Tell Me Who I Am

by Julia Navarro

  “It’s taken you a long time,” she complained.

  “I couldn’t come earlier, I had to see some comrades.”

  “And you couldn’t see them here?”

  “No, not these ones. And now let me speak to the gentlemen who have just entered; I will introduce them to you later. One of them is the secretary to a member of Catalonia’s Executive Council.”

  “And he’s a Communist?”

  “Yes, but his boss doesn’t know. Now keep quiet and listen. You have to get used to these meetings. Above all, listen, and then tell me what you hear, I’ve told you I want you to remember anything, no matter how insignificant it might seem. Look, try to talk to the people in this group, the ones on the right are two journalists who have a lot of influence here in Catalonia, and the man they’re talking to is a higher-up in the Socialists. I’m sure that what they’re saying is of interest. Ask Doña Anita to introduce you to them and behave as I said, speaking little and listening much. You are very sweet and very pretty and they will not mistrust you.”

  Pierre was grooming her to be an agent. An agent who would work for him. Amelia was a young lady, distinguished, educated, who could fit into the most select environments without calling attention to herself. Pierre had realized her potential and meant to use it to his advantage. Of course, he had not the least intention of being truthful with her, of explaining that he was an agent of the INO. He had told her half-truths: that he was a part of the Communist International, that he sometimes represented them on some of his journeys running errands to comrades in different countries... And he explained his activities in such a way that they seemed innocent, especially to the ears of an inexperienced woman such as herself.

  Amelia went to Doña Anita and told her in a low voice that Pierre wanted her to be introduced to the gentlemen who were conversing animatedly at the far end of the room.

  Doña Anita agreed and took her by the arm, chatting of trivialities while they went toward the journalists and the Catalan Socialist.

  “My dear friends, have I introduced you to Amelia Garayoa? She is a friend from Madrid who is visiting Barcelona for a few days. She told me how much unrest there is in the capital, isn’t that so, Amelia?”

  “Yes, there are lots of people who are hoping that the government will show some kind of decisiveness in the face of these disturbances and the far right’s provocations.”

  “Yes, they have to be stopped,” the Socialist acknowledged.

  “And what do they say about Alcalá Zamora?” one of the journalists asked.

  “Whatever they want. At the moment all attention is focused on Manuel Azaña.”

  The three men looked at each other as if they thought that Amelia knew more than she was letting on, but she had only said this to get out of a hole. Little did she know that Alcalá Zamora would be forced to resign as president of the Republic two days later. And there was a political movement afoot to install Manuel Azaña as president, something that these three men knew about.

  To begin with they spoke cautiously in front of Amelia, but later with greater confidence. She limited herself to listening, agreeing, smiling, but above all paying a great deal of attention to every word they said, which made them feel that they were the center of the world.

  This was a quality that Amelia successfully cultivated her whole life, and it was this quality that Pierre knew how to discern, mold, and develop.

  Josep arrived late with two trade union officials whom Pierre wanted to meet. So the evening spread out until after ten o’clock. We were the last to go, and I remember that Amelia kissed me as she hugged me with affection. She was lodging with Pierre in Doña Anita’s house. Pierre did not want to stay in a hotel, as he had no desire to put Amelia in a compromising position by sharing a room with her. He knew that he had to be careful and move slowly so as not to make her regret the step she had taken, and not for anything in the world would he humiliate her. Doña Anita’s house was large enough for them to stay without getting in the way of their hostess, and they spent their first few days there, and many more in future visits. It was in Doña Anita’s house that they would spend the first few days of the Civil War.

  It is not difficult to imagine what Amelia Garayoa and Pierre Comte spoke about that night.

  “So,” Pierre asked. “What did the journalists say?”

  “They criticized Alcalá Zamora for dissolving parliament on two occasions, because there is no provision for that in the constitution. And the Socialist said that it was not out of the question that Prieto would end up forming a government. Then Josep and the trade unionists from the UGT came along, and one of them said that Largo Caballero would never let Prieto get what he wanted.”

  “It’s difficult to make Largo Caballero see reason, he doesn’t understand that even if this is not the moment for a government of the Left, it is still important to make connections with the part of the bourgeoisie that is not Fascist.”

  “But that seems a contradiction...”

  “No, it’s just a question of learning to deal with the different circumstances that each moment throws up. We cannot deliver the definitive blow to the bourgeoisie before it’s time because one runs the risk of losing everything. The non-Fascist bourgeoisie cannot make a move without us.”

  “And can we move without them?”

  “Yes, yes we can, although the cost will be greater. Let’s let Azaña’s Republican government carry on, at least for a while...”

  I saw Amelia again the next day when she came to our attic to talk with Lola. She was always kind to me, and she brought me a packet of coffee-flavored caramels that tasted wonderful. She seemed happy, this was because, as she told my mother, Pierre was teaching her Russian.

  “I have a gift for languages,” she admitted.

  Amelia and Lola spent a good part of the afternoon talking about the divine and the human; I listened to them carefully, because adult conversation fascinated me. Also, I was accustomed to being silent and unobtrusive during the meetings my parents had with their comrades.

