didn’t know she had to pay? Yes. Of course. You have to pay to join the brotherhood. Did she have any money? No. Of course. Was she free or a slave? Because if she was a slave she had to have her master’s authorization …
“Free,” Caridad managed to state as she stared into the Negro’s eyes. “I am free,” she repeated, dragging the words, trying in vain to find in his eyes the understanding of a blood brother.
“Well then, my daughter …” Caridad lowered her gaze when the priest, who had remained silent up until that moment, finally spoke. “What is it you expect from us?”
WHAT DID she expect?
A tear ran down her cheek.
She went running out of the church.
Milagros saw her cross Ancha de San Roque Street and enter the field that opened up behind the parish church, heading toward the Tagarete stream. Caridad ran confused, blinded by tears. The gypsy girl shook her head as she felt a stab in the stomach. “Sons of bitches!” she muttered. She hurried after her. A few steps further on she had to stop to pick up Caridad’s straw hat. She found it on the banks of the Tagarete, where she had fallen to her knees, ignoring the fetidness of the stream that absorbed the entire area’s sewage. She was crying in silence, just like the previous evening, as if she had no right to do so. This time she was covering her face with her hands and she rocked back and forth as she falteringly hummed a sad, monotone melody. Milagros scared off some raggedy little kids who approached curiously. Then she extended a hand toward Caridad’s black curly hair, but she didn’t dare to touch it. A tremendous shiver ran through her body. That melody … Her arm was still outstretched and she watched how the depth of that voice made its little hairs stand on end. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. She knelt down beside her, hugged her awkwardly and sobbed with her.
“ GRANDFATHER .”
She had been waiting attentively for more than a day before she saw Melchor returning to the alley. She had run all the way to the settlement by La Cartuja to see if she could find him there, but they had given her no news of him. She came back and leaned against the door to the courtyard; she wanted to talk to him before anyone else did. Melchor smiled and shook his head as soon as he heard his granddaughter’s tone of voice.
“What is it you want this time, my girl?” he asked her as he grabbed her shoulder and moved her away from the building, further from the Carmonas who were bustling about.
“What are you going to do with Caridad … with the black woman?” she clarified when she saw his confused expression.
“Me? I’m tired of saying she’s not mine. I don’t know … she can do whatever she wants.”
“Can she stay with us?”
“With your father?”
“No. With you.”
Melchor squeezed Milagros against him. They walked a few steps in silence.
“You want her to stay?” the gypsy asked after a short while.
“Yes.”
“And does she want to stay?”
“Caridad doesn’t know what she wants. She has nowhere to go, she doesn’t know anybody, she has no money … The Negritos …”
“They asked her for money,” he said before she had a chance to.
“Yes,” confirmed Milagros. “I promised her I would talk to you.”
“Why do you want her to stay?”
The girl took a few moments to respond. “She is suffering.”
“A lot of people are suffering these days.”
“Yes, but she’s different. She’s … she’s older than me and yet she seems like a child who doesn’t know or understand anything. When she speaks … when she cries or sings, she does it with such feeling … You yourself say she sings well. She was a slave, you know?”
Melchor nodded. “I guessed.”
“Everybody has treated her so badly, Grandfather. They separated her from her mother and her children. They even sold one of them! Then—”
“And what will she live off?” interrupted Melchor.
Milagros remained
“Free,” Caridad managed to state as she stared into the Negro’s eyes. “I am free,” she repeated, dragging the words, trying in vain to find in his eyes the understanding of a blood brother.
“Well then, my daughter …” Caridad lowered her gaze when the priest, who had remained silent up until that moment, finally spoke. “What is it you expect from us?”
WHAT DID she expect?
A tear ran down her cheek.
She went running out of the church.
Milagros saw her cross Ancha de San Roque Street and enter the field that opened up behind the parish church, heading toward the Tagarete stream. Caridad ran confused, blinded by tears. The gypsy girl shook her head as she felt a stab in the stomach. “Sons of bitches!” she muttered. She hurried after her. A few steps further on she had to stop to pick up Caridad’s straw hat. She found it on the banks of the Tagarete, where she had fallen to her knees, ignoring the fetidness of the stream that absorbed the entire area’s sewage. She was crying in silence, just like the previous evening, as if she had no right to do so. This time she was covering her face with her hands and she rocked back and forth as she falteringly hummed a sad, monotone melody. Milagros scared off some raggedy little kids who approached curiously. Then she extended a hand toward Caridad’s black curly hair, but she didn’t dare to touch it. A tremendous shiver ran through her body. That melody … Her arm was still outstretched and she watched how the depth of that voice made its little hairs stand on end. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. She knelt down beside her, hugged her awkwardly and sobbed with her.
“ GRANDFATHER .”
She had been waiting attentively for more than a day before she saw Melchor returning to the alley. She had run all the way to the settlement by La Cartuja to see if she could find him there, but they had given her no news of him. She came back and leaned against the door to the courtyard; she wanted to talk to him before anyone else did. Melchor smiled and shook his head as soon as he heard his granddaughter’s tone of voice.
“What is it you want this time, my girl?” he asked her as he grabbed her shoulder and moved her away from the building, further from the Carmonas who were bustling about.
“What are you going to do with Caridad … with the black woman?” she clarified when she saw his confused expression.
“Me? I’m tired of saying she’s not mine. I don’t know … she can do whatever she wants.”
“Can she stay with us?”
“With your father?”
“No. With you.”
Melchor squeezed Milagros against him. They walked a few steps in silence.
“You want her to stay?” the gypsy asked after a short while.
“Yes.”
“And does she want to stay?”
“Caridad doesn’t know what she wants. She has nowhere to go, she doesn’t know anybody, she has no money … The Negritos …”
“They asked her for money,” he said before she had a chance to.
“Yes,” confirmed Milagros. “I promised her I would talk to you.”
“Why do you want her to stay?”
The girl took a few moments to respond. “She is suffering.”
“A lot of people are suffering these days.”
“Yes, but she’s different. She’s … she’s older than me and yet she seems like a child who doesn’t know or understand anything. When she speaks … when she cries or sings, she does it with such feeling … You yourself say she sings well. She was a slave, you know?”
Melchor nodded. “I guessed.”
“Everybody has treated her so badly, Grandfather. They separated her from her mother and her children. They even sold one of them! Then—”
“And what will she live off?” interrupted Melchor.
Milagros remained
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