PART I

1

One misty autumnal morning many years ago, Harmony and Rose left the orphanage Our Lady of the Crystal to catch the boat that would take them to Russia. They were not orphaned girls. They were there because of the Civil War and also because of family misunderstandings.

Their father was at the front, fighting as a soldier in the Republican army, and their mother was working as a nurse in a field hospital. Harmony and Rose had uncles, aunts and other relatives, but these had different ideas from those of their parents, who preferred to leave them in an orphanage rather than in the house of people who were critical of their position in a matter as important as the one being discussed. The girls were not asked their opinion. They were told it would only be a question of days and they would soon come for them. That had been almost a year earlier.

Their parents went to see them as often as they could, which wasn’t very often, and, used as they were to moving about their town with complete freedom, they felt trapped in that boring, lonesome building. So Harmony was pleased by the idea of leaving the orphanage, travelling by ship and discovering new places. Rose was content also because, ever since their parents had left them there, she hadn’t needed to be pampered, nor would she shout for no reason and, as long as she wasn’t separated from Harmony, she wouldn’t cry. She might sometimes open her eyes wide, push out her lips like a duck’s beak and sidle up to Harmony, but she wouldn’t cry.

The coach that came to take them to Gijón harbour was full of children just like them, but they didn’t look overjoyed and there were no songs or laughter or games, as on other excursions Harmony could remember, which made her think that perhaps this journey wasn’t going to be as enjoyable as their mother had told them the last time she’d been to see them. But she didn’t want to worry Rose and, whenever her sister huddled up to her and said, “Harmony, are you happy?”, she smiled and answered, “Of course I am, wait and see what fun we’re going to have.”

Their father was waiting for them in Gijón harbour. He was very dark and thin, and had a beard that covered half his face. He was wearing a greatcoat they’d never seen before with a rifle slung over his back. They almost couldn’t recognize him. He hugged them and rubbed his face against theirs, so that Rose laughed and exclaimed, “How itchy you are!” Their father carried on hugging them and making a noise with his nose, as if sniffing or something. Rose laughed, but Harmony realized it wasn’t a laughing matter and asked, “How long will we be there?” Their father replied, “A very short time. We’ll soon be back together again and happy.”

Harmony thought that was what they had said when they took them to the orphanage, but she didn’t make any remark. Their father took out a book from his backpack and added:

“You’ll make lots of friends there, but I brought you this because you know a book is…”

The two girls chorused out loud:

“A friend forever!”

Their father embraced them once more, and Harmony asked:

“What about Mother?”

Their father explained their mother was at the front, helping those who were fighting, so everything would finish sooner, but she would arrive any moment now. He put his arms around their shoulders, pressed them to himself, and they remained in silence, waiting for their mother to arrive.

Almost all the children were accompanied by a relative, and almost all of them were crying.

Harmony felt her throat was constricting, but she didn’t want to cry because she knew, if she cried, Rose would cry as well. She was already pouting her lips and asking, “Where is Mummy?”

Harmony didn’t ask, but she started to be afraid that their mother wasn’t going to arrive in time, and she hugged her father until she could feel the warmth of his body through the cloth of his coat. Their father clapped her on the back as he would do with her grandfather and uncles:

“You have to be strong, Harmony. You’re twelve now, almost a full-grown woman, and you have to watch out for your sister.”

She nodded, but looked at the boat, which seemed ugly and sad, even more than the orphanage.

It came time to leave, and still their mother wasn’t there. Their father told the women from the Red Cross that his wife was at the front, that was why she was late, but she would be here soon, the others could embark first.

Those who were on their own boarded first because there was no one to keep them on land. The women in charge of placing the children on the ship almost had to wrench the others out of their families’ arms. “Please, please!” they kept saying. “Leave the children alone, remember it’s for their own good.”

But all the children were crying their eyes out, staggering blindly up the gangway, turning around, waving goodbye and blowing kisses to those on dry land.

Harmony and Rose were the last to go on board. Their father asked them not to cry and told them, when their mother arrived, she would board the ship and say goodbye. In a trickle of a voice, Harmony said:

“Really, Father?”

Their father replied of course she would, that was why they were fighting at the front, for the good of Spain, so that everybody could lead better, happier lives, and the people in the boat admired and respected those fighting in the Republican army.

Harmony gripped Rose’s hand and climbed on to the boat, looking back all the time to see if their mother would arrive. But she didn’t turn up.

The boat was a French cargo ship which didn’t have cabins or decks like a passenger ship. The children were immediately stowed in the hold, which resembled a large, hollow nut. It didn’t have any windows, and the little light there was came in through a hole in the ceiling, which was how you got in. There were lots of children and not much room. The people from the Red Cross were kept very busy trying to settle them all down, and the ship’s crew also ran about, handing out blankets and bags of food.

Harmony kept looking at the hole in the ceiling, so she could run to meet her mother if she appeared there – there were so many children, in all that darkness, she might not be able to see them. Their mother didn’t appear, but one of the women in the Red Cross started shouting:

“Harmony, Harmony! Where is Harmony?”

And when Harmony got up to answer, she said:

“Your mother is on the quay, asking for you.”

Harmony took Rose’s hand and started leaping over the other children, but a sailor and one of the Red Cross women blocked their way, saying it was too late, the boat was about to weigh anchor and they couldn’t go out. They gestured to another woman to take the girls back to their place.

Rose was crying and asking Harmony:

“What will Mother say if we don’t go out?”

Harmony recalled what her father had said about looking after her sister, who was only six, and, being the elder of the two, she made a great effort not to cry and said:

“She’ll understand it wasn’t our fault. Don’t cry. When we get there, we’ll write her a letter and tell her all about it.”

