Remember Me

by Mario Escobar

  “Was Manuel here among them? Lately he’s been causing problems, and you know what happens with problems.”

  “No, he helped me. He defended me from the bullies. It was Luis and his gang,” I said, annoyed.

  The director never listened. He always thought he knew everything that went on in the school, though he didn’t know the half of it.

  “Luis? That’s a lie. You’re just trying to protect your friend here, but you’ve run out of chances for that. Manuel, I’ll be sending you to the capital with the rest of the students who refuse to be disciplined. I treat you like my own children, and look how you repay me,” he said, jerking Manuel’s shirt to pull him to his feet.

  “I didn’t do anything!” Manuel said in self-defense.

  “But before we send you to Mexico City, we’ll give you what you deserve,” the director said. He ordered Manuel to lean against some of the boxes in the pantry, then grabbed a wooden rod that was propped against the wall. Reyes Pérez told the other teacher to hold Manuel still and, with all his might, he buffeted Manuel’s back with the rod.

  Manuel started to scream. I tried to grab Reyes Pérez’s hands, but he shoved me so hard I fell sprawling on the ground. “You little bastard! You dare to interfere? I’ll deal with you next.”

  Reyes Pérez beat Manuel until he fell unconscious. He told the teacher to carry Manuel to the nurse, then he turned to me. “I thought you were smarter than this. Now you’ll pay for trying to stop me. I don’t tolerate disrespect.” He grabbed me by the neck of my shirt, dragged me down the hallway to the deepest part of the basement, opened a metal door, and pushed me inside. “You’ll be in here until you learn to follow the rules and respect your director,” he said, slamming the door.

  Thick darkness enveloped me. As his footsteps receded down the hallway, the silence made me tremble in terror. After a while I heard the quiet pitter-patter of rats and sensed their eyes on me, so I curled up and held on to my legs for comfort. I hummed a song and tried to manipulate my own fears, but it’s never easy to laugh off what truly terrifies us. I thought about my parents, about happy days of being at home. I imagined walking along Alcalá Street holding my dad’s hand in one hand and ice cream in the other. I took a deep breath and hoped the nightmare would be over as soon as possible.

  Chapter 25

  The President’s Visit

  Morelia

  June 15, 1938

  I was allowed to return to the boys’ building after two days in solitary confinement. Along with two other classmates, Manuel had been sent to Mexico City, and I never saw him again. My sisters were worried sick when they didn’t see me for two days. No one had told them I’d been punished for trying to stop the director from beating my friend. Afterward I tried to carry on with as normal a life as possible, knowing I had to endure school for my parents’ sake. Soon it would all be over, and we’d go back to being a family.

  Summer was near, along with the anniversary of our arrival to Mexico. We heard that President Cárdenas, whom we hadn’t heard from in a long time, planned to visit, but we didn’t know if he was alarmed by reports from the school or if he was just coming to commemorate the anniversary. One way or another, we all hoped that if he could see the deplorable state of things, he would help us.

  The school’s employees and students spent the first part of June working to dress up the foul buildings. We painted, fixed windows and doors, repaired chairs, and cleaned everything in sight. Reyes Pérez wanted everything to be perfect for the president’s visit. Even the streets of Morelia were decorated for the momentous event.

  The day before the president arrived, I got to spend some time with my sisters. We had hardly spoken at meals lately. Together, we read one of my mother’s latest letters. With every correspondence, she grew sadder and more depressed because of the advance of the Francoists, the likely Republican defeat, and our separation, which tormented her to the point of no longer wanting to live.

  “We have to get out of here,” I said emphatically. It wasn’t the first time we’d talked about it, but on this occasion I was more determined than ever. If the war was lost, what did it matter if we went back or stayed in a school thousands of miles from home?

  “But Mom doesn’t want us to come back,” Isabel said. She knew perfectly well that Mom was worried about us but also that it was much worse in Spain.

  “But at least we’d be together,” I said.

  Ana was unsure. On the one hand, she desperately wanted to go back. On the other hand, she was terrified of the war. We could still recall the bombs, the fires, and the maddening hunger.

  Isabel cast her gaze downward. “The fascists are capable of giving us up for adoption,” she said.

  “You know as well as I do they’re already doing that here with the older girls—sending them off to convents and whatnot. Do you two want to become nuns?” I was annoyed. I hated it when they contradicted me. I knew they were right, but I couldn’t stand Morelia any longer.

  “We have to stay, Marco. Let’s stop talking about it,” Isabel said in a huff.

  The next day we would welcome the president. But first, that afternoon, the director’s henchmen brought us new clothes and shoes, and we spent hours going over the program and practicing our line formation so that everything would look as perfect as possible. When it was finally dark, we ate a hurried supper and fell into bed exhausted.

  The next morning, we awoke at the first light. The capital was almost two hundred miles away, but President Cárdenas had left early to get a good start on the day. We were to meet the president upon his arrival, so we formed our lines and marched toward the train station. The inhabitants of Morelia were dressed in their finest and stood all along the sidewalk to welcome the presidential retinue, which included Cárdenas’s wife and one of his children.

