4

The letters the children wrote had to travel a long way to reach the towns where they had lived with their families before the start of the war. The teacher showed them on a map the countries they would have to pass through to get to Spain and told them how big each country was, the rivers, mountains and even seas the letters would have to cross depending on whether they were travelling by sea, by land or by air.

Harmony thought, if they had taken fifteen days to get here, the letter would take the same, more or less, and, if her parents replied quickly, they would hear from them in about a month. But the teacher told them, in times of war, things were more complicated and it wasn’t possible to make such calculations, maybe the post wouldn’t get through or their parents wouldn’t be where they expected, so the best thing was to have patience. Harmony sighed and said OK and thought about Leo, whether he had any parents or family to write to. She asked the teacher about him, and she replied with great interest:

“Did you know him? Was he a friend of yours?”

“Was he…?”

Harmony felt a knot in her throat, but the teacher told her Leo hadn’t died, he’d been in hospital because he was sick when he arrived, he was better now and would soon be sent, like everybody else, to a centre for refugees. If she knew him, they could try to make sure they were sent to the same house, or at least to the same school, so he wouldn’t be so alone. Harmony said yes, she knew him, because, although she’d never spoken to him, it was as if she’d known him for a long time, a strange phenomenon she was unable to explain. That was why she found it easier to say yes to the teacher, nothing else, so she would think they had been friends before. And yet she had to explain this to her sister, because, although Rose was small, she was very clever and understood more than you would expect in a child her age. That must have been because she always went about looking at things with those lively eyes, always huddled up to Harmony, and didn’t miss a trick. What she couldn’t understand she stored in her memory, in the same way she would stuff in her pocket anything shiny she found on the ground – a little stone or a washer, insignificant items of no value, but she would pick them up, keep them in a box and take them out from time to time, gaze at them for a while and then put them back. She did the same with things she didn’t understand: she put them in the box of her memory and, just when your mind was distracted, she would ask a question, as she did that same day as they were getting off the bus and walking towards the house:

“How do you know Leo?”

Harmony explained she knew, without anyone having to tell her, why Leo hadn’t stopped crying that day the toys had been shared out and, when something like that happens, it means two people have an understanding and are friends, even though they’ve never met. Rose was thoughtful for a moment and then said:

“If I work out why he was crying, can I be his friend as well?”

Harmony thought Rose just wanted to play a guessing game and it wasn’t right to use Leo as a way of passing the time, but Rose was already asking a question:

“It wasn’t because of the toy, was it?”

She was about to say they shouldn’t be making a game out of this when Rose insisted:

“Was it because he doesn’t have a mother and father?”

Harmony thought Rose was really rather clever, but it was better not to fill her head with so many concerns, so she said it was, that was the reason. Rose became very content and started hopping about like a sparrow in search of food:

“Oh, how wonderful! Now I’m Leo’s friend as well!”

She let go of Harmony’s hand and started doing a kind of made-up dance. Whenever she was happy or angry, Rose would skip and turn somersaults, accompanying herself with a tune that sounded like a Galician pandeirada and, before her stay in the orphanage, with high-pitched yelps that pierced your eardrums, which was her way of expressing joy or rage. At home, they were used to this, their father had even given her most frequent displays names: the Dance of the Fierce Warrior, the Dance of the Wicked Witch, the Dance of Birds in Spring… There were lots, because Rose was always adapting her movements, although the tune stayed pretty much the same. Harmony would normally ask what the new dance was called, but she wasn’t in the mood that day and said in a serious voice:

“Come here and don’t let go of my hand without permission.”

Rose obeyed. She returned to Harmony’s side and explained:

“That was the Dance of New Friends, you know? I can’t wait for them to bring him back to school!”

Harmony, on the other hand, was starting to worry about Leo’s reappearance. What if he came back and sat in a corner, as he’d done on the boat? The teacher would tell her to go and talk to him. What would she say? What expression would Leo adopt when he saw her coming? Would he look at her without any hint of recognition? The teacher would say, “Aren’t you pleased to see your old friend, Leo?” And Leo would reply, “She’s no friend of mine, I don’t even know her.” And all the boys and girls in the class would exclaim, “Look at Harmony, she’s been fibbing to the teacher! She must like Leo, and that’s why she said she knew him…” And she would go red as a beetroot and not know what to do with herself. She began to think it might be better if they never brought him back to school, but then again she wanted him to return, it was something strange she couldn’t explain – she was afraid of him being there, and yet she wanted him to be there. She was sorry she’d ever told the teacher and Rose that she was his friend and even thought about taking it back. But, if she did, they might take Leo to a different school, and she might never see him again. The thought of this caused her heart to contract and made her want to cry…

After turning it over in her head, she got to the conclusion she would rather suffer the shame of not being recognized than run the risk of him being taken far away, to another city perhaps, and never seeing him again. So she decided to remain silent and wait to see what would happen.

Finally, one day, the teacher said:

“Harmony, your friend Leo’s coming back tomorrow.”

Harmony thought her heart would jump straight out of her chest and everybody would hear it thumping. She was glad when Rose caught the teacher’s attention by clapping her hands energetically:

“Oh, how wonderful, Leo’s coming back!”

