Secrets of Spain Trilogy

by Caroline Angus Baker

  The boys grabbed the little capes and marvelled at the soft heavy fabric. “Now I can kill bulls,” Giacomo said with a sparkle in his eyes.

  “Terrific,” Luna muttered. “Caya…”

  “What? I’ve seen them playing with mine, and they are much too ambitious for children. Let them play; even little ones can produce talent. I did.”

  “I can’t imagine Madrid has produced many redheaded bullfighters,” Luna said with a smile.

  “No, but imagine how glorious that would be.” Cayetano swept Luna into his arms and gave her a soothing kiss. “How are you, my beautiful?”

  “I’m fine. You’re supremely happy this afternoon.”

  “I come home, after two nights of performing in the ring, and find my family in my apartment. There is nothing better than that!” Cayetano watched the boys run off with their capes, and turned back to Luna for another long, inspiring kiss. “I have a gift you, too.”

  “Let me guess, it’s in your pants again?”

  “I was going to say I left it in the car with my gear, but if you’re that easy to please…”

  “You don’t need to buy me presents.”

  “So you don’t want a case of your favourite sherry from Jerez?”

  “In that case, yes, you should buy gifts,” Luna joked as he tightened his grip around her. “Are you this happy because you’re now away from your father?”

  Cayetano groaned. “It was such a long trip back from Jerez, six hours! Eduardo and Alonso were in the car with us, so Papá didn’t harass me too much. But I’m also happy to see you here in Madrid. Is everything to your liking?”

  “Sofía and I went into the old town last night, and we had a terrific time. We stopped by the protest in Puerta del Sol.”

  “I heard about that. Tough times indeed. Have you thought about what you’re going to say to Tomás? Will you go back to work or not?”

  “I blocked that out yesterday and have been considering a new project. I met someone last night that might help.”

  “You will need to tell me about it, but I’m afraid our presence is requested tonight. Mamá and Papá want to take us to dinner.”

  “Do we have to go?”

  “Yes, preciosa, we do, and I will tell you why. It’s the same reason that I’m so happy.”

  “Come on then, spit it out.”

  “I got a phone call from the Spanish Culture Minister. This year, I will be awarded the Fine Arts medal for bullfighting!”

  “Wow!” Luna exclaimed. “I’ve never even heard of it!”

  Cayetano laughed. “I didn’t think so. Consider it my version of the Tour de France yellow jersey. For me. Me. Did I mention I get the medal?”

  “Yes, I get it! Congratulations, darling.”

  Cayetano took a deep breath and let Luna go. “As much as I would love to show off, I’m immensely grateful. After getting gored last year, well, they could have just discarded me from the running.”

  “With all the work you’ve done, and Paco before you, counts for something. Something far more than your accident last year.”

  “Yes. Be prepared though, because it may not be a smooth ride to the awards dinner.”

  “Why?”

  Cayetano ignored the question. “Hey, by September we’ll be married.”

  “Yay,” Luna replied in mock enthusiasm. “Why are you expecting controversy about your medal?”

  “I shouldn’t.” Cayetano seemed all hyped up with adrenalin. “I did my alternativa and became a full torero when I was 24 and had been in the ring for several years before that. I have been at the top of my game for almost seventeen years now. I have killed around 3,000 bulls in my time. But people think I’ve had it easy, with the famous ‘El Potente’ Beltrán for a father, and the owner of Rebelión as a grandfather.”

  “But ‘they’ don’t know either Paco or José, because they haven’t made your life easy. Full of opportunity, yes, but easy? No.”

  “And I married a television presenter, have been in campaigns for products, done motivational speaking, been in the glossy magazines. Some say I betrayed the art by doing all these things.”

  “Maybe ‘they’ are jealous because they aren’t getting the almighty money like you are.”

  “Right now, I don’t care. I’m just pleased I got the medal. Papá earned the medal in 1979 before he retired. Now, I have one, too. So we’re going to celebrate!”

  “By having a week’s holiday in Gran Canaria?” Luna teased.

  “No! By having dinner with my family. Come on, it will be okay. Sofía will come, I hope.”

  “Okay, if Sofía is coming, then fine.”

  “I’m glad you and my sister are friends. It’s crucial to me.”