  We entered the crowded station and waited on the platform, fidgeting all the while. The welcome ceremony broke the prisonlike monotony of the school, and it felt a little like Christmas. New clothes and the promise of better food occupied our minds.

  The convoy arrived about half an hour late. The younger kids were impatient, and others were very sleepy, but when we saw the president’s gleaming train approach, we all revived and began to bang our tambourines. The station reverberated with the noise. People shouted, and children waved Mexican flags. The steam engine pulled up to the platform, and for a few moments smoke blinded us. When the train finally came to a full stop, the police formed a protective barrier and a station employee placed stairs below the door of the main car. When the door opened, we saw President Cárdenas’s face. He was smiling happily alongside his wife and son. The president waved to the crowd and stepped down from the train, helping his family step down as well. They walked along the aisle prepared for them as music played and the crowd roared. The president went up to a small podium and addressed the crowd.

  “People of Morelia, my friends and countrymen, dear Spaniard children: It’s an honor for us to be here on this sunny June day. We would’ve liked to come earlier, but the responsibilities of my office have prevented me. I’ve been keeping close tabs on the progress and challenges of the Children of Morelia, as well as the great love the town’s inhabitants have shared with them. Two brother peoples united by war, but above all, by solidarity and their love for freedom. Viva Mexico!”

  The people answered with a resounding, “Viva Spain!”

  Reyes Pérez had chosen one of his faithful lackeys to address the president. Andresito, a shy boy with glasses, stepped in front of Cárdenas and read from a paper in his hands.

  “Most excellent Mr. President Cárdenas and Mrs. Solórzano, the Spaniard and Mexican children of the Spain–Mexico School thank you for your visit. We are deeply grateful to the people of Mexico for your solidarity with the Republic of Spain and to the city of Morelia for welcoming us as their own. We hope to be worthy of this honor and unite our nations with the eternal bond of brotherhood among peoples.”

  Several of my classma
tes started laughing at the triteness of the speech so obviously prepared by the director. I couldn’t hold it in, and one chuckle escaped my mouth. Reyes Pérez glared at me from the corner of his eye, and I froze in fear.

  Cárdenas’s wife was handed a bouquet of flowers, and the presidential family headed for the car that waited for them at the station door. A procession of police cars followed them, and we children came along behind, playing music and maintaining our marching order.

  We soon arrived back at the school, moments after the president’s car. The entryway was decorated with flower garlands, and from the outside the buildings looked nearly perfect. It hardly resembled the place we had been living for the past year.

  In the large schoolyard, we put on dances and performances. By noon, we were exhausted but happy. We anticipated a good meal waiting for us.

  President Cárdenas wanted to eat with the children, so on that day we enjoyed meat and all sorts of delicacies we were rarely, if ever, allowed. Countless children had been sick over the long months because of the quality of the food, and many others because of parasites that ranged freely at the school.

  The president’s son sat right next to us, and he seemed kind and sincere.

  “How do they treat you here?” he asked.

  The monitors roved all around, making sure we were on our best behavior and also making sure we kept our mouths shut.

  “Well, we have food and a roof over our heads, and we can keep studying,” answered one of my friends who didn’t want to make any trouble.

  I quickly glanced around and noticed no caretakers within earshot, so I decided to tell the truth. “The first director treated us terribly. Some kids have been sent to families in the area, even though they aren’t orphans. And some of the girls have been sent to the convent in Morelia or another one in Guadalajara. Plus, they’ve sent some of the older boys to Mexico City. The food is usually inedible, and our clothing is all worn-out and old. They only gave us these new outfits yesterday because of your visit. This place is more like military barracks than a school.”

  The boy looked at me with his eyes wide in disbelief. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’ll tell my dad. What’s your name?”

  I hesitated. If I told him my name and then Reyes Pérez found out, there would be hell to pay. But finally I did say my name, and the boy went to talk with his dad while the party continued.

  After the meal, they gave us the day off, and we played and lazed about the school grounds. While I was talking with some friends, a policeman approached and asked me to come with him. I started to tremble, but I saw no way out of it.

  The officer took me to a room near the workshops in the boys’ building. Inside, the president was sitting in a chair. I hadn’t spoken to him since I’d arrived in Mexico, when he greeted each and every one of us from Spain. With hesitation I walked forward and stood before him as if before a general.

  “At ease, soldier,” he joked, and I tried to relax my rigid body.

  “Your excellency, Mr. President,” I squeaked out.

  “Call me Lázaro.”

  “Mr. . . . Lázaro, sir, I would like to ask you to help us. We Spaniard children are so grateful for all you’ve done for us. You and your wife have saved us from the war in Spain. We’ve been in Mexico for a year, and we’ve learned a lot. Thanks to your wonderful citizens, we’re learning a trade. But it hasn’t all been good. I’m sure you already know about the problems with the first director. Things have gotten a little better with the new director, but—”

  “That’s good to hear . . .”

  “But I want you to know that we don’t normally eat well like we did today, nor do we wear nice clothes like this.”

  The president frowned. “Are you sure what you’re telling me is true? I’ve asked to be kept informed, and I’ve been assured that you children have plenty to eat and are treated very well.”

