On Sunday night they attended the Semana Santa procession, a parade of ornate pasos depicting scenes from the Passion of Christ, with pedestals painted in gold leaf and hemmed with velvet. The floats were carried by costaleros chosen from the community who considered the task to be a great honour. Luis explained that he had left for England before he could have been chosen. Many were illuminated by candles, some wax and wick, others electric. According to Luis a few of the same floats were involved in the parades he attended as a child, maintained and restored over the years he had been away. As the pasos filed by, Luis recognized them individually, like they were old school friends, and he appeared quite overwhelmed.
The next day they caught a train to the coastal town of Cádiz with the intention of meeting Luis’s mother for dinner. As they neared the final stop the train passed through salt flats and flocks of flamingos. An observation occurred to Danny – they were two kids from the coast, lovers of the sea, forced to leave it behind. Since theirluggage was light, they opted to walk from Cádiz station rather than wait for a taxi, arriving at the Parador Hotel. It was situated on the tip of the peninsula, a modern building with floor-to-ceiling glass windows and sea views from every terrace.
Keen to enjoy the remains of the day, they checked in and left the hotel, walking along the promenade to the adjacent beach, a sheltered cove dotted with old timber fishing boats and flanked on either side by the castillos of Santa Catalina and San Sebastián. It was the beach where Luis had proposed to Isabella. In Danny’s imagination the location was flawlessly romantic. The beach was certainly attractive but no more romantic than the Scottish Highlands, a practical choice for a young man living in town, escaping the bustle of the bars, in search of a secluded place. Danny crouched down, squeezing a handful of the sand as if searching for some imprint of the memory.
Luis touched his shoulder and pointed to the sea. They crossed an outcrop of jagged rocks that began at the base of the castle fortifications and extended into the water. The tide was low, exposing a plateau of barnacled stone. There were old men in thick knitwear. By their rubber boots were plastic buckets filled with crabs. Many of the men were teamed with their grandchildren who delighted in each catch. Walking in a zigzag to avoid the deep crevices, Danny and Luis reached the furthest edge of the plateau. Luis explainedthat he’d often stood here as a child. Danny was reminded of how he would swim out to sea off the coast of Bude, looking back at his hometown as if it were something other to him or as if he were something other to it, and he wondered if Luis had been doing something similar. In the distance one of the older crab-collecting men waved at them, bellowing words into the wind. Luis translated, ‘We’re about to be caught by the tide.’
Incoming waves broke over their shoes.
Walking back to the hotel, with damp shoes and damp socks, Luis asked a passer-by to take their photo as a couple, something they had never asked a stranger to do before. They stood with the beach behind them, their arms around each other. When the phone was handed back the woman said they made a handsome couple. To anyone watching it was the most ordinary of events. But Danny and Luis studied the photo as though it were a magnificent seashell they had found on the sand.
With only a few hours before dinner they decided to delay exploring the old town until the following day. Luis wanted to rest beforehand. While he slept, fully clothed atop the duvet, Danny sat on the terrace, practising simple Spanish phrases as the sky darkened. After sunset he showered and shaved before ironing his black cotton trousers and a white shirt. He noticed his hands were shaking.
Luis’s mother lived on Alameda Hermanas Carvia Bernal, a street on the edge of the old town in a former customs house dating back two hundred years, converted to apartments at the turn of the twentieth century. The front-facing apartments offered occupants unimpeded sea views over the coastal defences. These were not modest family homes. Luis had been born into wealth. He said, ‘My father was always after my mother’s money. Her parents warned her about him. But she ignored them, believing they were in love. She saw herself as courageous, breaking the convention of marrying within her social class. After the marriage her parents provided this apartment where we were allowed to live but never allowed to sell. On some level my mother saw my being gay as a repeat of her folly in love. Conventions exist for a reason. You should never follow your heart.’
After Luis spoke into the intercom, the front door was buzzed open and they entered an elegant hallway lined with patterned ceramic tiles. In the central stairway there was a birdcage elevator encased in ornate iron. Rather than use it, they climbed the stone stairs to the second floor, knocking on the double doors. Only now did it occur to Danny that they hadn’t brought any gifts.
‘I can’t meet your mother empty-handed. I’ll be back. There was a shop nearby.’
Before Luis could disagree, Danny ran down the stairs and out of the main door.
In a nearby minimarket Danny bought the most expensive bottle of red wine he could find and, unable to see any flowers, a selection of marzipan truffles that rattled around in a decorative tin. He returned to the apartment, steadying himself before ringing the intercom, forced to make use of his limited Spanish. In the hotel room he had checked over this vocabulary a hundred times. But to his ear he sounded ridiculous. Luis’s mother buzzed him in.