2

There was Leningrad, which before that was called St Petersburg and, many years later, would regain its old name – a Russian city, large and pretty, all covered in snow.

The Spanish children lived in residences called “children’s homes” and were in the care of someone designated by the authorities to look after them and see to their needs. The person in charge of the house where Harmony and Rose went to live was a young woman who had lost her husband in the war in Spain, fighting with the International Brigades. Not having any children, she devoted herself to the work of looking after refugee children from the war.

Harmony kept thinking about the letter she had to write to her mother to tell her all about the things that had happened and carried on happening every day but, since everything was new, she didn’t know where to start. The time passed quickly, and she couldn’t find the right moment to apply herself to her task. She would sometimes stare out the window at the gently falling snow and think, I have to tell Mother how much snow there is, much more than the year it covered all the rabbit holes in the garden, when the hens slid about on their perches and lots of children couldn’t go to school. But she also had to tell her about all the toys they’d been given and how people treated them with affection and gave them sorrowful looks. Harmony realized this, but thought perhaps she should keep this last bit from her mother, how she often felt like crying, but disguised her true feelings so that Rose wouldn’t pout like a duck and start crying because, if she did, she could be like that for ages, crying non-stop. They would give her things – sweets, new toys, pretty colouring books – and she would take them all, even suck on the sweets, but carry on crying. So it was better if she didn’t start.

Rose only cried when she was taken away from Harmony. They wanted to put her in an infants’ class, but she burst out crying and wouldn’t stop until they took her back to her sister. Everybody felt very sorry for her, the schoolteachers as well, because she didn’t make any noise or protest, she just flopped her head on her chest, like a withered flower, stuck her lips out, and two unending streams of tears would pour from her eyes. They would say, “Come on, take this sweet, see what a pretty book this is, all these colouring pencils…” And Rose would look at the book, even take a pencil and start colouring in the figures with cheerful colours, almost always reds and blues, which were the ones she liked best. She would colour elephants red and lions blue, and carry on shedding tears that soaked the pages. Until they took her back to Harmony. And Harmony would think she mustn’t tell this to her mother, so she didn’t think they were suffering, because most of the time they felt well, even though they missed them both, Father and her… So it was she kept writing this letter in her head – it was very long, but that didn’t matter, she didn’t even have to worry about whether “snow” was written with a “w” or an “e” or take care to write in a straight line.

There was just one thing that disturbed her, which she kept turning over in her mind without being able to push it out. She was sorry not to have said goodbye to her mother. She thought they would see each other again soon, but she also remembered how her father had said their mother would board the boat as soon as she arrived, that was why she was helping at the front, so that everything finished earlier, and yet they hadn’t let her go on board, or let them disembark. And even this business of arriving late had struck Harmony as a sad event she was unable to explain. It was something like the story about a certain marshal, Pedro Pardo de Cela, she had been told at school. The marshal and his son had been sentenced to death – they were going to cut their heads off in the square in front of Mondoñedo cathedral. The marshal’s wife went to talk to the Catholic Monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella and obtained a pardon. She hurried back but, just as she was reaching the city, her enemies came out to meet her and kept her busy with falsehoods on a bridge that, since then, has been called the “bridge of passing time”. When she finally made it to the square, the heads of her husband and son were already rolling on the ground. Harmony had felt very sorry about this ending because she thought, if she hadn’t obtained a pardon or the journey had taken many days, well, there was nothing you could do about it… But losing it all, when you were so close, struck her as very saddening.

She also thought what was happening to her must be like what had happened to one of the children from their expedition when they arrived in Russia. This was a boy her own age, more or less, who had been alone in the harbour, with nobody to accompany him to the boat. For this reason, he was the first to get on and, when he did so, he didn’t look back or anything. Harmony had noticed him when they were on the quay, waiting for their mother. He was just about the only child who wasn’t crying. He looked serious, his shoulders hunched as if he was cold or his overcoat was small, and he stared at the ground without paying attention to what was going on around him. He didn’t speak to anybody on the ship, either. Harmony wondered whether he didn’t have any parents or they were late, just like their mother, but it rather looked as if he didn’t have any because he wasn’t keeping an eye out to see if they would arrive, as Rose and she were doing. The boy was very serene the whole journey. He got seasick, like everybody else, but didn’t cry. And that was where Harmony found out his name was Leo, meaning “lion”, a name that didn’t suit him very well, because he was small and looked rather gentle, but that was his name, and there was nothing you could do about it. The lady from the Red Cross kept saying to the others, “Don’t cry, see how quiet Leo is, he also feels seasick, but he doesn’t cry.”

When they reached Leningrad and the toys were shared out, Leo received a book and a car like everybody else, but he also got another toy, a colourful carousel with horses that went around if you turned a handle, with music and, above all, a cockerel that moved as well. There were lots of books and similar toys, though some were different, very pretty, like the worm Rose was given, made out of wooden balls that had been painted green; it made a noise when you pulled it and jerked along in a funny fashion. Leo’s toy was one of the nicest, and he held it very carefully in his hands and gazed at it in raptures; it was the first time in fifteen days of travelling that Harmony had seen him view something with interest. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but almost. And suddenly the carousel slipped out of his fingers, fell on the ground and broke: the little horses, the cockerel, everything smashed into a thousand pieces. And then he threw down the book and car, covered his face with his hands and burst into tears. You couldn’t hear him, but it was obvious he was crying because his shoulders and chest were shaking and he wouldn’t let them take his hands away from his face or give him another toy. He stayed like that until the nurse came, who, when she saw there was nothing she could do, said he had better see a doctor, so they put him in a car and took him to hospital, the teacher told them. Harmony couldn’t stop thinking about him – she sensed she knew what the matter with him was, but couldn’t put it into words. There were times the grown-ups said about something it was “the drop that made a glass overflow”, but Harmony thought that wasn’t it, because the drop that makes a glass overflow leaves the glass still full, but what had happened to Leo was that the accident with the toy had made all the other sorrows inside him come spilling out. The same thing had happened to her when the boat had left and they hadn’t been able to say goodbye to their mother – she had felt like crying about all the sad things before that, the orphanage and the fear of her father being killed in the war, and also because, just like Marshal Pardo de Cela’s wife, their mother had only been a little late, it was all rather unfortunate. She couldn’t put it any better than that, but she knew what Leo was feeling…

