When they said goodbye to their guests at midnight, Amelia embraced Laura in tears, the two of them had always been so close. That night they knew that Amelia’s life would change, that she would at the very least stop being the girl who was permitted to make all kinds of mischief, and would now become a woman.
Edurne stopped speaking. She had been talking for a long time, and I hadn’t even moved, so caught up had I been in the story.
I started to see the sort of person my great-grandmother must have been, and I must acknowledge that there was something about her that intrigued me. Perhaps it was the way Edurne had described her, or just that she had known how to awaken my curiosity.
My great-grandmother’s elderly maid seemed exhausted. I suggested that we ask for a glass of water, but she shook her head. She was there talking to me because the Garayoas had ordered her to do so, the link that she maintained with the family was based on each person having a clear role: They ordered and she obeyed. That was how it had been in the past, and that was how it would be in the present; neither of them could hope to have a future.
“What happened then?” I asked, ready to stop her from breaking her story.
“They went to Paris on their honeymoon. They went by train. Amelia had three suitcases. They also crossed the Channel to go to London. I think that the crossing was terrible and that she got seasick. They did not come back until the end of January. Santiago used the journey to see some of his partners.”
“And then?” I insisted, because I couldn’t imagine that the story would finish like that.
“When they got back they moved into a house of their own, a wedding present from Don Manuel to his son. It was near here, at the beginning of Calle Serrano. Don Juan and Doña Teresa were furnishing it, and had everything ready for when the newlyweds returned from Paris. I went to work in Amelia’s house. Don’t think that it wasn’t hard for me to leave my mother, but Amelia insisted that I go with her. She didn’t treat me like a servant, she treated me like a friend; I suppose that the months together at the farm must have helped make a special bond between us. Santiago was surprised by the familiarity between us, but it was a familiarity in which he ended up participating as well. He was a great person... Amelia asked him to allow her to finish her teaching qualification, and he readily accepted; he knew his wife and he knew how difficult it would be for her to dwindle into a housewife. As far as I was concerned, Amelia made me study, made me have ambitions. You see how she was. But Amelia was also greatly influenced by Lola García, and this convinced her to send me to get instruction in a spot run by the Spanish Young Socialists. They taught everything there: reading, typewriting, dancing, sewing...”
“Lola García, the girl who ran away from the police?”
“Yes, the very same. She was a vital figure in Amelia’s life... and in mine.”
Edurne was very tired, but I didn’t want her to stop talking. I guessed that what she was going to tell me next would be the most interesting bit. So I insisted that she drink some water.
“Forgive the question, but how old are you, Edurne?”
“Two years younger than Amelia, ninety-three.”
“So my great-grandmother would be ninety-five...”
“Yes. Shall I continue?”
I nodded gratefully while I wondered what would happen if I lit a cigarette. But I was scared that the housekeeper of the old ladies’ niece could appear at any moment and I decided not to tempt fate.
They had only just got back from their honeymoon in Paris when Amelia met Lola García again. It was an accident. Three afternoons a week Lola went to do the laundry, mending, and ironing at the house of a marquis who lived in the Barrio de Salamanca, very close to where Don Armando lived. One afternoon when Amelia went to have tea with Melita and Laura, she bumped into Lola. Amelia was extremely happy, and for all that Lola resisted, she eventually agreed to go with Amelia to her new home.
Amelia brought Lola home with her as if they had been friends all their lives, asking her how things were going, and in particular about her political opinions. Lola answered her questions doubtfully, she could not understand this bourgeois girl who lived in luxury in the Barrio de Salamanca and who kept on asking about the workers’ demands and the causes of social unrest.
They took coffee in the drawing room, and Amelia invited me to sit with them. I felt as awkward as Lola did, but Amelia did not seem to notice.
