“But Papa and Mama didn’t help Hugo. You did. And Papa and Mama are mean and angry all the time, but you are always sweet.”
“I helped Hugo to help you. You are my shining star. Your parents are strict and that is a good thing. My husband whom you never knew—your father’s father—was very strict and that is why your father is such a successful man. I’m an old woman and I have the luxury of being a sweet grandmother and nothing else.”
“You’re not an old woman!”
“I am. How old do you think I am?”
Ferrol screwed his face into a hard piece of thinking. “Forty?”
“My boy! Your parents are older than that. I am seventy years old.”
“That’s old.”
“I know!”
The boy frowned and Izabel asked him what was wrong.
“I don’t want you to die.”
She reached for his little hands. “What do you know about dying?”
“Hugo and I saw a horse die and last year we saw a cow die.”
“Well, I don’t plan on dying—at least anytime soon.”
“Will you promise you won’t?”
“That is a very difficult promise to make.”
Tears formed in his eyes. “Please?”
“Very well, I promise.”
*
At the age of twelve, Ferrol and Hugo, still good friends, returned to Lirio for the Christmas break. Both boys had grown like weeds, but Ferrol was taller and stronger. Both boys played football and rugby, but it was Ferrol who was the stand-out athlete and it was Ferrol who was, by far, the better student. In fact, Ferrol was considered by his teachers to be the finest student in his class with a particular aptitude in mathematics and science. The physical and intellectual divide that was forming between them wasn’t a problem for Ferrol, but Hugo was beginning to harbor resentments. Theirs was an all-boys school, but when they were allowed to go into Segovia for an afternoon every now and again, it was Ferrol’s refined, dashing looks that attracted the girls, not Hugo’s coarser, darker countenance.
Over Christmas, their old boyish games of hide-and-seek in the nooks and crannies of the castle, or pretending to be knights repelling invaders, no longer held sway and they were becoming bored.
Sitting in the kitchen after the cook made them lunch, Hugo asked, “What do you want to do?”
Ferrol tossed it back to him. “I don’t know, what do you want to do?”
It was chilly, not much above freezing outside, and neither of them wanted to ride the mini-tractors or horses.
Ferrol got irritated when he heard Hugo say one more time, “I don’t know what to do. What do you want to do?” and Ferrol declared that they might as well tackle some of the holiday reading their literature teacher had assigned.
Hugo was wholly uninterested and told Ferrol that if he was serious about reading, then he was going home.
“Fine, go home,” Ferrol said.
“Fine, I will,” Hugo said, storming off.
Ferrol got a book and hurried across the big, open courtyard to the warmth of the western tower where his grandmother lived. She answered her door and with a look of delight, invited him to join her in the comfort of her sitting room with its strong log fire.
“What is the book you have there?” she asked.
“It’s called, La Roja Insignia Del Valor, The Red Badge of Courage,” he said, adding the English translation to impress her.
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s by an American called Stephen Crane,” he said. “It’s about a young soldier in the American Civil War. Our teacher assigned it.”
“There are so many wonderful Spanish books,” she said. “Why read an American book, especially one I’ve never heard of?”
“We are studying courage and valor. The soldier’s name is Henry. He starts off as a coward in battle. I haven’t finished it yet, but I think he’s going to be a hero in the end. I’ll have to write an essay.”
“If you want to read about courage, you should be reading Don Quixote.”
“How many times can you read Don Quixote?” Ferrol asked.
“You may have a point. Would I like this book of yours?”
“I think so, Grandmother. It’s really nice.”
“Well, come over here by the fire. Sit on the cushion while you read. I shall carry on with my needlepoint.”
*
On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Ferrol and Hugo decided to play inside the largest barn on the estate, where bales of hay were stacked for the winter. It was Hugo’s father who had been in charge of the baling operation in the autumn, and all of his family, with the exception of Hugo who had already departed for boarding school, had participated in the stacking. Work horses were stabled in one end of the barn, and their shuffling and soft neighing added a soundtrack to their game. They hid behind hay bales, playing at war, shooting at each other with a pair of Ferrol’s BB guns. They were separated enough that an on-target shot hurt, but didn’t break the skin, and in a rare display of caution, they wore safety glasses from the wood-working shop. When they tired of getting stung by BBs, they climbed the wooden ladder to the loft and lay on a bed of hay and looked out the loading hatch to see what they could see around the estate.
After a while, Ferrol spied a girl named Mariana coming out of the milking barn. She was the daughter of one of the casual workers employed by the Gaytans, helping her mother over the holidays. Both boys knew her. She was a year or two older than them, not very bright, but exceptionally well developed for her age.
Ferrol aimed down the sight of his pistol.
“Do you think I can hit her in her tit?” he asked.
“How could you miss?” Hugo said. “They’re huge.”
“Come on! Look how far away she is,” Ferrol said. “It’s a hard shot. What will you give me if I hit her?”
“Well, I don’t have any money, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
“I don’t want money. If I hit her,
