Secrets of Spain Trilogy

by Caroline Angus Baker

  José glanced around the tiny bar, the faded bullfighting posters the same as ever. Paco appeared on several. A strong gypsy voice emanated through the music playing behind the bar. Jaime was never sure why he identified with the music as much as he did. Neither of his parents came from the south. “You were pleased to see Franco today, Padre?”

  “Always,” José said as Sebastian set down two small glasses of sherry.

  “When did you last see him in person?” Jaime continued as he wriggled on his stool; his dark dress trousers still not warm despite the heating in the bar.

  “That would have been when he got photographed with Paco at the fight here in Madrid in ‘69, the last time Franco watched Paco perform.”

  “Did Franco remember you from your days in the Brigada Especial?”

  “I didn’t report to Franco, my boy,” José chastised him. “But yes, I spoke of my past meetings with him and my work, and Franco was most polite with me. The man isn’t a talker; he is a listener, an observer. Franco remembers everything.”

  Jaime nodded, his mind still on Alazne. She could be anywhere. The sex in the fields at Rebelión; over an hour of lying there with the chance to touch Alazne, see her, be with her. It wasn’t like all the fumbling in the dark Jaime had done with girls he met while working on the road with Paco. Alazne had wanted to lose her virginity so it wasn’t stolen from her in prison. What a crippling prospect. Now, Alazne had disappeared, and Jaime would never see her again.

  “Padre, when you worked as a Guardia Civil, or in the Brigada Especial, did you have to hurt people?”

  “What do you ask?”

  “Just curious, Padre.”

  José placed his sherry on the counter and folded his fingers together. His skin still looked frigid. “Sometimes I had to hurt people.”

  “Did you ever kill anyone?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No, Padre. It won’t change how I view you.” You are already scary.

  “I killed people, yes, Jaime. I was forced to shoot people in certain operations.”

  “Did you execute people?”

  “You mean like the dissident pigs who faced the firing squads last week? No, nothing like that. Many got killed by firing squads or just taken to the edge of their city or village and shot. But that was in the 1940’s, a few in the 1950’s. That all came to an end as I was making my way through the Guardia Civil. My time in the Guardia Civil was rather uneventful.”

  “Except the flood in Valencia.”

  “Oh yes, that was quite a moment in history. I got promoted back to Madrid because of that night in Valencia. In the Brigada Especial, in the early sixties, terrorism was on the rise. Cells of repugnant criminals were looking to inflict pain and terror on the people of Spain. People who dared to defy Franco, a new wave of rojos. We had all the ones from the war, more or less, and now younger people thought they could rise against the regime. We made sure they got stopped.”

  “By killing?”

  “Some got killed, Jaime. Many got imprisoned.”

  “Women?”

  “Naturally. Crazy women, along with wives or whores of terrorists got arrested, for hiding people.”

  “But weren’t many innocent of crimes?”

  “Sympathisers of terrorists are breaking the law.”

  “Is it true women are raped in jail as punishment or torture?”

  “Why would you ask that?” José replied. He paused as Sebastian brought out the food, but his frown remained. Once Sebastien was a safe distance away, he continued. “You have a good life, don’t you, Jaime? You have everything you could ask for, ¿no?”

  “Of course, Padre.”

  “So why ask me such a question?”

  “You said people need to get what they deserve. I wondered if sexual humiliation was punishment.”

  “Rape is a crime rarely punished. Women bring it on themselves. Most often they deserve it. Women cannot defy their husbands. We saw incest cases in my work, but that is a family matter, not a criminal one. In prisons, sometimes women need incentive to talk, and rape is a suitable form of punishment. It’s all off the record but is sometimes used. It’s simple and effective. Many officers enjoy it, and maybe the women do too, whores that they are.”