Lola explained that she went to study in one of the Socialists’ People’s Houses, that she had learned to read and write there, that they taught her about history and theater, that she had even learned to dance. Amelia seemed interested, and asked if they would let me join or if I had to be a member of the Young Socialists. Lola did not know, but promised to ask.
“I’m sure they’ll let her in. In the end, Edurne is a worker... but wouldn’t you like to join the party?”
“I... Well, I’ve never been much interested in politics, I’m not like my brother,” I replied.
“You have a brother? What party is he a member of?” Lola wanted to know.
“He’s in the PNV, and works in one of the party offices...”
“So, he collaborates with the conservative Nationalists.”
“Well, he’s a worker and I think the Basques are different,” I said in alarm.
“Right? Different? Why? We all need to be equal, to have the same rights wherever we are. No, you’re not different, you’re a worker like I am. How are you different from me? By the fact that you were born on a farm and I was born in Madrid? No one will ever give us anything, we will only be what we are capable of becoming by ourselves.”
Lola was an avid Socialist and spoke about rights and equality with a passion that ended up infecting Amelia. I was to study at the People’s House, and Lola was to take me. That very afternoon, my fate, as well as Amelia’s, was decided.
3
Lola’s visits to Amelia’s house grew ever more frequent, until one day Amelia asked Lola to take her to a meeting of the Spanish Socialist Workers’ Party—the PSOE—or the Workers’ General Union, the UGT.
“But what will you do in one of our meetings? We want to destroy the conservative order of things, and you... well, you are a bourgeois, your husband is a businessman, your father as well... I like you because you are a good person, but Amelia, you are not one of us.”
Lola’s words wounded Amelia. She did not understand why she was being rejected in this way, why she was not considered one of them. I did not know what to say, I had been studying at the People’s House for two months and I was happy with my progress. They were teaching me how to type, and I was worried that if Lola and Amelia fell out then I might have to leave.
But Amelia did not get angry, she just asked what she needed to do to become a Socialist, to be accepted by those who had the least and who suffered the most. Lola promised that she would speak to her superiors and find out.
Santiago knew of Lola’s friendship with Amelia and never criticized it, but they did argue when Amelia announced that she would join the Socialists if they accepted her.
“They’ll never think that you’re one of them, don’t fool yourself,” Santiago argued. “I am not affected by these injustices, and you know what I think of the radical governments. The right-wing movements we have are not up to the circumstances, but I don’t think that revolution is the answer. If you want, I’m going to a meeting of the Republican Left; they’re the group that best represents us, them, not Largo Caballero or Prieto. Think about it, I don’t want them to use you, or even less, to hurt you.”
In 1935, the right wing had launched a smear campaign against Manuel Azaña. Santiago said that it was because they were afraid of him, because he was the only politician capable of getting Spain out of the jam in which it now found itself.
Amelia didn’t get as far as to ask for membership in the PSOE, but she helped Lola whenever she could, and most especially shared with her the opinion that all these continual ministerial crises an
d collapses of government were proof positive that neither Lerroux’s radicals nor Gil Robles’s CEDA had the solution for Spain’s problems.
Lola was a member of the most revolutionary wing of the PSOE, Largo Caballero’s group, and she was a passionate admirer of the Soviet Revolution. One day she gave in to Amelia’s pressure and took her to a meeting where various prominent Socialists were appearing.
Amelia came home excited and scared. Those people had a magnetic force about them, they spoke to the hearts of people who had nothing, but at the same time suggested alternatives that could lead to revolution. So Amelia had contradictory feelings about the Socialists.
Santiago, worried about the influence which Lola was having on Amelia, started to take her to meetings where Manuel Azaña appeared. Amelia struggled with the profound admiration and disconcertedness that she felt when she came into contact with politicians of such different ideas, so far apart on the political spectrum, but similarly convinced of the healthiness of their proposed policies.
