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“That sounds nice.”
“I guess.” She smiled.
“Being arrested for doing nothing wrong still happens here.”
That wiped the smile from Gabi’s lips. The concept was sickening. She stared out at the whitewashed houses that marked the neighbourhood from others within the city and wondered whether Nana had met this poet or Aisha’s abuela. The houses looked less well kept, dirtier, greyer up-close set against the tall dark English elm trees. There was a weight to this history that she was a product of, and as foolish as it might be, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she had been affected by it.
“We’re nearly there,” Aisha said.
The bus slowed, and the air inside quickly reverted to the heady mix of odours that reminded Gabi of all the reasons why she’d never eaten from her local fish and chip shop. She fought the urge to fill her lungs, though she desperately wanted to breathe deeply. The bus crawled to a stop, and she couldn’t get off quickly enough.
“Welcome to Sacromonte,” Aisha said.
Gabi bent double and took in a few deep breaths. She felt Aisha’s hand on her shoulder and rose slowly. “Sorry, a bit travel sick,” she said.
“You look pale.”
“I’ll be okay.” She took more deep breaths. “Just needed some air. I’m not good on public transport.”
A plume of grey smoke clouded around them as the bus chugged on its journey, and Gabi coughed after inhaling a mouthful of fumes.
Aisha walked onto what looked like a huge vegetable patch and an orchard in bloom on the other side of the road. She plucked something from the ground and returned. “Here.”
“Mint.”
“It will help.” Aisha ate some.
Gabi inspected the leaves for dirt and insects then popped them in her mouth and chewed. It was moist and lightly flavoured, and it cleared her head surprisingly quickly.
“It will settle your stomach.”
“Is that basil I can smell?”
“Yes. We grow everything we need. Herbs, vegetables, fruit. Chickens roam. We have sheep and goats on the hillside, and cattle in the fields. That’s chamomile,” Aisha said, pointing to the wildflower. “And pink violet, and sweet chestnut.”
As they walked, the landscape divulged the secrets of these people’s lives, a world created through the toil of the generations who had paved their way. They could easily thrive without the commercial trappings that Gabi had come to think of as normal, things she’d tried and failed to create meaning from. The air that filled her lungs was alive with new fragrances and the view was uplifting and inspiring. Her stomach had calmed from the experience in the bus but looking at Aisha changed all that. She felt like dancing.
“This way,” Aisha said.
A small wooden shed in a field, opposite the red door that fronted one of the caves, caught her eye. Matías stepped outside the shed and stood with his hands on his hips. His cheeks darkened as they approached.
“Welcome,” he said. “Aisha tells me you like to make jewellery.” He put his hand over his heart. “It will be my pleasure to show you around.”
He had a gentle way, and his passion seemed to reflect the natural beauty that surrounded him. Gabi felt it touch her. “Thank you, both, so much.”
“I have some very pretty wedding rings for you to see, Aisha.” He led them into the workshop.
Aisha laughed. “I’ll be sure to tell Conchita.”
Who’s Conchita? Gabi had a faint recollection of the name from the market, but she couldn’t be sure of the context, because as soon as she’d seen Aisha, she’d forgotten everything that had come before. Wedding rings? Matías laughed. He turned his back to open the door, and Gabi felt like a cobra under the spell of the snake charmer. Matiás turned around, and Aisha smiled at him, breaking the spell. They stepped inside, and a shot of excitement tingled across Gabi’s skin.
“You’ll love it,” Aisha said.
Another wave of tingling confirmed Aisha was right. Gabi was going to enjoy seeing the workshop too. It was cramped and dark inside, and there was a dearth of what Gabi would have considered essential machinery, such as a casting machine or a flexible shaft. She’d been lucky to use a local facility back home, courtesy of her friend Issa whose boyfriend’s father was a goldsmith. How on earth Matiás could craft anything under these conditions was a miracle. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light, and she noted the work surface was spotlessly clean.
“It is small,” he said. “But I have everything here. Look.” He dipped below the surface, opened a drawer, and pulled out a slim tray. He turned on a spot lamp and positioned the light over the tray, then pulled back the silk cloth to reveal the jewellery. The gold clasps were light in tone, highly polished, and held in each was a small gem. When seen together, they could be the wildflowers, blossoms, and green leaves of the terrain, and they were more vibrant and more pure than the stained-glass Gabi had admired in the church windows she’d passed. Dark emerald and sapphire, deep purple amethyst, blood red ruby, and fiery citrine. They were beautiful and she would love to combine the colours and make something with them that captured the landscape here.
Gabi leaned closer to the tray. On the other side of it was a selection of gold bracelets and chains, each perfectly crafted and subtly different in shape, size, and the pattern of the links. She reached out then pulled back her hand, afraid to tarnish their beauty with her sweaty fingerprints.
