Pablo shrugged and looked at me in bewilderment.
“My mother’s not here, neither is Josep.”
“Who is Josep?” Uncle Juan asked.
“My father.”
“And you call him Josep?” My uncle’s question did not seem to surprise the child.
“Yes, we all call him Josep, and sometimes I call him Dad, depending on how I feel.”
By this point in the conversation we were in the little room that was a living room and also on occasion Pablo’s bedroom. The attic only had two rooms: The one we were in, and the other, even smaller, where Lola and Pablo slept when Josep was not there. There was also a tiny kitchen that let onto a small interior patio. There was no bathroom; just like the rest of the residents, they had to use a small water-closet on the landing.
Uncle Juan looked around for a chair to sit on. My father and I remained standing, while Pablo sat in the other chair and waited for us to say what it was we wanted.
“Well, tell us exactly where Amelia is,” my uncle ordered.
“I’ve told you, in France with Pierre.”
“And who is Pierre?” my uncle insisted.
“Amelia’s fiancé... Well, I don’t know if he’s her fiancé, because Amelia’s married, but if he’s not then he’s something similar. They love each other and Amelia is going to help him.”
Uncle Juan started to sweat, while my father, shocked by what Pablo was saying, decided to sit down.
“Pablo, don’t say such things... Amelia and Pierre are just friends... Amelia is going to help him with the revolution,” I said, staring in anguish at Pablo, trying to tell him with my eyes that he shouldn’t say anything else.
“Shut up!” My father’s words and tone of voice stopped me dead. “You, child,” he added, “tell us everything you know.”
Pablo seemed to get scared all of a sudden, and realized he had said more than he should have.
“I don’t know anything!” he said, terrified.
“Of course you do! And you are going to tell us.” My father had got to his feet and stood in front of the child, who looked at him in fear.
“The sooner you tell us, the sooner we will leave,” Uncle Juan pushed.
“But I don’t know anything! Laura, tell them to leave me alone!”
I looked down in shame. I could say or do nothing, neither my father nor my uncle would allow me to interrupt and stop the child from talking.
“My mother says that I am not a slave, that I don’t have to humiliate myself in front of the damn capitalists,” Pablo said, trying to pluck up his courage.
“If you don’t tell us what you know, then we will take you down to the police station, the police will look for your mother, and then who knows what might happen,” my father threatened.
Pablo, whose eyes were shining ever brighter from fear and from his illness, started to whimper.
“My mother is a revolutionary, and the Fascists are not in charge here.” This was Pablo’s last attempt.
“Well, let’s go down to the police station; as far as I know, your mother might have some unfinished business with the police, and however revolutionary she may be, the law is the law for everyone,” my father said.
Pablo looked again for me and for help, but I couldn’t say anything to him, even though I prayed that Pablo would not give any clues that might stop Amelia’s escape.
“Amelia came to the house last night, Pierre was waiting for her. They said that they were going to catch the train, to go to Barcelona and then to France.”
“To Barcelona?” asked Uncle Juan.
“Pierre has to see some of my father’s friends,” Pablo managed to say.
“Where does your father live?” Uncle Juan wanted to know.
“In one of the streets in the new district.”
“What is your father’s name?” my uncle insisted.
“Soler.”
“Tell me, who is Pierre?” My father was speaking calmly now, trying to calm Pablo.
“He is a friend of my parents, a revolutionary from Paris. He works to take the revolution across the world, and he is helping us.”
“Is he Amelia’s fiancé?” My father asked this question without looking either at Uncle Juan or at me.
“Yes,” Pablo whispered. “When Amelia arrived yesterday they kissed each other. She cried a lot, but he promised that she would never regret going with him. Pierre was kissing her the whole time, and she was kissing him. They kissed like my parents kiss each other, and Amelia said that she would follow him to the death.”
I started to cough. It was a nervous cough, the only thing I wanted was for Pablo to stop talking, not to say a single word more, for my father and my poor Uncle Juan not to carry on hearing these things.
Uncle Juan was pale and so stiff that he looked like a corpse. He was listening to Pablo with his eyes wide open, and there was not only suffering in them, but shame and stupor as well. How could he imagine Amelia kissing a man who was not her husband? Was it possible that she had promised herself to another man until death? It was as if what he was hearing were impossible, that it was a tale told of a stranger, not his own daughter. It was as if he suddenly realized that he did not know her, that the woman they were talking about had nothing to do with his firstborn daughter, the light of his life.
My father approached my uncle and suggested that we leave. Uncle Juan got heavily to his feet. He was like an automaton. My father took him by the arm, leading him to the door. They left without saying goodbye to Pablo.
“I’m going to Barcelona tomorrow,” the child said to me in farewell.
“To Barcelona? And will you see Amelia?” I asked in a low voice.
“I don’t know, but my mother says that we are going to live with my father. She is very happy. I am sad to leave Madrid, even though we have no one to keep us here. Well, there’s my grandmother, but my mother doesn’t get along with her.”
“If you see Amelia, tell her... tell her... tell her to be very happy and that I love her a lot.”
