Tell Me Who I Am

by Julia Navarro

  “But that’s in your house, where they wouldn’t dare to be rude. No, I won’t go,” Amelia replied.

  “Amelia is right,” Don Armando added, “these women are capable of saying anything, and it’s not that I care about you feeling obliged to leave early, but I am worried that Amelia would have a bad time of it. Look, the best thing to do is for her and me to take Jesús and Pablo out for a walk.”

  Patiently, diplomatically, Don Armando nearly got away with it, but Doña Elena had a brainwave: Jesús and I should go to the party as well.

  “You aren’t old enough to dance, but you can very well have tea, so let’s not waste the opportunity. It’s always a good idea to have little brothers near older sisters, as chaperones. It’s decided, I’ll tell Señora de García de Vigo.”

  Jesús and I protested, but unsuccessfully. Amelia had escaped from the dance, in exchange for us.

  On Saturday at six on the dot we turned up at the de García de Vigo house on Calle Serrano. Doña Paquita, for that was Señora de García de Vigo’s name, received us with a warm smile and invited us into a large room that she had arranged for dancing.

  “Come in, come in, you’re the first,” Doña Paquita said.

  “I told you I would come in time to help you.” Doña Elena replied.

  “I’ve invited thirty young people, you’ll have a wonderful time. And you,” she said, referring to Jesús and to me, “you should be careful that nobody oversteps the bounds of propriety with the young ladies, tell us if you see anything odd. We will be on the lookout as well, but if by any chance we get distracted, then you will be there keeping your eyes open. You should also take charge of putting on the music, we have some very lively pasodobles.”

  Jesús and I had agreed to attend on our own terms, which was to eat as much as possible. We had not the slightest intention of keeping an eye on the girls, unless one of the young men should cross the line with Laura or Antonietta. About the others, we couldn’t have cared less.

  The first guests soon arrived. They all looked alike to Jesús and to me: the men in suits and ties, with very carefully styled hair, and the women in starched skirts.

  Doña Paquita had put out a soup tureen filled with punch; to its side were plates covered with croquettes, tortillas, and sliced sausage, all neatly displayed.

  After the first glass of punch, the young people started dancing. And, as could have been predicted, as soon as Doña Paquita and Doña Elena were distracted, the boys’ hands were distracted as well, and started to move down the girls’ backs. Sometimes they were pushed away indignantly, sometimes the girl in question, with a wicked smile, would pretend to reject them but not too severely.

  We did not lose sight of Laura and Antonietta, and if any of the boys tried to go too far, we would approach them and make it clear that it was better for them not to try anything. Laura had, for her part, discovered the way to repel unwanted attention: Whenever anyone came closer to her than he should have, she stamped heavily on his foot.

  We were having fun. I am sure that I ate all the cod croquettes that, according to Doña Paquita, had been made by Maruchi herself. As for Maruchi, she pretended not to notice when any young man came closer to her than he should have.

  Meanwhile, Doña Paquita told Doña Elena about the guests.

  “Look,” she said. “That one with the gray jacket and the moustache is the son of the undersecretary, and the one standing next to him has a great future ahead of him; he’s in the Falange and has an excellent position in food wholesaling. The dirty blond one is called Pedro Molina; keep an eye on him because he’s a good boy, even though his father’s dead: The poor man was killed in the war at Paracuellos. His mother is the cousin of a soldier who’s very close to the Caudillo. I think that Franco holds him in very high esteem, and he’s one of the few men permitted to be on familiar terms with him. Her mother has been issued the license to run a government store, and he has been put into a good position in the Tax Office. Look, look how he’s looking at Laura... Oh, what luck! If your daughter catches him, you can think yourselves very fortunate. What a wedding that would be!”

  Antonietta came to sit with us. She was a bit tired, and these young men, with their jokes and essential liveliness, rather tired her out.

  “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” Doña Paquita and Doña Elena asked in unison.

  “Yes, yes, a lot, I’m just a little tired,” she apologized.

