3

One day, the teacher at school said, “Today’s task is to write a letter to your families. First, write it down in your notebooks with a pencil, and then I’ll correct your mistakes, and you can copy it out in ink on another piece of paper.”

She explained they had to start by recording the name of the city and the date, then leave a blank line, then include the name of the person they were writing to, then another blank line, and start by saying, “Dear Mother and Father” or “Dear Uncle and Aunt” or whoever it might be. She also explained how they were supposed to address the envelope and said she would be sure to buy stamps for everybody, and the next day, in break, they would take the letters to the Post Office so they could leave immediately.

Harmony became so nervous when she realized she was finally going to write to her mother that she got in a tizzy and had to ask twice where the name and date went. In part, it was Rose’s fault, she kept pulling her arm and saying, “Tell Mummy this, tell Daddy that…” Harmony told her to be quiet, she had to think and, if Rose kept on bothering her, she wouldn’t be able to write anything but, when she’d finished, Rose could include a drawing at the end of the letter. She’d better get practising so she could make sure the drawing was nice and their parents could see how well she drew and what wonderful pencils she had.

Rose said, “I’m going to draw a hen.” She lifted her arms and moved her head the way hens do when they shake their feathers. Rose had this amazing ability to copy the movements of people, animals and even plants. She would sometimes say, “The tree was like this…” and position her arms and body in such a way that people could see she was referring to a pine, a willow or a cypress. She found it easier to perform the thing than to learn its name, and so sometimes at home or at school they would shout at her or pretend not to understand, so she wouldn’t keep on doing it. But the truth was, whenever Rose lifted her arms into the air and copied the movements of a tree or a bird, it felt like you could see the willow branches swaying in the wind or the swallows darting across the sky. That day, however, Harmony wasn’t in the mood to appreciate her younger sister’s qualities and said:

“Well, pipe down then, and get on with your drawing!”

Even though Rose became quiet, intent on drawing a hen that would fit on the piece of paper, Harmony couldn’t start writing. There were twenty things she wanted to tell her parents all at once. She wanted to tell them about the toys they had received, the new coat and the leather cap with ear flaps, all the snow and how they built snowmen, how the house didn’t have a vine or rabbits, but it did have a garden with lots of trees, and they had lots of new friends, and María do Mar and the teacher were very kind, everybody treated them well, better than in the orphanage, there was no way of comparing them, they didn’t always understand, but you could see from the way they looked at you… She wanted to ask as well about all the things that buzzed inside her mind and kept her awake at night, but she couldn’t push out or find a solution for.

She didn’t know where to start. She glanced at the clock on the wall opposite, above the teacher’s desk, and saw how the hands went around and all the other children applied themselves diligently to the task – even Rose, who was drawing a red, round animal with two feet and lots of toes, with no head or beak or anything, but with a body full of lines that must have been feathers, and down below some more circles, also with feet, which must have been chicks, all in different colours and huddled up to the hen.

The teacher realized she wasn’t writing and, to help her, said:

“Don’t worry about your handwriting or any mistakes, Harmony, we can correct them later.”

Harmony answered “yes” and ran her pencil again over the word “Leningrad” and the date, pretending she was writing, but not knowing where to start.

The teacher said:

“You can finish now, it’s time to copy them out.”

The children handed over their pieces of paper, and the teacher corrected them in a low voice, showing them with a red pencil what they had to change. When almost everybody had finished, under “Dear Mother and Father”, Harmony quickly wrote:

Mother, we wanted to come out to say goodbye when you called for us, but they wouldn’t let us, they said the ship was about to leave. Don’t worry, we’re well, Aunt wasn’t right, we know you think more about us than about politics, and thanks to you and Father we’ll all be much happier when you do come to fetch us. Don’t think we didn’t want to see you, Mother dear, Father will tell you, we were waiting for you until the last minute, but we knew you were looking after the wounded so they could go back to fighting and everything would finish sooner, or perhaps they wouldn’t let you past, the way they did to Pardo de Cela’s wife, but it doesn’t matter because they’re not going to cut off our heads, everybody here is very kind, better than in the orphanage…

She was writing this when the teacher asked:

“Have you finished, Harmony? Otherwise, you won’t have time to copy it out.”

Harmony replied:

“I’m almost there.”

And she added:

The others have finished writing. Mother, Father dear, I love you lots, don’t be angry with us, come soon, lots of kisses and hugs, from Rose as well, who sends you a hen.

Harmony took her notebook to the teacher, who started reading, holding the red pencil in the air, but without correcting anything. Then, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief as if they were itching, she said:

“I’ll correct your mistakes some other day, Harmony. Don’t copy it out, just send it the way it is.”

The teacher cut the page out of the notebook, taking care not to rip it, and gave her an envelope on which to write her parents’ name and address.

Since there was still some time left, Harmony wrote on Rose’s drawing, “This is a hen sent to you by Rose with lots of kisses.”

She was about to tell Rose to make it a little yellow so it looked more like a real hen, but then she remembered that people called her parents “Reds” and thought perhaps Rose had remembered this as well, and that was why she had made the hen that colour. She asked her, and Rose replied:

“Hens are like this.”

Harmony said that was fine and she was sure their parents would love this red hen surrounded by all its chicks.