The Skylarks

By Fran M. R. Marín

‘The Skylarks’ transports us to a little hamlet hidden away in the mountainous region of the south of Granada, Spain: such a small town that no one ever bothered naming it and was simply known as La Villa. It’s the start of the 1970s and the locals are doing all they can to combat the mass exodus of the rural areas.

Far from the harsh reality of the adults, three boys; Ricardo, Edmundo and Fernando, live life from one mischief to the next or spending time acting out scenes from their favourite comic, Capitán Trueno. Everything changes with the arrival of Lucy Lu, a new girl who shakes the foundations of their world and puts their friendship to the test. The boys, each guided by their own interests, embark on a dangerous game which will lead them to take bigger and bigger risks to try and come out on top. As the months go by, the three youngsters learn that love isn't always easy, sex isn't always enjoyable, death isn't just for the elderly, evil resides inside many and, most of all, that even lifelong friendships can come to an end.

Twenty years later, two of the boys meet again. One of them has a successful career as a Guardia Civil. The other has come back to La Villa, living alone and tormented by regrets. Beside the warmth of the fireplace, the two spend the whole night reminiscing about the last few months they spent together living in La Villa. What happened that year? Why did their friendship fall apart? A reunion that the old friends reveal more from what they don't say than what they do. 

A contemporary fable where the characters live through the good and the bad, wrapped up in the atmosphere of a place that is fighting its own disappearance. A novel about learning told from the perspective of the three boys that takes us back to our own childhood. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Jul 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781071554555

Book preview

Translator's Prologue

To translate a book is to rewrite the author’s words in another language. But translation isn’t only about the words. It’s the images, the ideas, the feelings and emotions behind those words that need to be laid out for the reader of the translated version to consume and digest just as the readers of the first language have done. Fran M. R. Marin writes of the past with stark honesty, without sugar-coating the bad nor glorifying the good. He writes about tough times and happiness; about simple times and those that were hard to explain. He lets the reader live life exactly how it would have been in a rural, Spanish town in 1973.

At that time, Spain was nearing the end of its dictatorship after more than three decades under General Francisco Franco. His regime for many was oppressive and daily life a struggle. Racism and homophobia ran rife and those who opposed him or his rules suffered unspeakable consequences.

Readers will find lots of references to Spain, Spanish culture and the Spanish language. However, the thoughts and actions of the characters, their relationships, their deeply rooted fear of the authorities, their living each day as it comes no matter what happened the day before, are themes that should resonate with any reader in any language.

Elizabeth Harvey

Translator

June 2020

Introduction: Vesper  

Part of the day when the sun dips below the horizon and Venus takes its place as the brightest star in the sunset sky.

Somewhere in the Alpujarra Granadina region,

28th December 1994

The man has spent the morning collecting the last olives of the season and the afternoon loading them up for the day labourer to take them down to the mill. The harvest hasn't been all that bad this year, considering the number of olive trees that they have on the land. Forty baskets of forty litres; that makes a total of one thousand six hundred cubic decimetres of olives. A useless fact. It will be their weight that decides how much they're worth. The trailer was almost full, that last basket had only just fitted on, he wouldn't have been able to do it on his own.

He must have left the mill by now, the man thinks, leaning on the balcony railing. From there, he contemplates how the sun is lost between the shadows of the mountains, painting the sky red and dampening the rich green conifers to mere shadows that cover the hillside. Tomorrow he'll tell me whether the harvest has been good this year.

Are you sure that he'll come? a woman asks from the balcony door. She stands behind him and wraps her arms around his waist, leaning her head on the back of his shoulder. She seems older than him, but perhaps looks are deceiving. He barely moves, answering her without taking his eyes off of the horizon.

Yes, of course.

You haven't seen each other in years, maybe he's changed his mind.

No, he won't. He'll be here any minute.

The woman lets go of him and stands beside him, leaning on the balcony too. The two of them look at the road that disappears between the mountains. It's been a while since the sun has gone down, but the sky is not quite dark yet.

Look. He points into the distance. Two little specks of light. That'll be him.

Well, you can't be su..

It's him. I know. Now go, please.

What?

I want you to leave.

