The Snow Gypsy(40)

“?Jazmín, jazmín! ?Hermoso, fresco!” Beautiful, fresh jasmine. The woman’s shouts echoed off the walls of the buildings.

Rose stopped to buy some posies. She would give them to Juanita, along with the silver bells threaded on silk ribbon that she had bought to hang on the baby boy’s cradle.

The house where the family lived was on a road that snaked along the hillside. As Rose climbed higher she caught glimpses of the towering terracotta walls of the Alhambra. Lola had promised to take her there this evening, before her performance at the tavern in the palace grounds. Rose tried to focus on that rather than the ordeal she was about to endure.

She rounded a bend that led her past the first of the cave houses of the Sacromonte district of the city. The fronts of the buildings looked like normal houses, but viewed from the side, it was obvious that they were something quite extraordinary. Lola had described how the Gypsies who first settled there had been cave dwellers, and they had gradually built out from the natural sandstone, enclosing the caves to protect themselves against the burning heat of the sun in summer and the cold winds that blew down from the Sierra Nevada in winter.

Rose’s first sight of the snowcapped mountains that formed the backdrop to the city had come when the wagon trundled the last few miles along the road from Jaén, the frozen peaks shimmering red and gold with the dying rays of the sun. Her spirits had soared at the sight—not just because it was so beautiful, but because the answer to all that she was seeking lay on the other side of those gilded slopes.

The thought of Lola crossing that snowy wasteland with a tiny baby and nothing but goat’s milk to sustain them was incredible. Her bravery and determination were awe inspiring. No wonder she had become a champion dancer, with qualities like that.

As Rose made her way along the road, she saw a trio of Gypsy girls standing outside a tall metal gate that formed the entrance to a low-slung cave dwelling. They wore aprons over long dresses of flowered cotton. Their glossy blue-black hair was pinned up around faces that shot looks of guarded curiosity as Rose passed by.

No doubt they were used to being ogled by tourists. But Rose didn’t look like a tourist. On the journey from France, she had started to dress more like the women she was traveling with. She had bought a shawl in Segovia and two lengths of Indian cotton, one with swirling stripes of blue, mauve, and amber and the other patterned with an abstract design of rainbow-colored feathers. She was wearing one of the skirts she had sewn, and with the sprig of pink bougainvillea she had pinned in her hair, she looked not unlike the women at the roadside.

She slowed her pace, examining each house for the distinguishing features Lola had described. But before she found it, she spotted Nieve and Gunesh walking toward her. The dog gave a joyful yelp and came bounding toward Rose, almost knocking her over as he leapt up to greet her.

“Hello, boy! Have you missed me?”

Gunesh nudged her chin with his nose.

“He’s been a good boy this morning,” Nieve said. “Rafaelito was crying, and Gunesh licked his face until he stopped. Chico’s never done that.”

“Who’s Chico?”

“Uncle Cristóbal’s dog. He doesn’t like Gunesh—I think he’s jealous.”

Rose wondered what Juanita had thought of Gunesh, the interloper, covering her newborn son in slobber.

“Rafaelito’s asleep now,” Nieve said. “Come and see.” She took Rose by the hand and led her toward a blue-painted wooden door in the whitewashed facade of a cave house. Rose could see Juanita, her head bent over a wicker cradle placed on the ground. She was singing to her baby, tucking the blankets in around his tiny body. It was a picture of innocence that sent an arrow of guilt through Rose’s heart.

“Esta es mi amiga—la Tia Rose.” This is my friend—Auntie Rose. Nieve whispered the words over the top of the cradle.

Juanita looked up. Rose was horrified to see that her eyes were red and puffy, as if she’d been crying.

“What’s the matter?” Nieve asked.

“Nothing,” Juanita replied. “The wind is full of dust today, that’s all. Fetch a glass of lemonade for our guest, will you, Nieve?” There was a blanket spread on the ground beside her, and she gestured to Rose to sit down. “Bienvenida.” Welcome.

Gunesh spread himself out between them, and Juanita put out her hand to stroke him. “You have a beautiful dog.”

“And you have a beautiful baby.” Rose’s voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else. High pitched and tremulous. She handed over the flowers and the ribbon of silver bells.

“Thank you—you’re very kind.”

Rose felt even more wretched. She reached out to touch the tiny fingers. “How old is he?”

“Almost four weeks. He came early—the day after my husband left for France.” Juanita gave Rose a wry look. “Typical of a man, eh? To disappear when you need him most?”

Rose felt her insides shrivel. She forced her mouth to turn up at the edges. But she didn’t trust herself to say anything in reply. Had Cristóbal confessed to what had happened while he was away? Was that why his wife looked as if she’d been sobbing her heart out? And if he had, did she know that Rose was the one he’d been with?

Juanita reached for something on the other side of the cradle. It was a bunch of garlic heads strung together. Juanita took a knife from her pocket and split one open. The cloves fell into her lap, and she peeled them deftly, exposing the creamy white flesh beneath the papery skin. Lifting the edges of the yellow blanket that covered the baby, she tucked the garlic beneath the mattress so that Rafaelito was encircled by it.