Mrs. Dolores or Napkin Lolita smiled shyly. When the burial men had finished their task and closed off the niche with four large bricks, we slowly made our way out of the cemetery. Two young girls came over to Mrs. Dolores and accompanied her along the path that went straight into the town.
I couldn’t see the trap anywhere, or Grandmother and Bernat. Perhaps Grandmother had felt sick and they’d left. I was puzzled.
The mist had lifted. The road from town had been swept, with no obstructions, and cultivated land on both sides sloped gently down to the first houses around the bulky mass of the parish church and the ribbon of river, factories on either bank, driving the lock-gates, then twisting and vanishing into the Guilleries woods.
We went into a huddle with Mother in front; small groups of people from the town and Mother’s workmates followed on behind. Some people stood on the sides of the path and greeted us with nods and faint smiles. Mother walked past them, didn’t look round or say a word, staring ahead, lost in thought.
Suddenly she turned round and the whole group followed suit. Mother looked back at the two men and the priest who were talking away from the path, in a field full of farming implements. Mother glanced briefly in their direction and the three men seemed to break off their conversation and return her glance, heads lowered, as if expecting her to take the initiative, to show respect, reverence or some acknowledgement that they seemed ready to accept and reciprocate.
However, Mother strode towards where the priest and men were standing. I now recognized that one was the mayor and the other, the head of the local Falange, a Mr. Brull, with his neat little pencil moustache, who came to the parish school early in the morning and made us line up in the playground to salute the flag and shout out the slogan of the day, the words of which we didn’t understand, oaths he suggested like:
“The stars at dawn will shine eternally on the youth of our imperial destiny!”
And things of that ilk, that to us little kids were like weird gobbledegook. When we finished, he hoisted the flag and shouted even more stridently: “Fallen for God and the Fatherland!”
And we all had to respond in the most brutal, disciplined military style: “Present and correct!”
Mother headed straight for the little band of big cheeses. Ció tried to stop her with a “No, Florència, don’t! Not now!”
Aunt Enriqueta tried to grab her sleeve that was hanging loose, but Mother pulled her arm sharply away. The two women followed on two paces behind her. I stood rooted to the side of the path, severely embarrassed.
Mother came to a halt in front of the men. They looked at her respectfully, even fearfully, I felt. When the priest tried to say something, my mother erupted in that harsh tone I’d only heard once or twice, that made you shake with fear, a calm, rage-filled voice, a firm voice that didn’t stammer once: “What more do you want? You’ve finally killed him! Are you happy now? You dragged him from his home fine and healthy and you return him to me battered, twisted and lifeless. Pray tell me what you gain from his death? Does it serve any purpose? I’ll tell you what purpose it served. It helped deal with the envy you all harbour, trampling yet again on those who refuse to bow their heads before you! If there is a God out there, I don’t think he will forgive you. He won’t ever forgive you!”
Mother broke off for a moment, took a deep breath and then continued, ignoring Ció who kept repeating behind her: “Florència, let it go!” and she addressed the three men, imploring them: “Please don’t take any notice of her. Don’t hold it against her. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. It’s not her. You must see she’s gone crazy…”
But Mother continued, ignoring them alclass="underline" “So what do I have now? What state do you leave me in? You should have killed me by his side. Why did you leave me bereft? Do you still not dare kill a woman? Can you tell me what he did that I didn’t? I don’t understand. Do you? Come on, tell me, I’d like to know why. I thought as he thought… And why not? Aren’t we allowed to think? I’ll tell you what I think: I think you have torn my life to shreds, my life, do you hear? The only life I had because Lluís was my life, and without him… If that’s what you wanted, then you don’t deserve to be alive, your children should spit in your faces, that’s what you deserve… You disgust me!”
Mother stooped slightly so her gob of spit would hit them, but nothing came out of her mouth. She tried a couple of times, as if she were coughing, but her throat was parched and it was futile. As red as a woodpecker, Brull took a step forward to stop her but the priest grabbed his arm and kept him by his side. The three men were silent now. The mayor’s face had gone livid, as if he’d suffered a heart attack. The vicar was the only one who remained composed, smiling his fake, well-rehearsed, patronizing smile. When Mother turned round to walk off, he remarked two or three times: “We won’t hold this against you. We’ll take your state of mind into consideration. We will talk all this through later…”
Mother, with her back to them, was about to turn round and answer, but Ció grabbed her arm and pulled her forcefully away. I gripped her hand.
“Let’s go,” said Mother, “we should go. We’ve no place here. It’s disgusting, they disgust me!”
The remaining relatives and neighbours were waiting on the verge, with Aunt Enriqueta in front, and welcomed us with their appalled expressions.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” muttered Aunt Enriqueta, beginning the retreat with us.
Mother took her time to respond. Finally she said: “What did you expect me to do? Go and lick their boots?”
We walked home in silence. Before we got that far, some of Mother’s friends and neighbours left us to go their own way.
The house door was open and a band of women, mostly neighbours, were in the dining room and kitchen. They greeted us as if we were ill. They had put a cloth on the table and set out glasses of hot milk and slices of bread.
“Come on!” they begged us. “You just sit down and have a bite to eat. Would you like us to stay and get lunch ready?”
Mother smiled sadly in gratitude. She said nothing as she walked by each of them and caressed them with her hand, tears streaming. When she came to the last neighbour, her face was awash with teardrops that dripped from her nose and chin. Her back and head began to convulse, as if she was having a fit, and the moans from her lips grew louder and louder.
Aunt Ció and the neighbours caught her before she fell, as if she was fainting, and they took her to her room. Her laments and convulsions got more and more violent; her whole body shivered as if she’d caught a chill. They lay her on the double bed and sat next to her, placing handkerchiefs on her forehead and rubbing her arms and legs. A neighbour and Aunt Enriqueta ran to the kitchen and put water on to boil and started scouring the cupboards for orange-blossom or El Carme water to calm her down.
I’d never seen my mother in such a state; she seemed to have gone mad. The women strained to keep her still and Aunt Ció hugged her as if she wanted to hold her down. I looked on from out in the passage, feeling powerless, wretched and totally devoid of hope. As if the world were crumbling before my eyes. As if a vast desert had begun to take over my life.
“It’s impossible!” Mother stuttered. “Can’t you see it’s impossible?”
A neighbour began unbuttoning her dress and another shut the door so I couldn’t see. They tried to soothe me saying it was nothing serious, that she’d soon get over it, that I should go to the kitchen and eat.