Cathedral of the Sea

Today, as Grau peered anxiously out of his windows to see if his guests were arriving, Bernat kissed his son on the cheek and sent him back inside.

“It’s very cold, Arnau. You should go in.” The boy made as though to protest, but his father insisted. “You’ll eat a fine meal tonight, won’t you?”

“Cockerel, nougat, and wafers,” his son said enthusiastically.

Bernat gave him an affectionate tap on the behind. “Run inside. We can talk another day.”

ARNAU ARRIVED JUST in time to sit down to dinner. He and Grau’s two youngest children—Guiamon, who was the same age as him, and Margarida, a year and a half older—were to eat in the kitchen. Josep and Genis, the two older children, were allowed to dine upstairs with their parents.

The arrival of so many guests had made Grau even more nervous than usual.

“I’ll see to everything,” he had told Guiamona as she was preparing the feast. “You look after the women.”

“But how are you going to ... ?” she started to protest, but Grau was already giving instructions to Estranya, the cook, a plump, impudent mulatto slave, who kept one eye on her mistress while appearing to pay attention to what Grau was saying.

“How do you expect me to react?” thought Guiamona. “You’re not talking to your secretary, or in the guild or the Council of a Hundred. So you don’t think I’m capable of looking after your guests? So I’m not good enough for you?”

Behind her husband’s back, Guiamona had tried to restore order among the servants and to make sure that the Christmas feast was a success, but now, as their guests arrived and Grau fussed over everything, including their rich capes, she found she was pushed into the background as her husband had wished, and had to make do with smiling pleasantly at the other women. Grau meanwhile looked like a general in the thick of a battle: he was talking animatedly to his guests, while at the same time showing the slaves what they had to do and whom they were to attend to; the more he shouted and insisted, the more anxious they became. In the end, all of them—except for Estranya, who was in the kitchen preparing the meal—decided that the best thing was to follow Grau wherever he went.

Freed in this way from all supervision—as Estranya and her assistants were all busy laboring over their pots and fires—Margarida, Guiamon, and Arnau mixed the chicken with the nougat, and stuffed food in one another’s mouths, laughing and joking all the while. At one point, Margarida picked up a jug of undiluted wine and swallowed a whole mouthful. She immediately turned bright red and her cheeks flushed, but she succeeded in not spitting any of it out. She encouraged her brother and cousin to do the same. Arnau and Guiamon both drank from the jug, but although they tried to keep their composure like Margarida, they started coughing and spluttering, searching desperately on the table for water, their eyes full of tears. After that the three of them could not stop laughing: just from looking at each other, at the jug of wine, or at Estranya’s huge buttocks.

“Get out of here!” the mulatto shouted, tired of their shouts and laughter.

The three of them ran from the kitchen, still laughing and shouting.

“Shh!” another slave warned them at the foot of the main staircase. “The master does not want any children here.”

Margarida tried to protest. “But ...”

“No buts about it,” insisted the slave.

At that moment Habiba came down in search of more wine. The master had shot her a furious look when one of his guests had tried to pour some out and been rewarded with only a few miserable drops.

“Keep an eye on the children,” Habiba told the slave on the staircase as she passed by. “More wine!” she shouted at Estranya, going into the kitchen.

Worried that Habiba might bring ordinary wine rather than the special vintage reserved for this occasion, Grau came running after her.

The children had stopped laughing, and instead were keenly watching all this commotion. Grau spotted them with the slave.

“What are you children doing here? And you? Why aren’t you doing anything? Go and tell Habiba that the wine is to come from the old jars. Don’t forget; otherwise I’ll flay you alive. And you children, get off to bed.”

The slave bustled off to the kitchen. Their eyes still glistening from the effects of the wine, the three children smiled at one another. As soon as Grau had rushed back upstairs, they burst out laughing. Bed? Margarida stared at the wide-open front door, pursed her lips, and raised her eyebrows.

“Where are the children?” Habiba asked when the slave appeared in the kitchen.

“Wine from the old jars ...,” the slave repeated.

“What about the children?”

“The old ones. The old ones.”

“But what’s happened to the children?” Habiba insisted.

“In your bed. The master say go to bed. They with him. From the old jars, yes? He’ll flay us alive ...”