“Thanks; I have a friend in need.”
“Is everything okay, Jaime? You look as worried as José does about Franco and his pneumonia after his speech, and now the heart attack.”
“I just don’t know what the world is coming to, Paco.”
“No one does, Jaime, no one does.”
27
Valencia, España ~ Junio de 2014
Cayetano stood at the back of the restaurant and took in the peace. It was an old bar, one Luna admitted to describing as ‘old man bars’ when she first moved to Spain. The 100-year-old building stood in the Russafa barrio where Sofía and Darren lived, a regular eating spot for them. It seated about thirty people, all the seats full for lunch on a lazy Monday afternoon. The air-conditioner blew cool air through the darkened place. Bottles glittered behind the wooden bar, the owner and his wife busy pouring drinks. The wide front doors were open, and scooters zipped past on the narrow street, along with shoppers filled with bags from the homeware chain store next door. The restaurant’s brick dark walls were dressed in dust-covered wine bottles, stacked right up to the dark-beamed ceiling.
Luna and the rest of the family were into the second hour of their lunch. She sat at the long table with Darren, Paquito on her lap. Luna ran her fingers around the stem of her half-full wine glass as she laughed. Darren sat opposite her, a wide grin on his face as she spoke. Paquito drew on a piece of paper on the spill-covered, white tablecloth; his crayon slipped and drew all over the table, but no one minded here. Cayetano hadn’t seen his wife look so happy for a while. Her face was in better shape after the bashing now, the stitches removed, the swelling gone. From his spot across the room, Cayetano could hear the odd word from the conversation. Darren spoke about bikes, his training, ideas for next year. Luna nodded with enthusiasm and gave advice. Just the idea of working for Darren made Luna light up. Next to the end of the table sat the double red pram for the twins, filled with clothing bags from a baby store nearby, where the owner produced handmade, one-of-a-kind items, just like the four generations before him.
Giacomo and Enzo had migrated to another smaller table, where two boys of a similar age sat. School holidays had started, and the perky redheads had made instant friends with these kids, whose parents sat nearby, immersed in calamari and conversation. Cayetano overheard Enzo telling the boys how good it was to be on holiday after having to suffer attending a strict private school in Madrid. All four boys had kicked off their shoes and chatted like long-time pals.
Sofía stood at another table, talking to a large group. With Scarlett on her hip, Sofía wore a purple T-shirt, which bore the logo of the left-wing political party she had dedicated her time to supporting. The party, with humble beginnings in Madrid in January, now had 250,000 members, and five seats in the European parliament. Sofía spoke with a passionately raised voice, with talk of recovering the economy so it could work for the unemployed and desperate, so Spain could find equality again. Those at the table listened with concerned faces, taking in everything Sofía said. At long last, Sofía Beltrán had found her place in the world, calling for freedom, liberty, fraternity and reform of serenity in Valencia. This was Cayetano’s family now.
Luna smiled as Cayetano placed a hand on her back and sat in the seat next to her. Without a word, Darren refilled Cayetano’s wine glass with a Valencian red. “I wondered where you had gone,” Luna said as Paquito crawled to sit on his father’s lap.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied and sipped his wine, careful to avoid Paquito bumping the glass. “I was just daydreaming.”
“Good; you should make more time for daydreaming. Darren is discussing cycling shoes. And the possibility of some cognac and cheese now lunch is almost finished.”
“I might have to schedule a siesta for later in the day,” Darren joked. “Sofía has another political rally to get to soon.”
“I don’t know anyone who takes a siesta, other than Paquito and Scarlett,” Cayetano replied.
“Everyone should have a siesta when they aren’t working, and while working too, if they can,” Darren said. “Screw productivity. Sometimes, everyone needs to chill out and enjoy the sunshine and lifestyle. Rest is good for the soul.”
“So are donuts,” Luna joked.
“I travel to anything from one to five different cities a week to fight,” Cayetano said with a shrug. “Who has time to relax?”
“I wouldn’t cycle as well as I do without regular relaxation. Don’t worry, once we retire, we can concentrate on relaxing.” Darren raised his glass to celebrate being on holiday.
