Cathedral of the Sea

“There’s another church down there, beyond San Jaume,” he told them. “If I were you, I’d get away now,” he said, nodding toward the others in the group, who were already heading back to them. “Pau will be very angry, and he’ll take it out on you. He is always upset when a Jew gets away from him.”

Joanet bristled, waiting for this boy Pau to reappear. Arnau tried to pull him away, and finally, when he saw the whole group racing toward them, Joanet allowed himself to be dragged off.

They ran down in the direction of the sea, but when they saw that Pau and his gang—probably more interested in some more Jews in the square—were not pursuing them, they slowed their pace. They had barely gone a street from Plaza San Jaume when they came across another church. They stood at the foot of the steps and looked at each other. Joanet lifted his chin toward the doors.

“We’ll wait,” said Arnau.

At that moment an old woman came out of the church and clambered down the steps. Arnau did not think twice.

“Good lady,” he asked when she reached them, “what church is this?”

“It’s San Miquel,” the woman replied without stopping.

Arnau sighed. San Miquel.

“Where is there another church?” Joanet asked quickly, when he saw how crestfallen his friend was.

“At the end of this street.”

“Which one is that?” he insisted. For the first time, he seemed to have caught the woman’s attention.

“That is the San Just i Pastor. Why are you so interested?”

The boys said nothing, but walked away from the old woman, who watched them trudging away disheartened.

“All the churches belong to men!” Arnau said in disgust. “We have to find a church for women; that’s where the Virgin Mary must be.”

Joanet carried on walking thoughtfully.

“I know somewhere ...,” he said at length. “It’s full of women. It’s at the end of the city wall, next to the sea. They call it ...” Joanet tried to remember. “They call it Santa Clara.”

“But that’s not the Virgin either.”

“But it is a woman. I’m sure your mother will be with her. She wouldn’t be with a man who wasn’t your father, would she?”

They went down Calle de la Ciutat to the La Mar gateway, which was part of the old Roman wall near Regomir castle. It was from here that a path led to the Santa Clara convent, built in the eastern corner of the new walls close to the shore. They left Regomir castle behind them, turned left, and walked down until they came to Calle de la Mar, which led from Plaza del Blat to the church of Santa Maria de la Mar before splitting into small parallel alleyways that came out onto the beach. From there, crossing Plaza del Born and Pla d’en Llull, they reached the Santa Clara convent by taking the street of the same name.

In spite of their anxiety to find the church, neither of the two boys could resist stopping to look at the silversmiths’ stalls ranged on either side of Calle de la Mar. Barcelona was a prosperous, rich city, as was obvious from the array of valuable objects on display: silverware; jewel-encrusted jugs and cups made of precious metals; necklaces; bracelets and rings; belts—an endless range of fine objects glinting in the summer sun. Arnau and Joanet tried to examine them more closely, but were chased away by the artisans, who shouted at them and threatened them with their fists.

Chased by one of the apprentices, they ran off and eventually came to Plaza de Santa Maria. On their right was a small cemetery, the fossar Mayor, and on their left was the church.

“Santa Clara is down ... ,” Joanet started to say, then suddenly fell silent. What they could see in front of them was truly amazing.

It was a powerful, sturdy church. Sober, stern-looking even, it was windowless and had exceptionally thick walls. The land around the building had been cleared and leveled, and it was surrounded by a huge number of stakes driven into the ground, forming geometrical shapes.

Ten slender columns, sixteen yards high, were placed around the small church’s apse. The white stone shone through the scaffolding rising around them.

The wooden scaffolding that covered the rear of the church rose and rose like an immense set of steps. Even from the distance they were at, Arnau had to raise his eyes to see the top, which was much higher than the columns.

“Let’s go,” Joanet urged him when they had seen their fill of the men laboring on the wooden boards. “This must be another cathedral.”

“No, this isn’t a cathedral,” they heard a voice say behind them. Arnau and Joanet looked at each other and smiled. They turned and looked inquiringly at a strong man who was toiling under the weight of an enormous block of stone. So what is it then? Joanet seemed to be asking as he smiled at him. “The cathedral is paid for by the nobles and the city authorities, but this church, which will be more important and beautiful than the cathedral, is paid for and built by the people.”

The man had not even paused: the weight of the stone seemed to push him forward. Yet he had smiled back at them.