Why? I thought I'd stay here with you both.

Candela, darling, the man turns to face her and pushes back a curl of her hair that has fallen in front of her face, tucking it behind her ear. You'd be totally out of place. Go home. Try to understand, do it for me.

I don't want to leave the two of you alone.

You have to. Whatever it is that brings him here, we have to sort it out tonight and you shouldn't be here.

I haven't made you any dinner though.

He's not coming here for dinner. Don't keep on.

Okaaaay. You couldn’t be more stubborn! Candela grabs him and kisses him on the forehead. Don't say or do anything that you might regret.

To a captain of the Guardia Civil? Don't worry, I'm not daft.

No, but you could get too emotional. She walks back into the house. Before leaving, she comes back and leans out of the balcony door. Don't forget, he's your friend, Candela emphasises the 'your', not a captain of the Guardia Civil.

He was my friend, he replies, emphasising the 'was', without turning around or taking his eyes off of the lights that are getting closer.

But you never fell out.

You don't have to fall out to stop being friends. Just being far apart is enough.

You're so stubborn, she repeats, but I still love you. I'll miss you tonight.

And I'll miss you, he says although she doesn't hear him as she is already halfway down the stairs. It's going to be cold.

Chapter 1

Two ‘almost’ perfect plans

Autumn 1973

The boys sped down the steps taking them three at a time, going as fast as their spindly legs could carry them. Edmundo, who was in front, recklessly jumped the last five steps, twisted in air and then continued his escape the second he landed. Ricardo, a little shorter, a little fatter and much less agile tried to copy him but didn’t manage the mid-air twist. He slipped as he fell, skinning his palms, his knee and part of his left shin. Hearing him fall, his friend turned back to help him get up and, without even giving him chance to catch his breath nor look at his injuries, he pushed him down a side street. A short dead-end street was their only chance of escape. Both boys, breathless, hid behind the branches of a jasmine plant that dangled down from the balcony above them.

Toribio saw us! Ricardo cried, If he catches us, he’ll...

Shut up, flat foot! He covered his friend’s mouth.

If we stay still, he won’t see us, he’ll go right past us, he whispered. Does it hurt? Your knee is bleeding.

No, no, he replied without looking down. He’s going to find us, Edmundo.

Shhh.

The sound of footsteps was getting closer. Edmundo and Ricardo huddled down even more, as if they wished they could melt into the lime that whitened the wall behind them. They could sense him coming down the steps. The plant covered them from head to toe, they just needed a bit of luck for him not to look down the side street. Even if he did, it was dark and only the tips of their toes stuck out. At least that’s what they thought. Behind the green leaves, it was almost impossible for the boys to see the man come right up to them. He was just there, shotgun in hand. Both boys held their breath, each thinking his own thoughts. Edmundo was convinced that he wouldn’t see them there; at the end of the day, Toribio was always drunk. Ricardo, on the other hand, could have sworn that the man could see straight through the jasmine and was looking him in the eye. He tried not to blink, as if even the smallest movement would give him away. Just then he felt the first few drops of urine trickle down his leg and he squeezed his eyes shut, desperate not to lose his nerve. The man kept on walking, cursing as he did so, albeit with a calmness that, had the boys been less nervous, would have realised was unusual. They waited what could have been seconds or minutes, without making a sound.

He’s gone, Ricardo declared.

Shhh, Edmundo put his finger to his lips. He won’t have gone far.

What do we do now? whispered Ricardo. We don’t know which way he’s going to go.

Shut up and let me think. He stayed silent while moving his lips, like a mute thinking out loud. I’ve got it. It’s easy. Listen. We get out of here, go down to the pharmacy, tell them that you’ve cut your knee and it really hurts, and then we can ask Don Anselmo to come with us to your house.

But it doesn’t hurt.

Well it does now! It hurts. A lot. And limp. And if you can cry, even better. And tell him to put you a bandage on.

No way!

Trust me, it’s the perfect plan.

Yeah, just like spying on Candelita’s house from the fig tree.

That was perfect too. It was that pigeon’s fault.

You’re forgetting one thing Cagalindes.

Don’t call me that! cried Edmundo, who couldn’t stand his unfortunate nickname.