  Jaime wanted to stand up and punch his father for his untruths; smack his face so hard he would fall in his uniform, be humiliated before the surrounding people. But Jaime’s better nature prevailed, which took so much will. More than Jaime thought he even had. No woman deserved rape; no woman would enjoy the agony. The way poor Inmaculada had limped from her cell in Valencia; she had received such punishment. Alazne knew rape was in her future. “Rape is a crime, Padre, in any case.”

  José shrugged, his mouth full of shrimp.

  “Did you rape women when you were an officer?”

  José wiped his lips with a napkin and the heavy frown returned. “Who have you been talking to, Jaime?”

  “No one!”

  “Look, when you are doing the work I had to do, special operations, secret projects, life or death scenarios, things get messy. Likewise when strip-searching women and they refuse to comply. But I didn’t take the lead in any of these actions; I got involved in rounding up these men and women, rather than any interrogation.”

  “Did you ever regret things you did as an officer?”

  “Yes, Jaime. Actions became easier to stomach over time, but I can assure you, my conscience experienced pain in Valencia.”

  “But you had sex with women who weren’t Mamá. You hurt women.”

  “I did what I had to do for Spain,” José said, which answered nothing for Jaime. “Married men have other women anyway, my son. It is custom. You will discover this when you are married and take a mistress. Wives turn a blind eye and do their duties. So what I had to do for my work doesn’t mean I committed any sin.”

  Jaime struggled to swallow his mouthful of salmorejo. His mouth went dry, even with the cold soup. Perhaps he should have ordered something hot instead. “Why did you quit the Brigada Especial if it was all you ever wanted to do with your life?”

  “I loved my work; that was never in doubt, but I always wanted to live in the country, too.”

  “You could have been a Guardia Civil in the country.”

  “Yes, but I had dreams of owning a country estate – running my own business, being a landowner – since I was a child. Then bull breeding came along, and I thought it was time to try something new. We had been living in the tiny Madrid apartment in the Guardia Civil barracks for almost eight years, and you four children were getting big. I heard about the land of Rebelión, which got abandoned during the civil war, and I could afford the whole place. I had money from my time in Valencia, and it was time to use that money for good. Your mother knows her place in life – she doesn’t argue, and she agreed to the move to Rebelión. The Brigada Especial seemed surprised by my decision, but I wasn’t under a contract, so we left Madrid. I had promised to give Inés, and you boys, a good life. You boys could have had nothing, but we gave you everything instead. Please don’t question our choices. You’re only 19, Jaime, so you don’t understand the world.”

  “You make it sound like you bought us children when you went out for cigarettes.”

  “I can assure you it’s not like that. You boys came at a high price.”

  Jaime wondered what his father meant. A high price? A toll on their mother’s health? Financial struggles for a young couple with four children born so close together? Or did something else occur? Jaime adored his mother; she loved all her children but José only made time for Inés the golden daughter, and her perfect husband, Paco.

  “What is the point of this conversation, Jaime?”

  “Nothing, forget my questions.”

  “Did the girl say something to you?”

  “Alazne? No.”

  “Alazne’s father wasn’t like me. Fermín was a horrid bastard of a man. The world is better off without him.”

  “I though
t you were friends, partners.”

  “We were, but sometimes Fermín would make my blood run cold. You don’t want to know the story of Fermín Belasco. You liked the girl, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t know her.”

  “But the pair of you had sex so don’t bother denying anything. My detective skills still work.”

  “Padre…”

  “Don’t worry; you don’t have to say anything. Jaime, you’re a young man; you can do as you please with women.”

  “I’m engaged to Isadora. I have been for as long as we could walk.”

  “Isadora Núñez comes from a good family, Jaime. She will make a good wife - quiet, demure, subservient, everything a man would want.”

  “What if a man wants more?” Jaime asked.

  “You mean sex? Have a mistress. A man can do as he pleases, Jaime. On Sunday you will dress in your best and take your family to church, you will show off your children and everyone will envy you. You will have a job for life at Rebelión. What you do with the rest of your time is up to you. It is custom for a man to… to indulge in his needs elsewhere.”