  Cayetano paused as the children called out to him. “Looks as if I’m needed for cape practice.”

  Luna stood in the doorway to the living room and watched Cayetano play with the children. All it took was a moment to realise how to fix all her problems, including her job.

  ~~~

  Luna sighed as she looked around the restaurant. It was a beautiful place, built in a restored palace in the centre of Madrid, a room of white punctuated with black chairs, and a whopping gold-rimmed mirror dominating the far wall. A gold chandelier hung above the immaculate white table. The restaurant was beautiful and the food was one of those experiences you didn’t forget. However, Luna felt exhausted. But it was a celebration dinner, for Cayetano’s Fine Arts medal. She had to attend.

  She glanced at her hand on the table cloth, inside Cayetano’s. His thumb stroked her skin, while she listened to Paco speak. Luna sat opposite her fiancé, and Enzo was in the seat next to her, with Giacomo across from him. Paco and Inés sat next to them, with Consuela and Sofía at the other end. José sat at the head of the table, as far from Luna as possible.

  “Are you all right?” Cayetano asked in a quiet voice.

  Luna snapped from her daydream. “Yes, why?”

  “You haven’t eaten much.”

  Luna glanced as the dish of torreja soaked in sardine oil. The thought made her stomach churn. “I’ve lost count of how many dishes have been brought out.”

  “Eight dishes,” Enzo replied. “Three to go!”

  Luna smiled at her son, who had made a mess of his own meal. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  “You haven’t touched the cava either,” Cayetano commented. “Did we come to the wrong place?”

  “No, no it’s beautiful,” Luna shook her head. “It… the wine tastes funny.”

  Cayetano frowned and picked up her glass and sipped. “Tastes fine to me.”

  “She did that last night, too,” Sofía called down to her brother.

  “What?” Inés asked.

  “Luna said the wine last night tasted odd, and she think it does here, too,” Sofía replied.

  All the adults lifted their champagne flutes and sipped.

  “No, I’m sure the cava is fine.” Luna tried to stifle a yawn.

  “The wine tastes odd,” Inés mumbled with a smile. She threw a look to her husband, and he smiled, but the pair said nothing.

  José stood up from his seat and raised his glass. “I would like to make a toast,” he said, and the family lifted their glasses, Giacomo and Enzo included. “To my grandson, Cayetano. You have been nothing but a colossal success your whole life. We worked hard to ensure you could have an extraordinary life, and honour your family with your bullfighting prowess. You have exceeded all of my expectations, and I am proud to have you as a member of our family. Congratulations on your Fine Arts medal. Here’s to Cayetano, my number one grandson, my remarkable boy.”

  “To Cayetano,” the whole family said, and brought their glasses together. Enzo and Giacomo spilled juice on the tablecloth, much to everyone’s amusement.

  “Would you like to say a few words?” José asked as he sat down.

  Cayetano stood up in his seat, but didn’t let go of Luna’s hand. “I know this dinner isn’t our official party to celebrate,
but while I have just my closest family here, I would like to say thank you for everyone’s support, even you, Sofía, and I know you hate bullfighting.”

  “Someone in this family needs to make sure your ego doesn’t crush you. One of us can’t go around talking about you as if you’re God,” Sofía joked.

  “I appreciate that,” he replied. “Seems 2010 will be a bumper year, lots of positive things happening, big changes for us all…”

  Inés frowned as her son fell into silence. “Caya?”

  Cayetano smiled. “Last year was tough, really tough.” Luna felt him squeeze her hand. “But great things are happening, the wedding, and stuff…”

  Paco cleared his throat. “No matter what happens to Rebelión, whether we can save the place or not, we need to remember your achievements, Cayetano. From divorced and injured one year, to remarried and successful the next. That’s important.”

  Luna raised her eyebrows. Paco wasn’t one for kind words to his son. Paco could see the stress the financial crisis put on Cayetano. “Can I say something?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Cayetano said and sat down across the table again.

  “I don’t know much about bullfighting,” she began. “But I do understand how hard a person needs to work to reach the peak of their profession. I know the sacrifices that need to be made to be the best. So I am proud of Cayetano for being awarded this medal. I’m also grateful for being able to join your family. I know I have caused trouble...”