Okay, okay, but what if Fernandito has told his dad that we call him ‘Marilelo’?

Psh, much better than if Toribio gets hold of us, don’t you think?

You’re right there, better a slap on the wrist from Don Anselmo than from Toribio.

Yeah, my mum says Toribio is crazy. Anyway, I bet Fernandito hasn’t said anything. Shall we go? Or have you got a better idea?

Come on then, let’s go.

They left their hiding place, no longer worrying about keeping quiet, with their minds fixed on their new plan. They were not a hop, skip and a jump from Señor Maireles’ pharmacy, barely a hundred feet away, even less if they could have gone in a straight line. They got to the end of the street when Edmundo stopped Ricardo.

Wait, I’m gonna check the coast is clear.

He loved that phrase and made sure he said it whenever he could. He pressed himself against the wall and shuffled to the corner to peer around it. He didn’t even get chance to poke his head out of the street when his eyes were met by another’s. Toribio had been patiently waiting for them on the other side.

Boo! shouted the man and stamped his foot, as he looked at the wide-eyed boy.

Edmundo jumped back in shock, a scream halfway out of his throat. He bumped into Ricardo, who soon saw the reason for his friend’s panic. The boys pushed one another. They began to walk backwards. They pushed each other again. They tripped. They fell. They dragged themselves backwards on their bottoms, without ever taking their eyes off of the man while he watched their absurd attempt at an escape from the top of the street. The boys couldn’t make out his sadistic smile, just seeing his scrawny shadow was enough. And that of the shotgun. He started walking towards them, slowly; there was nowhere for them to go.

Toribio raised his shotgun in line with the boys’ heads. From that distance not only would it have been impossible to miss, but he would have only needed one shot: he’d hit bullseye on both of them with a cloud of pellets. It was that simple, he wouldn’t even need to aim. So easy. Just like Edmundo’s plans.

Well, look what we have here, he began. Two little dickey birds that have flown down from the fig tree. You’re gonna tell me this very minute what the hell you were doing!

Relax, Toribio! Edmundo stretched his arms in front of him in a palms facing forward, trying to calm the man down. We were picking figs for...

Do you think I’m stupid? he turned the gun towards him and took a step forward.

No, no, no! Please! Please!

It hasn’t had a single damned fig for over a month! Tell me the truth!

We were spying on Candelita’s house! Ricardo shouted.

What are you doing, idiot! chided Edmundo.

You, shut it, big ears! And you, talk, and with any luck I might let you go. What’s wrong? You want to see who goes in there, do you? The boys lowered their eyes to the ground. My wife didn’t send you, did she?

No, no.

Ah okay. So, you two like to wonder what it is we men do with Candelita, am I right? I bet you go and beat off after. Is that it, does Pabilo’s grandson beat off his little friend?

No! shouted Ricardo, him being Pabilo’s grandson.

You know what the best part is? That now, I’ll blow your brains out and not even God will know that it was me. He settled the shotgun into his shoulder. Someone will hear a shot, just another gunshot in the countryside. I’ll leave and when they find you there under the jasmine the mice will already be eating away at you.

Just then they heard the voice of Toribio’s wife. She was looking for him. He lowered his gun a little and looked back, then again at the boys as they heard the woman call for her husband again. Through gritted teeth, they heard him mutter stupid bitch, he turned away, walking out of the backstreet and bumped into Federo, who was running around the town looking for him.

Of all the neighbours, Federo was the one who could be considered to have all the cards in favour of being the village idiot. He always wore the same; black corduroys, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a knitted black woollen V-neck vest with a little pocket on the left side of his chest for his packet of Ducados cigarettes. On the day he was born, his mother had first given birth to his twin sister, Marisa, then after a while, the midwife realised that something was wrong. There was another baby inside. They tried to get him out as fast as they could, but the wait had already taken its toll on the baby. As if that wasn’t enough, fate had decided that he be born with a cleft lip and one leg shorter than the other, making him wear a platform in his right shoe. Federo wasn’t a mongoloid, just a bit slow, as if half of his brain had stayed inside his mother’s womb, which was more than likely. It took him five years to learn to speak and another five to learn not to wet himself, and that’s where he stayed. The mind of a ten-year-old in a body that carried on ageing. According to local gossips, the twins made quite the pair, seeing as his sister seemed to have a few screws loose of her own.