  “Paco doesn’t. Paco is faithful to Inés. Are you unfaithful to Mamá?”

  “Paco is different, so don’t question his motives. My business is private. You will marry Isadora, get her pregnant, and be happy with the life given to you.”

  Something, anything to change the subject. “So what about all the international pressure on Franco after the executions?” Jaime asked.

  José went red around the collar of his green jacket, which glittered with medals and titles thanks to his accomplishments. “Franco is our leader. After him, Prince Juan Carlos will take over and continue Franco’s good work, along with Prime Minister Arias Navarro.”

  Jaime did his best to listen to his father, or rather, pretend to listen. Somewhere out in the cold, Alazne was alone, but she was not stupid. But her ambitions to change the world could hurt her at any moment. Alazne didn’t care about Jaime at all, but sitting in the bar, next to his Franco-loving father, Jaime no longer knew who he was.

  24

  Madrid, España ~ Junio de 2014

  Luna scrolled through a website without taking in much information. Her other hand rested on her desk, covered with paperwork for Escondrijo. As always, she had sat down to look at something related to the house in the Sierra Calderona, and instead ended up wandering all over the internet. The peace of the cream-coloured room always relaxed Luna, tucked away at the far end of the La Moraleja manor.

  Cayetano snuck up behind Luna, and she didn’t flinch until he kissed the side of her neck below her ear. He sprinkled kisses against her skin and Luna squirmed, as it tickled, though didn’t deter her husband.

  “I’m guessing either you want something or are sick of playing with Paquito and Scarlett,” Luna muttered.

  Cayetano spun Luna around and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. “I’m not bored with them; I have put them down for their nap, and I have you all to myself.”

  “Aren’t your Twitter followers entertaining you? You want something.”

  “Do you know that today is the day my new billboard goes up in Puerta del Sol? The central plaza of Madrid has a picture of me almost six storeys high.”

  “Do you want to drive to Madrid and see it up close?” Luna teased. “I’ve seen you in the navy suit you wore at the photo shoot. Plus I’m sure the billboard looks magnificent.”

  “And the cologne I’m advertising smells good, too.”

  “All the free bottles in the bedroom told me that.”

  “I would like to go to Madrid, take Giacomo and Enzo when they’re not at school, but I go away tomorrow for Santander and Huécar.”

  “And when you get back, we are taking a trip to Cuenca with your father, remember? I promise to take the children to Madrid to see the billboard, Caya.”

  “No, wait until I get back. Did I mention the company are having a launch party for the cologne?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “It’s tonight, in central Madrid. You know that rooftop bar in that hotel in Plaza de Santa Ana?”

  “The beautiful, crazy-expensive bar?”

  “Would you like to go and mingle with the rich and famous tonight?”

  “Rich and self-important more like.”

  Cayetano pursed his lips for a moment. “I’m on the billboard, so I need to go to the event.”

  “I know and I have no problem with that.”

  “I would rather like Spain’s most beautiful lady on my arm.”

  “Then call her and ask her out,” Luna sighed. “Because with my beaten face…”

  “Your face looks so much better than a week ago. Please come out tonight, preciosa. Eduardo is home in Madrid like me, so he can watch his girls while Elena comes to watch our four babies, who will be asleep in their beds.”

  “Elena should be with her husband while he isn’t away fighting with you.”

  “Elena will babysit; I’ve already asked her, Luna. Please. Come out tonight. You keep saying you want more out of life than just being everyone’s mother in this house.”

  “I want to be all dishevelled-looking on the back of a motorbike through France, not in a cocktail dress, sweating in the Madrid heat at a party.”

  “Fine, go to France, and we’ll figure something out so the children can still see you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Weren’t you going anyway, planning it so you could do the job and not include me in the plan?”

