Pan's Labyrinth: The Labyrinth of the Faun(19)

Vidal couldn’t hide that he was ashamed of her. The women among his guests were far better dressed, and their jewelry made the earrings that Ofelia’s mother wore resemble a child’s cheap play jewelry. The mayor’s wife hid her contempt behind a bright smile, but the widow didn’t make that effort. Look at her, her face said. Where did he find her? She’s a little Cinderella, isn’t she?

Dr. Ferreira exchanged a glance with Mercedes before he sat down at the table. He was afraid, she could read it in his face. Afraid that he’d been invited to this dinner, because Vidal knew and Mercedes prayed that his fear wouldn’t give them both away. She didn’t know to whom she prayed now, to the forest, to the night, to the moon . . . ? It was for sure not the god the men who were taking their seats at the table prayed to. He had deserted her too often.

“Only one?” The priest took a voucher from the stack Vidal handed to him and passed the others on.

“I am not sure that is enough, Capitán,” the mayor said. “We meet a lot of dissatisfaction caused by the continuous shortages of even the most basic foods.”

“If people are careful,” the priest said, hastily coming to Vidal’s aid, “one voucher should be plenty.”

The priest liked to please the military. The other maids who still went to church every Sunday had told Mercedes how he sang the praises of obedience and order from the pulpit and condemned the men in the woods as pagans and communists in his sermons, no better than the devil.

“We have of course plenty of food now,” Vidal said, “but we have to make sure no one gets enough to feed the rebels. They’re losing ground and one of them is wounded.”

Dr. Ferreira hid the slight tremble of his lips by wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Wounded?” he asked in a casual voice. “How can you be so sure, Capitán?”

“Because we almost got them today. And we found this.” Vidal held up one of the vials they had found in the forest.

Mercedes caught another glance from Ferreira. She straightened her back and tried her best to give him confidence by banning any expression of worry from her face, though she tasted her own fear like vinegar in her mouth.

“May God save their lost souls. What happens to their bodies hardly matters to Him.” The priest sank his fork into a roasted potato.

“We’ll help you in any way we can, Capitán,” the mayor said. “We know you’re not here by choice.”

Vidal straightened up in his chair. It was his usual gesture when something offended him. Getting ready for attack.

“But you’re wrong, sir,” he said with a stiff smile. “I choose to be here because I want my son to be born in a new, clean Spain. Our enemies”—he paused to look at his guests, one after the other—“hold the mistaken belief that we’re all created equal. But there’s a big difference: They lost this war. We won. And if we need to kill each and every one of them to make that clear, then that’s what we’ll do. Each and every one of them.” He raised his wineglass. “To choice!”

His guests raised their glasses. Dr. Ferreira joined them, clenching his glass firmly.

“To choice!” the voices echoed through the room. Mercedes was glad she didn’t hear them anymore when she slipped out of the door and returned to the kitchen.

“Put the coffee on,” she ordered the other maids. “I’ll get some more firewood,” she added, grabbing her jacket from the hook by the kitchen door.

They all watched her silently when she lit a lantern—the match in her hand visibly shaking—and stepped out into the rain.

She walked past the cars and the soldiers guarding them, with her head down, hoping to be invisible to them as usual, just a maid. But it was so hard to not hasten her steps. Because we almost got them today.

Mercedes stopped when she reached the edge of the forest. She cast one more glance over her shoulder, making sure branches were shielding her from the guards’ view, then she raised the lantern and moved her hand up and down over the light—once, twice, three times. So far, this signal had always worked. Her brother usually had a man watching the mill in case she had a message or news for them. Only when Mercedes lowered the lantern and turned to walk back to the house did she notice a small figure between the trees. So small and trembling in her wet clothes.

“Ofelia?”

The girl’s body was as cold as ice and her dark eyes were wide with worry. But there was something else in them: a pride and strength her mother lacked. Ofelia was clutching something in her hand, but Mercedes didn’t ask what it was or where the girl had been. Who knew better than her about secrets that are best kept inside? She put her arm around Ofelia’s shivering shoulders and led her back to the mill, hoping the girl’s secrets were not as dangerous as her own.

“So how did you two meet?” The mayor’s wife smiled and Ofelia’s mother forgot the contempt on the other guests’ faces. She should have known better. It’s so much safer to stay silent and invisible when you feel weak and small. But this was her fairy tale and Carmen wished so hard for it to end well.

“Ofelia’s father used to make the capitán’s uniforms.”

“Oh, I see!”

Carmen didn’t realize that was all the mayor’s wife needed to know. A tailor’s wife . . . a previously married woman. The faces around the table stiffened. But Ofelia’s mother was still lost in her fairy tale. Once upon a time . . .