To, To, To, Toribio, No, Federo didn’t usually have a stutter, at least not a full one, but he found it hard to start a sentence when he was nervous.

What is it?

Your, your, your son.

What?! My son what? Toribio grabbed him by the front of his vest and shook him. Come on, retard!

The, the, the, police. They, they, they took him.

What?

Toribio’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets as he uttered all the swear words he had learnt since he was a boy, as well as a few he’d made up as an adult. He left in search of his wife. He’d barely turned the corner when the boys beat a hasty retreat home. Seeing the boys shoot off, Federo was surprised and began shaking his head from side to side. ‘I thiiink soomethiiing straaange was gooing on heeeere,’ he said to himself. Unlike when he was nervous and he semi-stuttered, when the village idiot was on his own, he spoke with an intonation that sounded like he was singing. Federo left. Strangely enough, he headed to Candelita’s house too, not for the same reasons as the other men who frequented it, but because he lived there with her, his little sister.

That Saturday morning, Ricardo and Edmundo couldn’t have imagined how the next months would have turned out, nor that the next time they were confronted with that shotgun, their friendship would come to an end.

––––––––

Proof that Federo wasn’t stupid – at least not totally- was in the thoughts that accompanied him on his way to his sister’s house. The image of the two boys running away set off alarm bells in his head. What was Toribio doing there? Why was the shotgun drawn? Had he just come from hunting? Immersed in his musings, he was about to open the door and go inside the house when he noticed that the white geranium wasn’t on the windowsill. It was the only condition of him living there: ‘you can come and go as you please but if you see I’ve taken the geranium off the windowsill, wait until I put it back.’ Candelita had told him, and he, through the sheer devotion he held for his little sister, had followed the rule without question, despite not understanding why.

At this point, he started trying to catch a butterfly that was fluttering around the orange marigolds at the foot of the fig tree when Jesús turned up. A clean-shaven man in his thirties, he was a guardia in the Guardia Civil from the town next to La Villa. He had come to make the most of the rest of the morning off with Candela before putting his uniform on.

Federico, good morning, he greeted jokingly, waiting for your sister, are you?

Yessss, sheee must be busyyy. The geranium iiiisn’t thereee.

Well, you can go for a little walk and come back later.

I caaaan’t.

You caaaan, he said imitating Federo’s speech.

Nooo, Federo shook his head energetically. I’ve already been for a walk todaaaay.

Well, go for another one!

Noooooo.

I said, go for a walk! Jesús grabbed Federo by the vest and pushed him up against the wall.

Don’t, don’t, don’t hit me.

You’re going to do exactly what I say. He crouched down and grabbed him by the ear. Listen up, retard. If I tell you to go, then you oooww!

Jesús flinched in pain at the kick he’d just received from behind in his private parts. Seconds later, just enough time for his breath to come back, he spun around ready to put his fist in the face of whoever had just kicked him. His intention dissolved as his eyes locked with the large, honey-coloured ones belonging to the foot that had just kicked him. Candela. She was at least a foot smaller than him in every dimension. Pain, beauty, confusion...

Whore! was all that he managed to say.

That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?

What have you done! Why did you kick me?

"What have you done? she stuck her finger in his chest. Why are you hitting my brother?"

I came to see you, damn it, he’s got no place here in the middle!

Federo, my love, who was here first? she spoke to her brother who was still huddled up on the ground.

Meee.

So, Jesús, you’re the one in the middle. If you don’t mind, I think you should leave. She pointed to the way out.

What are you saying?

Exactly what you heard. Go. The young woman crouched down to help her brother up. And now, if you don’t mind, we have things to do. It seems everyone’s decided to come and see me today.

But Candelita, how can you do this to me? he grabbed her by the arm.

Let go of me this second, she ordered him in a thin whisper, one that was barely audible but that dripped in quiet fury. Imbecile, get out of here. I don’t think you want me to stop telling Marisa all your virtues and start telling her about the visits you pay me.

