Free Alberto's Lost Birthday by Diana Rosie

him?’
    Felipe hands Ramón the map and he points a dirty finger to a small town.
    ‘This is the nearest place that we know has plenty of Republican support. There are no reports of Nationalists there yet. The best thing to do is take him to the Church – they will
look after him.’
    I give Ramón a steady stare.
    ‘The Church?’ I ask, incredulous.
    ‘Rubio,’ replies Ramón curtly, ‘this is not the time to have a discussion about religion. No matter what the Church is doing politically, when it comes to situations
like this, they will show mercy to a lost child.’
    ‘Suffer the little children, Ramón?’ I spit. ‘If we leave him in a
Rojo
village, they will assume he is a
Rojo
child. I know you don’t want to
believe the Church could hurt a child, but there is no guarantee he will be safe. I think we should try to get him to the Red Cross. They may even evacuate him. At least there won’t be any
fat, barbaric bishops on a religious crusade against—’
    ‘Enough!’ hollers Ramón, raising his hand. ‘He will be safe with the Church.’ Then he drops his hand and speaks softly. ‘Do not forget our mission. We have a
long way to travel and we cannot make a detour to find the Red Cross. At least if he is taken into an organization like the Church, they may be able to find his family.’
    I know Ramón struggles with an inner conflict – his genuine faith versus a greedy, self-serving Church – and perhaps I am pushing him too far. I take a moment; then,
reluctantly, I nod. ‘You’re right.’
    I know he will not be swayed in this matter, and despite our friendship, he is the leader of this unit and I must respect his orders.
    We return to the map and plan what to do. It is agreed I will take the boy to the village. It’s still early, so I should be able to leave him at the church and then get back to the unit
before daybreak.
    As I gulp down the last of my tea, I turn to José. ‘Is there any food for the boy? He needs something to eat. Anything but your beans.’
    ‘Alberto, are you sure you can’t remember anything about your home?’ I press as we walk along the edge of a field. We split from the other men an hour ago,
and they followed the road, while the boy and I cut across the fields to get to the town.
    ‘No, nothing,’ says the boy.
    ‘Not even your mamá?’
    ‘No,’ says Alberto a little hesitantly.
    ‘What?’ I urge gently. ‘Is there something you remember? Anything at all?’
    ‘Yes, but it’s not Mamá,’ he replies thoughtfully. ‘It’s Mimi.’
    ‘Well, that’s a start. Maybe she’s an aunt or a friend. What do you think?’
    Alberto is quiet as we step through the grass.
    ‘I don’t know. I just remembered the name,’ he eventually admits.
    ‘Never mind,’ I say encouragingly. ‘I’m sure it will come back soon, and then someone will be able to take you home.’
    We walk in silence for a while, before Alberto starts hesitantly, ‘Why—’ then stops.
    ‘Why what?’ I say. ‘Come on.’
    ‘Why do they call you “El Rubio”?’ he asks shyly.
    ‘Aha!’ I say cheerfully. ‘Look at this!’ At that, I whip off my black hat and my fair hair flops out. The night’s clouds have cleared and I know in the moonlight
the blond can be seen – like a golden halo, Ramón often remarks sarcastically. If I’d been at home, June would have trimmed it for me, but I haven’t given haircuts much
thought lately.
    The boy gasps.
    ‘Have you ever seen hair this yellow before?’ I ask.
    ‘No, never.’
    ‘Where I live, it’s not unusual. In fact, it’s really very ordinary.’
    ‘Don’t you live in Spain?’ asks the boy.
    ‘Well, I do now, but only because of the war. I’m from another country, called England. Have you heard of it?’ I put my hat back on, tucking in as much hair as I can.
    ‘Yes, I think so.’
    ‘Well, maybe you learnt about it at school,’ I suggest. I hope it will jog a memory.
    ‘I don’t know,’ says the boy quietly.