Indiscretion (20 page)

In the flickering light of the flames, old crones with lined faces sat at the entrance to their dens. Plump women, bare-breasted, nursed their babies; others, armed with enormous wooden spoons, lethargically stirred a gelatinous liquid contained in huge, black pots suspended above primitive stoves. She passed bright-eyed urchins squatting on the bare earth, poking the fire and fanning the blaze. Further away, coppery-skinned girls, barely out of adolescence, sang and danced to the frenzied rhythm of outlandish instruments. They wore brightly coloured skirts, with gold pendants in their ears and numerous clanking bracelets on their ankles and wrists. Bearded men with great manes of hair, sunburnt faces and enormous bushy eyebrows hiccoughed and laughed noisily, while
mangy, lean-looking dogs prowled furtively in the shadows on the lookout for bones.

Alexandra had drawn her shawl over her head and no one paid her any notice, though her heart was hammering in her chest as she slowly walked through the camp. It was then that she caught sight of a crowd of gypsies gathered at the wide entrance to one of the caves, a hundred yards away from where she was standing. Unlike the others, this one glowed with flickering light. Alexandra carefully weaved her way through the cluster of people, trying not to draw attention to herself. Several of the gypsies were carrying candles, the ends of which were wrapped in paper, careful not to let the wax drip on to their hands. Salvador stood at the entrance to the cave, his face pale and drawn. Beside him was Esmeralda, stiffly upright, her mouth grave, her beautiful blonde hair partially concealed by a large silk shawl.

Further inside the entrance, men were crouched on the ground, drinking wine from goatskin gourds. One tall, hawk-eyed
gitano
, a scar deeply etched down the side of his face, was perched on a rock, sharpening a short-bladed knife with a stone and taking rough swigs of wine. Suddenly, the gypsies got up and started to dance. Their singing was a sort of raucous chant on a monotone, accompanied by castanets, the clapping of hands and the rhythmic tapping together of two stones. Then, as the men drew back into the shadows, the women came forward, forming a wild circle around an open coffin. Their sinuous bodies, wrapped in flowing loose dresses, wriggled in the eerie glow of the flames. They were swaying their hips like witches at an incantation and Alexandra half expected to see black cats appear at any moment, clinging to their backs with raised fur.

A trickle of gypsies went in and out of the cave as the chanting droned on. Alexandra took a deep breath and made her way closer to the entrance. The air was laden with smoke, the pungent smell of sweat and the nauseatingly sweet fragrance of dying flowers.

The coffin was decorated with camellias and surrounded by candles; inside lay a baby. At first, Alexandra thought he was sleeping, for his
cheeks and lips, far from being livid, had a carmine hue to them as if they'd been unnaturally reddened. She stood there, horrified, staring at the little mite who lay in the wooden box, oblivious to the absurd orgy of shouting, dancing and stamping feet surrounding him.

A man pushed by her to get to the coffin, holding a gourd of wine in his hand; it was the scarred knife-sharpener. Alexandra froze and pulled her shawl closer around her head as he stared straight at her, eyes narrowing. At the crescendo of the chanting, the
gitano
's blurry eyes shifted. He swallowed several mouthfuls and then, holding the gourd over the tiny body, sprinkled the child's face with the potent liquid, smudging the make-up. Tears ran down the infant's cheeks, making him look like some pathetic clown. This was greeted with cries of ‘
Olé
' and the capering and wild dancing started all over again. Alexandra let out the breath she had been holding.

Suddenly, Marujita appeared, twisting her youthful body and swaying her hips as her feet beat the clay earth in a continuous, frenzied rhythm. She moved her arms gracefully, turning her head from left to right, swinging her jet-black hair, which fell in disarray over her perspiring face. Her movements were so abandoned, so frenzied, that she seemed possessed by some cabalistic spell.

Alexandra felt as if she was in the midst of some hellish nightmare. Never would she have believed such barbarity existed; this spectacle went beyond the bounds of her imagination. It amazed her that only a matter of weeks ago, she'd been in England where life had been so much more civilized, so much simpler.

