The Last Song

them, that I was too young to concern myself with such matters. She thinks that I am too young to understand anything!”
    Sofia stopped in her tracks, oblivious of the people who bumped into us as they passed, muttering foul curses. “I told you to keep your voice down,” she whispered urgently.
    “I felt so sorry for the young mother and her babe,” I said. “What’s going to happen to them?”
    “Save your sympathy for those who deserve it.”
    She spat on the ground, her dark face bristling with hate. It was like looking at a stranger.
    “If you must know,” she said quietly, “as far as I am concerned, those prisoners, those Marranos, those pigs deserve everything they get! They profane the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Those Conversos pretend to worship our Lord but secretly they practice their cursed Jewish customs. They commit heresy against the holy church. The holy Inquisition roots them out and punishes them for their sins. The sambenito, the tunic of shame, is fitting garb for them.”
    “Why would so many of them profane our Lord? That woman with the baby – she was so young. How could she – ”
    “No more questions!” Sofia said, hastening her steps so that I had to pick up my skirts and break into a trot to keep up with her.
    By the time we arrived at the Bisagra Gate it was late in the afternoon. The gentle breezes felt fresh and cool on my face. Chattering people were waiting their turn to pass through the city gates to leave Toledo for theirhomes in the countryside. It seemed that every guild was there. A white-haired, wrinkled old woman was harnessed like a donkey to a cart festooned with laces of every kind, selling her wares. A tanner balanced a pole tied with animal skins on his shoulders. A dwarf, dressed in the colorful clothes of a jester, was turning cartwheels in the dust.
    Our villa was located not far beyond the gates. Sofia and I didn’t speak much as we trudged along the scrubby path to the estate. We saw laborers making their way toward the houses of their masters. Litters on the shoulders of sturdy slaves were transporting fine ladies back to their homes after spending the day visiting friends in Toledo. Cavaliers on horseback kicked up so much dust that it was difficult to breathe. I couldn’t get the image of the young mother and her child out of my mind.
    Yussuf, the Moorish slave in charge of the other servants in the house, opened the door to us. He bowed deeply.
    “Doña Isabel! Welcome home. Your lady mother is asking for you.”
    “Where is she?”
    “Doña Catarina is waiting for you in the rose garden. She asked me to take you to her as soon as you got home.”

    Mama was sitting among the blooms behind the house, her needlework in her lap. Unicorns and courtiers in bright garments were spread over her knees. Her eyes were closed and she was snoring gently.
    I kissed her cheek.
    She woke with a start. “I must have fallen asleep.”
    “You did.”
    “You’re home, finally,” she said. “I was getting worried. I told Sofia that I wanted you home early. It’s unsafe for a maiden to be on the streets of Toledo after dark.”
    “I know, Mama. We left Brianda’s house on time, but we had a long wait at the city gates. There were a lot of people there.”
    I felt bad about lying, but I had no choice. I didn’t want her to be angry with Sofia or with me.
    Mama folded her tapestry and stood up.
    “I’ll go into the house with you,” I said. “I want to lie down before supper. I have an aching head.”
    “An aching head?” She placed her hand over my brow.
    “Your forehead is cool. Do you feel any pain? I haven’t heard of any new cases of the plague, but we can’t be too careful.”
    “I am fine, Mama. I am just a little tired. What did you want to talk to me about?”
    She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up. The sun had just begun to set, burning up the sky with hidden fire. “It’s getting late. We’ll talk tomorrow. It’s time for your bath.”
    “I am too tired. I’ll bathe tomorrow. I’ll be fresher for church on Sunday.”
    “No! You must bathe tonight before the sun sets.”
    “Why can’t I wait to have my bath until Saturday morning? Why do you always insist that I bathe on Fridays, before sunset? I am old enough to decide what I want to do!”
    “So many questions. Just do as you are told.”
    I could tell by her tone that it was useless to argue with her.
    “Your dress is splattered with mud. Please change.