Pablo nodded without saying anything, and I left hurriedly, to catch up with my father and Uncle Juan.
When we got back home, my Aunt Teresa was still crying. My mother had given her two cups of tilleul and a glass of mineral water, but they had had no effect on her. My mother had called for my cousin Antonietta, who was sitting in the room, very serious and silent.
“Did you find her?” my mother asked impatiently.
My father told her without offering many details that we had been with Santiago and later to Lola’s house, and that apparently Amelia had gone to Barcelona, although her final destination was France.
When she heard our account of the last few hours, Aunt Teresa cried all the more, and all she could do was ask for them to bring her daughter back.
We did not know what to say or what to do; it was the longest day of my life.
In mid-afternoon my father, Melita, and I took my uncle and aunt and cousin back to their house. We were in mourning, but my mother had decided that it would be impossible to cancel that evening’s dinner, because there was a married couple among the guests who were bringing their two sons, one of whom was going out with my sister Melita, and we knew that this was the night when he would officially ask for her hand.
I would have been happy to stay with my uncle and aunt, but they preferred to be alone.
The dinner was a nightmare. My father was distracted, my mother was nervous, and my sister was upset by what had happened and scarcely paid any attention to her beloved. Although it is true that the young man was not upset by the unusual atmosphere and, with his father’s support, asked my father for permission to woo my sister. My father gave it without any show of enthusiasm. Years later we told Rodrigo what had happened that day. Although it is not relevant, I will just say that Rodrigo did marry my sister Melita, shortly after the outbreak of the Civil War.
The next morning Edurne came to my house with her suitcase. Santiago had given her a generous s
um of money to go back to the farm with her mother and her grandparents.
“I cannot go back, Doña Laura; my mother will kill me if she finds out that Santiago fired me.”
“But what happened wasn’t your fault; your mother will understand,” I said uncertainly.
“They need my wages back at home, the farm doesn’t give them enough to live off, and my mother is putting together my trousseau in case I get married one day.”
“The trousseau can wait,” my mother interrupted, “and you can always work on the farm. And your brother Aitor has a good position with the PNV; my sister-in-law Teresa tells me that they think a lot of him.”
“But Doña Elena, you don’t know my mother! You don’t know how cross she’s going to be. She asked me to behave like she always had with the Garayoas, and look at what I’ve done.”
Edurne cried disconsolately and grasped my hand, begging me not to abandon her. I debated doing what my cousin Amelia had asked, that I look after Edurne, and thought about the weight of responsibility that would entail. My loyalty to my cousin won.
“Mama, may I speak with you alone for a moment?”
My mother looked at me suspiciously; she knew me well and knew what I was going to ask for, and so pretended naïveté.
“I don’t know, Laura, we can’t lose any more time, so much has come up...”
“Just a moment!” I begged.
We left the room and went into my bedroom. My mother’s mood had gone very black.
“Laura, you have to be sensible,” she began, but I interrupted her.
“What’s your problem with me? How have I disappointed you?”
“No problem, nothing, my darling, but you must understand that we cannot take on Edurne, and that is what you are going to ask me.”
“But Mama, she cannot go back to the farm! You know that Amaya had a temper...”
“Amaya was always a loyal servant. I wish Edurne had been like her mother, then she wouldn’t have got into problems, and wouldn’t have filled her head with chaff about the revolution.”
“I’m begging you, talk to Papa!”
“We are not rich, we cannot take on another mouth to feed. Haven’t you realized what the situation is? Politics is tearing everything apart: There are strikes, disorder, some madmen are even attacking convents; I don’t know what’s going to happen... Your father is a saint, he supports Don Manuel Azaña just like his brother Juan, but I don’t think that Azaña will sort out the situation...”
“I don’t care about politics! What I want to do is help Edurne! And don’t tell me that we can’t make room for her at home. She can sleep in your maid’s room, Remedios won’t mind, it will be good for her to have someone to help her.”
“No! No, I don’t want a Communist for a maid, I don’t want troubles in my house. It’s enough what happened to your cousin Amelia.”
My father knocked gently on the door. He had heard my mother’s raised voice.
“I’m going to my office, I will be back for lunch. But what’s wrong?”
“Your daughter wants us to take Edurne in; Santiago has dismissed her.”
“Oh Papa, please!”
“Look, what we can do is speak to your uncle and aunt, I will go to speak with Teresa myself and explain the situation. It should be they who take care of Edurne. Edurne is Amaya’s daughter, after all, and Amaya worked for them for many years. They’ll know what to do.”
My mother was stubborn as a mule.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” my father said, to both my mother’s surprise and mine.
“Why not? Tell me, Armando, why not? Edurne is not our problem.”
“Amelia is my niece, and what she has done has consequences for us, and we can’t just wash our hands. Look, Elena, it would be difficult for my brother and Teresa to have to take in Edurne. Of course they would do it out of a sense of responsibility, but her presence would be a permanent reminder of the situation they have been presented with. No, I don’t want to cause my brother and sister-in-law any more pain, and Laura is right, we cannot abandon this silly little girl.”
