The Phoenix of Montjuic

by Jeremy D. Rowe

  Eduard looked through his part. It was not particularly demanding for the brass, but would require an unusual combination of symphony orchestra, rock band and choir. In the rehearsal room, the members of the orchestra did not have to wait long for further extraordinary news.

  There was to be a gala concert given in the open air at the Magic Fountain, which would launch the new song. The orchestra would be augmented by many extra musicians, and once the score had been mastered, the two celebrity singers would join them.

  At first there was chaos as the conductor tried to bring the differing musicians together, and then from the corner of his eye, Eduard saw the imposing figure of Caballe enter the rehearsal room, accompanied by a young and apparently rather shy man. The conductor brought the orchestra to a shuddering halt, and turned to the diva.

  Montserrat Caballe smiled, and spoke. “Good morning ladies and gentlemen. I hear you have started to look at this amazing song. I am therefore particularly pleased to introduce you to the man who wrote it. This is Freddie Mercury.”

  There was a lot of applause, and then the pop star spoke in English. Eduard was struck by this self-effacing young man who had little charisma. Could this really be the vibrant and outrageous singer from the British band ‘Queen’? Caballe translated his simple speech. “Freddie says thank you. He is humbled and delighted to have created a song for the Olympics. He says that he loves Barcelona, and is looking forward to singing the new anthem with me.”

  There was scattered applause again, and then Caballe clapped her hands and smiled at the conductor. “Let’s give it a try!” she said, as she and Mercury sat to one side.

  The assembled musicians glanced at one another with some apprehension, the conductor tapped his baton on the music stand. Within a couple of bars, the massive sound started to come together. The conductor stopped the orchestra, looked to the choir, and warned them to be ready for a much more emphatic entrance, and started again.

  This time the choir came in boldly - it was unusual for the entire company, including the singers, to be involved in the introduction to the song, but Eduard could tell this work was going to be both original and very exciting. The strings rose in a great crescendo, and the trumpets and all other instruments joined. The percussionists crashed and banged as required, and the timpanist gave his kettledrums some notable punishment. Montserrat Caballe turned to Freddie Mercury and grinned. “It’s going to be wonderful,” she whispered to him.

  There was a pause in the choir’s vocal line, as the percussion came in with greater force. “This is when the magic fountain will spring into life,” whispered Freddie to Monserrat, and Montserrat nodded, her eyes sparkling. That was the moment when Eduard’s trumpet was heard over all the other instruments.

  In the following quieter passage, Eduard stared at the Englishman. It was still difficult to imagine that this modest-looking man would soon be singing alongside their own revered opera diva. He watched as Mercury nodded in time to the music, and then walked forward to the microphone. Caballe stood next to him, and the musicians noted the unusual sight of the singer with her enormous voice also standing at a microphone. The orchestra plunged further into the score, and suddenly the two celebrities took deep breaths and joined in.

  The song was recorded in 1987 and the public launch was scheduled for Saturday 8th October 1988. The 1988 Olympic Games had been staged in Seoul, and following the closing ceremony, the Olympic flag was due to arrive in Barcelona from South Korea. A large stage was built in front of the Magic Fountain to accommodate the enlarged orchestra, choir and the famous soloists.

  Members of the orchestra were allotted two tickets each for the Magic Fountain concert, but there would be room for thousands more on the wide boulevard between the stage and Placa d’Espany. Eduard decided that Emma and Louis would have the tickets, and urged the rest of the family to come and join the crowds in the street. Anna decided she was too old for such excitement and would not go, and Catarina stayed with her; but the rest of the family, including Carlos, could not miss such an exciting experience. Carlos rarely used his disability to gain advantage, but on this evening, he shrugged his way through the crowd with the family in hot pursuit, and they were soon close to the stage.

  In the seated area close to the stage, Louis jumped when an unexpected hand thumped him on the shoulder. “Louis!” said a voice in his ear, “they told me you’d grown into a handsome young man!”

  Louis and Emma swung round. “Uncle Digger!” they shouted. “What are you doing here?”

