“What are you looking at?” he asked him one day.
“Nothing,” said Arnau.
The laughter grew, and Arnau stared up again at the sky.
“Shall we climb the tree?” asked Joanet, thinking that it was its branches that were attracting his friend’s attention.
“No,” said Arnau, trying to spot a bird to which he could give a message for his mother.
“Why don’t you want to climb the tree? Then we could see ...”
What could he say to the Virgin Mary? What did you say to your mother? Joanet said nothing to his, simply listening and agreeing ... or disagreeing, but of course, he could hear her voice and feel her caresses, Arnau thought.
“Shall we climb up?”
“No,” shouted Arnau, so loudly he wiped the smile from Joanet’s lips. “You already have a mother who loves you. You don’t need to spy on anyone else’s.”
“But you don’t have one,” Joanet replied. “If we climb ...”
That they loved her! That was what her children told Guiamona. “Tell her that, little bird,” Arnau told one that flew up toward the sky. “Tell her I love her.”
“So, are we going up?” insisted Joanet, one hand already on the lower branches.
“No, I don’t need to either ...”
Joanet let go of the tree and looked inquisitively at his friend.
“I have a mother too.”
“A new one?”
Arnau was unsure.
“I don’t know. She’s called the Virgin Mary.”
“The Virgin Mary? Who is she?”
“She is in some churches. I know that they,” he went on, pointing to the wall, “used to go to church, but they never took me with them.”
“I know where she is.”
Arnau’s eyes opened wide.
“If you like, I’ll take you. To the biggest church in Barcelona.”
As ever, Joanet ran off without waiting for his friend’s reply, but by now Arnau knew what to expect, and soon caught up with him.
They ran to Calle Boqueria, skirted the Jewish quarter, and ran down Calle del Bisbe until they reached the cathedral.
“Do you think the Virgin Mary is in there?” Arnau asked his friend, pointing to the mass of scaffolding rising round its unfinished walls. He watched as a huge stone was lifted laboriously by several men hauling on a pulley.
“Of course she is,” Joanet said determinedly. “This is a church, isn’t it?”
“No, this isn’t a church!” they both heard a voice behind them say. They turned round and found themselves face-to-face with a rough-looking man who was carrying a hammer and chisel in his hand. “This is the cathedral,” he corrected them, proud of his position as the master sculptor’s assistant. “Don’t ever confuse it with a church.”
Arnau looked daggers at Joanet.
“So where is there a church?” Joanet asked the man as he was about to continue on his way.
“Just over there,” he told the surprised boys, pointing with his chisel back up the street they had just come down. “In Plaza San Jaume.”
They ran back as fast as they could up Calle del Bisbe to Plaza San Jaume. There they saw a small building that looked different from all the others, with a profusion of sculpted images around the doorway, which was raised above street level, at the top of a small set of steps. Neither of them thought twice about it, and they leapt through the doorway. Inside it was dark and cool, but before their eyes even had time to get used to the darkness, they felt a pair of strong hands on their shoulders, and were propelled back down the steps.
“I’m tired of telling you children I’ll not have you running around in the church of San Jaume.”
Ignoring what the priest had said, Arnau and Joanet stared at each other. The church of San Jaume! So this wasn’t the church of the Virgin Mary either.
When the priest disappeared, they got back on their feet, only to find themselves surrounded by a group of six boys who were as barefoot, ragged, and dirty as Joanet himself.
“He’s got a really bad temper,” said one of them, signaling toward the church doors with his chin.
“If you like, we could tell you how to get in without him seeing you,” another one told them. “But once you’re inside, it’s up to you. If he catches you...”
“No, we don’t want to,” Arnau replied. “Do you know where there is another church?”
“They won’t let you into any of them,” a third boy said.
“That’s our business,” Joanet retorted.
“Listen to the little runt!” The eldest boy laughed, stepping toward Joanet. He was a good head taller than him, and Arnau was worried for his friend. “Anything that happens in this square is our business, get it?” the boy said, pushing him in the chest.
Just as Joanet was about to react and fling himself on the other boy, something on the far side of the square caught the attention of the whole group.
“A Jew!” one of them shouted.
They all ran off after a boy who was wearing the yellow badge. As soon as he realized what was about to happen, the little Jewish boy took to his heels. He just managed to reach the entrance to the Jewish quarter before the group caught up with him. They all came to an abrupt halt, unwilling to venture inside. One of them, a boy even smaller than Joanet, had stayed behind. He was wide-eyed with astonishment at the way Joanet had been prepared to stand up to the older boy.
“There’s another church down there, beyond San Jaume,” he told them. “If I were you, I’d get away now,” he said, nodding toward the others in the group, who were already heading back to them. “Pau will be very angry, and he’ll take it out on you. He is always upset when a Jew gets away from him.”
Joanet bristled, waiting for this boy Pau to reappear. Arnau tried to pull him away, and finally, when he saw the whole group racing toward them, Joanet allowed himself to be dragged off.
They ran down in the direction of the sea, but when they saw that Pau and his gang—probably more interested in some more Jews in the square—were not pursuing them, they slowed their pace. They had barely gone a street from Plaza San Jaume when they came across another church. They stood at the foot of the steps and looked at each other. Joanet lifted his chin toward the doors.
“We’ll wait,” said Arnau.
At that moment an old woman came out of the church and clambered down the steps. Arnau did not think twice.
“Good lady,” he asked when she reached them, “what church is this?”
“It’s San Miquel,” the woman replied without stopping.
Arnau sighed. San Miquel.
“Where is there another church?” Joanet asked quickly, when he saw how crestfallen his friend was.
“At the end of this street.”
“Which one is that?” he insisted. For the first time, he seemed to have caught the woman’s attention.
“That is the San Just i Pastor. Why are you so interested?”
The boys said nothing, but walked away from the old woman, who watched them trudging away disheartened.
“All the churches belong to men!” Arnau said in disgust. “We have to find a church for women; that’s where the Virgin Mary must be.”
Joanet carried on walking thoughtfully.
“I know somewhere ...,” he said at length. “It’s full of women. It’s at the end of the city wall, next to the sea. They call it ...” Joanet tried to remember. “They call it Santa Clara.”
“But that’s not the Virgin either.”
“But it is a woman. I’m sure your mother will be with her. She wouldn’t be with a man who wasn’t your father, would she?”
They went down Calle de la Ciutat to the La Mar gateway, which was part of the old Roman wall near Regomir castle. It was from here that a path led to the Santa Clara convent, built in the eastern corner of the new walls close to the shore. They left Regomir castle behind them, turned left, and walked down until they came to Calle de la Mar, which led from Plaza del Blat to the church of Santa Maria de la Mar before splitting into small parallel alleyways that came out onto the beach. From there, crossing Plaza del Born and Pla d’en Llull, they reached the Santa Clara convent by taking the street of the same name.