Remember Me

by Mario Escobar

  Chapter 45

  In the Name of the Father

  Madrid

  January 8, 1941

  I wrestled a long time with the choice, but I finally decided to call Rosa. I felt more eaten up by worry and fear for my family each day that went by. Unfortunately, Rosa didn’t answer, but one of the women in her employment did.

  “Good afternoon, Artola residence. How may I help you?”

  At first I didn’t know what to say. Just as the woman was about to hang up, I said, “Hello, good afternoon. This is Marco Alcalde, and I need to speak with Mrs. Artola.”

  “Just a moment, please,” was the reply.

  Those few elapsed seconds lasted for ages. I half wanted to hang up the phone, not sure how Rosa would respond to what I was going to ask her.

  “Good afternoon,” came Rosa’s young, cheerful voice.

  “Hi, this is Marco.”

  “Yes, Lolita told me. How can I help you?”

  “Can I see you? I need to tell you in person.”

  She was quiet, as if studying her calendar. I could hear a piece of paper being turned.

  “How about this afternoon at the Café Comercial? You know where it is?”

  “Yes, in Glorieta de Bilbao.”

  “How about five o’clock?”

  “Yes, I’ll be there. Thank you so much.” My heart was racing as I hung up the phone. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Then I looked at my dirt-stained clothes and worn-out boots. I couldn’t go to a café downtown like that.

  I returned to the little hut and went straight to Javier’s wardrobe. I had just opened the door when I heard his voice behind me.

  “And just what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  “I need—”

  “You need? No, you’re robbing me. I’m going straight to the mistress and she’ll kick you to the curb.”

  “No, please,” I begged him. But Javier stormed out of the room. I chased after him and grabbed his arm before he could open the door to the big house.

  “The first day I came to this house you told me that these people robbed our country and gave us the crumbs. It’s true. My father is sentenced to die, my mother is locked up in a women’s prison, and my two sisters are in an orphanage. The mistress’s sister-in-law wants to help me, but I can’t go downtown dressed like this. Please, help me.”

  Javier stared at me, unsure whether to believe me. “You’re a hard case to crack. I’ve been hiding out here since the end of the war. I’ve also got a death sentence hanging over my head. During the war I killed my fair share of fascists, but I didn’t have time to escape to Valencia when Madrid fell. I somehow managed to get work here. The lady didn’t ask me many questions. Despite what I said, she does have a good heart. But her husband is the very son of Satan himself. I think I’ve got something that might fit you. The mistress gave it to me a while back, but I’ve got no time for suits and fancy clothes.”

  We walked back to the hut and he brought out a nice suit jacket and some shoes that, though worn, looked like they had been expensive. He helped me get dressed.

  “I had a son around your age. He was young like you, not yet a man. He got called up in the final months of the war in the ‘baby bottle draft,’ as they called it. He didn’t make it out alive.” In the mirror, I could see tears in the gardener’s eyes.

  I thanked him and walked to where I could take the trolley to Cuatro Caminos. From there, I took the metro to Bilbao Station. As I walked along the busiest streets of the capital, I kept glancing at my reflection in the shop windows. I paused at the door to the café, took a deep breath, then pushed the revolving door open and walked in. As I looked around, a waiter dressed in a tie and white jacket came up and asked if I was looking for anyone.

  “Yes, I . . .” Then I saw Rosa raise her hand from a table at the back, and I headed toward her.

  I shook her hand and, as I settled into the seat, she commented that the suit looked good on me.

  “Thanks,” I said, blushing.

  I ordered coffee and looked out the window to the street. It was hot inside the restaurant, and I began to sweat under the heavy jacket.

  “You mentioned that you needed something,” Rosa said, smiling.

  She still looked as young and pretty as the first time I’d seen her. Now she was wearing a suit befitting a married woman, but the clothing didn’t seem to rein in her young, rebellious spirit.

  “I don’t have a favor to ask for myself. But my family . . .” I swallowed hard to keep the tears at bay.

  “What is it?” she asked, taking my hand tenderly in hers.

  So I told her our story. I narrated everything from the past few years: war, hunger, exile, the difficulty of being separated from our parents, our return to Spain, and being separated from my sisters. Rosa’s big eyes held deep sadness. I wondered if she wasn’t happy either. It seemed that after the war we were all playing roles we didn’t want but which circumstances forced upon us.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had no idea your life was so difficult. The war has been hard on everyone, but we all try to get over it the best we can. My parents . . .” she began, choking up.

  I took a handkerchief out of my jacket pocket and held it out to her.

  “Thanks.” She dabbed her eyes. “I didn’t mean to cry. In fact, it’s been ages since I’ve cried. I know I’m lucky. My parents died in one of the bombings, though sometimes I think it’s the best thing that could’ve happened to them. The war was so horrible here in Madrid. I was living in the Salamanca neighborhood, and chekas and other groups of robbers attacked our homes all the time. One time they broke in and . . .” She buried her eyes in the handkerchief. Seeing her crying like that, I realized how easy it was to jump to conclusions about someone based on appearance. It turned out that the victors also had painful stories to tell. “Well, it’s better not to remember those things,” she continued. “God gives each of us a second chance. Maybe he’s kept us alive for a reason, so we can help remedy some of the suffering and pain.”