“It’s harder in Madrid,” Luna commented. “We are in the suburbs; no local bar to sneak to for wine with lunch and a chat with the people who live there. When I go to Madrid, I’m bombarded with chain stores and supermarkets. They have their place; but buying locally from small store owners can be hard. Not impossible, of course not, but difficult with this giant pram with me. At least in Valencia, I know all the best places to go. The produce store by our apartment opens in an hour; I need to grab a few things, so we have plenty of time to stretch out lunch.”
As if on cue, the waiter reappeared, with a tray of chocolate desserts. “For the children,” he said. “Children need more treats.”
“Gracias, Ricardo,” Darren said as they watched Giacomo and Enzo, along with their new friends, leap at the chocolate platter. “Más vino, coñac y queso, por favor.”
“Wine, cognac and cheese?” Luna said with a chuckle. “We’ll be drunk in no time.”
“Sobremesa,” Darren grinned.
“A long lunch that stretches into dinner? No can do, my friend. Sofía and I have a rally to attend.”
“Indeed we do,” Sofía said as she came back to the table and sat down after handing Scarlett back to her mother. “I just got a few new recruits to the party. We’ll have about 150 coming this afternoon.”
“Grass roots politics we call it in my country,” Darren said and put an arm around his wife. “I’m proud of you and your strong voice.”
“Be proud when we take over the country.”
“That’s my sister,” Cayetano added and sipped his wine again. “She can’t do anything by halves.”
“Says the bullfighter who demands the finest of everything,” Sofía scoffed. “I just got a message. We have a family of eight at the homeless shelter and we have nowhere we can send them. They have four children and no home. They can stay a few days, but need somewhere better while they try to regroup after being evicted. How are we meant to help them?”
“They can stay in my apartment, it’s empty for a few weeks, and I only need it for a few days,” Luna suggested.
“Are you sure? They aren’t in a position to pay anything; the bank foreclosed on their apartment.”
“That’s fine, I don’t mind. Children can’t stay in a homeless shelter; neither can their parents or grandparents.”
The familiar ringtone of Luna’s iPhone buzzed in her handbag in the pram, and with a few swift moves and Scarlett on her hip, she swiped it from her bag and answered the call. Cayetano watched as she wandered out of the chatty bar on the footpath. She looked so happy in the sunshine, her long bright blue summer dress flowing around her. The curls of her shoulder-length hair jiggled as she talked and bounced Scarlett at the same time.
“Elias will be surprised at how much you’ve grown,” Sofía said and reach out to brush her fingers over Paquito’s cheek.
“Who’s Elias?” Cayetano frowned.
“The old guy who runs the fruit and vegetable store by Luna’s apartment,’’ Darren replied. “He has known Luna since Giacomo and Enzo were young. Even if Luna just took the boys past the shop, Elias would come running out to say hello. Elias has seen Paquito and Scarlett many times, but the old guy just loves kids. Both Luna and I developed our Spanish skills going into his store and trying to ask for items. He insists on picking up, displaying and bagging everything himself while the customers watch.”
“Such a nice gu
y,” Sofía agreed. “We go and get all our produce there even though the Colón market is across the street from our apartment building. Elias always has the best quality.”
Cayetano had no idea where Luna bought her produce; it was an insignificant piece of information. He dug into his recesses of his mind – had she ever mentioned a guy who owned a store? Maybe. The fact wasn’t important to Cayetano. The situation was a minor detail in time’s busy schedule, yet Sofía and Darren remembered what Luna did and liked. A tiny detail, but a reminder that Cayetano and Luna were living separate lives, with his career and her dreams. They didn’t even live in the right city to make Luna happy.
Cayetano watched Luna out on the footpath; her face serious as she spoke into the phone. Scarlett fiddled with the short sleeve on Luna’s dress as her mother discussed something important. All they were doing was having lunch, talking about banal daily events like where were to buy food, but it struck Cayetano how much Luna belonged in Valencia, not the exclusive suburbs of Madrid.
“El chocolate es delicioso, gracias,” Enzo commented to Ricardo, who stood between their tables.
