Golden Earrings by Belinda Alexandra Page A

we don’t eat some days. Our family needs five pesetas a day to exist on, but even with both my husband and I working from morning to night, the most we ever make is four.’ The woman fell silent for a moment, and took a breath before continuing. ‘I lost my poor little Ignacio because we couldn’t afford medicine.’
    ‘It will take more than a strike to save us,’ a male voice said.
    All eyes in the room turned to the doorway, where Papá was standing with Anastasio. My father was pale-faced, stricken. It was the same look that he had worn the night my mother died.
    ‘They are calling up the reservists for Morocco,’ he said.
    Cries of horror rang through the room. For several months, skirmishes between Spanish troops in Morocco and Riffian tribes had been intensifying. Spain had an international mandate in Morocco, and there was a fear that the French, who also had interests in the Rif, would take over the protectorate if Spain’s army proved incapable of maintaining order. It was only later that I came to understand the politics. What I saw that day, from the way my father grasped Anastasio around the shoulders, was that he was afraid that not only reservists would be sent to Morocco but conscripts too.
    My mind shifted to Amadeu, who had lost his legs in Cuba and now had no choice but to beg. I remembered his words, When our poor families saw us off at the dock, they were farewelling most of us forever , and felt something I didn’t understand bearing down on me: a premonition of doom.
    My terror was echoed by the women around me. The state of the soldiers who had returned from the wars in Cuba and the Philippines was imprinted on many of their memories.
    ‘They are going to take our husbands again!’ cried Juana. ‘But Antoni has already served. Our youngest child is less than a year old.’
    The woman with the baby pursed her lips before asking, ‘Like last time? With no means for a wife and children to live on while their men are away?’
    ‘And without compensation for disability,’ said Teresa through gritted teeth. ‘Like poor Amadeu.’
    ‘And what about our sons?’ screamed another woman. ‘My twins have just turned eighteen. They’ve been called up for military training.’
    ‘It’s only the reservists for now,’ said Anastasio gravely. ‘They say it’s only for police action. But from the numbers that are being called up, it seems they are expecting heavy fighting. I suspect it’s a matter of time before the rest of us are called.’
    ‘But if you can pay, they won’t take your sons,’ Papá added. ‘You can get them exempted from military training.’ For all he had suffered in his life, it was the first time my father had sounded so bitter.
    ‘How much must you pay?’ asked a woman with wiry hair that stuck out in all directions. ‘I’ll sell myself if it will save my sons.’
    ‘Fifteen hundred pesetas ,’ Papá replied.
    The room fell into a shocked silence. It was more money than any of these women would make in three years; for some, more than they would make in their entire working lives. Many of the women had several sons. Even if they could, by some miracle, obtain fifteen hundred pesetas , which son would they choose to save?
    ‘Who can pay that?’ said the woman with the wiry hair, a bewildered look in her eyes. ‘Who can pay that sort of money?’
    ‘The rich, of course,’ said Teresa, folding her arms. ‘If you are of the bourgeoisie you can dip into your savings or take out a loan. But to the rich, fifteen hundred pesetas is nothing. It’s like a sneeze to them. La senyora Montella would spend more than that a year on flowers.’
    ‘Our men are going to be sacrificed,’ said Juana, so quietly that we had to strain to hear her, ‘so the wives of the iron magnates can decorate their tables with flowers?’
    A heavy veil seemed to fall on the room, as if the women were facing the futility of their existence. There they were, struggling to make a living,