantime there was an important date in Mercedes’ diary.
Three days before she was due to meet Javier again, it was her sixteenth birthday. Her family celebrated and as she had been long promised, a large, soft parcel was waiting for her on the café table at breakfast time that day.
She tore the paper open and as she did so, folds of a magnificent flamenco dress billowed out. It was a classic design, black spots on a red background, exactly the one she had always dreamed of having, and she held it up to herself and twirled round. For a moment after she had come to a stop, the wired tiers seemed to have a life all of their own and continued to bounce from side to side and up and down.
‘Thank you, thank you!’ she cried in appreciation, hugging both her mother and the dress.
It was warming to see and feel her daughter’s excitement but Concha silently rued Mercedes’ passion for her dancing. She had noticed that her daughter was spending even more time than ever with María Rodríguez.
Before their first performance, Mercedes and Javier were to meet at María’s house. It was a few steps from the
cueva
where a crowd was already gathering. Most of them were drawn by the
tocaor
’s reputation but some of them were intrigued by the combination of the great man from Málaga with this local girl.
cueva
where a crowd was already gathering. Most of them were drawn by the
tocaor
’s reputation but some of them were intrigued by the combination of the great man from Málaga with this local girl.
As Javier arrived, Mercedes appeared from María’s back room where she had been changing.
The dress fitted perfectly around every curve of her body, closely following the contours of breasts and hips. It was a stunning transfiguration and she was fully aware of the impression she made on Javier as she entered the room swathed in scarlet, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
‘You look . . . wonderful,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ she replied, knowing that it was true.
She came up close to him now, full of courage and eager anticipation for their performance.
Without hesitating he reached out and stroked her hair, and as she took another step towards him, she felt his fingers touch her chin. Instinctively, she tilted her head upwards.
Javier’s kiss shocked her with its strength and intensity. Mercedes had been kissed only once before on the mouth, and it had been a disappointment. This was an embrace that surged through her, body, mind and soul.Whether it lasted for minutes or only seconds had no relevance. It was powerful enough to feel as though her life now divided into two: before and after the feel of his soft lips on hers.
It was time for them to go. María Rodríguez, who had known what had to happen between these two before they did, walked up towards the
cueva
with them.
cueva
with them.
No one was disappointed. Mercedes danced with more intensity than ever before. The
guitarrista
and
bailaora
were perfectly paired.
guitarrista
and
bailaora
were perfectly paired.
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