“She’s a Communist,” my mother replied, and she spat out the word.
“Do you really think that Edurne knows what Communism is? And even if she does, why shouldn’t she be one? What has her life given her that she should be anything else?”
“She should be grateful to your family for everything they have done for her. They’ve treated her like she was one of them, they’ve done the same for her mother...”
“Thankful? No, Elena, the world’s not like that. They’ve treated her like a human being, and no one should be thankful for being treated like what one is. Edurne has done her job well, just like Amaya did; they don’t owe us anything.”
“How can you say that! Sometimes I think you’re a Communist as well!”
“Come on, Elena! Don’t get Communism mixed up with justice. That’s what hurts this country so badly, that’s why the things that are happening are happening. People have been kept in a state of slavery, and lots of you are terrified because they are finally reclaiming what is their own.”
“And that’s why they need to burn down churches? Does that justify the peasants occupying farms? It’s not their property!”
“Look, let’s not argue, I have to go to the office, and I want to go and see my brother Juan. What’s happening with Amelia is a tragedy for them, and we have to give them a hand.”
My father’s firm tone vanquished my mother.
“What do you want us to do?”
“For the time being, let Edurne stay, at least provisionally. Put her wherever’s convenient for you and give her something to do.”
“I don’t want my daughters to be contaminated by her ideas...”
“Elena, don’t argue, and do what I tell you,” my father interrupted. “And you, Laura, I hope that you will be sensible. I know how close you were to your cousin, but you must see that she has behaved very, very badly toward everyone: toward her husband, toward her son, and also toward you. I don’t want you to go anywhere with Edurne without your mother’s express permission. There have been enough disappointments with politics in this family.”
“I promise, Papa, you will have nothing to complain about.”
“I hope so, and your sister Melita is more sensible. She has the same name as her cousin Amelia, but perhaps the extra María, Amelia María, makes her different.”
“What do you mean, what do names have to do with behavior?” my mother said.
The result of my parents’ argument was Edurne moving into our house, and her stay, although it was provisional to begin with, quickly became permanent. Edurne has been with me ever since.
Doña Laura sighed. Her memories seemed to worry her, and she passed her hand over her forehead as if trying to shoo them away.
“Maybe you can find out from your family what happened to Santiago after that point. After all, he is your great-grandfather. Santiago broke off all ties with the Garayoas.”
“He never saw them again?” I asked in confusion.
“He didn’t want to know anything about us. I imagine that seeing us would have been a permanent reminder of Amelia’s abandonment. He never allowed us to visit Javier, none of us, not even my aunt and uncle, who were the child’s grandparents.”
“That’s tough. And Don Juan and Doña Teresa accepted it?”
“What could they do? They felt ashamed, and they blamed themselves for Amelia’s behavior. They didn’t want to contribute to Santiago’s suffering, and in fact they did not dare impose themselves. Santiago cut off all business ties with my Uncle Juan, and this was a terrible blow for him. My aunt and uncle had been almost ruined when their business in Germany was closed, so losing the support of the Carranzas was a blow from which Uncle Juan never recovered. After this came the war and everything got worse. They were tough times for everyone... Anyway, I have another meeting arranged for you, so that you can continue your investigation.”
>
“Right. With whom?” I asked, without hiding my interest.
“With Pablo Soler.”
“Lola’s son?”
“Yes, Lola’s son. But you’re a journalist, you’ll know who Pablo Soler is.”
“Me? Never heard of him. Why should I know?”
“Because he’s a historian, he’s written several books about the Civil War, and he has been in several debates on television over the last few years, as well as writing articles for newspapers.”
“Yes, the name does ring a bell, but I’ve really never had much interest in the ins and outs of the Civil War. So many books have been published, so many arguments... It was an atrocity, and I really try to steer clear of atrocities.”
“That’s a stupid attitude.”
“Goodness, Doña Laura! You don’t mince your words.”
“Do you feel better not knowing your history? Do you think it never happened just because you don’t know about it?”
“At least I can stay on the margins.”
“That’s an incomprehensible attitude for a journalist.”
“I’ve never said I was a good journalist,” I defended myself.
“Let’s leave it at that. Here you are, here is Pablo Soler’s phone number; I’ve spoken to him and he’s willing to see you. You will have to go to Barcelona.”
“I’ll call him straight away, and go as soon as he’s willing to see me.”
“Alright, then there’s nothing more to say for the time being.”
Doña Laura got up with difficulty. I thought that she was getting older by the day, but I did not dare offer to help her stand up. I knew that she would reject my help. I realized that in spite of their advanced age, the Garayoa women liked to feel independent, autonomous.
2
When I got home I started to write down everything Doña Laura had told me. It was all fresh in my memory and I did not want to forget a single detail.
Laboring with a good bottle of whisky at my side, I was still writing as dawn began to break. It was fairly light out when I got into bed, and I slept like a baby until the music of my mobile phone, which I had left on my bedside table, pulled me back to reality.