That night, Harmony slept badly, restlessly. She dreamt a lot. She saw the letter she’d written to her parents as if it was a pigeon. It was a letter with the wings and head of a pigeon, or a pigeon with the body of a letter, it didn’t matter. It flew along and, from the ground, men in uniforms and with rifles shot at it and wounded it. The blood dripped from the chest of the pigeon-letter, but it carried on. It wasn’t long to go now before it would reach where her mother was working as a nurse, the pigeon hopped along, almost on the ground, it barely had the strength to fly. It had almost arrived when some dogs appeared and attacked it. The pigeon-letter just about managed to take flight, rising slowly from the ground, but flying low, and the dogs jumped at it, snatching feathers from its wings and tail, until, with one last effort, it climbed a little higher, where the dogs couldn’t reach… and then Harmony awoke, all sweaty and anxious. She drank a little water to calm herself down but, when she went back to sleep, the nightmares continued and she dreamt of Leo. He had been brought by some men in white coats as if he was mad and left in the middle of the school playground, surrounded by all the children, and she had to go over to give him something, she didn’t know what, but she had something for him in her hands and approached slowly with her arms outstretched so he could see what she was carrying. When she reached him, Leo closed his eyes, covered his face with his hands and said, “I don’t want anything from her, I don’t even know her…” So it was she spent the night, dreaming of a pigeon-letter and of Leo, and, when the first light of day peeped through the cracks in the shutters, Harmony was already awake.

She got out of bed and washed before Rose or any of the other children awoke. María do Mar asked if she was poorly or needed something – she was always very kind towards the children and worried about them as if they were her own, or younger brothers and sisters, she herself was still quite young, even though she dressed as an older woman. Harmony said she had to go over her lessons, she hadn’t had time the day before and hadn’t learned them properly. In effect, she went over them again, because she didn’t want to look stupid in front of Leo if the teacher asked her something. She also combed her hair much more carefully than on other days. As they were leaving, María do Mar gave her a curious look, stroked her cheek and asked again:

“Are you sure you’re OK, Harmony?”

Harmony said she was, took her sister by the hand and started walking.

As they were waiting for the school bus, Rose asked:

“What have you done to your hair?”

Harmony thought it was just as well that Rose asked indiscreet questions when the two of them were alone. This was a useful habit she had picked up in the orphanage: not discussing their own affairs in front of strangers, even if they were good people like the teacher or María do Mar. She replied she hadn’t done anything, but that wasn’t true. She’d been wetting the hair on her forehead and temples and then pressing it down with her hands so that, when it dried, it would go all curly. It was still wet at the moment but, on the way to school, it would dry and go curly. Rose said:

“It’s covered in frost like the branches of the trees.”

Harmony put her hand on her head and realized her hair was crackling like dry leaves. When she pulled on a lock, she saw that it was covered in flakes of ice. She quickly pushed her hair into the hood of her coat, praying to all the saints that it wouldn’t fall down the way leaves did and make her bald. Or at least – she prayed – not until after school.

With the warmth of her body, the ice melted and, on the bus, Harmony clasped her hair in her hands again, shaping it so she would have curls on her forehead and down the sides of her cheeks, which she knew suited her well. Rose kept on glancing at her, following all her movements as if there was nothing else to do. Harmony pretended not to notice because sometimes, if she didn’t look at her, Rose would be quiet. Even though she wasn’t very successful, she pretended to be busy going through her lessons, while clutching her hair in the other hand.

As they were arriving and Harmony, getting more and more nervous, was writhing about in her seat, touching her hair all the time to make sure she wasn’t bald, Rose leant over towards her. She did this whenever she was afraid or wanted to visit the bathroom and didn’t dare ask, or something else was the matter, so Harmony turned to see what it was. Rose lifted her face and observed:

“You look very pretty, Harmony.”

Harmony felt a knot in her throat. She grabbed her sister’s hand decisively and marched into the school.

There was Leo by the blackboard, standing next to the teacher. He was wearing a new coat and looked taller and a little less skinny than the last time she had seen him, but his eyes were still sad and black and shining, with those lashes that cast a shadow over the bags under his eyes. Harmony stood in the corridor, not knowing what to do, and the teacher called her:

“Come here, Harmony.”

She clutched her notebooks and textbook to her chest, where her heart was bashing out an overture. She went up to him and said:

“Hello, Leo!”

Leo, very seriously, held out his hand and said:

“Hello, Harmony!”

And Harmony realized he remembered her from before, from the boat, when they’d called to her to go out and say goodbye to her mother. Whenever anyone heard her name for the first time, they would ask, “You what?”, because Harmony was a strange name that people weren’t used to, and she would have to repeat it. Not Leo. He had noticed, just as she had noticed him among all the children on the ship, the only one who wasn’t crying, the saddest of them all, the one with the prettiest eyes. He pronounced her name as if he’d known her all his life.

She shook his hand the way the teacher had told them to greet grown-ups. Harmony never shook hands with anybody. Her parents’ friends would turn up at the house or at school and give her a kiss and, in the orphanage, they hadn’t had any visitors. But Leo seemed used to doing this. He was serious, but normal, unashamed, and shook her hand very firmly. She did the same. Then they heard the voice of Rose, who was tugging on Leo’s coat-tails:

“I’m Rose, Leo.”

Leo let go of Harmony’s hand and smiling – smiling for the first time since they’d set eyes on him on the quay that day, which seemed so long ago – he patted her on the cheek and said:

“Hello, Rose!”

The teacher put him in the front row, and they all took their places. Harmony stared out of the window. It was snowing, but she had the impression rays of sunlight were glinting in among the snowflakes, because the air and the walls and even the schoolchildren, everything in fact looked far more luminous and distinct.