Amelia met Socialist worker friends of Lola as well as Communists, or Azañistas, like the majority of Santiago’s friends. She began to live in two worlds: her own, into which she had been born and married, the world of a bourgeois; and the world of Lola, who was a seamstress who wanted to do away with the established bourgeois regime, and in particular the privileges enjoyed by people like Amelia.
I used to go with Amelia to the political meetings Lola took her to, but not always, because Amelia did not want me to abandon my studies at the People’s House.
At the beginning of March, Amelia started to feel ill. Her pregnancy brought with it nausea and vomiting. Santiago was happy, he was going to be a father, and he also thought that the pregnancy would calm Amelia’s political worries, but in this he was mistaken. Pregnancy did not stop Amelia from accompanying Lola to many different meetings, in spite of the protests of her husband and her parents, for Don Juan and Doña Teresa asked their daughter to leave aside her political commitments during the pregnancy. But it was useless, even Laura couldn’t make her see reason, and Laura had always been the person with the most influence on Amelia.
And one day it happened again. Santiago disappeared. I think this was back in April 1935. Amelia had gone to teach in the morning, and to her cousins’ house in the afternoon; she still saw them regularly. Laura was still her best friend. She was as interested in politics as Amelia was, but his ideas were all more or less Azañist.
When Amelia came back that night she waited for Santiago to come and eat, but he had not got back by eleven, and no one was answering in the office. Amelia was worried; disturbances were not rare in Madrid, especially not between various political parties, to the extent that there were right-wing groups that attacked left-wingers, who responded in kind.
We managed to keep our cool until the evening, and the next morning Amelia called Santiago’s father.
Don Manuel said that he did not know where his son was, but that he could be sure that he was traveling, because he had set off to meet a supplier in London.
Amelia had an attack of rage. Throwing herself on the bed, she shouted and swore in tears that she would never pardon her husband for this affront. Then she seemed to calm down, worrying that maybe he had suffered an accident or she was judging him too hastily. We had to call Doña Teresa, who came immediately with Antonietta to take charge of the situation. Laura, aware of her cousin’s reaction, also came to find out what was happening.
Santiago took two weeks to come back, and in those two weeks Amelia changed forever. I can still remember a conversation she had with her mother, her sister Antonietta, and her cousins Laura and Melita.
“If he has been capable of abandoning me when I am pregnant, what else might he be capable of? I cannot trust him.”
“Come now, you mustn’t say that, you know what Santiago is like; Doña Blanca has told you how he is, she’s his mother and she suffers greatly whenever he disappears, but it’s his business, he doesn’t do it to annoy people.”
“No, he doesn’t want to annoy people, but he has to be aware of the harm he does. Amelia is pregnant, and to upset her like this... ,” her cousin Laura said.
“But Santiago loves her,” Antonietta, who was strongly in favor of her brother-in-law, insisted.
“It’s a fine way to show it! To upset me so much it nearly kills me!” Amelia replied.
“Come on, cousin, don’t exaggerate,” Melita said. “Men aren’t as sensitive as we are.”
“But that’s no excuse for them to do whatever they want,” Laura said.
“You have to put up with a great deal from men,” Doña Teresa said in a conciliatory fashion.
“I doubt that Papa has ever done to you what Santiago has done to me. No, Mama, no, I’m not going to forgive him. Whoever said that they have the right to do what they want with us? I won’t let him!”
From that moment on, Amelia’s interest in politics (or rather, Socialism) was redoubled. She never went to another meeting held by Azaña’s party, and in spite of Santiago’s insistence, and fears about her pregnant state, Amelia became a generous collaborator with Lola in all her political activities, although she discovered that her friend did not have the same trust in her.
One afternoon in May I went with Amelia and her mother to the doctor. When we came out, Doña Teresa invited us to have tea in Viena Capellanes, “the Viena,” Madrid’s finest patisserie. We were going to celebrate the doctor’s assertion that the pregnancy was entirely normal. We were just about to go into the shop when we saw Lola on the pavement in front of it. She was walking fast, holding by the hand a child who must have been about ten or eleven years old. It looked like she was scolding him, because the boy had a crestfallen expression. Amelia let go of her mother’s arm and was about to ask Lola to join us.
