been acquitted,” he said, “but who can take the chance? Persons have been known to languish in prison for as long as 14 years before they might be pronounced free of guilt or blame. I couldn’t risk it, don Alonso,” he said in resignation.
The old man was silent for a long time, and when he responded, it was with a voice full of sadness. “I never wanted you to work for the Inquisition,” said don Alonso, pulling his cloak about his shoulders. “I felt it unseemly, Pedro. Baptism has done little more than convert a considerable proportion of our people from infidels outside the Church to heretics inside it. And these searching inquiries into our conduct, and the punishments meted out for those of us found guilty of backsliding, are not only unseemly but criminal,” he said. “I didn’t want you to have anything to do with it.”
“And I thought of my job as only that of a scrivener,” Pedro said. “I was lying to myself, don Alonso,” he said sadly. “Now I feel like La Susanna, carrying on an intrigue with a Christian, disclosing our secrets, and bringing all to ruin. My interests were only in manuscripts and the law,” he said. “What have I done?”
“You’ve done nothing,” his father-law stated emphatically. “You give yourself more blame than you’re due. But I know your value, Pedro” he said. “You can do whatever you put your mind to. You’ll start on a new course and we’ll be partners.”
“But passage, don Alonso. How do we gain passage?”
“Everything’s for sale here,” his father-in-law responded as he joined Pedro at the balcony’s entrance, “titles of nobility, the offices of regidor and jurado, letters of legitimization for the sons of priests. Everything. The crown needs our money,” he said gesturing with his hand as though holding a fistful of coins. “My God, Pedro,” he said, “what does don Felipe owe, 37,000,000 duats? All grants have been suspended, Pedro. He can’t pay his bills. Don Felipe needs our money. It won’t be difficult to gain your passage,” he said with the air of one who has learned how to deal successfully and shrewdly in the world of commerce and politics.
For a few moments they stood looking at each other before Pedro’s father-in-law continued. “You’ll leave tomorrow, Pedro, and Tonio will see you to the coast.”
“I don’t see how we can go, don Alonso,” Pedro responded. “Catalina . . . Catalina can’t travel.”
“You’re right, of course,” his father-in-law said as he held back the curtain to get a better view of the night. “And under ordinary circumstances she’d remain with me until she was better. But she’s like her mother, Pedro,” his father-in-law said regarding his daughter, “seemingly fragile, but strong when it comes to her family. Her place,” he said, “is with you. You must try to distract her from her melancholy. Stay away from the towns and villages as much as you can, Pedro, and buy your provisions along the road. Avoid the milliones,” he said, referring to the taxes which were imposed upon everything one ate. “You should be able to buy everything you need along the way. I’m going to the corrals now,” he said, throwing the skirt of his cloak over his shoulders. “I must see to the mules.”
“I’ll go with you,” Pedro said, gathering his cloak about him.
“No,” his father-in-law responded, while taking his broad brimmed hat from its place near the glass doors. “You must get ready for tomorrow and there must not be too much noise about it,” said this shrewd and careful man. “You’re a good man, Pedro,” he continued, with the tears again welling in his eyes. “You must not grieve,” he said as he began to provide the advice which a father must give to his son. “You must look for happiness,” he said placing his hand on Pedro’s shoulder. “You must accept your lot, Pedro. You must say to yourself, ‘Perhaps it was for the best.’ I hope and pray that all goes well with you,” he said as he readied himself to leave the salon. “You’ll always be as my own to me, Pedro, and I want only for your safety.”
Pedro entered the gallery and watched his father-in-law as he closed the street door below him. As he stood on Catalina’s balcony of joys and sorrows, he recalled with an effusion of emotion that moment in which he had sat there with Diego looking over the tiled rooftops and spires of the ancient city and toward the Tagusian moat. He had often sat there with his father-in-law, listening to the music being sung at the cathedral, but on that particular evening with Diego there had been no music, the hushed village seemingly awaiting a momentous event.
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The sky had been a ghostly rose and violet in color, lilac shadowed with majestic serenity. Pedro and Diego had been sitting there quietly while Pedro engaged in the long process of filling the bowl of his pipe with tobacco he had taken from a pouch in the pocket of his shirt. Then, suddenly, without warning, an incredible flock of perhaps a hundred or more swallows, swooped down out of the sky to the top of the balcony and then off again into the amethyst heavens. They flew in a line, one after another. At times, the swallows came within inches of their faces, the glossy blue-black on their upper parts contrasting beautifully with the white on their outer tail quills. They continued in this manner, swooping down with a delicate grace, flicking the pools of street water with their dark wings and then, with a shrill twitter, returning to the open sky. They continued like this for many minutes during which Diego and his father seemed to be members of the flock, participants in their aerial display.
“Papa, Papa! Look at them, look at them!” Diego had squealed. “Where’d they come from?” he asked, as he peered into the heavens, hoping that by some miracle they would return.
“They’re coming home, Diego,” his father had replied as he returned to the task of filling his pipe. “Home from the wilderness where they nest during the winter. I’ve not seen it, Diego,” he said, “but it’s called Las Marismas—the tidelands—and it’s a place where millions of land, water, and shore birds go to find food during our long winters. Birds come there from Asia and Africa and from all over Europe. Geese from Denmark, starlings from Germany, and the beautiful white egret from West Africa, among many, many others. It’s said they have purple herons, and bee-eaters and hoopes without number. Someday, perhaps you’ll see it, Diego,” he had said, not realizing the prophecy of his words. “It’s near Sevilla, but my travels aren’t likely to take me there.
“Birds, Diego!” he had exclaimed. “It’s all about birds. Each town and village is watched over by a guardian bird which, according to the day and hour, renders the town pleasing, ravishing, or disquieting. I’m not sure what bird guards your grandfather’s home, but Carmena is watched over by a dove. Adam is said to have named them and perhaps this is true, for they’re ancient auguries of that which is favorable or unfavorable,” he had said, beginning one of those tales for which he was justly famous.
“When Noah’s ark landed at Mount Ararat after the great flood, he let loose a raven which flew off into a blackened sky. For countless days, he awaited its arrival, but it did not return. He then sent out a dove, and it returned because it couldn’t find a place to land. Later,” he had continued, “he sent out the same dove two more times. On the second flight, it returned with an olive branch in its mouth. It was a sign, Diego, a sign to Noah that he, his family, and all the animals could come out of the ark and begin a new life.
“Good old Noah,” he had continued. “He was the only righteous person of his time. And he took enough birds and animals aboard his ark to re-populate the earth. He knew, as we’ve all come to know, that birds are the best indication of a good climate and country. And now it’s said that the birds of the monsoon are seen as messengers of hope, for if they come, they foretell a year of plenty. If they don’t come, people know that there’ll be famine throughout the land. They’re symbols of all things wild and free and are a blessing. We’ve only to read their signs, Diego. We’ve only to read their signs.
“Over there, mi ijiko,” he had said, gesturing towards the northwest, “beyond Carmena and Avila, that’s where your abuelo and I saw an enormous flock of stilts coming from the north, from France where they’re said to nest. You should have seen them, Diego,” he had said with enthusiasm. “There were hundreds of them, the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Their necks