“Let’s not talk about it now,” Lucia said. “We should be moving on.”
They traveled northeast, following the winding banks of the Duero River, with its hilly countryside and lush green trees. They stopped at the picturesque village of Villalba de Duero to buy bread, cheese, and wine, and had an idyllic picnic in a grassy meadow.
Lucia felt content at Rubio’s side. There was a quiet strength about him that seemed to give her strength. He’s not for me, but he’s going to make some lucky woman very happy, she thought.
When they had finished eating, Rubio said, “The next town is Aranda de Duero. It’s a fairly large city. It would be best if we skirted around it to avoid the GOE and the soldiers.”
It was the moment of truth, time to leave him. She had been waiting for them to reach a large city. Rubio Arzano and his farm were a dream; escaping to Switzerland was the reality. Lucia knew how much she was going to hurt him, and she could not bear to look into his eyes when she said, “Rubio—I’d like us to go into town.”
He frowned. “That could be dangerous, querida. The soldiers—”
“They won’t be looking for us there.” She thought quickly. “Besides, I—I need a change of clothes. I can’t keep going on in this.”
The idea of entering the city disturbed Rubio, but all he said was, “If that is what you wish.”
In the distance, the walls and buildings of Aranda de Duero loomed before them like a manmade mountain hewn out of the earth.
Rubio tried one more time. “Lucia—you’re sure you must go into the city?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
The two of them crossed the long bridge that led to the main street, Avenida Castilla, and headed for the center of town. They passed a sugar factory and churches and poultry shops, and the air was thick with a variety of smells. Shops and apartment buildings lined the avenue. They walked slowly, careful not to draw attention to themselves. Finally, to her relief, Lucia saw what she had been looking for—a sign that read CASA DE EMPEÑOS—a pawnshop. She said nothing.
They reached the village square, with its shops and markets and bars, and they passed the Taberna Cueva, with its long bar and wooden tables. There was a jukebox inside, and hanging from the oak-beam ceiling were hams and strings of garlic.
Lucia saw her opportunity. “I’m thirsty, Rubio,” she said. “Can we go in there?”
“Of course.”
He took her arm and led her inside.
There were half a dozen men crowded around the bar. Lucia and Rubio took a table in the corner.
“What would you like, querida?”
“Order a glass of wine for me, please. I’ll be right back. There’s something I have to do.”
She rose and walked out into the street, leaving Rubio staring after her, puzzled.
Outside, Lucia turned and hurried back to the Casa de Empeños, clutching her tightly wrapped package. Across the street she saw a door with a black sign in white lettering that read POLICÍA. She stared at it a moment, her heart skipping a beat, then skirted it and entered the pawnshop.
A shrunken man with a large head stood behind the counter, barely visible.
“Buenos días, señorita.”
“Buenos días, señor. I have something I would like to sell.” She was so nervous, she had to press her knees together to keep them from shaking.
“Si?”
Lucia unwrapped the gold cross and held it out. “Would—would you be interested in buying this?”
The pawnbroker took it in his hands, and Lucia watched the light that came into his eyes.
“May I ask where you acquired this?”
“It was left to me by an uncle who just died.” Her throat was so dry she could hardly speak.
The man fingered the cross, turning it over in his hands slowly. “How much are you asking for it?”
Her dream was coming to life. “I want two hundred fifty thousand pesetas.”
He frowned and shook his head. “No. It is worth only a hundred thousand pesetas.”
“I would sell my body first.”
“Perhaps I could go as high as one hundred fifty thousand pesetas.”