Pallas had never seen things from so high up.
Swaying from side to side with the slow, steady gait of a horse, she gripped the horn of the saddle. From there, she looked at the trees, the tall grass, and the streams along the road, from a perspective she had never imagined. Everyone they encountered greeted them with silent head bows. For the first time, Pallas looked down at them instead of looking up.
She only had to look up to see her father, who guided the horse by the reins, his eyes fixed ahead, but his thoughts somewhere far away. He was dressed in black from head to toe, and his face was pale and weathered.
Pallas was happy. She hadn't left her house for many days*, and during those days she had spent most of her time with her grandmother. She was who asked her son to take the little girl for a walk, as her health and spirits needed the fresh air, and it might help him too, in his transition to a life without his wife. "You have lost the woman you loved, but your daughter is still here with you", she said.
That's how she had convinced Álvar to take Pallas on that peaceful ride, on his gentlest horse, along the flattest path to the eastern cliff. But, as the little girl had noticed, his mind was still in the house. Or perhaps in the mausoleum.
Pallas missed her mother very much too.
But she was happy to be out of the dark and silent house, and happy to be with her father. And happy to be on the white horse with the black bridle, so beautiful adorned with gray tassels. And happy to wear her new mauve crepe dress, even if she didn't like the black ribbon very much. And seeing everything from so high up. So high up, that she could immediately see, beyond the slope, the long horizon of the sea, much larger and bluer. She was four years old, and even the greatest sadness is incapable of inhibiting the curiosity and yearning for novelty in young children.
The horse stopped. From there, there was a wide view of the great landscape that surrounded them. The infinite blue of the sea and sky merged so far away that Pallas realized for the first time how vast the world was. A gentle breeze stirred her hair. Pallas looked at his father again. He was still gazing into the distance, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere. The breeze also stirred his hair, but his face was impassive and his eyes bright.
Pallas turned her head toward the deep, but kind voice she had heard.
Pallas looked up at his father, who was still gazing at the sea. He seemed not to hear the man from where his spirit was. Gently, the little girl shook Álvar's arm slightly, and he seemed to awaken from his trance, immediately looking at his daughter with a worried expression. Pallas pointed down, and it was then that he saw the person who had approached him.
He was a burly man with large hands and broad shoulders, a receding hairline in his gray hair, and the skin of his face and neck tanned by the sun. Clearly a farm worker or a saltworker. His clothes were humble, but he was clean and presentable, with a blue scarf around his neck and a buttoned black waistcoat. In front of him, held in his hands, was a straw hat. In his right hand, he seemed to be holding something, but it was hidden by the brim of the hat, and it was impossible to make out what it could be. He looked at the couple with seriousness and respect.
"Good morning. How can I serve you?"
Pallas had always heard his father answer everyone with such words. Even to her grandmother and her uncle.
"Good morning, My Lord. I saw you pass by, and I didn't want to miss this opportunity to greet you and… and offer my deepest condolences."
"Thank you very much. It's a great comfort."
"The news were very sad for everyone," the man continued. "You see, Lady Calista was always very kind to us, concerned about our children's health, and… and… she always smiled when she saw us and treated us with respect. She was a good lady."
Álvar had to make an effort to maintain his composure.
"Yes, she was. I hope… you will remember her fondly."
"I certainly will, my Lord. I held her in high esteem."
The man seemed to want to say something more, but he hesitated. Álvar was still looking at him, but didn't seem to be urging him.
"My Lord, may I speak to the little lady?"
Álvar raised his eyebrows, somewhat surprised. But he took Pallas by the shoulder and looked at her.
"Indeed. Pallas, this good man wants to tell you something. Listen carefully."
Before the girl's gaze, the peasant seemed somewhat overwhelmed, but aware that his appearance was imposing and could frighten her, he moved a little closer, trying to appear as unintimidating as possible. But Pallas wasn't afraid of him. She was very high up and could lower her head to look at him.
"Little Lady, just like you, I too suffered in my childhood the greatest misfortune that can befall a child: losing their mother. That little boy who was left alone now looks at you with affection and understanding, and wishes to assure you that her soul still accompanies you and will guide you in your life, even though you cannot see her. As a token of my appreciation for your good mother and for you, I beg you to accept this humble gift."
The man extended his arm toward Pallas. In his fist, he held a bouquet of violets. There weren't many, but they were very beautiful, colorful and in full blossom. Pallas looked at her father, questioning.
"You can take them, dear," he answered. The little girl held out her hands, picked the flowers, and gazed at them.
"They're from my garden. Once, Doña Calista saw the flowers and said they were very well cared for and beautiful."
"On behalf of my daughter, I thank you from the bottom of my heart," said Álvar. "And you also have my deepest gratitude. Your kindness has been a great comfort to me."
“My respects, my Lord,” the man bowed his head. “I must return to work. Thank you.”
After taking a few steps back, he put on his hat and walked down the hill.
Pallas looked again at her bouquet of violets.
“Have you seen this, Pallas?”
The little girl looked at her father. His face was still pale and his eyes bright, but the brightness they gave off was different now.
These people live in humbleness. They work hard for themselves and for us. Everything you own come from them, and yet, they don't live with all our comforts. Still, they care for us. We owe our privilege to them, more than to the King. That's why you must be grateful and respectful to them, serving them, helping them, giving them your attention. Never forget this, Pallas. Noblesse oblige. Treasure these flowers as if they were pure gold. With them come a sincere feeling, which is more important than any title, any wealth, and any privilege. Because in the end, the only thing that remains with us are feelings."
Álvar looked again at the horizon, but this time, a tender smile appeared on his face. Pallas looked at him, looked at the violets, pressed them to her chest, afraid the breeze would take them away. And she looked at the sea as well.
Her mother was gone, but the love they had felt for each other remained.
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