The Phoenix of Montjuic

by Jeremy D. Rowe

  Louis was very keen to celebrate the coronation, even though he had not had time to decorate the store before the event took place. He was not the only one in Barcelona who wanted to decorate for the occasion, and many flags, both Spanish and Catalan appeared throughout the city. Ambros found a picture of King Juan Carlos’s crown, and Louis cut many copies in yellow paper and stuck them all over the front windows of the store.

  With his unfortunate army experience behind him, Louis threw himself into the running of the store, and when Salvador Ribera spoke quietly to him about retirement, he was sad for the older man, but privately delighted. After the modest retirement party given to Ribera in the English tea-room, Louis sought out his grandfather to talk about the future of the store.

  “Grandfather, I know I’m young to be taking over the running of the store, and I want to come regularly to you for advice. Senor Ribera has been very helpful, and there is not a department I’ve not worked in. However, I’m worried. We have serious competition down the road: you know the store on Placa Catalunya, El Cortes Ingles? I’ve wandered around it a few times, and it represents a real danger to us. We are now in the 1970’s, and our store is still in the 1950’s. We’ve celebrated our twenty-fifth birthday, and I’d like to be here to celebrate our fiftieth, but if that’s to happen we must modernise.”

  “Lifts and escalators?” said Manel.

  “One or the other, or both,” said Louis. “There were department stores in London and New York with lifts and escalators before the war, and we still expect our customers to walk up all those stairs.”

  “You are right, Louis, and it needs a young person to look ahead. Which is it to be – lifts or escalators?”

  Louis looked his grandfather in the eye: “I’d like to aim for both, grandfather.”

  “And do you have a plan of how this could be done? And the cost of doing it?”

  “Not yet, grandfather,” said Louis, “but I wanted you to know how I’m thinking, and give your approval for me to begin the planning.”

  “Where will you start?”

  “I’ve thought of that,” said Louis. “You know that Jose is keen to open his car showroom. There’s a site down the road, close to the Gran Via, which is coming up for rent. If we support him to open there, and we get Carlos to move all the bicycle and scooter business there with him, that will leave one end of our ground floor vacant.”

  “Go on.”

  “We demolish, that end of the store and rebuild in a modern style, including lifts; we can then systematically demolish and rebuild, section by section, until we have a new, modern department store.”

  Manel smiled. “Slow down young man. Remember that El Cortes Ingles on Catalunya is part of a chain of stores, with head offices in Madrid. We’ve lived in the relative poverty of Barcelona all through the Franco years, and we don’t have as much money as the rivals. Talk to the bank, and draw up plans, but don’t make any commitment yet. Just remember, your plans may turn Bonet’s into a wonderful modern store, or you may bankrupt us, and none of us have anything left at the end of the day. It’s a very stark choice.”

  Faced with the reality of the costs of a huge redevelopment, Louis realised that he could not be quite as ambitious as he imagined: but when Jose and Carlos finally moved the bicycle-scooter business across the road, he was able to use the space vacated to install a pair of lifts which made a huge difference to the department store.

  Jose, to the delight of Carlos, and slightly to the dismay of Clara, had persevered as an engineer. He’d learned a great deal during National Service, and subsequently completed a course in motor mechanics at the Seat car factory in Zona Franca. With Barcelona emerging from its long economic hibernation, it was a good time to open a car showroom. Many of the middle class population were considering buying a car, whilst the younger generation, full of confidence from National Service, were keen to buy a scooter. Senora Pinto and Clara were invited to cut a ribbon at the door of the new shop: “Sanchez and Pinto”. Uncle Eduard played a fanfare as the extended family entered the gleaming new premises. Once more Carlos had scrubbed his hands and his crutches for the occasion, and stood proudly amongst the highly-polished new cars. An elegant line of scooters was drawn-up, military-style, along one wall, and an alcove was stocked with shining bicycles. The shop smelled of polish, and all hints of grease and dirt were banished to the workshop at the rear.

  Ambros took his son to one side at the end of the grand opening day. “I hope you know what you’re doing, son,” he said. “I imagine you’ve borrowed a lot of money to stock the shop. How many cars are glistening in this showroom?”

  “Only six, father,” said Jose, “and as soon as we’ve sold three, I’ll be putting another order into the factory. Grandfather took many risks when he opened the department store, and he succeeded. Barcelona is coming alive, and we are part of a new optimism. You know how the king has given the country a new lease of life, demolishing the dull legacy of old man Franco? Well, businesses like ours’ reflect that feeling. Spain is on the ascendancy, and Barcelona is leading the way. It’s as if the sun set over Barcelona in 1939, and did not rise for many years. Since Franco died the sun has started to rise. The city is like a phoenix rising from the ashes of Fascism.”

  “Grand talk, Jose,” said Ambros.

  Louis, who had been listening to the conversation, joined in. “That’s just how I feel. We will soon have fast lifts, whizzing our customers to all floors. We’re reflecting the way the city is moving, and we’re lucky to be in the vanguard of the new confidence.”

