Secrets of Spain Trilogy

by Caroline Angus Baker

  Now, José and Fermín, along with the reluctant doctor, had stolen six babies in a month. José wanted to slow down; every day seemed like an opportunity get caught. But the money… the money… six babies left José with his share of the spoils, now 120,000 pesetas, hidden in box under the bed he shared with Consuela. The beautiful Consuela had no idea what her husband had been doing. Already baby number seven had been lined up; a homeless woman had been arrested for stealing a few days earlier, pregnant and starving. Fermín was happy to take care of that one, giving José a break.

  As José wandered past the church, he glanced down the pedestrian Calle de Pescaderia, which led to the circular space of Plaza Redonda, the fish market. The place was in full swing early in the day. It gave him an idea as a yellow tram with a Martini sign on top rattled past him.

  A quick walk through the newly-widened Plaza de la Reina and around the grandiose cathedral and José was home on the cramped Calle de Reloj Viejo. He charged up to the top floor and went inside. Consuela sat at the tiny wooden table in the living room, Inés by her side. The pair smiled to see their husband and father home.

  “Good morning, my darling,” José said as he handed the flowers to his wife. “A little something for you.”

  “They’re beautiful,” Consuela said, so touched by the surprise gesture that a tear came to her eye. “Are you sure we can afford these?”

  “We can afford anything.” That was why José felt so upbeat despite the depressing situations of late. Money was literally piling up, and he could take care of his family. He scooped up his little girl and gave her a kiss. “How are you, mi pequeña? Did you sleep well?”

  “She didn’t,” Consuela said and stood up, “Inés isn’t well.”

  “What?” José put a hand to his little girl’s forehead. She seemed warm. “Perhaps we should send for a doctor.”

  “No, I hate the hospitals,” Consuela said. “The doctors look at you like you’re just a piece of meat. Some are pleasant men, but very few.”

  José moved over to the open window and opened the dirty thin curtain. That needed to be replaced. He let the crisp morning air blow on his warm little girl. “I had an idea, just now, and it might help Inés.”

  “What?”

  “I thought we could go to the beach today. We could go to Las Arenas, to the spa they have there, or the restaurants. We could wander along the sand at Malvarrosa and jump in the sea. Perhaps a day out will help out little Inés feel better.”

  “Perhaps,” Consuela said as she twirled a ringlet of her daughter’s golden brown hair.

  “You know what you could buy?” José continued. “One of those new swimsuits everyone is wearing this year. I’ve seen photos.”

  “I think they show far too much skin; there’s nothing to cover my legs! I’m a good Catholic girl.”

  “Good Catholic girls can look beautiful at the beach, my dear,” José teased and kissed her cheek. “No need to be so formal. I saw a group of women last night, and they had skirts well above their knees.”

  “I could never do that,” Consuela scoffed. “And neither will our daughter.”

  “I’m sure our daughter will grow up just fine,” José said and bounced the little girl in his arms, to her delight. “Though, yes, I will be measuring her skirt length with a ruler.”

  Consuela giggled. “With a Guardia Civil Papá, I’m sure no harm will ever come to our daughter.”

  He thought of the six women, girls, who had no care from a father, when José hurt them and stole their children. “Come on,” he said and ignored the dark thoughts. “We are going to the beach, by taxi, and I’m buying my girls a swimsuit each.”

  “Taxi? All the way to Las Arenas? Never. It will cost a fortune.”

  “I was thinking about buying a car, but that’s not very practical for today.”

  “A car? However will we afford such a thing?” Consuela admonished. “Where would we keep it? Our street is barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side.”

  “My dear, we can have anything we desire. You don’t need to worry about money anymore. Do you need more money for household items? All you need to do is ask.”

  “Did you get a pay rise, darling?”

  “Yes, you could say that. My dream of a farm outside Madrid is getting closer to reality by the day!”

  Consuela laughed as she took her tired daughter from José. “Of course, the farm.”

  “There will be a farm, I promise, and we shall call it Rebelión.”

  “Oh, I see a name has been selected.”