  “The same as you, I suppose,” said Digger, grinning at his amazed sister and nephew. “Come to see the launch of this great Olympic adventure. The bank had an allocation of some tickets. My father didn’t want to come, but I did. Eddie doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “He will be so surprised,” said Emma. “It’s lovely to see you.”

  The orchestra had a number of rousing marches and tangos to entertain the crowd as they waited for the arrival of the flag. At last a group of eight local sports personalities marched the flag onto the stage, together with an outsized puppet.

  “I know that’s the Olympic flag from Seoul,” said Clara, watching from the crowd, “but what’s that great dog puppet doing on the stage?”

  “That’s a Catalan sheepdog,” laughed Ambros, “although if I hadn’t read it in advance, I may not have known. He’s called ‘Cobi’ and he’s Barcelona’s Olympic mascot.”

  The sun was setting as the huge flag was raised upon a tall flagpole in front of the Palau Nacional, and finally the stage was set for the anthem. Eduard looked around, wondering at the odd nervousness everyone was feeling. All were aware of the enormity of the occasion.

  His long ginger hair blowing in the breeze, the conductor alerted his forces, and raised his baton. A blaze of spotlights came onto the stage, and the full choir and orchestra launched into the rousing opening. There was a great crashing of the timpani, Eduard played his brief solo line, and then all went quieter.

  Onto the stage came a delighted Monserrat Caballe, hand-in-hand with Freddie Mercury, he looking slightly apprehensive, she with a broad grin. Freddie was elegant in black dinner suit, white shirt with wing collar and black bow tie. Monserrat wore a billowing black gown, with a mass of crystals around the collar. The crowd roared as they stepped to the microphones.

  The first verse of the song was taken gently, but soon the massive ‘Barcelona’ chorus filled the air. Freddie’s voice soared in a triumphant celebration of the city, matched easily by Monserrat Caballe’s high flying notes. The crowd exploded with delight.

  Clara hugged Ambros. “Our city is now on the map,” she said.

  “How long is it since the war?” said Ambros. “Less than fifty years, and now the whole world is coming.”

  Eduard was sitting near the singers, and had an excellent view of them. Monserrat Caballe, who was often a rather imperious and demanding woman, was wreathed in smiles. She warmly embraced everyone as she left the stage. Eduard noticed, however, that Freddie was a little subdued at the end. His performance had been terrific, possibly the pinnacle of his global success, and the crowd clearly adored him, but leaving the stage he looked exhausted, and sat with his head in his hands. He was struggling to regain his breath from the extreme physicality of his performance. Monserrat Caballe went to him. He stood and she embraced him in her ample bosom. Eduard smiled: it was just like a mother and her favourite son. The diva whispered something in Freddie’s ear, and he smiled and nodded; then hand in hand they went back to the make-shift dressing rooms.

  As the crowds began to disperse, Eduard hunted for Emma and Louis, and was overjoyed to see his old friend Digger with them. “We must get supper,” said Louis. “Montserrat’s will still be open, even if she’s in the crowd here somewhere.”

  “I’ve never been to my niece’s cafe,” said Digger.

  “Don’t call it a cafe,” laughed Eduard, “she’ll be upset. It’s a restaurant, and very nice indeed for a late-night su
pper.”

  Following the arrival of the Olympic flag, and the launch of the rousing Barcelona song, the whole city embarked on a four-year frenzy of preparation. The biggest upheaval was at Barceloneta, where centuries of decrepit chiringuitas were swept away. Barcelona had never been a city which gave its beaches much thought, and although swimming was a popular activity, it was always from rough jetties behind the old cafes. Many old businesses were requisitioned, and their tired old premises razed to the ground. Suddenly the dark alleys of Barceloneta were flooded with unaccustomed sunlight, and the dingy shoreline was exposed.

  To the astonishment of the local population, a wide promenade was constructed stretching from one building site in the south, to another in Poble Nou. An enormous concrete construction began to grow at the southern end of the new promenade. This would soon become a huge water sports complex, with a broad pool for water polo, one of the city’s celebrated sports, and many other facilities for the swimming races. The planning authorities had, however, a different and extraordinary venue for the diving.