That was why she wanted to write to her mother, to say how much she loved her and she understood, if she had been late, it was because she’d been seeing to the wounded and not because of her own carelessness or that remark Aunt Neves had once directed at her: “You think more about politics than about your own children.” Harmony knew this wasn’t true. The teacher at school had just told them their parents were fighting for freedom and justice, that was what she had said, and they had to be worthy of the sacrifice their parents were making for all the children in the world. So there was no doubt her mother had had a very good reason for arriving late. What she couldn’t understand was why they hadn’t let her board the ship, or let them disembark. What did such a short amount of time matter on such a long voyage?

She also wanted to ask whether the lady from the Red Cross who had said their mother was on the quay, asking for them, had explained it wasn’t their fault they couldn’t come out on deck. When they were all together at home, their mother would say, “You listen to me like someone listening to it rain,” because she would sometimes call to them and they would carry on playing or pretend they hadn’t heard. That was a long time ago. When they were in the orphanage, they would hurry whenever they were called, because they thought it might be them, Mother and Father, coming to fetch them or at least to pay a visit, and Rose wouldn’t stamp her feet or let out one of those ear-piercing yells. The second time she had done it, they had shut her on her own in a room for the afternoon and, after that, she had started pouting like a duck and crying without making any noise. But her mother didn’t know this, and perhaps she thought they’d been playing, and that was why they hadn’t come out. All they needed was for her to be angry with them on top of everything else.

In that letter she kept writing in her head, Harmony said, though she wasn’t sure she would ever put it down on paper, she was afraid it wasn’t true what they’d said about them all being together again very soon, and how they would be much happier than before, and the world a juster place, and all the other things their teacher had told them. Because her father had said, as soon as their mother arrived, she would board the ship, and yet she hadn’t, so perhaps it might be the same with everything else as well. And besides the lady who looked after them in the house, the one who made sure they ate properly and didn’t get sick, washed behind their ears every morning and folded their clothes, and all that kind of stuff… this lady, called María do Mar, who was very affectionate towards the children and had a sad look in her eyes, said to her one day:

“Wars, Harmony, are a bad thing. To start with, it’s possible that some people are good and in the right, while others are bad and in the wrong. But after a while everybody becomes the same. Wars bring only calamity and pain. Especially for women.”

Harmony wanted to tell her mother this, so her mother would say, “Well, look at Miss Plum, who doesn’t know how to read and runs a school!”, which was what she always said to Aunt Neves when she got cross with her for going to meetings, claiming everything that was said there was a lie, the poor would always remain poor, and that was all there was to it. Their mother would reply, if everybody was like her, there would still be slaves in the world, and make such pretty remarks that even Rose, who didn’t understand a thing, would stare at her in amazement, because their mother looked very beautiful when she talked like that, the colour would rush into her cheeks and her eyes would glisten, she looked quite a sight. And even if it was by letter, she was sure her mother would say all these things to her and explain why it was she had been late, and tell her not to worry, she understood they hadn’t come out because they wouldn’t let them.

But the days went by, and still Harmony couldn’t find the right moment to write to her.

3

One day, the teacher at school said, “Today’s task is to write a letter to your families. First, write it down in your notebooks with a pencil, and then I’ll correct your mistakes, and you can copy it out in ink on another piece of paper.”

She explained they had to start by recording the name of the city and the date, then leave a blank line, then include the name of the person they were writing to, then another blank line, and start by saying, “Dear Mother and Father” or “Dear Uncle and Aunt” or whoever it might be. She also explained how they were supposed to address the envelope and said she would be sure to buy stamps for everybody, and the next day, in break, they would take the letters to the Post Office so they could leave immediately.

Harmony became so nervous when she realized she was finally going to write to her mother that she got in a tizzy and had to ask twice where the name and date went. In part, it was Rose’s fault, she kept pulling her arm and saying, “Tell Mummy this, tell Daddy that…” Harmony told her to be quiet, she had to think and, if Rose kept on bothering her, she wouldn’t be able to write anything but, when she’d finished, Rose could include a drawing at the end of the letter. She’d better get practising so she could make sure the drawing was nice and their parents could see how well she drew and what wonderful pencils she had.

Rose said, “I’m going to draw a hen.” She lifted her arms and moved her head the way hens do when they shake their feathers. Rose had this amazing ability to copy the movements of people, animals and even plants. She would sometimes say, “The tree was like this…” and position her arms and body in such a way that people could see she was referring to a pine, a willow or a cypress. She found it easier to perform the thing than to learn its name, and so sometimes at home or at school they would shout at her or pretend not to understand, so she wouldn’t keep on doing it. But the truth was, whenever Rose lifted her arms into the air and copied the movements of a tree or a bird, it felt like you could see the willow branches swaying in the wind or the swallows darting across the sky. That day, however, Harmony wasn’t in the mood to appreciate her younger sister’s qualities and said:

“Well, pipe down then, and get on with your drawing!”

