“This is hardly the time to tell you,” wavered Aunt Felisa. “You’ve got enough problems of your own, poor thing, after everything that has happened.”
But Mother protested that it didn’t matter, that she should go ahead and say whatever she wanted, that in fact she found their conversation distracting, that she would have to get over her grief eventually. I imagined my mother playing the big sister role I’d seen her take on so often, as second mother to all her brothers and sisters, particularly the younger ones, welcoming, strict, soothing, experienced…, handing out advice left and right, sharing in the others’ problems as if they were her own, a kind of mother hen puffing out her feathers when her chicks seek refuge under her plumage.
“It’s a friend of Feliu,” said Felisa.
Feliu was the big brother, the first-born and heir, the most difficult of the bunch, an authoritarian master who’d been widowed five or six years ago; I couldn’t even remember his wife, I don’t think I ever saw or met her. The period when Feliu became a widower led Aunt Felisa to establish herself as the centre of the household, mistress over everyone and everything. The other sisters were married, lived far away and the heir’s strong character didn’t make being in contact easy. “Everyone in his own home,” was one of the maxims Feliu liked to voice in the presence of relatives, alongside similar expressions like, “The less you need family, the better,” or “Brothers, sisters and in-laws, out of sight, out of mind,” or “Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder,” or else “Outlaw the in-laws!” The heir’s attitude had strongly infected the whole family and that’s why I didn’t know most of my cousins on my mother’s side. The excuse, according to Mother, was they were such a big crew, we’d spend our entire lives visiting each other so the solution seemed to be to disconnect from everybody, and, above all, never pay them a visit, the phrase “going to someone else’s house” was a criticism, a kind of invasion of the privacy of others, except when there were deaths and funerals, the only occasion when those who could got together.
Nevertheless, despite the heir’s prickly character, which was the main reason why her family was so scattered and at odds, my mother always warmly welcomed brothers and sisters who came to our house, and I even felt she was delighted to do so. The contrast with Father’s family, which was infinitely more open and generous, made me realize that Mother could have been different, more loving, more outgoing, more caring, if she’d not been driven out from an early age by that sour, harsh element they’d sowed deep down. Mother was never given to kissing or any kind of physical contact with our relatives or with me. Expansive moments, when she opened up, were few and far between, and only with a select group of people. She got on with people or couldn’t stand the sight of them; there was no happy mean. She could be, and in fact was, extremely unpleasant towards the second category. And those in the first never plumbed the depths of her feelings, how much she loved them, because she didn’t know how to communicate that, was terribly shy or felt emotionally inhibited and that chilled all her relationships.
“Feliu will soon be marrying the young girl from Can Passarella, as I expect you know.”
“Has he told you how it’s going?” asked Mother, suddenly perking up.
“You know what he’s like. He never talks about his business. But we can all see what’s going on. He spends more and more time with her at Can Passarella and he’s getting the house ready for when she comes.”
“Do you know her? Have you talked to her?”
“Not very much. Only the time of day.”
“What’s she like? What do you make of her? I know nothing about this lass. Will she be able to run the household?”
“What can I say? I don’t know. She’s a young thing, you know? It means she’s not used to doing certain chores!”
“Do you mean you think she’s not right, that Feliu shouldn’t have got all hot and bothered over a sparrow like her, that he’s aimed too high?”
“Who knows what he’s playing at. Perhaps he’s got one eye on the dowry she’ll bring with her.”
“You’ll keep me posted, right?”
“When it’s all signed and sealed, you bet I will. You never can tell otherwise!”
There were sudden silences, pauses when I imagined them going into the kitchen, or perhaps nibbling something. Sometimes an almost inaudible mutter told me it was a fake pause, that even though they were by themselves, they only broached the darkest secrets in hushed tones.
“He came for lunch once,” resumed Aunt Felisa, stopping the whispers, more relaxed as if she’d just shed a huge burden, “which was the first time I saw him and I didn’t take to him one bit. He’s a widower, like Feliu.”
“A widower?” asked Mother, disappointed. “That means…how old is he? Does he have children?”
“Two, an eight-year-old boy and a ten-year-old girl,” Felisa’s voice sounded mournful, “at least that’s what he told me.”
“Did he tell you how old he was?”
“I didn’t dare ask.”
“I bet he asked soon enough how old you were! It’s obvious, he’s looking for a woman to do the housework and a nanny to look after his children!”
“They’re well out of their nappies.”
“How old do you reckon he is?”
“Well into his forties,” Aunt Felisa guessed, “closer to fifty than forty. He’s got a full head of hair but it’s all grey. And he’s quite round-shouldered, with a crooked spine.”
My aunt laughed, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.
“His face is round and chubby!”
“But what about his hands?”
“Why do they matter?” Aunt Felisa seemed surprised, as if she’d left out an essential factor. “Should I have looked hard at them? I’m not sure…big…a farmer’s hands…like everyone’s around here, I’d say. I do remember his nails were long and yellowish!”
“That means he is a chain-smoker. You should check out everything before you make another move. Strong hands means he’s hard-working, that idleness doesn’t keep him in bed. And they make a man of him, big hands mean he knows what he wants. I expect he stank of tobacco?”
“I didn’t get close enough to smell his breath.”
“Didn’t you speak to each other alone for a second?”
“Yes, we did. Feliu left us in the entrance for a while, before he left. And then he accompanied me to the wash-place in La Solana. He carried the basket of dirty clothing the whole way.”
“And what did he say?”
“That if I didn’t mind, he’d come back another Sunday to see me. That Feliu thought it was a good idea. He’s now been back four Sundays on the trot.”
Then they reverted to their secretive whispering. Then suddenly, Aunt Felisa’s voice, shaken by her sobbing, like a lament: “Ugh, that’s nasty! I don’t know if I could do that! It would be beyond me!”
And Mother, in her role as guardian angeclass="underline"