  “I don’t believe in God, but I do believe with all my heart that we should try to leave all this hatred and pain behind,” I said. It wasn’t easy for me to say things like that, but resentment was eating me up on the inside. If I didn’t fight against it, no room would be left in my heart for anything but hatred and contempt.

  “My husband works at the Department of Justice. They’re slammed with work, and we hardly see each other, though honestly that’s just fine by me. Ours was a marriage of convenience. My aunt, Susana, managed to convince my mother-in-law that I’d be a good catch. My parents had a lot of land in Jaén. I would’ve rather stayed single, but I was too chicken. Nowadays women are second-class citizens, and the laws of the new regime don’t let us do anything unless we have men by our side. I spend my days going to charity projects, plays, and fancy dinners.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, confused. That didn’t sound like a hard life to me. I still hadn’t grasped the concept of living trapped in a golden cage. Rosa’s dreams of studying and being a journalist had gone up in smoke alongside the dreams of millions of Spaniards. No one dared to dream anymore; we were just content to survive.

  “I’ll ask my husband to see if they can get your mother out of prison. Getting a pardon for your father won’t be as simple, but if it’s true that he helped that many people, we might be able to do something. If your parents get out, they can request custody of your sisters.”

  We left the restaurant and said goodbye at the entrance to the metro. The next day I was to go to the Department of Justice and speak to Rosa’s husband. I couldn’t sleep that night. I asked Javier to be excused from work that day and was standing at the building door by nine o’clock. I was fortunate that Rosa’s husband had included me on his official schedule for the day, and the guards didn’t ask me for any documentation when I entered the building. I went up to the fourth floor, and a secretary asked me to wait for a moment.

  It t
ook every ounce of self-control I had to overcome my desperation and wait calmly in that small, windowless room for nearly three hours. Right before noon, the secretary said, “You can go in now.”

  Rosa’s husband was shuffling through papers as I entered his office. “Have a seat,” he said.

  “Thank you for being willing to see me.” I sat stiffly in one of the chairs.

  “It’s my wife you should thank. She’s got a big heart. So apparently you two met before the glorious uprising?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said tensely. His features did not endear me to him. He was the perfect Falangist stereotype with his slicked-back hair, thin mustache, and pinstriped suit.

  “I’m going to shoot straight with you. It doesn’t bother me one bit if we kill off all the reds we possibly can. The state has to make sure that what just happened in Spain never happens again. Fascism and communism are in constant war. It won’t be long ’til we can support our natural allies against Russia and the worn-out bourgeois democracies, but in the meantime, we need to clean out the reds from this country. Even so, I’m not as radical as some of my comrades. I recognize that if we kill off all the reds there won’t be enough people to harvest the fields or work the factories. We’ve got to weaken the working class but not fully exterminate it. The workers themselves aren’t ultimately guilty of their own alienation; bourgeois capitalism drove them to it. You’ll understand all this once we’ve been able to put our social measures in place. Not even God will be able to recognize this country.”

  I listened to his speech in silence. When he had run out of ideologizing steam, he added, “Your mother’s case is pretty simple. She’s a red that runs her mouth a lot, but she doesn’t seem dangerous. I’ll write to the women’s prison in Bilbao asking them to let her out. But your father’s case is more complicated. The death sentence against him is about to be carried out any day now, which means time’s run out for appeals or pardons. Military justice is very strict on these matters. I asked the minister to sign a pardon, but you’ll have to take it yourself to the camp at Miranda de Ebro. The camp’s tribunal will have to rule on your father’s freedom and the commutation of his sentence. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He handed me a folder with the yoke and arrows symbol printed on the front.

  “I hope your father knows how to serve the new state. He won’t receive a second chance; we’re gifting him with a new life. He can’t go back to the printing press, but at least he won’t die before the firing squad,” he said, standing up to signal that the meeting was over.

  Going down the elevator, my head was buzzing with thoughts about my parents. In my hands I held the documents that might save my father’s life. I headed to the gardener’s house to pack my few belongings and take the first train I could. Time was of the essence. I could feel my head splitting with the choices: Should I go to Bilbao for my mother or risk going alone to Miranda de Ebro for my father? What if he were already dead and I wasted two days in which my mother had to suffer longer in prison? But what if they took Dad out for a walk while we were en route from Bilbao? I had no good options and too little information. In the end, I decided to take the first train to Bilbao.

  Javier was eating in the small kitchen when I entered. I didn’t have to say anything, just simply held out the folder and nodded in shock. He stood up and hugged me. “I hope you make it. At least somebody will find justice in this godforsaken country.”

  “Thank you,” I said from the bottom of my heart. Then I gathered my meager things for the trip.

  I was walking out the door when I ran into Rosa. “My husband called to tell me about your meeting. I figured I’d find you here. I wanted to give you some money and wish you well.”