Even though Rose became quiet, intent on drawing a hen that would fit on the piece of paper, Harmony couldn’t start writing. There were twenty things she wanted to tell her parents all at once. She wanted to tell them about the toys they had received, the new coat and the leather cap with ear flaps, all the snow and how they built snowmen, how the house didn’t have a vine or rabbits, but it did have a garden with lots of trees, and they had lots of new friends, and María do Mar and the teacher were very kind, everybody treated them well, better than in the orphanage, there was no way of comparing them, they didn’t always understand, but you could see from the way they looked at you… She wanted to ask as well about all the things that buzzed inside her mind and kept her awake at night, but she couldn’t push out or find a solution for.

She didn’t know where to start. She glanced at the clock on the wall opposite, above the teacher’s desk, and saw how the hands went around and all the other children applied themselves diligently to the task – even Rose, who was drawing a red, round animal with two feet and lots of toes, with no head or beak or anything, but with a body full of lines that must have been feathers, and down below some more circles, also with feet, which must have been chicks, all in different colours and huddled up to the hen.

The teacher realized she wasn’t writing and, to help her, said:

“Don’t worry about your handwriting or any mistakes, Harmony, we can correct them later.”

Harmony answered “yes” and ran her pencil again over the word “Leningrad” and the date, pretending she was writing, but not knowing where to start.

The teacher said:

“You can finish now, it’s time to copy them out.”

The children handed over their pieces of paper, and the teacher corrected them in a low voice, showing them with a red pencil what they had to change. When almost everybody had finished, under “Dear Mother and Father”, Harmony quickly wrote:

Mother, we wanted to come out to say goodbye when you called for us, but they wouldn’t let us, they said the ship was about to leave. Don’t worry, we’re well, Aunt wasn’t right, we know you think more about us than about politics, and thanks to you and Father we’ll all be much happier when you do come to fetch us. Don’t think we didn’t want to see you, Mother dear, Father will tell you, we were waiting for you until the last minute, but we knew you were looking after the wounded so they could go back to fighting and everything would finish sooner, or perhaps they wouldn’t let you past, the way they did to Pardo de Cela’s wife, but it doesn’t matter because they’re not going to cut off our heads, everybody here is very kind, better than in the orphanage…

She was writing this when the teacher asked:

“Have you finished, Harmony? Otherwise, you won’t have time to copy it out.”

Harmony replied:

“I’m almost there.”

And she added:

The others have finished writing. Mother, Father dear, I love you lots, don’t be angry with us, come soon, lots of kisses and hugs, from Rose as well, who sends you a hen.

Harmony took her notebook to the teacher, who started reading, holding the red pencil in the air, but without correcting anything. Then, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief as if they were itching, she said:

“I’ll correct your mistakes some other day, Harmony. Don’t copy it out, just send it the way it is.”

The teacher cut the page out of the notebook, taking care not to rip it, and gave her an envelope on which to write her parents’ name and address.

Since there was still some time left, Harmony wrote on Rose’s drawing, “This is a hen sent to you by Rose with lots of kisses.”

She was about to tell Rose to make it a little yellow so it looked more like a real hen, but then she remembered that people called her parents “Reds” and thought perhaps Rose had remembered this as well, and that was why she had made the hen that colour. She asked her, and Rose replied:

“Hens are like this.”

Harmony said that was fine and she was sure their parents would love this red hen surrounded by all its chicks.

4

The letters the children wrote had to travel a long way to reach the towns where they had lived with their families before the start of the war. The teacher showed them on a map the countries they would have to pass through to get to Spain and told them how big each country was, the rivers, mountains and even seas the letters would have to cross depending on whether they were travelling by sea, by land or by air.

Harmony thought, if they had taken fifteen days to get here, the letter would take the same, more or less, and, if her parents replied quickly, they would hear from them in about a month. But the teacher told them, in times of war, things were more complicated and it wasn’t possible to make such calculations, maybe the post wouldn’t get through or their parents wouldn’t be where they expected, so the best thing was to have patience. Harmony sighed and said OK and thought about Leo, whether he had any parents or family to write to. She asked the teacher about him, and she replied with great interest:

“Did you know him? Was he a friend of yours?”

“Was he…?”

Harmony felt a knot in her throat, but the teacher told her Leo hadn’t died, he’d been in hospital because he was sick when he arrived, he was better now and would soon be sent, like everybody else, to a centre for refugees. If she knew him, they could try to make sure they were sent to the same house, or at least to the same school, so he wouldn’t be so alone. Harmony said yes, she knew him, because, although she’d never spoken to him, it was as if she’d known him for a long time, a strange phenomenon she was unable to explain. That was why she found it easier to say yes to the teacher, nothing else, so she would think they had been friends before. And yet she had to explain this to her sister, because, although Rose was small, she was very clever and understood more than you would expect in a child her age. That must have been because she always went about looking at things with those lively eyes, always huddled up to Harmony, and didn’t miss a trick. What she couldn’t understand she stored in her memory, in the same way she would stuff in her pocket anything shiny she found on the ground – a little stone or a washer, insignificant items of no value, but she would pick them up, keep them in a box and take them out from time to time, gaze at them for a while and then put them back. She did the same with things she didn’t understand: she put them in the box of her memory and, just when your mind was distracted, she would ask a question, as she did that same day as they were getting off the bus and walking towards the house:

“How do you know Leo?”

Harmony explained she knew, without anyone having to tell her, why Leo hadn’t stopped crying that day the toys had been shared out and, when something like that happens, it means two people have an understanding and are friends, even though they’ve never met. Rose was thoughtful for a moment and then said:

“If I work out why he was crying, can I be his friend as well?”

Harmony thought Rose just wanted to play a guessing game and it wasn’t right to use Leo as a way of passing the time, but Rose was already asking a question:

“It wasn’t because of the toy, was it?”

She was about to say they shouldn’t be making a game out of this when Rose insisted:

“Was it because he doesn’t have a mother and father?”