As the old people in La Villa used to say, that was just what the doctor ordered. Jesús, who had spent years trying to woo Marisa, let go of Candela and left without another word.

Come on, my love, let’s get inside, she tried to calm her brother. Did he hurt you?

Nnnnnoo, he, he, he only pushed me.

What were you doing outside, Federo?

They entered the house.

The, the, the geranium wasn’t there.

Oh, my love! she covered her mouth with her free hand. I forgot to put it back. Forgive me, please, his sister said looking him in the eye.

I love youuu.

Candelita kissed the top of her brother’s head and rested it against her chest in a hug. The girl, armed with her youth, beauty and sweet nature, had become the keeper of the town’s deepest, most miserable secrets; the darkest perversions of many of the local men, as well as the odd woman. But her sweet nature could turn most sour when it came to protecting her brother, as their sister, Marisa, would find out for herself a few months later.

When it all came down to it, Federo was the only reason she had made the decisions she had made since their father had passed away. Aurelio, the one-handed man, one of the most well-loved and memorable inhabitants of La Villa. A man with a story, albeit a story set in the distant past, well deserves a chapter of its own.

Chapter 2

Aurelio, the one-handed man

––––––––

Aurelio was born with his whole body intact, just like any other child: two hands at the ends of his arms, two feet at the ends of his legs, a nose in the middle of his face, a mouth beneath it and two eyes above it. Just that, all that comes with being normal. And normal he would have continued to be had it not been for the infestation of rats that colonised the town when he was barely a year old. It happened overnight, one afternoon there was not a rodent in sight and the next day, they roamed the streets as if they had been there since the beginning of time. The citizens wasted no time. That same morning the rat-catchers were overwhelmed with the work of exterminating the creatures. There were three days of unrest with their three sleepless nights, but on the morning of the fourth day not a trace of the unpleasant beasts remained. All the rats had disappeared from the town... or at least almost all of them.

Several days later, a small hole was discovered in the roof of Aurelio Senior’s house, something that the rat-catchers had missed, but not one of the rodents themselves. Little by little, the rat made its way through the wall until it reached the thatched roof. Maybe it was drawn in by the smell of food inside or repelled from the streets that ran with poison. That same night, as husband and wife lay together revelling in the joys of marriage, the animal fell into the cot where baby Aurelio slept. When the adults found the rat, alerted by the unusual cry of their son, it was still chewing on what was left of the boy’s hand. Aurelio Senior grabbed the rat by the tail and flung it as hard as he could against the wall. The rat bounced and landed on the knife of the Saint Bartholomew figure that Doña Milagros, prayed to every night. It stayed there until the rat-catchers came to take it away. The broken skull of the rodent had left a large dark red stain in the middle of the whitewashed wall. Aurelio Senior forbade it to be painted over so that the price paid by the rat would never be forgotten. Decades later, in that very same room, he took his last breath and pointed to the wall as he told those around him; ‘I’m going after that bastard.’

Baby Aurelio had a fever for a week which threatened to take away more than just the end of his limb. But despite the traumatic event, the little boy pulled through without any emotional damage whatsoever. He grew used to his lack of a hand and he turned into a well-built young man. Only having one hand didn’t stop him from ploughing, cutting down trees, or any other activity he tried. It took a backseat when compared to his eloquence, sense of humour and ability to succeed at whatever it was he set his mind to do, all in spite of his stump. Just like his devout mother used to say, when God takes something away from you, it’s because he has something much better in store. Aurelio never had a lack of willing candidates to accompany to dances, or the haylofts. God, it seemed, had taken away his hand, but given him something much better, better even than the virtues that his doting mother bragged about.

True love came along out of the blue, as these things tend to happen, and with someone who was rather unexpected. Doña Milagros had her roots in a fishing village on the coast, which is why she used to go down one Saturday every month to see her mother. Aurelio hated the beach; he would feel sticky as soon as he got out of the car. He eventually stopped going with his parents at the age of thirteen and had managed to avoid it until now, as he was about to turn nineteen. On that occasion, he would have slinked off had it not been for the rain. Records state that it rained non-stop in the capital for twenty-four days. Nothing is said, however, in all likelihood because no one cares, how much rain fell in that distant mountainous region. It was almost certainly less, but the rain fell so violently and unseasonably that it ruined the harvest. Aurelio Senior wasn’t prepared to waste a single second of work. ‘Son,’ he’d said, putting his arm around his son’s shoulders, ‘the countryside needs as many hands as it can get, so it’s your turn to go down with your mother as I win, two hands to one.’

