“Of course the Virgin will be delighted to receive a visit from boys like you.”
Arnau laughed nervously, and looked round at Joanet.
“Shall we go?”
“Hey, wait a moment,” the man said. “I have to get back to work.” He looked over toward the other busy workmen. “Angel,” he shouted to a youngster who looked about twelve years old. He came running over. “Take these boys into the church. Tell the priest they would like to see the Virgin.”
With that, he gave Arnau’s head a last pat and disappeared back toward the sea. Arnau and Joanet were left with the boy called Angel. When he looked at them, they both stared down at the ground.
“Do you want to see the Virgin?”
He sounded sincere. Arnau nodded and asked: “Do you ... know her?”
“Of course,” laughed Angel. “She’s the Virgin of the Sea, my Virgin. My father’s a boatman,” he added proudly. “Follow me.”
They went with him to the church entrance. Joanet looked all around him, but Arnau was still troubled, and did not raise his eyes from the ground.
“Do you have a mother?” he asked all of a sudden.
“Yes, of course,” Angel said, still striding out in front of them.
Behind his back, Arnau beamed at Joanet. They went through the doors of the church, and Arnau and Joanet paused until their eyes became accustomed to the gloom inside. There was a strong scent of wax and incense. Arnau compared the tall, slender columns being built outside with the squat, heavy ones in the interior. The only light came through a few long, narrow windows cut in the thick walls of the church, casting yellow rectangles on the floor of the nave. Everywhere—on the ceiling, on the walls—there were boats, some of them finely carved, others more rough-and-ready.
“Come on,” Angel urged them.
As they walked toward the altar, Joanet pointed to several figures kneeling on the floor that they had not seen at first. As they walked by them, the boys were surprised to hear them murmuring.
“What are they doing?” Joanet whispered in Arnau’s ear.
“Praying,” he explained.
He knew this because his aunt Guiamona had forced him to pray in front of a cross in his bedroom while she went to church with his cousins.
When they reached the altar, they were confronted by a thin priest. Joanet hid behind Arnau.
“What brings you here, Angel?” the priest asked him quietly, although his gaze was fixed on the two newcomers.
He held out his hand to Angel, who bent over it.
“These two boys, Father. They want to see the Virgin.”
The priest’s eyes gleamed as he spoke directly to Arnau. “There she is,” he said, pointing to the altar.
Arnau looked in the direction the priest was indicating, until he made out a small, simple stone statue of a woman with a baby on her right shoulder and a wooden boat at her feet. He narrowed his eyes; he liked the serenity of the woman’s features. His mother!
“What are your names?” asked the priest.
“Arnau Estanyol,” said Arnau.
“Joan, but they call me Joanet,” said Joanet.
“And your family name?”
Joanet’s smile faded. He did not know what his family name was. His mother had told him he could not use Pone the coppersmith’s name, because he would be extremely angry if he found out, but he could not use hers either. This was the first time he had been asked what his name was. Why did the priest want to know? He was still looking at Joanet expectantly.
“The same as his,” he said at length. “Estanyol.”
Surprised, Arnau turned to him, and saw the look of entreaty in his eyes.
“So you’re brothers then.”
“Ye ... yes,” Joanet stuttered. Arnau backed him up, saying nothing.
“Do you know how to pray?”
“Yes,” Arnau said.
“I don’t ... yet,” Joanet admitted.
“Get your older brother to teach you then,” said the priest. “You can pray to the Virgin. Angel, you come with me. I’ve got a message for your master. There are some stones over there ...”
The priest’s voice died away as the two of them walked off, leaving the two boys by the altar.
“Do we have to get on our knees to pray?” Joanet whispered to Arnau.
Arnau looked back at the shadowy figures that Joanet had pointed out to him. As his friend headed for the red silk prayer cushions in front of the altar, he grabbed him by the arm.
“Those people are kneeling on the floor,” he whispered, pointing toward the others, “but they are praying as well.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not going to pray. I’m talking to my mother. You don’t kneel down when you’re talking to your mother, do you?”
Joanet looked at him. No, of course not...
“But the priest didn’t say we could talk to her. He said we could pray.”
“Don’t say a word to him then. If you do, I’ll tell him you were lying, and that you aren’t really my brother.”
Joanet stood next to Arnau and enjoyed studying all the boats decorating the inside of the church. How he would have liked to have one! He wondered if they could really float. They must be able to: otherwise, why would anyone have carved them? He could put one of them at the water’s edge, and then ...
Arnau was staring at the stone figure. What could he say to her? Had the birds taken her his message? He had told them that he loved her. He had told them that time and again.
“My father said that even though she was a Moorish slave, Habiba is with you, but said I was not to tell anyone that, because people say Moors cannot go to heaven,” he murmured. “She was very good to me. She was not to blame for anything. It was Margarida.”
Arnau continued to stare intently at the Virgin. Dozens of candles were lit all around her, making the air quiver.
“Is Habiba with you? If you see her, tell her I love her too. You’re not angry that I love her, are you? Even if she is a Moor.”
Through the darkness and the air wavering round the candles, he was sure he saw the lips of the small stone figure curve into a smile.
“Joanet!” he shouted to his friend.
“What?”
Arnau pointed to the Virgin, but now her lips were ... Perhaps she did not want anyone else to see her smile? Perhaps it was their secret.
“What?” Joanet insisted.
“Nothing, nothing.”
“Have you prayed already?”
They were surprised to find that the priest and Angel were back.
“Yes,” said Arnau.
“I haven’t—” Joanet apologized.
“I know, I know ...,” the priest interrupted him in a kindly fashion, stroking his head. “And you, what did you pray?”
“The Ave Maria,” Arnau replied.
“A wonderful prayer. Let’s go then,” the priest said, accompanying them to the church door.
“Father,” said Arnau once they were all outside, “can we come back?”
The priest smiled at them. “Of course, but I hope that by the time you do, you’ll have taught your brother to pray as well.” Joanet looked serious as the priest tapped him on both cheeks. “Come back whenever you like,” the priest added. “You will always be welcome.”
Angel started off toward the pile of large building stones. Arnau and Joanet followed him.
“Where are you going now?” he asked, turning back to them. The two boys looked at each other and shrugged. “You can’t come into our work area. If the overseer ...”
“The man with the stone?” Arnau butted in.
“No,” laughed Angel. “That was Ramon. He’s a bastaix.”
Joanet and Arnau both looked at him inquisitively.
“The bastaixos are the laborers of the sea; they carry goods from the beach to the merchants’ warehouses, or the other way round. They load and unload merchandise after the boatmen have brought it to the beach.”
“So they don’t work in Santa Maria?” asked Arnau.
“Yes, they work the hardest.” Angel laughed at their puzzled expressions. “They are poor people. They have little money, but they are among those who are most devoted to the Virgin of the Sea. They cannot contribute any funds to the new church, so their guild has promised they will transport the stones free from the royal quarry at Montjuic to here. They carry them all on their backs,” Angel said, his face showing no emotion. “They travel miles under the loads. Afterward, it takes two of us just to move them.”