Bartolomé Read Free Page A

king, whom they were sure to see every day.
    There was a better future for everyone in Madrid. Only not for Bartolomé. How was Juan going to make his wife understand that, in the big city, cripples were mocked and abused – not just stared at, the way they were in the village, but spat on and humiliated by the indifferent masses. Behind his back, he could hear the despairing tears of the child.
    â€˜Take me with you, take me with you,’ Bartolomé cried again and again.
    Isabel tried in vain to comfort him.
    In the end, Juan could bear it no longer. He turned around and said, ‘If we take you with us, nobody must see you. You’ll have to stay in our apartment, day in, day out.’
    â€˜Yes, Papa.’
    â€˜And if anyone comes to visit, you’ll have to go into the back room.’
    â€˜Yes, Papa.’ Bartolomé would promise anything, if only he could go with them to Madrid.
    Juan tried once more to persuade his son. ‘You’d be better off here in the village.’
    But Bartolomé only shook his head silently. He didn’t want to stay behind alone in the village. He belonged with his family. He was a Carrasco too.

Departure
    VERY early next morning, they left the village. Isabel wondered if it was to be a parting for ever. She’d spent her whole life in this little place with its white houses and its stony fields and its olive and orange groves. How would her family get on in the big city?
    Joaquín and Ana went ahead and led the donkey, which patiently pulled the heavily laden cart. Isabel and Juan followed behind the cart, Isabel with Manuel wrapped up in a bundle on her back, and Juan holding Beatríz by the hand. When the little girl got tired and cranky from all the walking, Juan lifted her up for a while on to the donkey’s back. Bartolomé was being shaken from side to side as he sat on the cart, stuck in among the family’s possessions: the bed, the table, the chairs, their household things and clothes.
    They’d started out early in the morning, but now the hot sun was beating down on the little caravan. They planned to stop at the next inn, in the next village, for a rest and to let the noonday heat pass. Bartolomé stared longingly down the road, watching out for a church spire. His tongue felt like a leather cloth in his dry mouth. He didn’t dare to ask for water. The water in the canteen was for the other children and for his mother, who had to walk. At last he spied, in the shimmering heat, the outline of a spire and several roofs.
    â€˜A village!’ he called, stretching out his arm.
    Joaquín and Ana hastened their steps. They could hardly wait to rest in the shade. Ana smacked the donkey impatiently on its sweat-drenched flank to hurry it up.
    â€˜Whoa!’ called Juan suddenly from behind. The donkey stood stock still and the cart creaked to a halt. Ana and Joaquín turned around, wondering what was going on. Juan approached the cart and reached for the reins.
    â€˜Does anyone want a drink?’ he asked.
    They all shook their heads. The water in the leather waterbag was lukewarm by now and tasted brackish. Soon they’d get ice-cold fresh water from a deep village well.
    Juan took a slug himself and wiped the drops of water from his chin with the back of his hand. Then he offered the waterbag to Bartolomé.
    â€˜Drink up,’ he ordered him. ‘Drink till you’re no longer thirsty.’
    Bartolomé did as he was told, though he didn’t understand why he had to finish the stale-tasting water. Juan waited patiently. After Bartolomé had given him back the water-bag, Juan opened one of the chests. It was empty, except for one blanket.
    â€˜Climb in,’ he commanded.
    Bartolomé gave his father a horrified look. Was he supposed to crawl into this little chest?
    â€˜Go on!’ said Juan curtly.
    â€˜Juan,’ protested Isabel softly.
    â€˜From now on, he’ll have to stick