Guernica by Dave Boling Read Free Book Online Page B

set the
     route.”
    “I don’t even want to race with you,” Miguel admitted.
    Named for the patron saint of sailors, San Nicolas Island was covered in slender pines, tangled windthrow, and feathery sea
     grasses. From the harbor mouth, the island was almost a quarter-mile swim and was protected by a brisk tidal current and the
     white, corrugated surf.
    The island, in conspiracy with the surging and retracting tide, held a secret that hinted of magic. With a tidal variance
     of at least a dozen feet most of the year, the island had two personalities. For all but two slivers of time of each day,
     San Nicolas was as protected as any coastal island. It could be visited by boat or by a strong swimmer, but its rocky perimeter
     discouraged even those incursions. At lowest tide, however, the sea withdrew to reveal an umbilical pathway that snaked from
     Isuntza Beach all the way to the southernmost point of the island. For little more than an hour twice a day, the island could
     be accessed via a slippery concrete trail that seemed an invitation to explore an otherwise guarded and forbidden place. If
     this hour coincided with a summer sunset bleeding across the hills behind town, as a sea-scented breeze caused the grasses
     to whisper, the atmosphere of romance often overcame young couples who had ventured to the island for privacy.
    While the island seduced them to settle in and become familiar, the sea served as an intolerant chaperone. If the pair became
     too absorbed in their dalliance, the path would submerge again, and they would have the option of swimming to shore or spending
     a cold night surrounded by the judgmental sea, with no excuse to offer their parents besides the obvious.
    Even in their early teens, Miguel stood as tall as Dodo and was slimmer, with stringy muscles operating the lengthy levers
     of his arms and legs. Miguel could reach the island and be on the inward leg of the swim before Dodo could touch the island
     rocks. When Dodo finally joined his brother back on the breakwater wall, he generally congratulated Miguel by shoving him
     back in the water, a gesture that Miguel considered meaningless since he had already proven he could swim and, in fact, do
     so much better than his brother.
    Once Dodo tried to gain an advantage by swimming to the island and racing back along the briefly exposed walkway to the beach,
     but his bare feet slipped on the mossy surface, sending him flying into the water, with his head missing the concrete by mere
     inches. He’d been certain the ploy would work and scheduled that race to coincide exactly with the lowest tide, the timetable
     of which was implanted in the mind of every fisherman’s son.
    Miren fretted over God’s opinion. As deeply as she loved to dance, to do so in a convent, in front of the cloistered sisters,
     seemed an unwarranted risk. She worried that it might appear as a demerit in some future heavenly accounting session.
    “Are you certain they want us to dance inside the convent?” Miren asked her mother for the third time that morning.
    “Sister Terese invited us,” Mariangeles Ansotegui answered. “She wouldn’t have asked if it were forbidden.”
    Terese, Mariangeles’s cousin, was a sister of standing at the Santa Clara convent, situated behind the Casa de Junta parliament
     house and the Guernica oak on the hill behind the market. Among her fondest memories from the secular world were those of
     her cousin dancing. Terese had danced with her in groups, and although she knew the steps and followed the beat, she could
     never keep up with Mariangeles, who seemed a part of the music. Her talents had not faded with time, and it was a gift of
     grace that was passed to her daughter, Miren.
    Sister Terese felt that an afternoon watching local folk dance would be an acceptable diversion from the monastic ritual of
     the convent. Besides, she had not seen Miren, now fourteen, for many months.
    “Couldn’t you dance alone?” Miren pressed