  “One day, my love, one day.”

  ~~~

  José couldn’t convince Consuela to take a taxi; instead they took trams out to the beach, seven kilometres from the centre of Valencia city. He watched with a grin as his daughter bounced on her mother’s knee, taking in the sights of Valencia. They weaved through the city, and out towards to the port area, as the crowds and city life began to fall away. The riverbed, devoid of water, played host to an animal market; cattle, horses and mules stood waiting to be inspected by the prospective new owners, who sat on their carts and haggled over prices. Down by the mouth of the river by the sea, men sat fishing and women did their laundry. Life in the port town of Nazaret looked like a world away from the bustling city only a few kilometres away. José looked at the chabolas, slum shacks in the riverbed. Just seven years earlier the river had flooded; and yet desperate people built their homes here, let their children play in the parched earth.

  The church of Santa María del Mar at the Grau port area had a wedding spilling through its doors as the tram went past the happy occasion. The clock tower at the port sat in silence, but the port buzzed around it, with a swimming competition drawing large crowds. The beach at Malvarrosa filled to the brim with people from Valencia city and surrounding villages. People grabbed the last days of summer and flocked to dip their toes in the calm Mediterranean ocean just north of the Valencia port.

  Consuela let José buy both her and Inés a swimsuit, black for mother and pink for daughter. They sat on a blanket under and blue and white striped umbrella José rented, and watched Inés splash knee deep in gentle waves. Behind them, the streets alongside the seafront brimmed with life, couples walked arm-in-arm, dressed in their Sunday best, mixed with more outgoing beach lovers. The water’s edge teemed with swimmers, couples and families, all keen to escape the Valencian heat.

  “Maybe this is as good as it gets,” Consuela commented.

  José turned and looked at his wife, her expression hidden under to her wide brimmed white hat. “What do you mean?”

  “Today, here, with our daughter… I should stop praying for more than this. Perhaps we don’t need more children.”

  José took off Consuela’s hat to see her face, not happy with the comment. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Maybe this is our whole family. I have a daughter; that is enough.”

  José placed his hand on her thigh. “If this is all we have, then we should be happy.” He paused and watched his daughter, just a few metres away as she splashed herself and laughed. “But if you want more, I can give you more. A new life, more money, more children… I will find a way.”

  “You cheeky man, putting your hand on my leg in public,” Consuela teased.

  “If you want more kids, I have to touch more than just your leg,” he whispered in her ear.

  “You dirty man,” she teased and slapped his hand away. “Honestly…”

  “You chased this young officer in Madrid, so I know you have a lot of lust in you,” José whispered and kissed her neck.

  “José, stop it,” Consuela chastised with a giggle. “What if people are looking? What if Inés sees us?”

  “She shares a bedroom with us, and we have been anything but pious in the night.”

  “I know! As a baby that was okay, but now she’s older…”

  “We will move. Simple. A bigger apartment for us. This year, we will buy our own apartment. I promise you. By C
hristmas, we will be living in our own home.” Only had to steal about four or five more babies and that would be a reality. Break the hearts and spirits another four or five women.

  “José, are you all right?”

  José snapped from his guilt. “Of course.”

  “Just, the last few months, you haven’t been yourself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You seem distracted, busy, as if a burden has been placed on you. Is it because I’m still not pregnant?”

  “My darling, no, not at all. I am happy; I don’t deserve a virtuous woman like you.”

  “You do, José. We deserve everything, we are decent people, even if you a little too lustful at the beach,” Consuela joked.

  “Should I go and get ice cream, to cool off?”

  “Ice cream? Now that is a real treat. You have already showered us ladies with enough gifts for one day.”

  “Nonsense, no such thing.”

  José left Inés under the watchful eye of her mother and headed across the scorching hot sand. He dodged children taking donkey rides, old women sitting in wicker basket chairs. Young couples walked hand in hand, dressed in their bathing suits, out of sight of their parents, no doubt. José crossed the wooden boardwalk and stepped into a little store and gazed around the customers sitting in the shade, sipping cold drinks. This was a world away from his day job, and if he never went back to the city again, José wouldn’t care.

  He stood in line and waited his turn to be served. The man at the counter was a dark and foreboding guy, who seemed so out of place amongst beachgoers.

  “My darling, come here.”

  José turned, the female voice vaguely familiar in the back of his mind. Across the store, behind the counter a woman was chasing a young boy, no more than two years old. José froze. It was her; the beguiling gypsy girl from the brothel, from the night Marta died at Fermín’s hand. Carmelita, the woman with lips skilled enough to turn any married man from his wife. José stepped out of the line of paying customers, and wandered in her direction. He watched Carmelita chase the child down a hallway. The boy came to a stop by a dirty old pram. Inside, José could just see a baby lying down, perhaps a few months old. Around the misshapen wheels, another child, a boy, crawled on the sandy wooden floor.

  Carmelita looked up and made eye contact with José. He saw her fear; she too seemed shocked by the accidental encounter.

  “Carmelita!” cried the angry man at the counter. “Get your lazy ass out here now, and serve customers!”

  “Sí, Papá,” Carmelita said as she rushed back out to the store front.

  “Serve this man here,” the old grouch barked and pointed at José.

  Carmelita tied a dirty white apron around her waist, and smoothed her hair, tied back from her face. She wanted to do anything but make eye contact. “Buenas tardes, señor,” she muttered. “¿Puedo ayudarle?”