Harmony thought Rose was really rather clever, but it was better not to fill her head with so many concerns, so she said it was, that was the reason. Rose became very content and started hopping about like a sparrow in search of food:

“Oh, how wonderful! Now I’m Leo’s friend as well!”

She let go of Harmony’s hand and started doing a kind of made-up dance. Whenever she was happy or angry, Rose would skip and turn somersaults, accompanying herself with a tune that sounded like a Galician pandeirada and, before her stay in the orphanage, with high-pitched yelps that pierced your eardrums, which was her way of expressing joy or rage. At home, they were used to this, their father had even given her most frequent displays names: the Dance of the Fierce Warrior, the Dance of the Wicked Witch, the Dance of Birds in Spring… There were lots, because Rose was always adapting her movements, although the tune stayed pretty much the same. Harmony would normally ask what the new dance was called, but she wasn’t in the mood that day and said in a serious voice:

“Come here and don’t let go of my hand without permission.”

Rose obeyed. She returned to Harmony’s side and explained:

“That was the Dance of New Friends, you know? I can’t wait for them to bring him back to school!”

Harmony, on the other hand, was starting to worry about Leo’s reappearance. What if he came back and sat in a corner, as he’d done on the boat? The teacher would tell her to go and talk to him. What would she say? What expression would Leo adopt when he saw her coming? Would he look at her without any hint of recognition? The teacher would say, “Aren’t you pleased to see your old friend, Leo?” And Leo would reply, “She’s no friend of mine, I don’t even know her.” And all the boys and girls in the class would exclaim, “Look at Harmony, she’s been fibbing to the teacher! She must like Leo, and that’s why she said she knew him…” And she would go red as a beetroot and not know what to do with herself. She began to think it might be better if they never brought him back to school, but then again she wanted him to return, it was something strange she couldn’t explain – she was afraid of him being there, and yet she wanted him to be there. She was sorry she’d ever told the teacher and Rose that she was his friend and even thought about taking it back. But, if she did, they might take Leo to a different school, and she might never see him again. The thought of this caused her heart to contract and made her want to cry…

After turning it over in her head, she got to the conclusion she would rather suffer the shame of not being recognized than run the risk of him being taken far away, to another city perhaps, and never seeing him again. So she decided to remain silent and wait to see what would happen.

Finally, one day, the teacher said:

“Harmony, your friend Leo’s coming back tomorrow.”

Harmony thought her heart would jump straight out of her chest and everybody would hear it thumping. She was glad when Rose caught the teacher’s attention by clapping her hands energetically:

“Oh, how wonderful, Leo’s coming back!”

That night, Harmony slept badly, restlessly. She dreamt a lot. She saw the letter she’d written to her parents as if it was a pigeon. It was a letter with the wings and head of a pigeon, or a pigeon with the body of a letter, it didn’t matter. It flew along and, from the ground, men in uniforms and with rifles shot at it and wounded it. The blood dripped from the chest of the pigeon-letter, but it carried on. It wasn’t long to go now before it would reach where her mother was working as a nurse, the pigeon hopped along, almost on the ground, it barely had the strength to fly. It had almost arrived when some dogs appeared and attacked it. The pigeon-letter just about managed to take flight, rising slowly from the ground, but flying low, and the dogs jumped at it, snatching feathers from its wings and tail, until, with one last effort, it climbed a little higher, where the dogs couldn’t reach… and then Harmony awoke, all sweaty and anxious. She drank a little water to calm herself down but, when she went back to sleep, the nightmares continued and she dreamt of Leo. He had been brought by some men in white coats as if he was mad and left in the middle of the school playground, surrounded by all the children, and she had to go over to give him something, she didn’t know what, but she had something for him in her hands and approached slowly with her arms outstretched so he could see what she was carrying. When she reached him, Leo closed his eyes, covered his face with his hands and said, “I don’t want anything from her, I don’t even know her…” So it was she spent the night, dreaming of a pigeon-letter and of Leo, and, when the first light of day peeped through the cracks in the shutters, Harmony was already awake.

She got out of bed and washed before Rose or any of the other children awoke. María do Mar asked if she was poorly or needed something – she was always very kind towards the children and worried about them as if they were her own, or younger brothers and sisters, she herself was still quite young, even though she dressed as an older woman. Harmony said she had to go over her lessons, she hadn’t had time the day before and hadn’t learned them properly. In effect, she went over them again, because she didn’t want to look stupid in front of Leo if the teacher asked her something. She also combed her hair much more carefully than on other days. As they were leaving, María do Mar gave her a curious look, stroked her cheek and asked again:

“Are you sure you’re OK, Harmony?”

Harmony said she was, took her sister by the hand and started walking.

As they were waiting for the school bus, Rose asked:

“What have you done to your hair?”

Harmony thought it was just as well that Rose asked indiscreet questions when the two of them were alone. This was a useful habit she had picked up in the orphanage: not discussing their own affairs in front of strangers, even if they were good people like the teacher or María do Mar. She replied she hadn’t done anything, but that wasn’t true. She’d been wetting the hair on her forehead and temples and then pressing it down with her hands so that, when it dried, it would go all curly. It was still wet at the moment but, on the way to school, it would dry and go curly. Rose said:

“It’s covered in frost like the branches of the trees.”

Harmony put her hand on her head and realized her hair was crackling like dry leaves. When she pulled on a lock, she saw that it was covered in flakes of ice. She quickly pushed her hair into the hood of her coat, praying to all the saints that it wouldn’t fall down the way leaves did and make her bald. Or at least – she prayed – not until after school.