  “Never mind that,” Consuela said.

  “I do mind,” Luna said. “It bothers me that my association with my last husband and now with Cayetano brings scrutiny on my character, and Cayetano by association. So I have decided to leave my job as a mechanic, to concentrate on being… me. We can have the wedding, and then I want to spend the summer working on my farmhouse in Valencia, and attending more bullfights.”

  “Yay,” Giacomo said. “We get to see Mummy more.”

  “I’m pleased you approve,” she smiled.

  “To Luna joining our family,” Inés said, and raised her glass and everyone obliged.

  “Are you feeling quite well?” Cayetano joked as Luna sat down and the table fell back into conversation.

  “Yes, I just told you, I’m fine.”

  “You decided to leave your job? Why?”

  Luna shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s just feeling. I don’t want to be part of something I don’t believe in anymore. I just want to be happy.”

  “And you will be, as a Beltrán?”

  “I hope so.” Luna leaned forward, and Cayetano copied. “Maybe, once we have dealt with Escondrijo, we can think about a family,” she whispered.

  Cayetano shook his head. “I’m sorry, what? What did you do with my real fiancé?”

  “I had an epiphany this afternoon while you showed the boys how to use their capes. I don’t think cycling can give me what I need anymore, but you can. Plus it gives give me more time to work on my Spanishness.”

  “There’s that word again, Spanishness,” Cayetano chuckled. “So, will you and the boys move to Madrid after the wedding?’

  “I haven’t agreed to relinquish Valencia just yet.”

  “I’ll work on it.” Cayetano winked and leaned back in his seat again.

  “Caya mentioned a photoshoot for a magazine?” Luna said down to Paco.

  “Yes,” Paco replied. “They wanted to shoot it at Rebelión on Monday. I haven’t told them anything yet.”

  “Can you ask if we can do it early in the day, so I can get back to Valencia? Then the kids only miss one day of school.”

  “I can babysit at Rebelión, if you like,” Inés said, “so you can get the photoshoot done in peace.”

  “Gilberto will be filming, as well,” Paco added. “They are doing interviews with José this week.”

  “I would love to hear the stories everyone has to tell,” Cayetano mentioned. “Old stories from my Papá and Papí are always interesting.”

  “You know what would have been good?” Luna commented. “A photoshoot on the beach in Valencia. It’s beautiful there; I love wandering along Malvarrosa and Las Arenas.”

  “I did too, when we lived there,” Consuela replied. She smiled as she spoke; her mind had wandered away. “We spent one glorious day there, I remember, when Inés was about three years old. José spoiled us all day long, and we took the tram home, and Inés got sand all over the seat! I got my first swimsuit that day, and we had the most delightful ice creams, had our photo taken, and let Inés ride a donkey.”

  “It sounds as if the seaside has had its heyday,” Luna said. “Old photos of the place paint a glorious place in times gone by.”

  “The flood didn’t help,” Consuela said as the whole group listened. “It destroyed the homes of all who lived down in the area. But it was always a popular place to visit. I hear Las Arenas is covered with a giant hotel, one that isn’t that popular.”

  “With most of the El Cabanyal area destroyed now, it’s lost its soul.”

  “Don’t get too romantic, ladies,” José said. “They were poor areas along the beach, full of drug-dealers and gypsies.”

  Luna held her tongue. Mean and racist. Charming.

  “Not that special day we spent at the beach, my dear,” Consuela said and took her husband’s hand. “That day will be special forever.”

  Enzo turned and tapped Cayetano on the arm. “Can I call you Papá?”

  The whole table paused in conversation, and Cayetano shot a look at Luna, who seemed to be lost for words. “Everyone else has a Papá, so I want one, too. I had a Daddy, but you’re different,” Enzo explained.

  “Yes, this is different,” Cayetano said to the boy and his brother, careful with his choice of words. “You can call me that if you like, but you don’t have to, it’s your choice.”

  “Okay,” Giacomo shrugged. “That’s what we’ll call you. Your name is too long anyway.”

  The adults at the table all laughed, and Luna glanced over at José, who held his wife’s hand. Consuela had tears in her eyes, and the pair seemed to be having an emotional moment.

  “I’m the happiest man alive,” Cayetano said to Luna and took her hand again.

  Luna nodded and hoped she wouldn’t cry herself. The boys had decided to move on with a father figure. It was a momentous step to take, not just for the kids, but for their mother, too. Luna glanced back at Consuela, who wiped a tear from her eye under the solemn gaze of her husband. Why did it hurt them as much as it hurt Luna?