Chapter Forty-OneA Table by the Window
Luis’s eyes were the same green colour as his mother’s. At the age of seventy-two, she dressed formally, like an Andalusian aristocrat from another era. Her silver hair was put up with an Art Nouveau pin designed as a cluster of irises with faded blue petals. She wore a white silk shirt, pleated trousers and black sandals. Though she was an imposing figure, Danny’s instinct was to feel great affection for her if for no more complicated a reason than she was the mother of the man he loved. With a slight bow Danny handed her the bottle of wine and marzipan chocolates, which appeared absurd in her elegant hands. Luis’s hands were behind his back. He seemed to have regressed to the role of a well-behaved boy who knew his place. His mother’s name was Cristina and although she spoke a few words of crisp English, shepreferred to speak Spanish. Trying to win her over Danny pointed at the hairpin and told her how much he liked it. She thanked him, overlooking his accent, before gesturing for them to follow her. They passed through a once-grand dining room with wood-panelled walls. A crystal chandelier was wrapped in protective sheets. There were marks on the floor and shadows on the walls where furniture had once stood, and art once hung. Only in the kitchen did the apartment come alive, filled with potted plants, books, newspapers and ashtrays. It appeared as if Cristina had retreated inside her own home, abandoning entire rooms until her existence revolved around a small table by the window with a view of the sea.
The table was attractively laid with a lace tablecloth, embroidered cotton napkins, hand-painted ceramic plates, heavy silver cutlery and stemless chato glasses for wine. In the middle stood a majolica vase filled with delicate white poppies and a wicker basket of unevenly sliced pan manolete. For dinner Cristina had prepared two stews. There was a vegetarian tagarninas stew made from oyster thistle with wild garlic, in addition to an arroz negro with cuttlefish. Luis carried the cast-iron dishes from the oven and the three of them sat so close their knees brushed against each other. Danny helped himself to both dishes. They were delicious, he said. Luis led the conversation, translating only at natural breaks.
As they neared the end of the meal Cristina reached outtowards Danny and Luis explained, ‘My mother would like to hold your hands.’
Putting down his knife and fork Danny gladly gave his hands to her, wondering if there was a spiritual dimension to the request. The opposite seemed to be true; she held his hands as though trying to understand him as a physical reality. Danny had never cared for his hands which were calloused from hospital work with his nails clipped short for reasons of hygiene. Luis spoke to his mother for a time, while she continued to hold Danny’s hands, and he could feel her reactions to the exchange. She let go, returning her hands to her legs. Luis took a sip of wine before translating.
‘I invited my mother to our wedding. She can’t come. She thanks us for the invitation but said she is too old to leave Cádiz.’
Luis had opened his heart and was now processing the rejection he had feared.
They ate in silence for a time until, with a sharper tone, Luis turned back to his mother. Danny couldn’t follow the meaning but even without understanding the vocabulary the hurt was unmistakable. A few times he caught the Spanish word for father. In previous conversations Luis had described cutting off contact with his dad many years ago. This winter he had discovered that his father had long since moved out of the town, divorcing Cristina and marrying another woman. Luis had made it clear to Danny that even ifhis father sought a reconciliation and wanted to come to the wedding, he would not be welcome. He would find a way to undermine the ceremony, to ridicule and belittle it. He was a destructive force. Sounding upset, Luis summarized the conversation for Danny.
‘My father is in a nursing home in Motril near Granada. When my mother visits, he pretends not to remember her because he is too proud to acknowledge her kindness which he does not deserve.’
Danny asked, ‘What were you disagreeing about?’
Ever the lawyer, Luis pointed out the inconsistency in his mother’s reasoning.
‘She turned down our wedding invitation because she said she is too old to leave Cádiz. But she does leave, once a month, to visit my father, a man who pretends not to know who she is, a man who stole from her, cheated on her, hit her. Yet she still dotes upon him. She will travel to be by his side, but she won’t come to our wedding.’
Danny observed, ‘Granada isn’t far, though?’
Luis refused to accept this excuse.
‘She doesn’t own a car. She takes the train to Sevilla, catches a bus to Granada and another bus to Motril. It probably takes six hours, all to visit a man who won’t say her name.’
Abruptly Luis stood up to leave. Cristina remained seated, looking up. For a moment Danny imagined her standingup, wrapping her arms around her son to stop him from running away again. Perhaps she imagined it too. Luis left the table without another word. Unsure what to do Danny remained seated. Cristina lit a cigarette and indicated that Danny should follow. He nodded, standing up and walking to the doorway where he stopped, turning back to Cristina. Impulsively, Danny fetched an ashtray from the windowsill and placed it on the table for her. Glancing up at him, she noticed the silver crucifix around his neck. She recognized it, reached out and touched it. It had once belonged to her father.
Outside Danny hurried to catch up with Luis, who was already some distance away. Reaching his side, as they passed through the gates of Parque Genovés, Danny touched his arm. Luis didn’t slow down.
‘Your mother will come to our wedding.’