With the warmth of her body, the ice melted and, on the bus, Harmony clasped her hair in her hands again, shaping it so she would have curls on her forehead and down the sides of her cheeks, which she knew suited her well. Rose kept on glancing at her, following all her movements as if there was nothing else to do. Harmony pretended not to notice because sometimes, if she didn’t look at her, Rose would be quiet. Even though she wasn’t very successful, she pretended to be busy going through her lessons, while clutching her hair in the other hand.

As they were arriving and Harmony, getting more and more nervous, was writhing about in her seat, touching her hair all the time to make sure she wasn’t bald, Rose leant over towards her. She did this whenever she was afraid or wanted to visit the bathroom and didn’t dare ask, or something else was the matter, so Harmony turned to see what it was. Rose lifted her face and observed:

“You look very pretty, Harmony.”

Harmony felt a knot in her throat. She grabbed her sister’s hand decisively and marched into the school.

There was Leo by the blackboard, standing next to the teacher. He was wearing a new coat and looked taller and a little less skinny than the last time she had seen him, but his eyes were still sad and black and shining, with those lashes that cast a shadow over the bags under his eyes. Harmony stood in the corridor, not knowing what to do, and the teacher called her:

“Come here, Harmony.”

She clutched her notebooks and textbook to her chest, where her heart was bashing out an overture. She went up to him and said:

“Hello, Leo!”

Leo, very seriously, held out his hand and said:

“Hello, Harmony!”

And Harmony realized he remembered her from before, from the boat, when they’d called to her to go out and say goodbye to her mother. Whenever anyone heard her name for the first time, they would ask, “You what?”, because Harmony was a strange name that people weren’t used to, and she would have to repeat it. Not Leo. He had noticed, just as she had noticed him among all the children on the ship, the only one who wasn’t crying, the saddest of them all, the one with the prettiest eyes. He pronounced her name as if he’d known her all his life.

She shook his hand the way the teacher had told them to greet grown-ups. Harmony never shook hands with anybody. Her parents’ friends would turn up at the house or at school and give her a kiss and, in the orphanage, they hadn’t had any visitors. But Leo seemed used to doing this. He was serious, but normal, unashamed, and shook her hand very firmly. She did the same. Then they heard the voice of Rose, who was tugging on Leo’s coat-tails:

“I’m Rose, Leo.”

Leo let go of Harmony’s hand and smiling – smiling for the first time since they’d set eyes on him on the quay that day, which seemed so long ago – he patted her on the cheek and said:

“Hello, Rose!”

The teacher put him in the front row, and they all took their places. Harmony stared out of the window. It was snowing, but she had the impression rays of sunlight were glinting in among the snowflakes, because the air and the walls and even the schoolchildren, everything in fact looked far more luminous and distinct.

PART II

1

While Harmony and Rose were being reunited with their new friend, the letter they had written to their parents was making its way across the whole of Europe. It went from train to train until reaching the border between France and Spain. There it stopped because the town it had to get to was in the hands of those who called themselves “Nationals” and, since the letter came from a country that was helping the so-called “Reds”, it couldn’t go any further. So it remained on the border, waiting for the conflict to be resolved.

Harmony and Rose’s parents carried on fighting, but with less and less hope that things might work out well, and also disappointed by what wars could achieve. Their father was at the front and their mother, Carmiña, tried always to be at the first-aid post closest to where he was fighting. Every time there was a battle and trucks started turning up with the wounded and dead, Carmiña was afraid one of those blood-spattered soldiers, their bodies and heads maltreated by shrapnel, might be Miguel, her husband. When she found out it wasn’t, she would breathe a sigh of relief, but her joy didn’t last long because she felt sorry for the others and thought any day now it would be her husband’s turn. This meant she always felt gloomy and a little down in the dumps.

Miguel was suffering the same. He firmly believed he was defending a just cause, but in time he realized many of those on the opposite side believed the same, and he came to the conclusion that war wasn’t a way of solving differences between people. You had to find a way to settle conflict without laying into someone with different ideas or beliefs. He thought this especially when he discovered his friend Henrique among a group of prisoners.

Henrique and he had done teacher training together and become good friends. He’d not heard from him since the war had started and suddenly he came across him in those circumstances. Henrique was a teacher in the city they had just captured and was being led down the streets among soldiers, the mayor, the delegate of the Falange and others who hadn’t remained loyal to the Republic. Henrique was the son of a rebel general, and presumably that was the crime he was to be tried for.

When he saw Miguel, Henrique’s face lit up, and he gestured to him, but Miguel pretended not to know him, and Henrique, feeling hurt and proud, withdrew to the back, without saying anything, but thinking how war could change people.

Miguel, who was a lieutenant, knew from other times what was going to happen: there would be a summary trial, and they would all be shot. In such cases, in among the military chiefs who had deliberately betrayed the Republic, there were always people who were there against their will, by force of circumstance. Miguel had often thought how unjust this situation could be, but had never been so personally affected. He knew Henrique was a good man who would never hurt anybody and respected everybody’s ideas. It occurred to him to talk to the commanding officer and defend his friend, but he realized, after the hard battles that had been necessary to take the city, all anybody wanted was revenge, not justice, and it would be in vain. So he decided to take matters into his own hands.

He followed the caravan of prisoners down the street to see where they were being taken. When they were shut up in the council chamber of the town hall, where they were to be tried, he wrote Henrique’s full name on a piece of paper. Before there was time for the military tribunal to be convened, he went over to the soldier on guard duty at the door and, showing him the piece of paper, said in an authoritative voice:

“Get me this prisoner. I have to take him to be interrogated.”

The soldier clicked his heels, went inside and shouted out Henrique’s name. Miguel prayed to all the saints that Henrique wouldn’t do anything to arouse the soldier’s suspicions. In an effort to prevent this, he adopted a serious expression and pointed his rifle at him as soon as he appeared.