  An even more amazing development was taking shape to the north. A skyscraper hotel was shooting up, its white skeleton visible from all around. People were bemused to see the building growing inside the skeleton, and they gradually realised that the white steelwork would remain visible when the hotel was finished. This luxury development included a lavish casino: it was clearly not built for the athletes, but for the numerous celebrities, senior politicians, and royalty who would be attending the games.

  Many of the tumble-down workshops and fisherman’s shacks of Poble Nou were also demolished, and accommodations for the athletes thrown up in their place. The speed of the developments amazed onlookers, and some expressed misgivings whether buildings built so quickly could stand the tests of time once the Games were finished. The promenade continued for several kilometres north. Close to the high-rise hotel, construction began in the sea for a facility for sailing, and other activities which would be held on the water.

  It became a fashionable pastime to wander along the half-built promenade to watch the work. Maria took her parents to see the new facilities. “It’s amazing,” said Clara. “I had not realised that bringing the Olympics would also bring so much employment. There’s an army of construction workers everywhere you look.”

  “I don’t quite understand,” said Ambros. “We have all these wonderful developments, but there’s no beach. I think of golden sand, like we see in many of the picture books in the library, but this is rocky, and there’s so much rubbish. It won’t attract tourists after the games are finished.”

  They asked one of the construction workers, who gave an extraordinary reply. “One day this will be a beach of golden sand, just as you are imagining.”

  “Where will the sand come from?” said Clara.

  “God will send it!” said the worker.

  “No he won’t,” laughed Maria. “Tell us the truth.”

  “We are borrowing a special ship from Holland which will suck sand up from the bottom of the sea, and throw it onto the rocks and rubble, and make a sandy beach.”

  “We don’t know whether to believe you,” said Ambros, “and we’d love to see such a ship. We’ll come back when it happens.”

  The Barceloneta sea front was not the only area of frenzied construction. In Badalona a whole city block of slums were razed to make way for another strange building – an oval concrete arena for basketball and similar indoor sports.

  Montjuic, however, was the centre of the greatest upheaval. The existing sports arena was to be enlarged, and the cauldron for the Olympic flame would be constructed at its highest point. In another celebration of the city’s freedom from the Fascist regime, the arena was to be renamed for Lluis Companys. A large area of the hillside swarmed with bulldozers, as other facilities were developed. An enormous sports hall, named for the patron saint of the city, Sant Jordi, was commenced on the hillside near the arena.

  Ambros told them that there was a theme to the Olympic architecture, that of pillars of strength rising into the air. They watched tall structures being erected along the promenade in areas which had recently been squalid industrial shacks squeezed between old cotton mills and various kinds of filthy engineering factories. The new fast road, designed to speed athletes from their village to the competition sites, was finished at a low level behind the Poble Nou promenade: this road, known as the Literal, would be part of a network of improved highways connecting the city to the airport.

  Other pillars were erected on the Montjuic hill, rising from wide terraces where the athletes and the crowds of fans could mingle. Anna was delighted to receive many of her family bringing back reports of progress. She was now an old lady, and didn’t venture far, but took a lively interest in all the news.

  Monserrat described how she would be decorating her restaurant; Jose showed ambitious plans for transforming his car showroom, and Louis was beavering away with ideas for celebratory window displays for the department store. Anna delighted in her grandchildren’s sketches and excitement, and remembered the early days of Bonets, when they had painted bed sheets and hung them on the front of the building, which would one day grow into the department store.

  Ambros and Clara took regular walks along the new promenade, and brought back blow-by-blow accounts of progress each time they went there.

  Eduard and Emma took to walking up to Montjuic – the stories they told Anna were increasingly extraordinary and exciting. “You will not believe the size of the sports hall,” said Emma. “It’s an enormous hole in the side of the hill, and we will soon see the huge dome roof being put into place. They’ve named it after Saint Jordi, and any saint would be proud to have such a marvellous place named after them.”