  “Well, yes…”

  “I’m about to be unemployed and at your mercy anyway, I may as well practice now.”

  “Then you won’t get annoyed that I’m looking at restoration information for Escondrijo. I will fix that house in Valencia, no more arguments.”

  “No argument from me,” Cayetano replied, and kissed his wife’s pale cheek. “So with all that agreed… Will you come out with me tonight? Party starts at eleven.”

  “Nice and early then.” Luna looked at her restoration details on her desk, which wasn’t going anywhere. “Caya…”

  “Come on, come out with me tonight. Please don’t be upset about your face, Luna. The swelling has gone down, the stitches don’t look so angry anymore, the bruising can get covered with makeup, ¿no?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Preciosa, you’re beautiful. You looked beautiful while you posed for those newspapers and magazines covering your story last week. No makeup, your injuries bare while you talked about present day struggles in Spain. You did a good thing, speaking for those who haven’t gotten heard. If people see you tonight, still looking fragile, they will understand. I think you are beautiful in any circumstance.”

  “No need to be nice to me.”

  Cayetano got down his knees and took Luna’s hands in his on her lap. “I say these things because they are true. I call you preciosa because you are the most precious thing in the world, and you gave me four precious children. You married a high maintenance, self-important fool who craves attention, and I’m lucky to have you. These are my last days as the man I have always been, and I want to spend as many of them with you as possible.”

  “Caya, you talk about retiring as a bullfighter as a death, as if you will lose yourself. It’s not that simple. Just because the crowd isn’t calling your name won’t mean you become a new man.”

  “Will you still love me the same?”

  “Maybe I’ll love you even more, we’ll have to wait and see,” Luna winked.

  “Why do you put up with me?”

  “Caya, you put me with me when I had my accident. A whole year of holding my hand, helping me to walk on my own again, driving me everywhere, forcing me to do my exercises, making your way through my mood swings when I got frustrated… You were there, Caya. Plus, when I was pregnant and on my back for eight months, you and your family cared for me. There is also the unmistakable fact I love you.”

  “So if I said I want to start the bullfighting training sc
hool next year, you wouldn’t mind? It means we may not move to Valencia.”

  “I don’t like that fact, but I understand you need to be at Rebelión.”

  Cayetano leaned forward and kissed Luna’s sore lips with a fondness for tender romance and caught sight of her little smile. “What?”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Do share.”

  “The children are having a nap so we should run upstairs for morning sex?”

  “I’m thinking it now!”

  Cayetano held Luna’s hands as she got up from her seat, and his eyes fell on the news site Luna had opened. The page updated automatically, catching his attention away from his wife for a second. But the news headline grabbed his consideration at full speed.

  EL REY JUAN CARLOS A ABDICATE HOY

  “Holy shit, the King abdicated the throne today?” Cayetano cried.

  Luna spun around to read the news, their upstairs tryst forgotten. “Wow, Juan Carlos was in power 39 years, just like Franco was the dictator for 39 years. Creepy.” Rumours had swirled for months, years even, about King Juan Carlos, with abdication suggestions, his ill health and declining popularity for a variety of reasons. But still, this news came as a stunning piece of information. Just like that; the man who had taken over Spain when they needed change, who helped to steer the nation to democracy, was leaving his post in favour of his son, Prince Felipe. The release of news seemed rushed; not many details came with the announcement.

  “You need to question your cousin’s timing,” Cayetano mumbled as he read.

  “The King is not my cousin; he is my father’s cousin.”

  “Second cousin, whatever. Spain’s a mess and the monarchy is like a wilting reed in the wind.”

  Luna paused as she read comments from around the country. The Valencia’s leader was praising Juan Carlos, as was as Galicia’s leader. The Basque leader mentioned the difficulties in the region were still not settled after his 39 years in office. But the Catalonians went on about how it would not slow the region’s desire to become independent of Spain. “As you were saying, let’s go to the party tonight in Madrid.”