“Start walking in front of me and don’t move an inch out of line, or I’ll shoot you.”

Henrique, amazed to see his friend adopting such an attitude, simply asked:

“Where to?”

Miguel, who didn’t know the city or which way to go, gestured vaguely and forced him to advance in a certain direction with the barrel of his rifle.

As soon as they were out of sight of the town hall, Miguel glanced around. Since there was nobody in sight, he lowered his weapon and, coming alongside Henrique, said:

“Where can we go where it’s safe?”

Henrique, still confused, looked at him without saying anything. Miguel smiled and winked:

“Get with it, lad, or we’ll both be up for the firing squad!”

Henrique was so moved he couldn’t speak, and Miguel pushed him into a doorway, where the two of them hugged each other, half laughing, half crying.

“Come on,” said Miguel in the end, “there’s no time to lose!”

Henrique grabbed him by the arm:

“Are you sure about what you’re doing? I’m not on your side, Miguel. I never hurt anybody, but I’m right-wing, like the rest of my family, you know that. This could cost you your life.”

“Don’t talk nonsense. You’re my friend and a good person, I’m not leaving you to be shot among that bunch of traitors. But let’s not waste any more time. I’m taking you to pick up Marita and then we’ll see where the two of you can hide until all of this is over.”

Henrique shook his head:

“Marita’s dead. Two years ago, during childbirth. There were complications, and she couldn’t receive medical attention because the bombs had destroyed the hospital. The child died as well. It was a boy, you know? We went through a rough patch – and now this. I only have my daughter left. Let’s go to my house. If we can get there, I’ll pick her up and I think we’ll be able to find shelter.”

Miguel was reminded of Harmony and Rose, who was the same age as Henrique’s daughter. He thought he’d done well to send them to Russia. They would be safe there from bombs and starvation and the absence of medicine, even if they lacked other things.

Henrique picked up his daughter, who was staying with a neighbour, and at home, while putting a few basic things in some bags, said to his friend:

“I have it on good authority the Republic is losing the war. Take off that uniform and come with me. I know somewhere where we can hide. It won’t be long now.”

Miguel shook his head:

“I believe in what I’m doing and will keep it up to the end. I’m not a deserter.”

Henrique took his arm:

“Listen, Miguel. You’re a teacher like me, not a soldier. War isn’t good, you don’t have to defend it.”

Miguel clapped him on the back:

“It was your lot who started the war, those who rose up against the democratically elected Republic. I’m defending legality and justice.”

“Let’s not argue. This war will be over soon, and there will be reprisals, I know as much from my father. If your lot find out you set me free, they may decide to shoot you instead. Come with me. Don’t think of it as cowardice. I don’t mind dying now that Marita isn’t here. If I hide, it’s because of my daughter, so she isn’t left without any parents.”

“No, Henrique. You carried on as a teacher and must hide now because of your daughter. I chose to be a soldier and must keep fighting till the end. Carmiña is involved in the struggle as well, as a nurse, and the girls are in Russia. We must all follow the path in front of us.”

Henrique lowered his head in sadness. He thought for a while and then said:

“Wait just a moment, there’s something I have to do.”

He sat down and wrote some lines on a piece of paper. He put the paper in an envelope, closed the envelope, wrote down a name and address and gave it to Miguel.

“When this is over, come and find me, Miguel, I beg you. If I’m not there, then go and find my father, tell him you’re a friend of mine… a friend of Chisquiño, say it like that. He’ll realize anyone who knows me by that name is like a brother to me. And hand him this letter.”

Miguel replied he was sure that such a moment would never arrive but, if it did, he would do as requested. They embraced one last time, and then Henrique took his daughter by the hand. Miguel went with them for a while to make sure they weren’t stopped by a patrol. When they reached a crossroads, Henrique said:

“This is where we go our separate ways, Miguel. It’s better if we’re not seen together. People are afraid and distrustful.”

“OK… Goodbye, Henrique.”

“Goodbye, my friend.”

Miguel turned around and left without looking back. He had this crushing feeling in his chest, as if a hand was squeezing his heart. He realized they had both said “goodbye” and not “till next time”. It sounded like a bad omen.

2

Miguel and Henrique never saw each other again.

Miguel fell in the Battle of the Ebro. Another corpse in that war that took the lives of a million Spaniards. There wasn’t even a separate grave where his family could go to remember him, he was buried in a mass grave together with the other victims.

Carmiña received a short official letter about her husband’s death and, shortly after that, a small parcel in which a generous hand had gathered together the few possessions soldiers take with them and want their families to have: a medallion, a watch, a wedding ring, a letter…

The medallion was from his first communion and, while Miguel wasn’t a regular at church, he was a believer and always wore it around his neck. Carmiña hung it around her neck, together with the wedding ring, and, when she felt it beating against her own, remembered all the times they had embraced naked and their medallions had knocked together, making a sound she had thought was pleasant and joyful. She burst into tears.

The watch had been her wedding present. It was a good watch that showed the seconds and could act as a stopwatch, because Miguel was fond of sport and liked to time the races of the children at school and things like that. Carmiña took off her own watch, put on Miguel’s and was surprised she only had to tighten the strap by one notch. She thought, Poor thing, you were so thin. And burst into tears again.

But she didn’t have time to cry as much as she would have liked. The wounded kept on arriving, more and more serious, and Carmiña dried her tears and prepared to get on with her work.

As for the letter that came in the parcel, to begin with, she thought it had been a mistake: the handwriting wasn’t Miguel’s and it wasn’t addressed to her, but to one of Franco’s generals. She couldn’t understand why her husband would have a letter for a traitor. But, when she looked at the sender, she realized it was Henrique’s father and deduced Miguel must have bumped into his college friend, who was trying to do him a favour. She was fond of Chisquiño as well but, since she couldn’t see any way of getting that letter to its recipient, she decided to keep it in a safe place, in case the opportunity presented itself. She put it away among her things and forgot all about it.