  “Rest for a while, but not for too long, or some other girl will take your admirers away,” Doña Paquita warned, without realizing that being ignored would be a relief for Antonietta.

  At ten o’clock on the dot, Doña Paquita announced that the tea-dance was over. We went home, fired up by Doña Elena’s enthusiastic stream of commentary on the party. For her it had been a success. The nephew of this soldier who was on good terms with Franco, who they said was named Pedro, had come up to pay his respects and to ask if he could visit Laura. Doña Elena had ignored her daughter’s look of horror and had replied to the young man that they would be delighted to expect him next Thursday afternoon.

  Laura complained to her mother.

  “You shouldn’t have invited him, he’s repulsive.”

  “He’s a good boy, they killed his father at Paracuellos, and well, you see... he’s studying business and his mother has a government shop. It’s not a match we can afford to let slip.”

  “Well, I don’t like him, so don’t talk him up because I have no intention of going out with him. He’s a Fascist.”

  “Mind what you say! I don’t want you to say that word ever again, never, do you hear me? There are no parties in Spain anymore, we are all Spaniards and that’s that.”

  “Yes, Fascist Spaniards, because everyone else has either been killed or sent into exile.”

  “What have I done to deserve this? Don’t you realize what our situation is like? Even your father has realized that there is no other way than to get accustomed to Franco; anyway, say whatever you want to say, he’s doing well, at least we have peace here now.”

  “Peace? What peace? Is it peace when everyone opposed to the regime is killed?” Laura protested.

  “You’ll get us all sent to prison, just you see... ,” Doña Elena groaned.

  In spite of Laura’s protests, Pedro Molina started to come regularly to the house. Doña Elena was kind to him, but Laura did not hide her antipathy. The young man appeared not to notice Laura’s disdain, and the worse she treated him, the more interested he seemed to be.

  “He’s so affected! I hate him.”

  “He’s a gentleman and a good match. Do you want to be an old maid?”

  “I’d prefer it. I promise you, mother, I’d prefer it, anything would be better than to be at the side of that stuck-up prig.”

  Doña Elena ignored Laura’s protests, and one day when Pedro Molina was having tea with us, she let slip that she would like to meet his mother.

  “One day you will have to bring your mother to have tea with us, it would be a great honor to meet her.”

  “Of course, Doña Elena! But we should invite you. You can’t know how much my mother would like to meet Laura.”

  “You only need to ask, next Thursday we’ve got some friends coming round for the evening, and your mother is more than welcome to come. You can talk with Laura, and we’ll entertain her. The poor woman, the things she has had to put up with!”

  “If it weren’t for her cousin, I don’t know what would have become of us... But Mama’s cousin is a soldier who is very close to the Caudillo, and he has made sure that we lack for nothing. You know that I have a good job where they appreciate me.”

  “Of course, of course! Well, you’re an upright young man, you’ll go far.”

  “I only want to be worthy of Laura,” Pedro Molina sighed.

  Pedro’s mother’s visit turned the house upside down. Doña Elena asked Don Armando to try to come back early from work to meet the widow.

  “But my dear, how am I going t
o be allowed to leave work early?”

  “It’s a good match for Laura, so we should do what we can to give the engagement as much encouragement as possible.”

  “What engagement? Laura doesn’t want anything to do with this Pedro Molina. You’re playing matchmaker and this will only end badly. The boy is getting his hopes up, not because of anything Laura says, but because of you.”

  “Armando, you should help me, instead of making problems.”

  “No, Elena, I have no intention of trying to force a marriage that our daughter hates the very idea of. Leave her alone, she’ll find her own husband, and if she doesn’t, it will be because she doesn’t want to.”

  “So you don’t mind if Laura ends up an old maid? What can a single woman hope for in this life? No, I will not allow it, even if you are not on my side.”

  Pedro Molina’s mother was a flabby woman, not at all prepared to have her son marry someone who had not been chosen by her. Laura did what she could to make her dislike her, but even if she had been charm itself, the good lady would not have liked her either.