“Gracias, hijo. Déjame traer un poco de helado casero de mi esposa,” Ricardo replied as he put water, a bottle of red wine and four glasses of cognac before Cayetano. Also on the tray sat sliced manchego, some jamón, and several chocolate biscuits. One got handed to Paquito, who jammed it straight in his mouth, to Ricardo’s enjoyment.
“Your wife makes ice cream at home?” Cayetano asked.
“She does, my mother’s recipe. Children need ice cream. My father is the owner of the restaurant; we all live together and run this place. It’s a pleasure having you visit, El Valiente. Perhaps photos together over the bar before you leave?”
“Of course,” Cayetano smiled. “So what is on the agenda this afternoon, Sofía?” he asked with a mouthful of jamón.
“I’ll call the shelter and let them know the Varela family can stay at Luna’s place. Then, at the meeting, we are organising a rally outside the Town Hall to protest about some of the corruption charges.”
“Oh, don’t get me started!” Ricardo said and gestured with his hands in the air. “The corruption here is ridiculous! The world must laugh at Valencia. We had fifty of the top leaders of Valencia arrested on corruption charges – embezzlement, money laundering, bribery, who knows what else. We are €20 billion in debt, and yet the stupid spending continues! Valencia is a symbol of all that is wrong with Spain. That stupid airport in Castellon, where no planes ever land? Who thought that was a wise spending choice? And the Reina Sofía at the Arts and Sciences, the building is now bald of tiles and who will pay to reconstruct the poorly-built exterior? God knows the man who spent the government money to build the place won’t pay! Healthcare and education cuts, €4 billion owed to street cleaners and pharmacies, mayors taking taxpayers’ money for water treatment, and instead paying for jewellery and luxury hotels. Even money for sick children in hospitals was stolen and kept by those who are supposed to serve us! Meanwhile, men and women, like me, can hardly afford to live. My wife and I live with my parents above the restaurant here. We’re in our late-thirties can’t we can’t afford to live in our own apartment. We’ll never afford children. You’re a lucky man, Señor Beltrán, having four children and being able to care for them well enough to enjoy being a parent.”
“That’s why people like me are here,” Sofía said to the irate waiter. “People like Luna and I, in our ways, want to help the country. I will do all I can to change the government in Spain, one person at a time. Valencia city has a mayor who could get arrested on 400 or more charges of corruption, yet has ruled here for decades.”
“Don’t even get me started on the mayor. What a deplorable woman,” Luna said as she re-joined the table. Giacomo and Enzo were still happy at their table, chatting and waiting for ice cream, so Luna turned to Sofía. “We need people like you.”
“And you,” Sofía replied. “Ricardo, Luna is helping to fund the organisation digging up the mass graves from the civil war.”
“But I don’t help the immediate future of the country,” Luna added.
“My grandfather was shot in a ditch down by the port here, for nothing,” Ricardo replied. “That work, the digging, is not nothing. How can the future move forward if the past is still bloody and messy?”
“You’re welcome to come to our meeting in the Turia at four,” Sofía said. “An easy spot for everyone to get to, during siesta, if you get a break.”
“Thank you, Sofía,” Ricardo said. “I will get back to work now so I can join you later.”
Cayetano raised his eyebrows as Ricardo retreated to back behind the bar. “You have to love the Valencians’ passion,” he chuckled.
“It’s just unfortunate the beauty and difficulty of living here can be measured equally,” Luna muttered. “I just had Jorge Arias on the phone, about the dig at Escondrijo.”
“And?” Darren asked.
Luna let Scarlett down off her lap, and she wandered over to her older brothers. Giacomo picked her up with a groan and sat her on a spare chair next to him. Immediately, all the boys were entranced by her. “Jorge can do the dig this weekend. A dig has halted in Cuenca, due to a few issues, so Jorge and a few staff can divert to Valencia for a few days. We have two bodies, know their location and identification. It should take a day to dig them up and photograph the site.”
“Then what?” Cayetano asked.
“They get identified by the lab in Madrid and then can be buried.”
“That simple after 75 years,” Sofía mumbled.