Carmiña carried on fulfilling her role as a nurse but, ever since she’d received the news about her husband’s death, she’d fallen into a trough of despair. What she had feared most had come to pass. She thought the girls were safe and well looked after in Russia and wasn’t worried about what would happen to her. She preferred to die. She even thought about picking up a rifle and going to the front like another soldier. Life without Miguel seemed empty and meaningless, the way it had been before she met him. She had been a stupid girl, she thought, like her sister, who went to novenas and trisagions and thought this was enough to fulfil her responsibility to society. Miguel had talked of a better world with greater solidarity and justice, one worth fighting – and dying – for.

But we’re going to die for nothing, thought Carmiña, and they are going to win. One after the other, the strongholds defended by the Republic fell and, day by day, the loyal army was pushed back towards the border with France, which became the only way to save yourself, in the absence of anything else. Carmiña put her hand on her chest, felt the two medallions and thought she could hear Miguel speaking:

“They may be able to rob us of good fortune, but of fortitude and courage they cannot.”

When he said things like that, Carmiña would gaze at him, enchanted by how handsome and clever he was. He would laugh and explain:

“Don’t think I came up with that myself, Carmiña. It was said several centuries ago by a crazy genius with more sense than all the sane people around him. His name was Don Quixote.”

Carmiña was a strong woman, a fighter, and liked to win. She would rebel and grow bitter whenever things didn’t turn out the way they should. Miguel, on the other hand, would think you had to carry on, even if your efforts were not crowned by success.

“If things were how they’re meant to be and the good always came out on top, the world would be a paradise, but it isn’t. Our obligation is to fight so it doesn’t turn into hell.”

And my obligation is to carry on here, looking after the wounded, thought Carmiña. And, when this is over, to go and find my children and continue with them what their father started.

But it seemed that fate was against such a project: during one of the national army’s advances, the first-aid post was unable to withdraw in time, and doctors and nurses were taken prisoner and sent to the rearguard.

The shootings began immediately. One day, a soldier came to fetch Carmiña. She said goodbye to those who had been her companions in recent times with a hug and prepared to die with dignity. But the soldier didn’t take her to the courtyard where prisoners were shot, he took her to an office, where a general appeared to be waiting for her. Carmiña thought she was going to be interrogated.

“Where is your husband?” the man began drily.

Carmiña lifted her head and felt a bitter sense of satisfaction on answering:

“He died defending the cause of the Republic.”

The general adopted the same sharp tone while showing her an open envelope which Carmiña recognized at once:

“This letter you had in your possession is from my son… I am Henrique’s father. Your husband was a close friend of his and, on one occasion, risked his life in order to save him. I wish to do the same.”

In surprise, Carmiña blurted out:

“Chisquiño’s father!”

This was the affectionate name given to him by his mother, not because he was small, Henrique was a well-built lad, but because as a child he ate little and, whenever he was offered something, he would say “just a little” – un chisquiño. Even as a grown man, he still preferred small to large portions.

The general was moved when he heard this name, and Carmiña started looking at him with greater warmth. She asked:

“What happened to Henrique? Where is he now? I was sent that letter with my husband’s things when he died.”

The general replied sadly:

“He is also dead. He was killed trying to reach our lines.”

Carmiña turned to stone. Henrique, killed during the war! Chisquiño, who never got into a fight and was always trying to reconcile people!

“And Marita, and the girl?”

“Marita died in childbirth, or because of privations, the lack of medicine and medical care, the baby as well. The girl died alongside her father as they were trying to leave the city. A grenade was thrown at their car.”

Carmiña was amazed and fell quiet. The two of them remained in silence for a while, staring at the floor. The general was the first to react:

“Do you have any children?”

“Two girls. They’ve been in Russia since the war started.”

The general nodded.

“In that case, I think the best plan is the one I am going to suggest. You will stay here, in this room, which I will lock. I will come to fetch you tonight and take you to the border. In France, you’ll be safe and, after that, you will decide on the best course of action. My advice is that you do not return to Spain for the moment.”

He did what he had suggested. At nightfall, he put Carmiña in the back of a military vehicle and covered her with a blanket. In this way, he went past all the sentry posts, receiving the soldiers’ salutes. Having passed the last one, he turned off the lights, left the road and stopped on a track that wound its way up a hill. He helped Carmiña out of the car and explained:

“Behind that hill is French territory. Go carefully, keep low, but do not be afraid. If somebody stops you, identify yourself. In these parts, you’ll only come across Republicans making their way to France.”

Carmiña realized Henrique’s father was placing his own life in danger in order to emulate Miguel’s gesture. She held out her hand.

“Thank you! Please go now, I wouldn’t want you to be caught… I was fond of Henrique, you know? Miguel and he were both good people. They shouldn’t have died like that, they still had lots to offer. Henrique wasn’t even a soldier… It’s all so unfair!…”

The general nodded.

“He was a pacifist. He was against the war and never wanted to take up arms. Now he is dead, and I am alive.”

He shook his head, as if wanting to dispel these thoughts, and took Carmiña’s hand.

“I wish you all the best… and hope the girls are well.”

Carmiña knew Henrique was an only child. She thought it was sad that war had left this man, who was old by now, without any children or grandchildren. And she recalled Henrique’s mother, who would never see her Chisquiño again. She went up to the general and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I hope your wife is well, sir… Until God brings us together.”

“Good luck… Until God decides, my child!”

Text © Marina Mayoral

Translation © Jonathan Dunne

This title is available to read in English – see the page “YA Novels”.