Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Forty-Nine

Forty-Nine

August, 1915

Reaurez, Spain

The carriage rolled along the golden plain. Palm trees blew the sand gently across the desolate area. I swatted flies away, already irritated from the heat burning into my back. Everything seemed richer, sharper, more colourful. It was so exciting to be in a new country, with a new start where I could try and forget the horrors at home, and where I wouldn’t have to worry about the Zeppelins bombing our house. Spain was considered the most important neutral country in the war.

The journey across the sea had gone perfectly well, apart from a fuss over our passports, as they were the old ones without a photograph on them. Security had been tightened due to the war, and our new passports were folded into eight squares with a cardboard cover, and my name on it was Elsie Knowlbodye.

I peered out the window; everything, at first glance, seemed so cultivated.

The carriage slowed as we reached the edge of the town.

“This is our town, Elsie.” I lent further out the window, eyes widening beneath my wide-rimmed cartwheel bonnet.

A hush slithered through the lanes, and everyone stopped what they were doing.

“These are our people.” John pushed open the carriage door with a nab from his crutches, and the glare of the sunlight and watching eyes hit me.

“Welcome… to Reaurez.”

I stepped down onto soft soil, thick velvet skirts swishing around me, confused as to how all these golden-skinned men and women could be mine. My stomach churned; where they our slaves? I looked at the houses, made of poles and sheets, and the water trickling from a pump. Their clothes were of stiff, harsh, scratchy cotton in gaudy oranges and yellows and only a few wore shoes. If these were my people, I needed to make some changes.

John grabbed my hand, and lifted our arms up together, a triumphant motion.

“¡Tengo la esposa, tienen la reina!” (I have a wife, you have a queen!) John cried, very slowly, for his jaw was still on the mend. The crowd started clapping, cheering, grabbing the nearest flower or trinket and throwing it at us. I laughed in bewilderment at this and the fact that John could speak Spanish.

Then, I felt guilty for laughing, as if I was forgetting my troubles, such as Father’s attack, Mother’s pregnancy… and… I swallowed… Bobby and Susanna’s betrayal. They had hurt me so deeply that I had cried a river and smashed all my ornaments as I was packing. I felt so stupid. Were they even feeling the same gut-wrenching pain in their stomachs as I did? The feeling as if the world is splitting and your lungs are screaming because betrayal hurts more than anything? I guess he had never even loved me. But the man beside me pulling me into an embrace did.

*****

“Do you like it, Elsie?”

“It’s very nice,” I replied modestly, jarred from my thoughts, rubbing my eyes furiously.

We had journeyed north to the Knowlbodye Villa, a bungalow with a large wooden veranda around the whole perimeter, and a triangular-shaped roof. The house inside was stuffy, because of the burning fire, scented candles and closed curtains. Around the back were stables and a lake a few yards off.

The servants had all rushed out to greet us, saying ¡Hola! over and over.

“By our people, do you mean we own them?” I asked tentatively, as everything was unpacked from the trunks in a flurry. John laughed, resting on his crutches.

“We own the village. They are like no other community, they have their own beliefs and ways of living. They are loyal to us, their King and Queen.” King and Queen? I felt rather faint.

“Señora Knowlbodye?” I turned around to see one of the servants, a tall lady with a face like a narrow boat.

“Hay dos cartas para tu.” (There are two letters for you.) She held two envelopes out. I snatched the first one immediately; the lettering was Bobby’s.

AN: I am taking Spanish at school, but if I got anything wrong, please let me know.