‘Don't feel sorry for the child,' said a voice behind her. ‘He's up there, in paradise, with the angels. He's lucky to have gone there so soon. What future is there for a bastard half-caste, born of a union between a
gajo
and a
Calés
?'

Alexandra turned sharply to meet the dark eyes of Paquita, the old woman from Triana, peering at her. ‘And now,' went on the ragged gypsy as she took the young woman's hand, ‘you, too, must dance the
Abejorro
, the bee dance. Do exactly as I do, and take care not to stop buzzing during the dance or else you'll die before the year's out.'

By then Alexandra was so taken aback by this bizarre ceremony and the old woman's sudden reappearance that this pronouncement barely made her flinch. Already the rhythm of the music had begun to accelerate and the guests had started to join hands around the coffin. Humming, they circled it, imitating the sound of bees.

Alexandra let herself be drawn into the dance. Her eyes scanned the alien gypsy faces, looking for Salvador. She spotted him holding Esmeralda's hand in the circle of guests, mechanically enacting the movements required by the strange ritual. He seemed to have aged astonishingly in the space of a few hours. Deep black shadows were visible beneath his stunned eyes and his ashen face had grown hollow. Esmeralda was holding his arm as if he needed her to guide him, and she kept giving him anxious glances. Why was he there, Alexandra wondered as she followed the steps of the circling
gitanos
, and how had he become mixed up with this wandering race? Salvador was the master here and they lived on his land, obligated to him for his generosity. Yet, somehow, these people and their curious superstitions seemed to have an extraordinary hold over him.

The bee dance came to an end. It appeared to mark the final stage of the ceremony and the gypsies were starting to disperse. As was her custom, Paquita had vanished into thin air. Even Esmeralda was no longer to be seen. Only Salvador remained, standing beside the small coffin, a tragic picture of grief.

Alexandra deliberated for a moment, wondering if she should slip out now without revealing herself, but she couldn't bear to see him with that pained look, whatever lay behind it. She wanted to hold him, and go on holding him to take away his pain but she knew she could not. Wrestling with her own fear and bewilderment, she approached him and tentatively laid a hand on his arm. Salvador started out of his torpor.

‘
Madre de Dios
, what are you doing here?' he cried, aware of her presence for the first time. ‘Can't you leave me alone?'

Then, turning to face her, he took her roughly by the shoulders and shook her brutally. ‘Go, Alexandra,
go
!' His tone was almost savage.
‘You're in danger here, don't you understand? If you have any sense at all, girl, go …'

‘
No escuchaste lo que dijo el Señor Inglés, chica
? Didn't you hear what the
Señor
said, English girl?' croaked a medusa in rags, who had just lurched into the cave. She was not particularly old, but life hadn't treated her well and her face held a kind of madness in it. Her eyes were feverish-looking as she stared at Alexandra, her hands compulsively flicking at the air as if swatting invisible flies. ‘Yes, we know who you are. We
Calés
know everything that goes on. What are you doing here anyway, in this land so at odds with yourself? In your country of ice, one love consoles another, one lover replaces another … feelings are light as the breeze, they pass and are soon forgotten.' She flicked her hands again and pushed at her unruly matted hair. ‘Here it is the opposite. Our earth is like a volcano, it is a violent and bloody land, ruled by savage passions and cruel laws, and we are made in the image of our land.'

For a moment the crone gazed at Alexandra intently. ‘Be careful the heat of our sun does not burn you.' Then she jerked her head dismissively. ‘Go, pale
señorita
!' In the silence of the night, her shout echoed like thunder through the whole valley. ‘Go back to your country of mists before the ground gives way under your feet and the erupting volcano swallows you up forever in its smoking lava.'

Added to Salvador's harsh words, this hysterical outburst of gibberish proved too much for Alexandra. Holding her hands to her ears, blinded by the tears that streamed down her cheeks, she ran towards the house while the shrew was still shouting oaths and warnings, and didn't stop until she'd reached her room.

She found Agustina seated beside the bed, waiting for her, an anxious expression creasing her usually cheerful face.

‘I knew you would find out. You shouldn't have gone there, my child,' she remonstrated as Alexandra collapsed into her arms.