Lola did not disguise her discomfort at seeing us. But we were more surprised when the boy said, “Mama, who are these ladies?”
Lola introduced her son unwillingly.
“He’s called Pablo, after Pablo Iglesias, the founder of the PSOE.”
“I didn’t know that you had a son,” Amelia replied, upset because her friend had kept secrets from her.
“And why should I tell you?” Lola replied grumpily.
“Well, I would have liked to know. Would you like to have tea with us in the Viena?” Amelia suggested.
Pablo immediately said that he would, and that he’d never been in such a fancy teashop, but Lola seemed uncertain. Doña Teresa felt uncomfortable and I was worried about what the consequences could be of finding out about Lola’s son. Lola finally accepted, seeing that it was a chance for her child to eat in such a famous place.
“I did not know that you were married,” Doña Teresa said, to start a conversation.
“I’m not,” Lola replied, to Doña Teresa’s astonishment.
“You’re not married? So... ?” Amelia asked.
“You don’t need a husband to have kids, and I didn’t want to get married. Pablo came along without us looking for him, but there you go.”
“But he must have a father...”
“Of course I have a father!” Pablo said angrily. “His name is Josep! I’m half Catalan because my father is Catalan. He’s not here now, but he’ll come and see us when he can.”
Lola looked daggers at her son, and we could see in her gaze that once the two of them were alone Pablo wouldn’t escape a good telling-off for talking too much. But Pablo decided to ignore his mother and carry on.
“My father’s a Communist. What are you?”
Without us being able to stop it, Lola slapped her son and told him to shut up. Doña Teresa had to intervene to calm the child’s tears and the mother’s anger.
“Come, come! Drink your chocolate... and Lola, don’t hit your child, he’s little and the only thing he’s done is to say that he’s got a father whom he’s proud of, which is no reason for you to scold him.” Kindhearted Doña Teresa tried to calm Lola’s anger.
&n
bsp; “I’ve told him that he’s got to keep his mouth shut, that he shouldn’t tell anyone about me or his father; there are people who are scared of the Communists and the Socialists, and they could make things awkward for us.”
“But not us! I’m your friend,” Amelia insisted, feeling hurt.
“Yes... yes... but even so... Pablo, finish your chocolate and your bun, we’ve got to go.”
The next afternoon, when Amelia and I were at home sewing, Lola came to see Amelia. I made a move to leave the room, but as Amelia did not tell me to go, I preferred to stay and see what Lola was going to say.
“I didn’t tell you that I’ve got a son because I don’t want to tell my life to everyone who comes along,” Lola said.
“But I’m not just anyone, I thought that you trusted me, and, well, I thought you were my friend.”
Lola bit her lip. It was clear that she’d thought a lot about what she was going to say, and she didn’t want her emotions to carry her away.
“You are a good person, but we’re not friends... You have to understand, you and I are not equal.”
“But we are, we are equal, we’re two women who like each other; you’ve convinced me of certain things, you’ve made me see that there’s a life beyond these walls, you’ve made me see my privilege and feel guilty about it. I try to help your cause because I feel that it is just, because it’s not right that I should have everything and others should have nothing. But maybe that’s not enough, and, you know what, Lola? I’m not going to apologize. No, I won’t apologize for having marvelous parents, a loving husband, and a supportive family. As far as money is concerned, my father has been working his whole life, just like my grandparents did and their parents before them... And Santiago, you’ve seen how much he works, how he spends all his time in the factory, how he looks after the people who work there for him. Even so, I admit that we have more than we need, that it’s not fair that others have nothing while we have so much. But you know, Lola, that we don’t exploit anyone, that we help others as much as we can. But I see that this isn’t enough for you and that you’ll never trust me.”