  The political changes in Madrid were rippling throughout the country, but no-one was sure how much the newly-elected government had anticipated that Barcelona would rapidly become the engine for change and development. No other city would grow so fast; so other city would boom in the way that Barcelona boomed; and no other businessmen would do better than the businessmen of Barcelona.

  Manel and Anna, still owners of the department store, although no longer managing it, discovered themselves to be wealthy. The family urged them to leave the little basement apartment on Rossello. “Every other successful businessman in Barcelona lives up the hill, one of those nice houses on the way up to Tibidabo,” said Louis.

  “What would we do in a great big house?” said Anna.

  “Or you could take a top floor apartment in the Eixample, with a lot more space,” said Jose.

  “Live out in the country, by the sea, somewhere quiet,” said Maria.

  “It sounds as if you want to get rid of us,” joked Manel. “We’re very happy where we are. It’s wonderful to have successful grandchildren, but we’re happy in our little apartment, and we like being in the hustle and bustle of the city.”

  “At least you have abonaments at the Liceu,” said Eduard, “and can rub shoulders with the rich and famous of the city.”

  Manel looked at his family. “You know, I’m still that young man running a grocer’s shop, seventeen years old. I might look older, and the shop might have been mightily transformed, but I’m still the same humble shopkeeper, oiling the bacon slicer and carrying bags of nuts.”

  Clara and Eduard worried about their parents as they got older, and took the ever-faithful Catarina to one side. “We are very grateful that you live back with our mother and father now that our children have grown up,” said Clara.

  “We want you to know how much we appreciate what you do for them, never asked, never rewarded, just being kind,” said Eduard.

  “I love them like they were my own, “said Catarina, “and they gave me such a great opportunity to work for them, and then later to run the tea-room, despite my lack of education. It is a pleasure for me to keep an eye on them.”

  Louis was still a young man, and carried the responsibility of managing the department store lightly on his shoulders. He earned a good salary, and moved into a spacious apartment in the Eixample. It was from there, one day in 1977, that he watched Barcelona’s first-ever gay pride march. He stood ha
lf-behind the swags and tassels of his curtains, wondering at the courage of the small band of men walking in a timid procession. How many of them had been to prison? How many would be arrested before the end of the day? He turned away from the window and looked at his elegant apartment. He had chosen a solitary life, but he worried how long he would remain happy with such a refined and lonely existence.

  Maria, following the prolonged grief of giving her baby away, continued to live with her parents. Ambros’s father was getting very old and infirm, and they knew his days were numbered. He doted on his grandchildren, and continued to treat them as if they were still young, and Clara and Ambros had carefully shielded him from any knowledge of Maria’s illegitimate baby. He rarely left the apartment, and delighted in the tales of the opera from Maria, the stories of Marta’s adventures playing the piano, and perhaps most of all from the tales Jose would tell of cars, scooters and the latest and fastest motorbikes.

  One evening, he went to bed early, as was his habit, and died peacefully in his sleep. He was seventy-seven. The family had almost forgotten the impact of death. For Anna and Manel, who had lived through the terrible years of the war, Senor Sanchez’s death brought back distant and painful memories; and for Carlos, it was a long-suppressed grief for the brother who had died beside him in the battle of the Ebro.

  Manel was particularly affected by his friend’s death, as he himself was of a similar age, and recognised the signs of his frailty. He took a daily walk to the store, but it was taking him longer and longer each day, and he was grateful for Louis’s electric lift to take him up to the tea room. Louis would meet his grandfather, and tell him about some new stock line or innovation, but the old man’s eyes would close and he’d sleep for a moment, before waking with a start.

  Manel died peacefully within a year of Senor Sanchez’s death. Anna had become worried that the old man did not want to get out of bed. It was completely out of character to stay at home. After a lifetime of walking daily down Balmes to the shop, she knew that her husband’s life was ebbing away, and with Catarina’s help she summoned Eduard, Clara and others of the family.

  They gathered around Manel’s bed, where he was sleeping peacefully. Suddenly he opened his eyes, and spoke quietly.

  “I know you’re all here, and I know why,” he smiled. “If anyone had said to me when I was a young man, that I would die in bed, surrounded by family, I would have laughed. There were many times in the war when I thought my last day had come, and there were times after the war when I thought we would never survive the hunger. But here we are. What year is it, Eduard?”

  “It’s 1979, father,” said Eduard.

  “And I’m seventy-one,” said Manel. “Who would have thought it? That’s forty years since the end of the war. Forty years…. and I’ve lived to see the end of Franco, bastard, bastard, bastard. And what’s more, I even went to vote in that election. The vote we fought for in the war. It was a long time coming, but we got there in the end.” There was a slight chuckle as he paused and they all watched him. “I’m very sleepy now. It’s been good. It’s been very good.”

  One by one, his grandchildren kissed the old man, and left the room. Suddenly Manel seemed to rally. “What about Carlos?” he said, “I can’t see him.”

  “I’m here,” said Carlos, his crutches tapping as he came closer to the bed.

  “You’ve been like another son to me,” said Manel, “and a big brother to Jose. You’ve been as important as anyone in building the store, and I thank you.”

  Carlos leaned down and kissed the old man.

