The Snow Gypsy(95)

As the child disappeared with the dog, Rose hooked her arms under Lola’s ribcage and pulled her up. Lola stumbled forward, a dead weight.

“Please, Lola—you have to help me!”

They covered the distance to the corner of the cottage at a snail’s pace. Then they were in the open. A hundred yards of meadow lay between them and the trees. There was no way they were going to make it before the men emerged from the shed. Not like this. Rose let go of Lola and bent down, taking her by the waist and heaving her over her shoulder. Straightening up, she started to run. Lola was as light and limp as a rag doll.

“?Deténgase o dispararé!” Stop or I’ll shoot!

Rose flung herself and Lola to the ground. The impact winded her. As she gasped for breath, she felt Lola struggling free. The sole of a boot scraped the skin of her wrist as Lola hauled herself up from the ground.

“No, Lola!” Rose gasped. “Stay down!”

But it was too late. Lola was already on her feet, her body suddenly energized.

She screamed at the figure pointing the gun, “?Usted es malvado! ?Malvado más de lo imaginable!” You are wicked! Wicked beyond belief!

Rose lifted her head a couple of inches off the ground, watching in terrified silence as Lola moved toward Batista.

“Stay where you are!” He raised the pistol higher. “Don’t make me shoot!”

“Go on, then—do it!” Lola yelled. “You’ve already killed your own son and the mother of your children! But that’s not enough for a bastard like you, is it?” She stopped a few yards from him, her head erect, her hands on her hips. As if she were preparing for a dance, not dicing with death.

“You think you’re better than me?” He sneered back. “You who are living under the roof of a Nazi!” He waved the gun to where Zoltan was standing. “I don’t suppose he told you how many rojos he gassed in that death camp?” He jerked his head sideways, launching a gob of spittle into the air. “Oh yes, I know all about that!”

Rose felt as if an invisible hand had punched her in the face. Batista was lying. He had to be.

“Shut up!” Zoltan took a step forward, his face white. “And put that bloody gun down!”

“Don’t you threaten me!” Batista wheeled around, brandishing the pistol. “Do you think General Franco’s going to let you stay when he hears about this? It was a dumb idea in the first place—giving sanctuary to Nazis—but when he finds out you’ve been hiding this rojo whore . . .”

“?Hijo de puta!” Son of a bitch! Lola ran toward him. But at the same moment, Zoltan hurled himself at Batista, knocking him to the ground. A shot rang out as the gun fell sideways.

“Lola!” Rose screamed.

Zoltan and Batista were wrestling for the gun. The policeman clawed at Zoltan’s leg as he tried to stand up. Zoltan kicked out at him. Scrambling to his feet, Zoltan grabbed the pistol and fired two quick shots.

“No!” Rose heard her own voice, muffled and distorted, like someone shouting underwater. She was running, running, but it felt as if the ground were sucking her down. Then she saw that the daisies beneath her feet were spattered scarlet.





Chapter 35

Rose saw Lola fall to her knees, staring at the face of her father. At the furrowed skin, the thinning gray hair, and the pouched, bloodshot eyes. Seeing him clearly for the first time in her life. Dead.

“Get her into the house!” Zoltan didn’t shout the words. He didn’t even raise his voice. But there was a hard edge in the way he said it. Rose felt as if she were looking at a stranger. “Where’s Nieve?” His eyes ranged over the hillside like an eagle looking for prey.

“Sh . . . she’s up in the woods,” Rose stammered. “I . . . t . . . told her to hide.”

“Find her. Get them both ready to go. There’s brandy in the cupboard if you need it.” He jerked his head at the lifeless body on the ground. “Leave him to me.”

Rose moved, trancelike, toward Lola. She helped her up, then guided her toward the door of the cottage.

Lola took the brandy without a word, draining the glass in a couple of swallows.

“You’ll have to change out of that skirt,” Rose said. “There’s blood on it. You can have one of mine—it’ll be too big, but we’ll just have to make do.” It was as if someone else were speaking through her mouth. How could she be standing there, talking about clothes when a man was lying dead outside?

Can it be true, what he said?

The question hammered inside Rose’s head. She told herself that Batista had made it up. That it was just a ruse to distract Lola. But his words had set off a chilling echo, calling forth half-forgotten memories—things that had fleetingly puzzled Rose, like Zoltan’s sketchy knowledge of the night sky, his ignorance of Gypsy medicine, and his perfect teeth.

She tried to fight down the panic rising from her stomach. Lola was walking over to the bedroom, unbuttoning her stained skirt.

“Will you be all right if I go and find Nieve?”

Lola nodded. She looked how Rose felt—as if she were trapped in a bad dream, unable to wake up.



It took a while to locate Nieve. She had fallen asleep inside the hollow trunk of a tree. It was only when Gunesh appeared, wagging his tail, that Rose spotted her.