The Snow Gypsy(30)
Rose nodded. “I shouldn’t be after all that paella—but I am.”
“Me too,” Nieve chimed in. “Can we go there now?”
They joined the crush of people following the bride and groom. The night air was full of sounds and smells—of musical instruments, singing, and clapping; of tobacco, woodsmoke, and hot human bodies. As they drew near to the quayside, the stink of rotting fish drifted in on the breeze, overlaid with the aroma of roasting meat. Soon the cobblestones underfoot gave way to sand. A fire as tall as a house sent sparks flying into the purple sky and cast a path of shimmering bronze across the rippling ocean.
The wedding guests fanned out, circling the fire as the young couple took their places next to a broomstick lying in the sand. Lola thought how happy they looked, their faces glowing with the heat of the fire and their eyes shining with anticipation. It gave her a wistful feeling. Would they be happy? Could they? Was it possible to pledge your life to someone at seventeen and make it last until you died?
“That’s going to be quite a jump, isn’t it?” Rose’s voice broke into her thoughts. The broomstick had been lifted off the sand by two older men, who were holding it at just above knee height.
“Yes,” Lola said. “It’s not usually that high.”
“Why do they have to jump over it?” Nieve frowned.
“It’s . . . just what they do.” Lola cast a wry look at Rose. “Do you know about this custom of ours?”
“Not really,” Rose replied. “I have Gypsy friends who’ve got married, but I’ve never been to a wedding.”
“They have to jump as high as they can.” Lola lowered her voice to a whisper for what she had to say next: “If the girl’s skirt touches the broomstick, it signifies that she’s not a virgin—or that she’s pregnant already. If the boy’s trousers touch it, it means he’ll betray his bride.”
“Poor things,” Rose whispered back. “I hope for her sake he’s got springs in his legs.”
Lola nodded. She couldn’t help thinking of Cristóbal’s wife. She had a mental image of Juanita bending over a cooking pot, her belly distended. She wondered what her cousin was getting up to back there in the tavern. With a wad of cash in his pocket and the magnetism of being a winner, she feared the worst.
A hush fell on the watchers as the young bride lifted the froth of fabric that covered her legs to the ankle. She was a little dot of a thing—no more than five feet tall. Lola didn’t think she had a hope of clearing the broomstick. But she stepped a few paces back and took it at a run, her skirt flying up to her hips as she leapt over the wooden shaft.
There was wild cheering from the crowd. Then it was the boy’s turn. With a broad grin he rolled his trousers up to his knees, which brought boos and catcalls from the crowd. But he took no notice and jumped. The trousers stayed up, and he grabbed his bride, picking her up and twirling her around in his arms.
“Clever lad!” Cristóbal’s voice took Lola by surprise.
“I thought you’d gone to the tavern?”
“I did—but I wasn’t going to miss this. They did well, didn’t they?”
“Well, yes—except he cheated.” She gave Cristóbal a knowing look, wondering what had happened when he and Juanita had jumped the broomstick. She didn’t know, because she hadn’t been there. The wedding had taken place fifteen years ago, when she was still living in the mountains.
“Shall I take Nieve?” Cristóbal was talking to Rose now. The child was still on her shoulders—so sleepy that she was swaying sideways.
“It’s all right—I’ll take her to bed,” Lola replied. “You’d better give me that money, though.”
“I can carry her back,” Rose offered. “You must be worn out.”
“No—I’ll be fine, honestly.” Lola took the wad of money from her cousin and tucked it down the front of her blouse. “It’d be a shame for you to come away now, just when the fun’s about to start. I’ve seen it all before—but you haven’t.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
Lola nodded. She looked around for Cristóbal, but he had already melted into the crowd. She wondered if she should warn Rose about him. But Rose was clearly used to taking care of herself. A woman who traveled alone in a tent with only a dog for company must know how to handle unwanted attention from men.
“Have a good time,” Lola said as she took Nieve into her arms. “Will we see you tomorrow?”
Rose nodded. “My bus doesn’t leave until four o’clock.”
“Come and have something to eat before you go.”
“Thank you—I’d like that.”
“Oh—and bring your dog.” Lola smiled over her shoulder. “Nieve’s fallen in love with him. I’m going to have a hard job stopping her from jumping on that bus with you.”
Rose was kneeling on the sand, a few yards away from the bonfire, holding a steaming hunk of roast beef out in front of her to stop the juices running onto her clothes. Cristóbal laughed as he sank down beside her.
“We’re going to have to go for a swim in the sea after this—just to get clean,” he said.
Rose glanced at him, wondering if he was serious. No one would see them in the dark. They wouldn’t have to bother about keeping their clothes on. The thought of being naked in the water with him stoked a fire inside that had nothing to do with the hot food she was eating.