Aurelio made the journey in a bad mood, thinking about how easy it would have been to claim he wasn’t able to drive the car with only one hand. However, his mood soon changed when he saw his cousin Isabel. In the time he hadn’t been going down to the coast, the little girl had grown up into the most beautiful of the many he had seen up until then. The look in the girl's eyes made it clear that the feeling was mutual, and he gave free rein to his sweet talking. He discovered how his cousin, with her long curly black hair and her honey-coloured eyes was not only pure beauty but she was also the first woman that he’d met who could follow all of the conversations that he started. Fed up with nothing more than banal words, the two cousins took to clearing the table to be able to be alone. No one noticed the prolonged absence of the two youngsters until long after, when their grandmother, Margarita, who was well into old age, began chuckling to herself and babbled phrases about the looks of desire that her two grandchildren had been exchanging. Everyone wanted to take what the old woman was saying as incoherent ramblings, but they were quick to start the search, just to check that there wasn’t any truth to her words.

They found the two cousins naked, writhing together inside a tied-up boat on the shore. At being caught, the youngsters tried to cover themselves and put on some clothes before her father arrived. They didn’t manage it. Don Dionisio grabbed his daughter and slapped her with the back of his hand, drawing blood from the corner of her mouth as he had caught her with the gold sovereign he wore next to his wedding ring. He was about to hit the other side of her face when Aurelio shouted.

Uncle! Everyone turned to look at the boy, who was still half naked. Stop! Don’t hit her, we're in love and there’s nothing anyone can do.

How dare you, you scoundrel! He let go of his daughter’s arm. How can you be in love! he shouted, raising his arms. You’re cousins! You scoundrel! Cousins!

Uncle, it’s love, that’s just how it goes, he spoke with such insolence that he surprised even himself.

Shut that mouth before I shut it for you!

Aurelio, shut up, for God’s sake! the boy’s mother intervened in the conversation to avoid her son getting a beating. Come on, we’ll go back to the village.

No, Mother. Stay out of this, this is men’s business. He pushed his mother away with his stump. What’s the matter, Uncle? Your sister’s son isn’t good enough for your daughter? It was the first time someone had stood up to Don Dionisio, causing a deadly silence to fall among those who were present. They all knew the bad moods the man was famous for, as more than one of them had suffered from them personally.

No, actually! Because you’re a fucking cripple, where the fuck are you going with half an arm, who are you going to support?

Right now, your daughter, and all the kids we’re going to have.

For fuck’s sake! Take that back right now!

Don Dionisio set upon his nephew, fist high with the intention of taking out all his anger on him. Realising what was about to happen, Aurelio didn’t waste a second before getting his mother out of the way of the commotion. When he turned back to show his uncle the punches he could dole out with his stump of a hand, he watched as another young man held him back and tried to calm him down.

Calm down, Don Dionisio, he said over and over as he tried to keep hold of him. Calm down and listen to me, please.

It was Marcial, a handsome young man who had been head over heels for Isabel for several months, not that she had paid any attention to him. ‘He’s just a pretty face’, she had said to her mother. ‘So vain that he isn’t a real man at all, I bet he’s a pansy’, assured the girl. ‘Don’t say that, my God!’ her mother reprimanded her, ‘don’t say that, they might hear you’.

When Don Dionisio stopped struggling, Marcial let go of him and spoke calmly.

Don’t worry, sir, I'll sort this out. The young man put his arm around him in a show of familiarity that the older man was not used to. You can send the cripple back to the mountains, and I will marry your daughter and take care of any consequences that arise from this dishonour.

Isabel went pale. Not for anything in this world would she marry that arrogant ponce.

What are you saying, you smug bastard. Now Aurelio was the one who was about to set upon someone. He strode up to Marcial and squared up to him.

