Bartolomé Read Free

return, to carry him through the streets of Madrid on his back, so that he could see for himself all the wonders of the city.
    Bartolomé crawled under the bed. It wasn’t really necessary. Isabel was so distracted, she never gave him so much as a thought.
    â€˜What about the house?’ she asked. ‘We can’t just leave it empty.’
    â€˜I’m going to settle that this evening,’ said Juan calmly. ‘Tomáz has been wanting to have a proper tavern on the village square for ages.’
    â€˜He hasn’t got the money to rent a house!’
    â€˜I know. So he’ll have to do me a favour instead.’
    â€˜What kind of a favour?’
    â€˜He’ll have to look after Bartolomé.’
    â€˜Bartolomé!’ The blood drained from Isabel’s face, as it did from Bartolomé’s, where he was hiding under the bed.
    â€˜We can’t take him with us,’ Juan explained quickly. ‘You told me yourself, the last time I came home, what happens when a stranger sees him. Ana is going to need a husband soon. She’s clever and pretty and strong. She’ll make a good match in Madrid. With a bit of luck, she could even marry a merchant or a master craftsman. And I need to find an apprenticeship for Joaquín. But the masters don’t take on just anyone. They demand good money. And if Bartolomé stays on here with Tomáz, that’s one less mouth to feed in Madrid.
    Under the bed, Bartolomé reddened with shame and anger. How could his father talk about him as if he were not his son but some worthless object!
    â€˜But he’s our son too!’ cried Isabel loudly. She knew that Juan disliked Bartolomé, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
    Juan looked his wife in the eye. Why did she love this particular child so much?
    â€˜I know that,’ he said. ‘But he’ll be better off with Tomáz than in Madrid. Cripples are forced to beg at the church gates there. People trample on them and jeer them.’
    â€˜But we wouldn’t let that happen,’ protested Isabel.
    â€˜Some day we’ll be old, and then we wouldn’t be able to protect him. And we can’t ask Joaquín to take on such a responsibility. With Tomáz, he can make himself useful in the tavern. Tomáz has no children of his own. He’ll get fond of Bartolomé and he’ll soon think of him as his own son,’ said Juan, but his voice had a hard edge to it. Isabel should be sensible, he told her.
    â€˜It would break my heart to leave him behind. He’s still so small.’
    â€˜He’s ten years old. At that age, Joaquín was already herding the goats. You have to think of your other, healthy children now. You can’t spoil their chances of a better life.’ Juan stood up from the bed and took Isabel in his arms. ‘This is the best way, believe me,’ he said reassuringly.
    Bartolomé was listening, waiting for his mother to fight his corner. He wanted to go to Madrid with the others. Tomáz would work him like a slave and would make no allowances for his poor, weak, crooked body. Bartolomé went rigid with fear. Why didn’t his mother say something?
    In the end, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He crawled out from under the bed, pulled himself up on a chest and screeched like an abandoned young goat for his mother. Tears streamed down his face. Isabel pulled out of Juan’s embrace and ran to her son. She knelt down in front of him, trying to dry his tears with the corner of her apron.
    â€˜He heard it all,’ she stammered.
    Juan turned around, opened the door and stood on the threshold. Outside, he could see Joaquín, with the donkey and cart, surrounded by a crowd of amazed friends. His pretty Ana was standing among the girls at the well. For him, she was the loveliest of them all. Beatríz was sitting a few metres from him on the ground. She was playing with Manuel, telling him about the