  “Josep has convinced me to leave the Socialist Youth. I regret it, because I like what Largo Caballero says, but Josep is right, we can’t each of us be on one side of the question, we have to share everything, and it’s a very delicate moment, there are things that he wouldn’t be able to tell me if I were in another party.”

  “It’s the right thing to do, Lola. It’s such a beautiful thing to share everything with the man you love! And Largo Caballero isn’t that far removed from the Communists, is he, when all’s said and done?”

  “Yes, there are differences of course, but not as many as there are between Prieto and the Spanish Communist Party. Prieto is too soft on the bourgeoisie.”

  “Santiago liked Prieto... He said he was a gentlemen, and he worried about Largo Caballero’s power.”

  “Forget about your husband! It’s all water under the bridge, you have another life now and you shouldn’t look back.”

  “If only it were so easy... What I feel for Pierre is so intense that it feels like I am burning from the inside, but I can’t stop thinking about Santiago and little Javier... I love them, in my own way, I suppose, but I do love them. I have had nightmares ever since I left them, I sleep badly. As soon as I close my eyes I see Santiago’s face, and as soon as I fall asleep I wake up because I think I hear my son crying. I cannot get over my bad conscience...”

  “Conscience is something dreamt up by the Church! It’s an easy way to have control over people. If they control your conscience then they control you because you cease to be free. From the day we are born, priests tell us what’s good and what’s bad according to their own opinions, and then they convince you that if you don’t do the right thing you’ll go straight to hell. But hell does not exist, it’s a story for idiots, to keep the poor under control. They want us to suffer on earth in order to enjoy the heavenly paradise up in the sky, but no one’s ever come back from the dead to tell us that it exists. And you know why? Becaus
e there’s nothing, after death there’s nothing. The rich made up God to control the poor.”

  “What things you say, Lola!”

  “It’s the truth! Think about it, think where you see God. Does God do anything for the poor? If He’s omnipotent, why does He allow so much injustice to exist? Why does He allow so many innocent people to suffer?”

  “Don’t think you can judge God, even less understand Him! He knows why He puts us to the test, and we have to accept it.”

  “Well, even if God does exist, I assure you that I will not accept that my son will be less than your son, that he will lack the education that your son will receive, eat worse food, have fewer opportunities. Why do your son Javier and your cousin Jesús have to have advantages over Pablo? Tell me, why?”

  Lola raised her voice and looked defiantly at Amelia, whose smile had turned into a grimace of pain. Amelia suffered in seeing all the hate that Lola contained within herself, and how a part of that hate was directed toward her.

  “I have given up everything to fight for those weaker than I am. I have given up my son and my husband, my house, my parents, my sister, my family, my friends, and I have done this because I don’t believe that the world is just and that no one has any right to have any more than anyone else. Does this seem like nothing to you?”

  “You think we have to thank you for taking this decision? Would you have done it if you hadn’t fallen in love with Pierre?”

  Amelia leaped up, her eyes filled with tears. Lola had struck below the belt; she had said what everyone knew, what Amelia herself knew, that until Pierre had appeared she had only flirted with revolutionary ideas.

  I was scared to see Amelia and Lola looking in silence at each other. Lola looked angry; Amelia was stunned. Eventually she swallowed, took a deep breath, and seemed to recover the calm that she had temporarily lost.

  “I think it’s best if I go. Doña Anita has invited some friends to dine and I think it would be best if I were there to help her.”

  “Yes, it’s a bit of a trek back to her house from here.”

  Amelia kissed me and tenderly stroked my face. Then she left without saying anything. Lola sighed. Josep would be cross when he found out that she had argued with Amelia. If Pierre had chosen Amelia it was because she had a special value for the sacred cause of Communism, and it was better not to contradict her, better that she not risk regretting having left her husband and son. But Amelia annoyed Lola, who had never felt any affection toward her.

  Although this wasn’t the first argument they’d had, it was the quarrel that most affected Amelia, so much in fact that we did not see her at all over the next few days, and it was Josep who announced one evening when he got home that Pierre Comte and Amelia had gone to Paris.

  “Is she still in a mood with me?” Lola asked.

  “I don’t know, I don’t even know if she told Pierre about your argument. He hasn’t said anything to me, and she’s been just as charming as ever. You know you put your foot in it,” Josep complained.

  “Me? Says you! I’m sick of that two-faced bitch, she’s leading you all along, you too; if Pierre hadn’t come along she’d have made a play for you. You think I didn’t see her looking at you and licking her lips? And you preaching Communism to her as if you’d been doing it all your life.”

  “Come on, Lola, don’t play the jealousy card! I don’t like it.”

  “Oh, right. Well, if sir will just tell me how he likes me, I’ll do my best to make him happy. Would sir like me to look down, to blush when he speaks to me?”

  “Don’t talk nonsense!”

  They ended up shouting at each other, paying no attention to me. It was not the first time they had fought, but it had never been like this before. Lola dripped with rage. That was the logical thing. She was a brave woman, capable of making great sacrifices for her ideals, and did not know how to use her feminine wiles in dealing with men. She treated them as equals, and in that society, for all the talk by men on the Left about equality between men and women, everyone had been brought up under the same rules, and the men she dealt with were used to women sacrificing themselves, not being equal.