  Anna laughed. “I don’t think Saint Jordi is aware of the sports hall being named after him, but I’ll tell him all about it in my prayers at Mass.”

  It was Carlos who hurried round to Anna’s apartment with the most extraordinary news, not about the architectural achievements, but exhilarated by quite different information. “There will be another games after the Olympics!” said Carlos breathlessly. “We will have the Paralympics, after the main games!”

  Anna frowned. “I don’t know what that is,” she said. “What is this word, Paralympics?”

  “Athletics for disabled people,” said Carlos. “All kinds of sports for people like me. I’m a bit too old to think of it, but just imagine what it means for some young disabled kid to be able to look forward to competing on the world stage. Some may be swimmers, some runners, some jumpers. Oh, Anna, no city has ever before included disabled people like this. I must get Jose to do something in our plans for the car showroom to publicise the disabled sports.”

  It was at the end of October 1991 that Eduard came home with strange news. “Something unusual happened at the Liceu today,” he told Emma. “A message from Monserrat, that she’s cancelled all appearances.”

  “Monserrat?” said Emma, blankly.

  “Monserrat Caballe, our famous diva,” said Eduard. “It’s quite unlike her: she never cancels, and hates the idea of her fans being disappointed. There will be a lot of unhappy people in the audience, even if the covering singer is excellent.”

  Two days later, the news filtered through: the staff at the opera house were amongst the first to hear it. Freddie Mercury, the dynamic young British singer, was seriously ill, and dying. Monserrat Caballe had flown to London to be with him.

  “Apparently he’s only forty-five,” Eduard told Emma, “although he looked older when I saw him at the concert.”

  “You said that he looked tired or ill at the time,” said Emma.

  “I remember: yes, he did look unwell; and Monserrat held him like a mother.”

  “Perhaps he has no family,” said Emma. “Perhaps she’s gone to be a mother to him.”

  In November 1991, Freddie Mercury died at his home in London. The wonderful “Barcelona” song was very well known and loved in the city
, and thus the singer’s death was headline news. Seeing the evening paper, Louis hurried to see his parents.

  “Have you seen the news?” he asked.

  Eduard and Emma nodded. “We were told at rehearsal today,” said Eduard. “Do you know how he died?”

  “It’s all over the paper,” said Louis. “The gay plague, AIDS.”

  “How sad,” said Emma. “He was so young.”

  “And talented,” added Eduard. He paused, and looked at his son.

  “What?” said Louis.

  Eduard continued to stare at Louis. “Are you well? This gay plague has made me very scared.”

  Louis nodded soberly. “I’ve never done anything risky,” he said. “My friend David is celibate, and our friendship, which is very close, will never include anything………” His voice trailed away, unable to be blunt with his parents.

  “I understand,” said Eduard. “I’m relieved by what you say.”

  Eduard hugged Louis, with Emma still puzzled and frowning.

  “I’ll explain later,” said Eduard, “privately. Don’t worry, and be pleased for our boy.”

  The news of Freddie Mercury’s death sent a kind of shudder through the city. There had been so much passion in the Barcelona anthem which Freddie Mercury and Monserrat Caballe had recorded, that it had become unthinkable that the Olympics could go ahead without the two singers, hand in hand as they had been at the Magic Fountain launch, singing the anthem together at the opening ceremony.

  The heavy construction, meanwhile, continued apace. Repeated visits to the foreshore revealed first an immaculate promenade, then cute new chiringiatas on the sea front, and eventually, as promised, wide golden sands. The extensions to the old Montjuic arena began to take shape, and the high cauldron for the Olympic flame was installed.

  Near the enormous sports hall of Sant Jordi, a dramatic sculpture began to grow. This would be the communications tower, mainly for sending television around the world. Designed by Santiago Calatrava, it was painstakingly erected section by section, starting from 1989, and by the spring of 1992 had reached its full height. The sculpture represented an athlete holding the Olympic flame.