Luna took Paquito from Cayetano; the boy seemed tired and ready to leave. “You will be back from Castellon by then, I assume, Caya?”
“Yes, we were planning to head home to Madrid on Friday. But perhaps Papá and I should come here.”
“Definitely,” Luna said. “I’ll be here all week anyway. There’s so much to do before Paco’s mother and my grandfather are dug up. It’s time to lay Escondrijo’s secrets to rest.”
28
Valencia, España ~ Junio de 2014
Sweat dripped on Jorge Arias’ forehead from around his dark hairline before he took a single stab at the dusty earth at Escondrijo. The shade of the almond trees did little to fend off the summer sun and, dressed in heavy clothes, the group were in for a tough day. As Jorge went to take the first gentle dig into the ground near the still-unfixed stone house, he paused and looked at Luna, Cayetano and Paco. Rubén and Alicia, Jorge’s assistants, both in their early thirties, had been there for the dig of the other Escondrijo graves, when Luna had her accident. The pair understood the delicate nature of the operation. “Are we ready?”
Luna glanced to Paco, who shrugged. “I know Sofía Perez is my biological mother, but I must confess, I feel nothing for her. I have tried; the woman died giving birth and got buried here, hundreds of kilometres from home. Luna, this is your moment, the moment your murdered grandfather gets found for certain.”
“Searching for Cayetano Ortega Medina changed my whole life,” Luna added. “No one deserves just to be left in a shallow grave.”
The exhumation didn’t take long; the bodies of Escondrijo were a metre under the Earth; perhaps after 75 years, erosion brought them close to the surface. Both bodies lay right where Alejandro Beltrán, who had buried them, said they would be. Sofía Perez had a coffin, a crude wooden box that could be lifted easily from the ground, ready to get carefully transported to Madrid in Jorge’s truck. Poor Cayetano Ortega had been wrapped in a sheet, dumped rather than put to rest.
“Alejandro Beltrán buried his wife here, in the front garden, and lived here for seventy years,” Luna muttered as she stood at the closed coffin of Sofía. “Alejandro got captured by the new government soldiers in 1939, thrown in a concentration camp until 1956, but came straight back to the abandoned land that used to belong to the Medina family. All Alejandro ever wanted was to be with Sofía.”
“But I was his son,” Paco said, h
is eyes squinted against the tiny bursts of sunshine that shot among the trees. He shuffled on the spot in the limestone dust. “I was the son he had with Sofía, and he never came for me. I was easy to find in Madrid. Instead, I got left to think Luna Beltrán was my mother, not my aunt. I got led to believe my father was a different man, who died when I was a baby. Why should I care about this coffin?”
Jorge gestured for Rubén and Alicia to load the decaying coffin into the truck; Paco needed time. “If you prefer, Paco, we can take the coffin to Madrid right now. You can give a DNA sample any time, and we can match you with this woman. So you don’t need to see what’s in here, or deal with this today.”
“You don’t need to be here at all if you wish,” Luna said to Cayetano and Paco. “You can go back to the city. The kids are with Sofía and Darren, but they would love it if the pair of you surprised them.”
“I want to be here,” Paco said. “My mother spoke so fondly of Sofía and loved her brother, Alejandro. Open the coffin.”
Jorge pulled up his slipping beige shirt sleeves and lifted the lid, not attached in any way. He peered inside for a moment; Jorge’s eyes ran the length of the interior and then nodded his head. “I dare say we’ve found who were looking for. It’s a woman; she wore what was probably a white dress when she died. Barefoot and wearing a wedding ring.”
“My God,” Paco uttered. “Sofía still has the ring on her finger? I thought Alejandro would have kept it.”
“Maybe he couldn’t bear to have it with him,” Luna suggested.
“I can’t look inside,” Paco said, his voice weak. “I’m sorry; I can’t. This woman got buried with great care, by her husband, her sister-in-law, and her two best friends. It’s cruel to pull open her coffin.” Paco turned and bolted away, and a flurry of dust kicked up under his feet as he headed for the house.
Secrets of Spain Trilogy Page 112