  Lola had fought for the respect and the consideration of her comrades, she had shown self-possession and bravery in the disturbance caused by the general strike in October ’34. She was a true revolutionary, by conviction and by provenance and because her reason told her that this was the path toward liberty for women such as her. She was irritated by, felt a deep disdain for men who did not give way to women such as her, and who could not shrug off the impression made on them by women such as Amelia. Lola was strongly in favor of equality, she had won the right to be treated equally, but in her heart of hearts it provoked her that men forgot that she was also a woman, and not just a comrade.

  3

  Amelia did not settle down all that well with her new family in Paris. How do I know? Well, as I told you, I undertook exhaustive research into spies during the Civil War in order to write what I consider one of my best books. And Pierre was a very special agent; he appeared to be working with the Communist International, which allowed him to establish contact with its agents all over the world, but in fact, as I said, he was with the INO.

  Don’t imagine that it was not hard to reconstruct his life in order to contextualize its importance to the revolutionary movement and its role in the Civil War. I spent several months in Paris interviewing people who had information about him; some people had known him, some had second- or third-hand knowledge. Of course, his liaison with Amelia was no secret, and there are documents that prove the presence of la belle espagnole in Paris at that time.

  Pierre’s mother, Olga, unwillingly took her in. She did not like that her son had become involved with a married woman. As a good Frenchman, Pierre’s father, Guy, accepted the situation more philosophically. Also, he knew his son well and understood that there was nothing that would affect his son’s revolutionary obligations, not even his relationship with la belle espagnole. Guy Comte knew that his son worked for the Communist International; if Pierre was a Communist it was thanks to his father’s influence. But Guy did not know that his son had become a Soviet agent.

  “So you have abandoned your family for my son,” Olga said bluntly, once Pierre had explained the situation to her.

  Amelia blushed. She had felt Olga’s disapproval as soon as she had crossed the threshold to the apartment that Pierre shared with his parents.

  “Please, mother, treat our guest with a little courtesy!”

  “Our guest? Your lover. Isn’t that what they call married women who lose their heads and run away from their homes to have an affair with no future?”

  “Don’t speak like that, woman! If Pierre loves Amelia, she’s welcome into our family, welcome to join us. And you, don’t be afraid of my wife, she’s like that, she says what comes into her head without thinking, but she’s a good person, you’ll see, she’ll end up loving you.” And, turning back to Olga, he added: “It’s Pierre, your son, who’s chosen her, and we should respect his decisions.”

  “I love Pierre, if I didn’t... if I didn’t I wouldn’t have been able to do what I’ve done... and... I believe in the revolution, I want to help... ,” Amelia babbled, her eyes flooded with tears. She felt humiliated, and this might have been the first time that she realized how her decision had turned her into a pariah in the eyes of the world.

  “Mother, Amelia is with me, and if you don’t accept her then we will go straight away, you decide. But if you’d like us to stay, you will treat her with the respect and the consideration which a woman deserves who has shown herself to be brave and who has sacrificed a comfortable and unproblematic life to fight for world revolution. I don’t only love her, I respect her deeply, too.”

  Pierre looked angrily at his mother, and Olga realized that if she wanted not to lose her son then she would have to accept this mad Spanish woman. She would once more have to resign herself, just as she had when she discovered that her husband
and son were raging Communists.

  Olga had met Guy Comte when she was a companion to an old Russian aristocrat, a duchess, who used to spend seasons in Paris. The old lady was an incorrigible reader and liked to buy her books in person, so she became an assiduous client of the Rousseau Bookshop on the Boulevard Saint-Germain, on the Left Bank of the Seine, owned by Monsieur Guy Comte.

  Olga and Guy traded sidelong glances. Then Guy started to speak with her while the duchess browsed the bookshelves. Even later, Guy, with the duchess’s permission, arranged a meeting with Olga. If matters had been left in Guy’s hands, this would have been no more than a simple seduction, but the duchess was not willing for her companion’s reputation to be ruined, and so, when she discovered that Olga was pregnant, she urged them to marry. She was the young woman’s maid of honor and gave her a large amount of money.

  Maybe it was the years she had spent with the aristocracy, maybe it was an inherent dislike of revolutionaries for the threat they offered her bourgeois life with her bookselling husband, but Olga never let herself get carried away by ideas that, as she put it, could lead goodness knows where. So, for Olga, Amelia was nothing more than a silly girl who had let herself get carried away by Olga’s attractive son, who would abandon her once he had grown tired of her. That was how all stories of forbidden love came to an end: She knew this well, having read all of the Russian classics. Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, and Gogol were her guides in these matters.

  Pierre had two rooms in his parents’ house; one was his bedroom and the other his office. Amelia spent more time in this office than in the drawing room so as not to meet Olga. The two women treated each other coldly and tried to avoid one another.

  Amelia could see Pierre’s great attachment to his parents, the way that, despite the continual fights between mother and son, they were connected by a great bond of affection.