  “Yes,” said Manel, his voice fading, “it’s been very good, very good.”

  Emma and Ambros kissed him and followed the others, leaving just Eduard and Clara with their parents. Eduard looked at his mother and at his sister, and nodded to them.

  “It’s OK to go now, father, close your eyes and sleep.”

  The old man closed his eyes, and they watched as he took one last gasping breath, and died. Clara and Anna sat by the bed, and gentle tears fell as Eduard pulled a sheet over his father’s face.

  In the kitchen, the family were waiting with Catarina. Leaving his mother and sister in the bedroom, Eduard faced the family. “He’s gone.”

  Louis closed the department store for a whole day for his grandfather’s funeral, although he wasn’t sure the old man would have approved. The window displays were draped in black, and the entire staff walked behind the coffin to the church which Manel had disliked so much. The elderly nun who met them at the door was scarcely recognisable as Sister Maria Monserrat, and none of them except Anna recognised the young priest who led the prayers.

  As they sat in the front pew watching the mass unfolding, Eduard leaned over to Clara. “This young chap’s a bit different from old Father Matias,” he said. “Has the old fascist died?”

  Anna overhearing, glared at her son, and Clara replied, “Very few mourned him. He stayed loyal to the fascist cause right to the end, but since he’s gone, a few more people are coming to church, a few more taking the mass. Times really are changing.”

  Louis leaned over to his father. “Yes,” he said, “things are changing. I’ve got fantastic news, but I can’t tell you here. Wait until later.”

  Anna glared at the family again, and hissed, “Listen to the mass, and stop whispering!”

  Caterina opened the tea room for the funeral tea, and the staff of the shop found themselves in the strange position of sitting eating small sandwiches, and sipping sweet wine in the place where they usually were busily working. The young priest and Sister Maria Monserrat joined the family.

  Emma, Eduard and Montserrat crowded around Louis. “What’s your news, Louis?” said his father.

  “I’m legal,” said Louis.

  “What?” said Emma, bewildered.

  “I’m not a criminal any more, I’m legal. It was in the paper this morning, but with the funeral and everything, no-one noticed. The government has changed the law. Being gay is no longer a crime, it’s no longer illegal.”

  The staff were mystified that some of the family seemed so excited during the solemnity of Manel Bonet’s wake, but Carlos summed up the family’s feeling by crutching across the room and giving Louis a big bear hug.

  “Just as it should be,” he said. “Another of Franco’s shackles destroyed.”

  Several of the staff joined the celebration, although most had no idea what they were actually celebrating. Later that day, Eduard walked with Louis back to his apartment. “There’s talk at the opera house about a gay plague,” said Eduard. “What do you know about it?”

  “Not much,” said Louis. “I expect you know more than me, with the gossip in the orchestra.”

  “Apparently it’s killing gay men in San Francisco, and spreading to Europe. I don’t understand it. Do you have anyone to talk to?” asked Eduard.

  “Only you, I suppose,” said Louis. “Since the frightening time in the army, I’ve kept very quiet, and just got on with work at the store: and it has kept me very busy. As long as being gay was a crime, I didn’t want anything to do with it. You know there was a parade in Barcelona, last year, and the year before?”

  “One or two of the orchestra went to it,” said his father. “I was worried that they’d be arrested, and we’d never see them again.”

  “I was scared for the people who marched,” said Louis. “They came right down the street, and I watched from my window.”

  “I really don’t understand,” said Eduard. “I thought it was just a passing phase. I thought one day you’d find a nice girl, and settle down.”

  “I thought the same,” said Louis, “but the passing phase isn’t passing.”

  “Please keep yourself safe whilst all this worry of a gay plague is around.”

  “I shall continue with work – it keeps me fully occupied, and stops me thinking about other things. It’s just a little lonely coming back to this apartment.”

  “You’ve made it very nice,” said Eduar
d.

  “But it would be better if I shared it with someone,” said Louis.

  “Be patient. Your grandfather did everything very slowly and carefully. He survived the war and the time after it, when I was a boy, and look what he achieved in the end – an amazing department store.”

  “I’m twenty-three, father, I wonder how long I must be patient?”

  “You should say ‘I’m only twenty-three’, Louis,” said his father with a smile. “You’ve got a position as a manager of a big business, far younger than most, and there’s a future for you in this city as a businessman. You must be patient, and all will come to pass in the end.”

  It was not long after this conversation that Eduard discovered that the Liceu had scheduled several performances of an opera by the British composer, Benjamin Britten. It was startlingly new, and never done in the house before, and uniquely had an all-male cast. On the opening night, there was a terrific ovation for the tenor: an older man called Peter Pears. Eduard turned to another of the trumpeters.

  “Am I missing something?” he said. “He was a wonderful singer, but there seems to be more to this ovation than usual.”

  “You know he was the partner of the composer?” said the trumpeter. “Britten died recently, and Pears is carrying on singing the parts written specially for him. I think a lot of this applause is for the memory of Britten.”

  Eduard decided he should find out some more about this singer and his partner the composer, and he asked Ambros to see what he could find in the library. That evening, he talked to Emma.