The Winterlings Read Online Free PDF

are menciñeiras, or perhaps meigas : that is to say, have they inherited the healing powers of their grandfather? Have they come back with a secret medicine chest and the arsenal of magical practices that, in the end, caused so many problems in the village during the war? The Winterlings reply, ‘Jesus, no!’, adding that the women shouldn’t worry because they remember nothing of that magic.
    Upon returning from England, in a seamstress’ workshop on Real Street, they were taught to sew on a Singer machine. Death shrouds, brides’ trousseaux, embroidered neckerchiefs, and dresses for the Feast of Santiago.
    To begin with, they went from house to house carrying the sewing machine on their heads, resting on padding made from rolled-up rags. They were paid for alterations, and given some dinner. Because they were good at it, they set up their own workshop. Two machines, two tables with chairs, a portrait of Generalísimo Franco, and the two women. They decided to stay for good in Coruña.
    They became seamstresses.
    The Winterlings hated sewing.
    But things had changed a lot. It wasn’t the same country they had left behind as girls. No one cared about them. Everyone had something else to worry about: a dead son, firewood for the stove, the cold, hunger. The streets throbbed with vendors, smugglers, Civil Guards, black marketeers, priests, women in pairs, and sailors. When there were queues, it meant it was the day that rationed goods like flour or oil were handed out. The rotten scent of politics had set in everywhere: in the schools, in each stitch they made while sewing, in their clothes, and in the air they breathed. The Winterlings went to courses organised by the women’s section of General Franco’s Falange Party, where they were told that they should behave like delicate and pleasant little ants.
    And that’s what they were.
    Delicate little ants.
    On Sundays, they went to the cinema — the only one in the whole city — although they saw the movies in fits and starts because blackouts were frequent, and the juiciest scenes were censored.
    Dolores, the prettier of the two, found a husband. He was a fellow named Tomás, a fisherman of octopus and pout whiting, who lived in Santa Eugenia de Ribeira. He had an octopus trap and a small dorna boat, and he set out to fish at dawn, under the stars. He had just been widowed, and was looking for a woman to take care of the housework.
    â€˜Think about it carefully,’ her sister advised her, while she finished off a pair of pants. ‘Here with me, you don’t want for anything. You and I make a great team’ — she spat out a thread — ‘and what’s more, once they’re married, men develop bad habits. You’ll see. At night, they snore … and ask for things.’
    â€˜What sort of things?’
    â€˜You know, little things … You’ll see. There’s no reason for you to leave.’
    â€˜So says the all-knowing voice of experience,’ answered her sister. ‘And what would you know about married life? I don’t think there’s anything strange about a man and a woman getting along … Anyway, you snore, too, and sometimes you ask for things. For example, just yesterday you asked me for a glass of water.’
    In truth, Dolores didn’t quite know why she had decided on that particular fisherman of octopus and pout whiting. She had seen him on only one occasion, one day when she went to deliver a piece to a dressmaker’s shop. Perhaps in marriage she hoped to find the stable life she had never had during her childhood; but the fact that it was her own sister who purported to plan out the course of her life also seemed like an insult to her intelligence.
    â€˜No, there’s nothing strange about a man and a woman getting along,’ replied Saladina. ‘But you don’t even know this man. And just so we’re clear: the glass of water I