  She was quite clearly extremely jealous, which is to say that until she had been given the government shop she had not had a penny to spend, and she was upset by Doña Elena, whose bearing and elegant manners were signs of an upbringing that she herself had never had.

  Doña Elena was extremely charming, and introduced her to her friends, trying to make her feel comfortable, but did not succeed. The widow Molina sat very tense at the edge of her chair and did not praise the cakes that Laura had “made” (they had been baked by Antonietta), or the milk chocolate that it had been so difficult to get hold of (a present from Doña Rosa the haberdasher). As for the milk itself, Doña Elena had gotten it on the black market. Edurne had even starched her uniform. But not even this seemed to move the old lady. An hour after she had arrived, she said that she should be leaving, and not even Pedro’s silent but supplicating glance could move her. She said that they were going, and they went. After this, much to Laura’s relief, Pedro Molina started to visit the house less. It was clear that his mother did not approve.

  A few days before Christmas, an unknown woman turned up at the door of the house asking for Amelia Garayoa. I opened the door.

  “Amelia Garayoa?”

  “Yes, she’s here,” I said, looking surprised at this thin and resolute-looking woman, with her blonde hair that was turning gray. Her coat was of fine material, and her pearl necklace shone as much as the leather boots she was wearing. She seemed to have a slight foreign accent, but that might have just been my impression.

  “Will you tell her that I am here? My name is Señora Rodríguez.”

  I went to tell Amelia. She seemed surprised to hear the name.

  “Who is she?” Doña Elena wanted to know.

  “A woman I met through Albert, I think she’s a friend of his parents,” Amelia replied.

  Amelia took her through to the salon and offered her a cup of malt “coffee,” which she refused, and then they spent a long time talking in low voices. When Señora Rodríguez left, Amelia seemed worried. But she didn’t say anything, and fended her aunt’s questions off with vague replies; she didn’t say anything more to her uncle.

  I remember that Christmas as being special because Melita came to spend it with us, along with her husband and her daughter Isabel. Melita was now heavily pregnant and had told her husband that it was her wish to spend Christmas in Madrid. He had resisted, not wanting to spend too much time away from his family in Burgos, but whether Melita’s annoyance with him made her ill, or perhaps because of his fear that something might happen to the baby, the result was that they arrived in Madrid on the morning of December 24, bringing with them a basket containing two plucked chickens, two dozen eggs, the much beloved butter, and a chunk of marinated pork loin, as well as peppers, onions, and parsley. They even brought two bottles of wine.

  We had not had such a happy Christmas for a long time. Doña Elena and Don Armando were happy to have their children with them, as well as their nephew and niece; as for me, I was another member of the family. My mother Lola was showing no signs of life, neither was my father. I was still hoping that they would turn up one day, that they would come for me, but in the meantime my only family was this one, which had welcomed me so generously.

  We got up late on Christmas Day and ate in the kitchen in pajamas, in spite of Doña Elena’s protests; she always used to insist that we could not sit at the table unless we were all washed and dressed, but Don Armando said that relaxing the rule for one day wouldn’t hurt anyone. We hadn’t finished breakfast before Melita started to feel unwell.

  Don Armando and Rodrigo took her back to bed, and Doña Elena called the doctor.

  “You must have indigestion, perhaps you ate too much,” Rodrigo said.

  We didn’t think that it could be anything other than indigestion, because there were still a couple of months to go before the child was due. But Melita said that she felt her contractions.

  “I’m telling you, I’m having a baby, I remember very well how it was when Isabel was born.”

  “No, it’s impossible, calm yourself, woman,” her husband said.

  Don Eusebio, the doctor, soon arrived, looking sleepy. He told us all to get out of the room, apart from Doña Elena.

  When Don Eusebio came out of the room, he made it very clear:

  “Melita is going to have her child, it’s impossible to take her to a hospital, we wouldn’t get there in time. So Laura, you put some water on to heat up, and you, Amelia, bring some towels and some sheets.”

