Chapter Forty-One A Table by the Window
Luis’s eyes were the same green colour as his mother’s.
At the age of seventy-two, she dressed formally, like an Andalusian aristocrat from another era.
Her silver hair was put up with an Art Nouveau pin designed as a cluster of irises with faded blue petals.
She wore a white silk shirt, pleated trousers and black sandals.
Though she was an imposing figure, Danny’s instinct was to feel great affection for her if for no more complicated a reason than she was the mother of the man he loved.
With a slight bow Danny handed her the bottle of wine and marzipan chocolates, which appeared absurd in her elegant hands.
Luis’s hands were behind his back. He seemed to have regressed to the role of a well-behaved boy who knew his place.
His mother’s name was Cristina and although she spoke a few words of crisp English, she preferred to speak Spanish.
Trying to win her over Danny pointed at the hairpin and told her how much he liked it.
She thanked him, overlooking his accent, before gesturing for them to follow her.
They passed through a once-grand dining room with wood-panelled walls.
A crystal chandelier was wrapped in protective sheets.
There were marks on the floor and shadows on the walls where furniture had once stood, and art once hung.
Only in the kitchen did the apartment come alive, filled with potted plants, books, newspapers and ashtrays.
It appeared as if Cristina had retreated inside her own home, abandoning entire rooms until her existence revolved around a small table by the window with a view of the sea.
The table was attractively laid with a lace tablecloth, embroidered cotton napkins, hand-painted ceramic plates, heavy silver cutlery and stemless chato glasses for wine.
In the middle stood a majolica vase filled with delicate white poppies and a wicker basket of unevenly sliced pan manolete.
For dinner Cristina had prepared two stews.
There was a vegetarian tagarninas stew made from oyster thistle with wild garlic, in addition to an arroz negro with cuttlefish.
Luis carried the cast-iron dishes from the oven and the three of them sat so close their knees brushed against each other.
Danny helped himself to both dishes. They were delicious, he said.
Luis led the conversation, translating only at natural breaks.
As they neared the end of the meal Cristina reached out towards Danny and Luis explained, ‘My mother would like to hold your hands.’
Putting down his knife and fork Danny gladly gave his hands to her, wondering if there was a spiritual dimension to the request. The opposite seemed to be true; she held his hands as though trying to understand him as a physical reality.
Danny had never cared for his hands which were calloused from hospital work with his nails clipped short for reasons of hygiene.
Luis spoke to his mother for a time, while she continued to hold Danny’s hands, and he could feel her reactions to the exchange.
She let go, returning her hands to her legs.
Luis took a sip of wine before translating.
‘I invited my mother to our wedding. She can’t come. She thanks us for the invitation but said she is too old to leave Cádiz.’
Luis had opened his heart and was now processing the rejection he had feared.
They ate in silence for a time until, with a sharper tone, Luis turned back to his mother.
Danny couldn’t follow the meaning but even without understanding the vocabulary the hurt was unmistakable.
A few times he caught the Spanish word for father.
In previous conversations Luis had described cutting off contact with his dad many years ago.
This winter he had discovered that his father had long since moved out of the town, divorcing Cristina and marrying another woman.
Luis had made it clear to Danny that even if his father sought a reconciliation and wanted to come to the wedding, he would not be welcome.
He would find a way to undermine the ceremony, to ridicule and belittle it.
He was a destructive force. Sounding upset, Luis summarized the conversation for Danny.
‘My father is in a nursing home in Motril near Granada. When my mother visits, he pretends not to remember her because he is too proud to acknowledge her kindness which he does not deserve.’
Danny asked, ‘What were you disagreeing about?’
Ever the lawyer, Luis pointed out the inconsistency in his mother’s reasoning.
‘She turned down our wedding invitation because she said she is too old to leave Cádiz. But she does leave, once a month, to visit my father, a man who pretends not to know who she is, a man who stole from her, cheated on her, hit her. Yet she still dotes upon him. She will travel to be by his side, but she won’t come to our wedding. ’
Danny observed, ‘Granada isn’t far, though?’
Luis refused to accept this excuse.
‘She doesn’t own a car. She takes the train to Sevilla, catches a bus to Granada and another bus to Motril. It probably takes six hours, all to visit a man who won’t say her name.’
Abruptly Luis stood up to leave. Cristina remained seated, looking up.
For a moment Danny imagined her standing up, wrapping her arms around her son to stop him from running away again.
Perhaps she imagined it too. Luis left the table without another word.
Unsure what to do Danny remained seated.
Cristina lit a cigarette and indicated that Danny should follow.
He nodded, standing up and walking to the doorway where he stopped, turning back to Cristina.
Impulsively, Danny fetched an ashtray from the windowsill and placed it on the table for her.
Glancing up at him, she noticed the silver crucifix around his neck.
She recognized it, reached out and touched it. It had once belonged to her father.
Outside Danny hurried to catch up with Luis, who was already some distance away. Reaching his side, as they passed through the gates of Parque Genovés, Danny touched his arm. Luis didn’t slow down.
‘Your mother will come to our wedding.’
Luis shook his head as if Danny simply hadn’t understood the conversation.
‘Luis, listen to me. She wore irises in her hair. And she dressed up for dinner. She made us two stews. She laid the table with silver cutlery and embroidered napkins. She filled a vase with poppies. And she held my hand. The way she held it, it felt kind and curious. She’s nervous about coming to England.
Nervous that everyone at the wedding will judge her.
The same way my parents were scared when they met you.
As for your father, maybe she visits him because even though he was a bad husband, she’s a good wife.
She’s a romantic, like you. She swore a vow to him no matter how badly he behaved. ’
Luis stopped walking.
‘You like her?’
Danny nodded.
‘Very much.’
‘We were inseparable, once.’
Danny replied, ‘I can tell.’
‘I miss her.’
‘She misses you too.’
Weighing whether to go back, Luis sat on a park bench. Danny joined him, placing an arm across his back. The pair of them waited while a young couple on their first date wandered through the tropical plants and ancient trees hoping for a kiss.