Me? What you heard, go back to your hills with your goats, hillbilly, and leave the real men alone. He spat on the ground to emphasise how manly he was, but as it wasn’t a habit of his, he ended up getting several drops of saliva on his sleeve.

Real man? You can’t even spit properly.

Yeah, yeah, say what you like, but I've got two whole arms to take care of Isabel and start a family with her.

Oh yeah? Come on then, if you’re so brave, let’s see who can swim out to sea the furthest.

Okay, let’s go.

Aurelio, Son! What are you doing? Leave it be, let’s go.

Doña Milagros took hold of her son trying to drag him away from there, but he had made up his mind and wouldn’t move an inch. He hugged his mother and whispered in her ear.

Trust me, Mother, tomorrow the three of us will be together back home.

His mother stood back from her son then turned towards her brother.

Dionisio, please, stop this, I’m begging you, please.

You want me to stop it, Sister? After what your son has done? You’re begging me to stop?

Please! He’s my only son, he’s only ever swum in ponds before.

Your son is a bastard; I don’t give a damn about what happens to him. Anyway, he lifted his hand and pointed to the water where the boys were already swimming, there’s not much I can do about it now.

Doña Milagros fell to her knees, where her niece hugged her. She was convinced that her son would drown that day.

Although the story is well-known along the Granadina coast, on both the Almeria and the Malaga side, it was never known what happened between the two boys as they disappeared over the horizon. Both men took the secret to their graves. On the shore, everyone waited for the competitors. Don Dionisio had not even looked at his daughter, never mind spoken to her since the slap, and waited anxiously for the local youngster to return. He couldn’t have cared less about his nephew’s fate. The best result would be that he drowned and that the family’s reputation stayed intact, or at least less besmirched.

After over an hour, they saw a shadow come towards the shore. Only one person, no trace of the other. Isabel was desperate for it to be Aurelio, but common sense dictated it was more likely Marcial. And so it was, the young man arrived exhausted to the shore.

He drowned, was the first thing he said when he finally got his breath back. I lost sight of him and couldn’t find him.

Isabel sat down on the sand. Marcial wasn’t saying anything unreasonable, but no tears would come, which could only mean one thing: Aurelio was still alive. The girl refused to go with them, she stayed there all night, covered by a blanket that her mother took to her, waiting while the stars twinkled in a sky that changed from blue to black, black to grey and grey to blue. It was well into the morning when her parents, accompanied by Marcial, came looking for her. She was exactly where they had left her, in the same position, with her face wet with tears that had finally come at dawn.  

They managed to get the girl up with great difficulty. They almost had to carry her from the beach to the house as they tried to console her. Then they saw him walk towards them. It wasn’t a ghost, no, it was Aurelio in his still-wet underwear. The girl, still crying, ran towards him. They hugged, they kissed, and they kissed again. She tasted the salt on his lips and he the salt of her tears.

Don Dionisio looked sidelong at Marcial who maintained that he had watched his nephew drown.

Coward, you didn’t take long to turn back. Was the first thing that Aurelio said as his future in-laws and past rival reached them. Uncle, do you have anything you want to say? Was the second.

He’d asked more out of pride than for want of an answer. Uncle and nephew looked at each other for a long while, all the desire to torment the man who had offended him the day before. When they got tired of that game, he spoke again.

I thought not. He put his arm around Isabel. Let’s go, my mother will want to see me, and you need to pack your bags.

Isabel’s mother followed the youngsters, she wanted to be alone with them to let them see how happy she was for them. She was certain her daughter would be happy. Don Dionisio and Marcial stayed behind, Marcial swearing that he had watched Aurelio drown.

I swear on my life, Don Dionisio, sir. He went under. I saw him go under!

Shut your damn mouth, he demanded with the same calm before the storm.

He’s got balls that nephew of yours, Don Dionisio! a fisherman had come up to them. We picked him up last night beyond the fishing line. If he had two full arms, he would have made it all the way to Melilla.

Do me a favour, Cipri.

Anything you say, Don Dionisio.

Take this one tonight and throw him overboard. Beyond the fishing line. Let him swim back to see if that makes him grow some balls.

The couple