‘Why, Agustina? … Why was he there? … And why does he put up with all of it?' she sobbed.

‘It's a long story,
niña
,' said the servant as she poured some sort of herbal brew out of a teapot standing on the night table. ‘Here, drink this and come and lie down on your bed. Agustina will try to help you understand.'

Alexandra did as she was told and gulped down the aromatic infusion that the housekeeper had handed her.

‘You'll soon feel better.' Agustina helped Alexandra get ready for bed before sitting herself down at the young woman's bedside to begin her tale.

‘Four years ago, Don Salvador became engaged to the very beautiful and rich Doña Isabel Herrera, whom you've met, I believe. Her father, Don Vincente Herrera, is a big wine merchant and owner of one of the largest
bodegas
in Andalucía. Both were young, handsome and had a great deal of money, which made them the envy of many people in their circle.

‘A great ball was given to celebrate their engagement and everyone was talking about their being a perfect match. However, even though the old proverb says,
Marriages are made in heaven
, this one, it seems, was not to be. Some would say it was all for the better. Who knows? Perhaps it was but it's too soon to judge. The fire is not yet out and, even if it is, the cinders are still hot.'

Alexandra's heart gave an agonizing twist. Was Agustina inferring that Salvador still had feelings for Isabel? Perhaps the flame had already rekindled and it was only a matter of time before this ideal union was reforged. She desperately wanted to know but, for now, said nothing.

Agustina continued. ‘A few months before the wedding, Don Salvador went to Granada to buy a new horse. He was brought home with a fractured pelvis and other injuries to his spine, which left him paralysed from the waist downwards. They said he would never walk again.

‘Well, Doña Isabel visited less frequently after that. One day, out of the blue, we learned from the newspapers that she'd married the
Marqués
de Aguila. A titled man, for sure, respected in the whole of
Spain, but nevertheless one almost three times her age, riddled with gout and arthritis.
Ay, qué vergüenza
, what a shame for our poor Don Salvador.' Agustina shook her head sadly and tutted as if the tragedy had befallen the young man only yesterday.

‘Our Count was heartbroken and slipped into a deep depression. Doña María Dolores had lost all hope for him when a gypsy woman came to the gates of El Pavón and asked to speak to her. She was apparently part of the camp the
Duquesa
had allowed on the grounds. The
gitana
explained that her daughter, Marujita, possessed the
gracia de mano
, a healing power, and she had come to the hacienda to offer her services to the young Master.'

Mere superstition
, Alexandra thought privately. Nevertheless, she interrupted Agustina. ‘What exactly is this healing power?'

‘Some people believe that a woman who has this power can rub life again into any creature, human or animal. Only one woman in two thousand has the power and she is born with a perfect caul covering her head and face. You know, some sea captains keep such preserved things in a jar on board their ship as a good-luck charm to protect them from shipwreck.

‘Anyway, Her Grace, who'd tried every remedy without success, agreed to allow Consuelo and her daughter Marujita to try their cure on her nephew. Consuelo was a crafty one and Marujita, in spite of her young age, was already as provocative as a
lumiasca
, a harlot, with the looks of a goddess. Since her early teens, she'd hung around a good few street corners.' Agustina crossed herself and held up her hands. ‘May God in heaven forgive me but they were like a couple of
cabronas putas
, pimped whores, those two, the way they came to the house, with the mother offering the daughter up for her services.

‘Yet the magic in her hands worked the miracle. Not only did our young Count begin to live again but also he gradually began to walk. A year later he was riding around the estate on horseback and,
madre de Dios
, Marujita was carrying a child.'

Alexandra smothered a gasp. ‘Oh God, the baby was his!' she whispered.

Agustina nodded, her hand on her chest. ‘Sick with remorse, Don Salvador wanted to marry the girl but Doña María Dolores fiercely opposed this and rightly so. Finally, after many clashes between them, the
Duquesa
was able at least to prove to him that he had not been the first victim of the young gypsy's schemings. She could understand his being grateful to Marujita and, if he could not do without her, she would turn a blind eye to the girl remaining his mistress, but as for marrying her …' Agustina shook her head.