  I stood there thinking. I didn’t want to contradict the president or get into trouble, nor did I want my sisters to be punished for what I was doing.

  “Some of the children have been given up for adoption, several girls have been sent to a convent, and some of the older boys have been sent to the capital. Our government sent us to Mexico to be taken care of, and your country has promised to send us back once the war is over. However, at this rate, you won’t have many Spaniard students left at the school by the time the conflict ends.”

  “My dear Marco, I’m afraid the war is going to last a long time. Things are not going well in Spain, and it’s natural that some of you would be better situated in other places. In fact, our initial intention was to place you all in homes, but it wasn’t practical. I understand what you’re saying. I’ll speak to my secretary of education, and we’ll look for a solution. I promise. What I can do for you right away, to protect your rights, is to name you all adopted children of Mexico. That way you’ll have the same rights as any Mexican.”

  My jaw dropped. I hadn’t expected such a response. The most powerful man in the country was right in front of me, listening to a simple, exiled, working-class foreigner.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lázaro, sir,” I said, smiling.

  “No need to thank me. The Republic of Spain’s struggle and our struggle here in Mexico are one and the same. When we’re born, our parents give us a country as inheritance. We can settle and accept things as they are or change it. A nation’s destiny depends on us. I love this country with all my heart, but Mexico grieves me. To see so many helpless children, so much injustice and inequality . . . It breaks my heart. The Republic has also wanted to change the destiny of her disadvantaged citizens, of the ones who’ve never counted for much; but powerful forces resist change. I hope the teachers are doing a good job with you all because you are our future. You’re the future not only of Mexico but also of the whole world.”

  The president’s words were imprinted with fire in my brain. My father had instilled in me that same desire to change things. Although in the past few months I had settled for surviving, I knew that the only path to happiness was fighting to reach it. I could do it in a selfish way, designing my own future, or I could strive for change. After that day, I behaved differently in Morelia. I needed to fight for more than survival. My classmates and I needed to remember our dreams.

  Chapter 26

  Summer

  Morelia

  September 12, 1938

  Summer was long and tedious. Many of the Mexican students returned home, but the Spaniards had to stay at school all summer. The only relief from the strict routine and schedule was when the teachers would take us to the nearby hot springs and water park in Cointzio. We were allowed to swim there ’til the park started cleaning the pools in the late afternoon.

  One morning we set out early so we could stay at the park all day. My sisters were happy. They loved swimming and, more than anything else, getting away from school for a few hours. In the year plus a few months that we’d been in Mexico, they had undergone striking physical changes. It pained me that our parents were missing out on so much of the girls’ childhood.

  “It’s been a while since we got a letter from Mom,” Isabel said, walking beside me.

  I still spent my free time with my Mexican and Asturian friends, but no one had taken Manuel’s place. I missed him acutely on outings like this one.

  “I hope she writes soon,” I said. “I’m really worried about the war. I always thought we’d be back in Spain after a year, but soon enough it’ll be Christmas and New Year again here in Mexico.”

  One of my Asturian friends, Felipe, came up and said, “Rumors are flying.”

  “The Republic is losing ground every day,” another boy piped up. “Pretty soon it’ll crumble if Prime Minister Negrín doesn’t do something to stop it.”

  “The Republic is attacking in the area of Ebro,” I said. I had read about how, in the turning-point battle, the Republicans had reclaimed territory and pushed the fascists back for the first time in a long time.

  �
��Ugh!” Ana grunted. “You boys are always talking about battles. I don’t care who wins. I just want to go home.” My sweet sister couldn’t yet understand how much our return home depended on the outcome of the fighting.

  We got to the park and put on our bathing suits. Much to the chagrin of other guests who’d come to enjoy the warm waters in peace, we rushed to the pools and commenced our raucous games.

  While my sisters waged a splashing war, I looked around, and my eye caught a dark-haired girl who was there with her parents. She looked to be around my age. From the first glance, I was struck by her beauty. She had black hair and dark eyes, light skin and slightly sunburned cheeks. She wore a fancy new bathing suit and was splashing her feet in the pool next to her dad, who was jumping in and out of the water.

  I glanced at her over and over, but she never acknowledged it. Finally, I gave up and started talking with my friends, trying to think about something else. That’s when she did look at me. I caught her furtive eyes and noticed her blushing at being discovered. The rest of the day I was absent from what my body was doing in the pool with my friends. Instead I watched the girl and tried to figure out who she was. I asked Isabel and Ana to try to play with her, hoping they’d become friends. Otherwise, I’d have to come up with a reason of my own to talk with her.

  We ate our frugal lunch, and while the mysterious girl’s parents napped on chaise longues by the pool, I gathered up my courage to approach her. She was sitting on the side of the pool, dangling her feet in. The sun shimmered on her milky-white skin.

  “Hi there. I’d like to introduce myself. I’m Marco Alcalde.”

  “You’re Ana and Isabel’s brother,” she said with a little smile, as if she’d been expecting me.

  “Yes. We’re from Spain.”

  “Your sisters told me. From the Spain–Mexico School.”