  Rodrigo turned pale, worried that something might happen to Melita.

  “Doctor, are you sure that we wouldn’t get to the hospital in time? I don’t want there to be complications...”

  “There will be complications, it’s a seven-month pregnancy, so start praying, that’s the best you can do. Oh, and call this number, which is a midwife I know, a good woman who may be willing to come and help me.”

  Rodrigo called the midwife immediately and promised her a generous tip if she would come straight away to help with the birth.

  Antonietta told us that we should all help Melita, and the best thing that Jesús and I could do was to be quiet and not get into trouble.

  The midwife took almost an hour to arrive, and Melita did not stop screaming in all that time. When she came, the doctor told Laura and Amelia to get out of the room.

  I remember Rodrigo crying silently. He was in the sitting room, smoking cigar after cigar, with tears rolling down his face.

  “He really loves her,” Jesús said in surprise. He had never seen a man cry before.

  “How can he not love her? She’s his wife,” I replied.

  “Poor thing!” Rodrigo muttered, regretting his decision to allow Melita to come to Madrid when she was seven months’ pregnant.

  The baby was not born until well into the afternoon, and, thank the Lord, both he and his mother survived the complications of the birth.

  “She has lost a lot of blood and she’s very weak, but she’s a strong woman and she’ll recover. Her son is very small, of course, but hopefully he’ll make it as well,” Don Eusebio said to Rodrigo, who didn’t know how to show his gratitude to the doctor for having saved his wife and son.

  “I will always be in your debt. Tell me what I owe you, no matter how much, after what you’ve done...”

  “Young man, there are things one doesn’t do for money. Do you know how long I’ve known Melita? Since she was about the age of her daughter Isabel. I’m not here for money, but for my friendship with the family, only that.”

  Even so, both he and the midwife accepted the generous sum that Rodrigo offered them.

  “She will have to rest for a long time. As for the child, he will need a lot of looking after, given that he is premature and still in a lot of danger,” Don Eusebio warned.

  “We’ll take them to the hospital at once,” Rodrigo said.

  “No, no, don’t e
ven think about taking them out of the house. The best thing is for them to stay here. Listen to me. I’ll come back this evening, but if you need me at any time, call me.”

  “I will get a nurse. Can you recommend me one?”

  “Yes, Doña Elena. Who better than her mother to look after Melita?”

  Doña Elena allowed Rodrigo to come into the room for a minute or so, telling him not to tire out Melita.

  “And don’t scold her. The poor thing thinks that you will be cross with her for having given in to her whims and traveled to Madrid.”

  “How could I be cross with her! I thank the Lord that she’s alive.”

  Melita asked Rodrigo to allow her to call the child Juan.

  “I want him to be named after my uncle.”

  He accepted without complaint. He was too scared to do anything else.

  Rodrigo had to go back to Burgos in the middle of January, leaving Melita, who was still in bed. Don Eusebio would not let her travel, far less the baby, whom we all called Juanito.

  Doña Elena was happy to have Melita and her two grandchildren with her. She didn’t want to let them leave until her daughter and her grandson were both perfectly well again. Don Eusebio jokingly said that it would be Doña Elena who decided when they could be given the all-clear, although he recommended that they stay in Madrid at least until the summer.

  Rodrigo accepted what he was told without argument. He felt happy that Melita and his children were alive, so he decided to come to see them in Madrid every week. He took the earliest train on Saturdays and went home on Sunday evening. He could only spend a couple of hours with his wife and his children, but that was better than nothing.

  Melita didn’t seem to mind staying under the wings of her family. It’s not that she was unhappy in Burgos, where she had a lovely house and her husband’s family were sincerely fond of her, but Melita missed her parents and her little brother Jesús, who had always been her favorite, even though she also loved her sister Laura. But Laura had always got on better with her cousin Amelia, and Melita respected the relationship between them.