“Of course I will, Mother.”
“Go now, both of you.”
THE TWO BOYS walked aimlessly down the noisy streets of the city center. Arnau waited for Joanet to explain, but when the boy said nothing, he finally plucked up the courage to ask:
“Why doesn’t your mother come out into the garden?”
“She is shut in,” Joanet told him.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. She just is.”
“Why don’t you climb in the window then?”
“Ponc has forbidden it.”
“Who is Ponc?”
“Ponc is my father.”
“Why has he forbidden it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why do you call him Pone instead of ‘Father’?”
“Because he’s forbidden that too.”
Arnau came to a halt and tugged at Joanet until the two were face-to-face.
“I don’t know the reason for that either,” the boy said quickly.
They carried on walking. Arnau was trying to make sense of all this, while Joanet was waiting for his new friend’s next question.
“What is your mother like?” Arnau finally asked.
“She’s always been shut in there,” Joanet said, trying to force a smile. “Once, when Pone was out of the city I tried to climb in, but she would not let me. She said she didn’t want me to see her.”
“Why are you smiling?”
Joanet walked on a few paces before replying.
“She always tells me I should smile.”
The rest of that morning, lost in thought, Arnau followed through the streets of Barcelona the dirty-looking boy who had never seen his mother’s face.
“His MOTHER STROKES his head through a small window in the hut,” Arnau whispered to his father that night, as they lay side by side on their pallet. “He’s never seen her. His father won’t allow him to, and nor will she.”
Bernat stroked his son’s hair exactly as Arnau had told him his new friend’s mother had done. The silence between them was broken only by the snores of the slaves and apprentices who shared the same room. Bernat wondered what offense the woman could have committed to deserve such a punishment.
Pone the coppersmith would have had no hesitation in telling him: “Adultery!” He had told the same story dozens of times to anyone who cared to listen.
“I caught her fornicating with her lover, a young stripling like her. They took advantage of the hours I was at the forge. Of course, I went to see the magistrate to insist on proper compensation according to the law.” The stocky smith obviously took delight in citing the law that had brought him justice. “Our princes are wise men, who know the evil of women. Only noblewomen have the possibility of refuting the charge of adultery under oath; all the others, like Joana, have to undergo a challenge and face the judgment of God.”
All those who had witnessed the challenge remembered how Pone had cut Joana’s young lover to ribbons: God had little possibility to judge between the coppersmith, hardened by his work in the forge, and the delicate, lovelorn young man.
The royal sentence was carried out as stipulated in the Laws and Usages: “If the woman should win the challenge, her husband will keep her honor-ably, and will meet all the expenses she and her friends might have incurred in this case and challenge, and will make good any harm to her champion. But if she is defeated, she and all her goods will become the possession of her husband.”
Pone could not read, but he quoted this passage from memory as he showed anyone who cared to see the legal document he had been given:We rule that if he wishes Joana to be handed over to him, said Pone should offer proper surety and swear to keep her in his house in a place twelve feet long, six feet wide, and two rods high. That he should give her a straw mattress large enough to sleep on, and a cloak to cover herself with. The place of her confinement is to have a hole in which she may discharge her bodily functions, and a window through which food is to be given her. The said Ponc shall provide each day eighteen ounces of fully baked bread and as much water as she requires. He will not give her or cause her to be given anything which might hasten her death, or to do anything which might lead to the death of said Joana. In respect of all of which, Ponc is to provide a proper guarantee and security, before the aforementioned Joana is handed over to him.
Pone supplied the magistrate with the required surety, and Joana was handed over to him. He built the brick hut in his garden, making it two and a half yards long by a yard and a half wide. He made sure there was a hole for her to carry out her bodily functions, and left the window through which Joanet, who was born nine months later and was never recognized by Pone, could have his hair stroked by his mother. In this way, he walled up his young wife for the rest of her days.
“Father,” Arnau whispered to Bernat, “what was my mother like? Why do you never tell me about her?”
“What do you want me to tell you? That she lost her virginity raped by a drunken nobleman? That she was a whore in the lord of Bellera’s castle?” thought Bernat.
“Your mother... ,” he answered finally, “was unlucky. She never had good fortune.”
Bernat could hear how Arnau swallowed hard before asking the next question.
“Did she love me?” the boy asked, his voice choking with emotion.
“She didn’t get the chance. She died giving birth to you.”
“Habiba loved me.”
“And I love you too.”
“But you’re not my mother. Even Joanet has a mother to caress his head.”
“Not all children have ...” Bernat started to say. “The mother of all Christians,” he suddenly thought, as the words of the priests surfaced in his memory.
“What were you saying, Father?”
“That you do have a mother. Of course you do.” Bernat could feel his son relax. “All children who like you have no mother are given another one by God: the Virgin Mary.”
“Where is this Mary?”
“The Virgin Mary,” Bernat corrected him, “is in heaven.”
Arnau lay in silence for a few moments before he spoke again.
“What use is it having a mother in heaven? She can’t stroke me, play with me, kiss me, or—”
“Yes, she can.” Bernat could clearly recall what his father had explained when he asked these very same questions. “She sends birds to caress you. Whenever you see a bird, send your mother a message. You’ll see how it flies straight up to heaven to give it to the Virgin Mary. Then the other birds will get to hear of it, and some of them will come to fly round you and sing for you.”
“But I don’t understand what birds say.”
“You will learn to.”
“But I’ll never be able to see her ...”
“Yes, of course you can see her. You can see her in some churches, and you can even talk to her.”
“In churches?”
“Yes, my son. She is in heaven and in some churches. You can talk to her through the birds or in those churches. She will answer with birds or at night while you are asleep. She will love and cherish you more than any mother you can see.”
“More than Habiba?”
“Much more.”
“What about tonight?” Arnau asked. “I haven’t talked to her tonight.”
“Don’t worry. I did it for you. Now go to sleep, and you’ll find out.”
8
THE TWO NEW friends met every day. They ran down to the beach to see the boats, or roamed the streets of Barcelona. Each time they were playing beyond the Puig garden wall and heard the voices of Josep, Genis, or Margarida, Joanet could see his friend lifting his eyes to the sky as if in search of something floating above the clouds.