  “Are those your children?” José asked her, his voice soft enough to give them some semblance of privacy in the busy café.

  “They are.”

  “You have three children? How old are you?”

  “I am 19,” Carmelita said, and lifted her gaze to meet José’s. She had found a little courage. “I am old enough to be the mother of three sons.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Pedro, Jaime and Luis.”

  “Who is their father?”

  “I…”

  “Carmelita,” her father barked. “Stop talking and work!”

  “I am a member of Guardia Civil. If I need to talk to your daughter, then I shall,” José said, his voice loud and clear. The place fell into silence for a moment, before returning to a cautious chatter again. Everyone in Spain felt nervous about a police presence.

  José watched the man become nervous as he handed a customer a drink, and turned away. José had been an officer long enough to understand body language. “Your father,” he said in a low tone, “does he make you work at the brothel?”

  “I work here,” Carmelita whispered. “I live in El Cabanyal.”

  José sighed. El Cabanyal was a hot-bed for poverty, which brought on trouble, a whole different type of trouble to the El Carmen district in the old town. Carmelita avoided his question, but José assumed this old bastard sent his young daughter to town for late night income.

  “Does your father touch you?” José whispered. Carmelita didn’t move or say a word. “Is he the father of those children?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “No, I know that for certain. Their father, he is gone. Dead. That’s why I have to work at the brothel.”

  “Does your father touch you?” he repeated.

  “If you don’t leave, I will make sure everyone knows about that night in the brothel,” Carmelita hissed.

  “Right, that’s it.” The angry man stormed over and shoved Carmelita out of the way. Carmelita turned and scurried down the hallway. “My apologies, Teniente. Please excuse my daughter, she has been a burden since the day she was born. What can I get you?”

  José hurried down the beach with three ice creams. All he wanted to do was bury his head in the sand. It had happened again; how could God give that girl, a prostitute possibly burned with incest, three children while He denied Consuela the right to a family?

  As he drew close to his family, sitting on their blanket, José knew he couldn’t do this anymore. He didn’t like the man he became in Carmelita’s sex room. He needed to get out of Valencia, and away from everyone who knew what he had been doing. Drastic action needed to be taken.

  24

  Madrid, España ~ Mayo de 2010

  Cayetano didn’t care about the sand in his hair. He laid back in the centre of Rebelión’s practice ring, with Luna snuggled up against him. They wore nothing but one of his red capes, which disguised their shorts. The photographer, along with Hector, orchestrated every photo, which removed the erotic aspect of having his fiancé lie topless on him in the bullring. A hand here, and arm there, a gaze this way, every moment planned. What had been planned as the pair of them topless inside the cape had turned into two hours of different shots, and Luna held her tongue, despite the fact she didn’t agree with any of the poses. The first hour Luna had worn a beautiful gold gown that Hector had supplied, with photos taken around Rebelión inside and out. Then the topless shots, which Luna felt unhappy with, saying a woman was more than the sum of what she had under her clothes.

  “What are you looking at?” Luna asked as she locked the bedroom door. They had to get dressed into something casual to finish the interview. She couldn’t even remember which magazine it was for now.

  Cayetano felt aware of the dirty grin on his face as he woke from his daydream. Luna was across the large yet basic bedroom, closing the blinds. “You, what else would I be looking at right now?”

  Luna peeled her shirt off and tossed it on the floor. “Those photos had better be worth it. Half an hour of Hector styling my hair for the next interview was not fun. It disgusts me that I have to pose as some naked prop for your fabulous life. Be prepared to be making this up to me for a while.”

  “Is there anywhere else on you that needs to be checked for sand?”

  Luna ran her hands over her bare breasts. “You tell me.”

  “Are you trying to tease me?”

  “Nope, I’m making an offer.”

  Cayetano chuckled and glanced around his basic bedroom at Rebelión. “I wish that was true.” He pulled off his shirt and tossed it on a chair. He turned back and Luna stood there naked. “You are, you’re teasing me.”

  “And again, no, I’m not,” she said and stepped forward with a smile. She tickled her fingers over his chest and around his shoulders. “I’m deadly serious.”

  “We… need… to… go… back… to… the… interview,” he mumbled through kisses. “Everyone is waiting.”

  “Everyone is waiting outside, at the other end of the house. The kids are safe, the door is locked...”

  “What has got into
you?” Cayetano asked as Luna pushed him back on the bed. He watched her climb over him and then undo the zipper on his shorts. “We have had sex every night for two weeks.”

  “I don’t know. Whatever makes me want you, is on fire at the moment.”

  Cayetano let her take off his clothes while he let his eyes feast on the sight of her. “My parents are here.”

  “Not in this room they’re not,” she mumbled as she nibbled on his neck. “You’re forty years old, stop worrying about everything.”

  “I didn’t bring any condoms. They’re all back at the apartment.”

  “Risk it,” Luna said before she took his mouth with hers. “We have in the past. I’m asking for a five-minute quickie before we get back to work. I’m going straight home to Valencia after this. You can’t ask a woman to lie half-naked against the man she wants and then not let her follow through, that’s mean.”

  “I’m out of excuses,” Cayetano joked, before he grabbed her and rolled onto her back, to her shriek of delight. The woman made his testosterone go from zero to 100 kilometres an hour in a matter of seconds. The risk of someone walking past their room was forgotten the moment he took her. Life felt like one giant party.

  Hector glanced at his watch as Cayetano and Luna emerged on the wooden balcony in the sunshine. “How long does it take to get changed?” he asked. “We’ve been waiting.”