  “But . . .” I began. I didn’t want to take anything else from someone who’d already done so much for me, yet I was in no position to refuse the help. “Thank you, thank you so much. I can’t ever thank you enough,” I said, trembling as I put the money she held out into my pockets.

  Then she hugged me. At first my arms were stiff against my body and I didn’t know what to do, but finally I relaxed and accepted her simple act of affection. It had been a long time since anyone besides my sisters had expressed genuine feeling for me.

  “Go on, now. Do not waste time,” she said, stepping back and wiping her eyes.

  I took the trolley to Norte Station, bought a one-way ticket, and within a couple hours was on the train. I sat in a third-class car and stared at the scenery for hours. Javier had packed me a sandwich and a wineskin. After I ate a bit, I nodded off. The train arrived in Bilbao after night had fallen. The dirty, gray city greeted me when I left the station in search of somewhere to stay. Trying to fall asleep between the smelly, threadbare sheets, I dared to let my mind dream about the future just a bit. What would my mother be like now? Would we actually be all together again as a family? I’d never been so close to making it happen.

  I got up early and was so anxious I didn’t even eat the pitiful breakfast the pension kitchen provided. I took a bus to the women’s prison and waited in the long line to go inside. Finally, I was led to the director’s office.

  “Mr. Marco Alcalde, I read the pardon for your mother, Mrs. Amparo Alcalde. I don’t quite know how you pulled that off, but I suppose that if you know the right people, you can get anything. Don’t think you’re off the hook, though. She may walk away from these four walls, and I can’t do anything to stop it, but you can’t make one false move without us finding out. No enemy of the state can sleep soundly at night. If it were up to me, I’d shoot the whole lot of these reds, but I’ve got to follow orders.”

  The director signed for my mother’s immediate release and told me to wait in a room nearby. Two eternal hours dragged on before I heard the door to the waiting room open. A guard brought forward a white-haired woman. I had to stare at her for a long moment to find anything of my mother in those sunken eyes and the deeply wrinkled face. I stood and ran to hug her. She opened her arms to me and moaned as the warmth of our bodies recognized each other, the body that had sheltered me so many nights during a nightmare or a fright. I felt tethered to the world once again.

  “You didn’t forget me,” she said through happy tears.

  “Of course not! You told me to remember you, and not a day has gone by in all these years when you weren’t the first thing on my mind.”

  Time slowed down, and we continued the embrace. The images of everything I’d lived through since our separation flew rapid-fire through my brain. The worst thing of all—worse than the loneliness, the mistreatment, the fear, the anguish—had been the distance between us. I fought to believe our embrace was real and that I wasn’t dreaming. I couldn’t believe I was finally home again.

  Chapter 46

  Bilbao

  Bilbao

  January 10, 1941

  My mother felt mainly relief at finding herself outside the walls of the prison. She was skittish and frightened, as if her confinement had crushed the fight out of her. We went to the pension where I’d stayed the night before and ate at a small bar nearby. We talked for endless hours about the past four and a half years and how we’d always hoped to find each other again.

  “I regret sending you three away. If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t do it again. You’ve suffered so much, and even though things were absolutely horrible in Spain, at least we would’ve been together.” The remorse on her face broke my heart.

  “No, no, we made it well enough in Mexico,” I said. Right then, I vowed to never let her know all that had gone on because she had suffered enough. “It was hard at first, but for the most part they treated us well. I think we learned things that will shape us for the rest of our lives. You and Dad did what you thought was best for us at the time.”

  She clung to my hand, and I could feel her bones just beneath her pale, papery skin. She was so thin, and her face looked decades older. “They took us on a train to Germany and forced all the men out to work in a
concentration camp. We managed to escape and went to find you, but you weren’t in Mexico.” Her eyes were full of questions.

  The guilt that had threatened to swallow me since we’d heard Jacinto’s report of my parents’ whereabouts now had me full in its grip. If I had obeyed my parents and not come back to Spain, none of these horrible things would’ve happened. We could’ve made a new life, together, in Mexico.

  “I’m so sorry,” I choked out.

  “I know, darling. It’s not your fault. You wanted to come back so we could all be together again. My goodness, I can’t believe how handsome you’ve grown. And thanks to Jacinto and that woman, you got me out of jail.”

  “I have to tell you something important,” I said. Up to then, I hadn’t wanted her to know about Dad. She was quiet. The hypnotizing gleam of her big green eyes was the only thing left of the strong, young woman I had known her to be.

  “Out with it! I can’t bear the suspense anymore. Is it your father?”

  “Yes. You know they took him to a camp.”

  That was all it took for her face to fall again, all the weight and suffering of the years returning full force.

  “We were arrested at the same time.”

  “Well, in his case, a military tribunal has condemned him to death. I don’t believe they have enacted the sentence yet, but Rosa’s husband told me it could be soon.”

  Confusion danced across my mother’s face, swirling between joy and defeat. “I presumed he’d surely been shot already, so maybe there’s a chance . . . But why execute him now? Your father’s saved so many people from certain death.”

  “I know, but military tribunals are really strict, and they condemned him for participating in the attack on the Montaña Barracks.”

  “Oh, ridiculous!” She nearly spat the words out, enraged.