  23

  Valencia, España ~ Septiembre de 1957

  José Morales had a spring in his step. The sun rose early on that September morning, and summer hadn’t yet released its grip on Valencia. Today was a day off patrolling the streets of the city. José wandered home after his night shift, pleased that a quiet night had been afforded to him. Most of the shift had been spent in a chair at the station.

  José stopped by the Mercado de Flores, the flower market in Plaza del Caudillo. The market, built into the centre of the plaza, was a circular marvel in itself. Women stood chatting with their stalls of flowers as a large fountain bubbled away in the centre, seen by those walking past up at road level. José jumped the flight of stairs two at a time, and back up to street level with a bunch of purple and yellow Valencian Bougainvilleas in his hand. Across the street, the Town Hall building sat in silence so early in the day. No one waited for a tram underneath the wooden pergolas. Even the shoe-shiners usually in the plaza hadn’t set up for the day. José took a deep breath and looked around; the place was quiet, the air fresh, the streets still empty ahead of another sweltering hot day.

  He headed down Calle de San Vicente Mártir, a narrow street surrounded by tall buildings, and enjoyed the refreshing feeling of the shade. A few women set up tables outside the panadería, and José nodded hello to them, which caused the pair of young ladies to giggle. Life was good.

  But José’s smile dropped as he passed the church. Inside would be Padre Nefa
ndo and his entourage of religious worshippers and sidekicks, telling the population to be pious, all the while being happy to buy and sell babies. José swallowed hard as he walked by the church, all quiet and innocuous. No matter how bright and shiny José’s life had become over the past few weeks, he wasn’t going to be able to escape certain facts. He and Fermín had stolen six babies now. After the bloody nightmare of Marta in the whore-house, things had become simpler.

  First, Doctor Lugo notified José of a young woman on his street, who was pregnant outside of marriage. The good doctor had persuaded this girl to have her check-ups in his private office, so she didn’t have to face the humiliation of being a single mother in a hospital. During the final month of her pregnancy, José and Fermín began to intimidate this girl, banging on the ground floor window of her one room apartment each night, as they went about their duties. They told her how she had poisoned her baby thanks to her desire for pre-marital sex. The father remained a mystery; José suspected it was the girl’s uncle who lived with her. The girl was no doubt desperate to do away with the child; not that she would have a choice. When the labour came on, Doctor Lugo delivered the child in the girl’s apartment, the uncle absent. The girl wasn’t old enough to be a mother, and the pain had been horrendous. José had attended the birth, after receiving word from the doctor. José watched the girl, just fifteen years old, writhe in agony as her malnourished child-sized body struggled to do the work of a grown woman. The moment the little boy appeared, José held a cloth soaked in chloroform over the girl’s face, rendering her senseless. By the time she woke, José had already delivered the baby, along with the blank and pre-signed paperwork from the doctor, to Padre Nefando at the church. Doctor Lugo told the girl that her baby was stillborn, and taken away. No one ever had to know what her uncle had done to her, and she didn’t have to hide in the building anymore.

  That one was easy money. Not all pay-days were so simple. Fermín’s attempts at baby stealing were much harder. On one of his midnight walks in search of sexual relief, Fermín stumbled upon a heavily pregnant girl who lived in the Ruzafa district. He followed her and discovered she lived on the doorstep of an unfinished building. She was the next target. Fermín told her that he could help her, and on the night of the birth, he managed to get the girl into a taxi and around to Doctor Lugo’s apartment. There, a complicated labour proceeded, to Fermín’s vile delight. The doctor pulled and tore the baby from the girl’s body. When Fermín dumped the unconscious girl back on her doorstep the next morning, José swore he could feel the pain of her stitches and grief. But another baby boy had a new a home, to a couple visiting from Gandia down the coast. God’s work, the priest kept telling José. The girls couldn’t tell anyone what happened. Who would believe them?