Grave Dancer

‘Pablito! Come on!’

The boy looks up at his mother’s face. Is it the moment to cry? Or should he lift his best shoes – his communion shoes – and stop dragging them in the dust. His mother’s mouth is in one of those lines that he just can’t seem to draw, even on squared paper. So he stuffs the hand his mother isn’t holding in his pocket and tries to move a little faster.

Concepción Inmaculada pulls the boy along as if he were a suitcase full of clothes she didn’t want. One of those roller cases with a caster missing. Rumour has it Zapatero is going to close the Basilica and she has promised herself – and the boy – one last visit before he goes back to Andalucia. For he will go back, he must: there is nothing in Madrid for them, now.

Father Garcia is waiting in the vestry. It’s tomorrow. Zapatero has got his way. The Basilica will be closed ‘for repair and renovation’. Two falangist flags over a year ago and he waits to take his revenge like this. What a pity Spain is governed by politicians!

The priest shakes his head, generals would be better, as everyone knows.

Pablito has let go of his mother’s hand. He is 10! Besides he can still see her in her floral dress heading towards the Basilica. In any case, she is only in the doorway of the church of Uncle Paco’s Tomb. Pablito has never met Uncle Paco. He died before his mama was born. Maybe there were dinosaurs then! Pablito knows that is silly. But his cousin back in Villablanco says that they didn’t have mobile phones in those days. Imagine! His mama has gone all the way into the church now, Pablito breaks into a run.

Concepción Inmaculada looks back out of the entrance, sees her boy start to hurry to catch her. Luckily, she has something in her pocket to keep him amused. It’s the other mobile. Not the one she’ll be needing in a few seconds. She turns to smile at her son, gives him the phone, waves him outside, ‘Angry Birds, Pablito, just stay outside for now, okay?’

The Curé sighs, the mass will begin in over an hour’s time. Still, the tourists come to wonder at the Basilica, to point and whisper at the slab of polished granite keeping the old tyrant in his tomb. That woman over there is getting very close to the monstrosity. Last week a boy had climbed on top of the thing and jumped, leapt and frolicked like a mediaeval loon.

The I-Phone! Pablito isn’t allowed to touch his mother’s phone. She says it isn’t hers, it is the man’s. That man who comes to the flat. His mama gives him money, but she still says she works for him. One time Pablito borrowed the phone and he got a slap. Pablo wonders why she gave him the phone now, but then concentrates on the game.

It’s time, Inmaculada thinks. Time someone showed them. Time the politicos did something. What future does Pablito have? By the time he is 18, no-one under 30 will have a job. She takes hold of the phone in her pocket, and jumps.

Not again! A grown woman. She’s jumped onto the granite lid. Why are people always jumping on Franco’s tomb? Father Garcia takes a step towards the woman capering on the Generalissimo’s grave. He wonders what the loud noise is and then hopes God will make him welcome.