by Noah Gordon
When it was his turn, he entered the dimness and sank to his knees.
“Forgive me, Padre, for I have sinned.”
“When was the last time you made confession?”
“Six…No, seven weeks ago.”
“What is the nature of your sins?”
“Someone with whom I was…close…killed a man. I helped him.”
“…You helped to kill the man?”
“No, Padre. But I…disposed of the man’s body.”
“Why was the man killed?”
The question puzzled Josep; it didn’t seem to relate to his confession. “He came here to murder my friend. And me, he would have killed me also.”
“Then your friend killed him in order to defend his own life?”
“Yes.”
“And perhaps to save your life? Maybe, even, to make it unnecessary for you to kill?”
“…Perhaps.”
“If that were so, his killing the other man could be seen as an act of love, could it not. An act of his love for you?”
This priest knows, Josep realized.
The priest perhaps knew more about Peña’s death than Josep did himself. Padre Pio had spent almost a full day with Nivaldo before Nivaldo had died, shriven.
“Did you bury the body?”
Buried standing, Josep thought crazily, but undoubtedly buried. “Yes, Padre.”
“So where is your sin, my son?”
“Padre…He was buried in unconsecrated earth. Without final rites.”
“By now, the man has met his maker and has been judged. It is not in your power to see that everyone is given the last rites. I’m certain the police would look differently upon your actions, but I do not work for the police, I work for God and the Catholic Church. And I tell you there was no sin. You performed a corporal work of mercy. It is a holy obligation to bury the dead, so there was no sin, and I am unable to hear your confession,” the priest said.
“Find peace, my son. Go home, and be tormented no more.”
On the other side of the tin screen with its myriad of pinprick holes there was a soft but decisive clack, a sound of finality as the inner partition was slid closed, and Josep’s attempt at confession was over.
60
The Guardia Civil
Mid-morning on the third Wednesday in August, Josep sat at one of the tables in front of the grocery and read a newspaper while his brother wiped down the other tables. They both looked up when three riders clattered over the bridge and into the placa. All three had the look of men who had traveled under the copper sun. The first two horsemen, riding side by side, were officers of the Guardia Civil. Josep had seen the Guardia in Barcelona, always in pairs and carrying shotguns, daunting in their three-cornered patent leather hats, high-necked black tunics, snowy white pants and gleaming boots. These two wore the distinctive hats, but also dusty green work uniforms with dark, wet splotches at the armpits and in the middle of their backs, where each of them carried his shotgun on a leather strap.
They were followed by a man on a mule, and Josep saw that this was someone he knew.
“Hola, Tonio!” Donat called.
Angel Casals’ eldest son flashed Josep a quick glance and gave Donat a nod but didn’t answer. He sat straight and tall as he rode, as if emulating the two men in front of him.
Josep watched them over the newspaper, and Donat stood with the wet washcloth in his hand and followed them with his eyes as they stopped near the wine press and tethered their animals on the public rail. They went straight to the pump, and the officers took turns, each holding both firearms while the other drank, then they waited until Tonio had drunk his fill and had run water on his face and head.
“We’re right here, so may as well start here,” Tonio said. “It’s that house, the first one after the church,” he said, pointing. “This time of day, he could either be in the house or in the vineyard. We could take a look in the vineyard first, if that is your wish.”
One of the officers took the shotgun off his back and wriggled his shoulders.
While Donat washed the table for the fourth time, Josep watched the three of them cross the placa and disappear behind Eduardo Montroig’s’s house.
Two hours later Josep and Eduardo found Maria del Mar and Francesc among the rows of vines, and they told her about the visitors.
“Two officers from the Guardia, who brought along Tonio Casals to guide them,” Eduardo said. “They asked me the strangest questions. Went through my entire house, looking for what, I don’t know. That damn Tonio, my boyhood camarata, dug two holes on my property. I have two natural low spots in the vineyard and they told him to dig there.
“From my place they went to Angel’s farm about half an hour ago. When Josep and I passed, just now, they were all standing around and watching while Tonio filled in a hole he had dug near the henhouse. Can you imagine? Digging in his own father’s land? What are they searching for?”
Maria del Mar was facing the lane, and she peered past them now. “Oh. Here they come. They’re coming here,” she said.
“What are they seeking?” Eduardo asked again.
Josep willed himself not to turn around and look at them.
“I don’t know,” he said.
One of the Guardia was stockier than the other and a head shorter. Though he was visibly older, he had a full head of hair, and the younger man already had a circular patch of baldness at the back of his head. The two uniformed men were unsmiling but never rude, which somehow made them more menacing.
“Senyor Alvarez? Senyora? I am Corporal Bagés and this is Private Manso. I believe you are acquainted with Senyor Casals.”
Josep nodded, and Tonio looked at him without speaking. “Hola, Maria del Mar.”
“Hola, Tonio,” she said quietly.
“We would like to have a little look about your property now, senyor. This is not objectionable to you?”
Josep knew it was not a real question. He could not withhold permission, and even if he could, it would be taken as a mark of guilt. One did not play with the Guardia. They had total legal power, and there were stories about damage, both physical and economic, that some policia committed in their zealous maintainance of peace.
“Of course,” Josep said.
They began with the houses. The corporal dispatched the younger Guardia to go through the Valls house with Maria del Mar, while he himself searched the Alvarez house accompanied by Josep.
There were not many places in the small house that easily lent themselves to hiding things. Corporal Bagés stuck his head into the fireplace and peered up the chimney, and checked under the bed and moved Francesc’s sleeping pad. The stone house was cooler than the outdoors, but it was warm in the attic, where the Guardia and Josep sweated as they shifted bags of grain and beans so he could inspect the places under the eaves.
“How long have you known Colonel Julián Carmora?”
Josep felt regret, because he had hoped he would never learn Peña’s true identity. He did not want to think about Peña.
But he looked at the corporal in puzzlement.
“What was the nature of your relationship with Colonel Carmora?” Corporal Bagés asked.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know anyone with that name.”
The Guardia held his gaze. “You’re very certain, senyor?”
“I am. I have never known any colonels.”
“Ha, then you may be thankful for your blessings,” the corporal said.
When they returned to the vineyard, Maria del Mar and Francesc were seated on the bench with Eduardo.
“Where is Private Manso?” the corporal asked.
“We went through one house together,” Maria del Mar told him. “The other house, the one in the middle, is full of some of our tools, two plows, old leather harnesses—all manner of things. I left him going through everything very carefully. That house, right up there,” she said, pointing, and the Guardia officer went off.
They watched him go.
/> “Did you learn anything?” Eduardo asked, and Josep shook his head.
In a moment, Tonio Casals appeared from between rows of vines and came to them.
He knelt before the child. “Hola, Francesc. I am Tonio Casals. Do you remember me? Tonio?”
Francesc studied the face but shook his head.
“Well, it has been a long time, and I knew you when you were very little.”
“And you, Tonio, how are you these days?” Marimar asked gently.
“I am doing…fine, Maria del Mar. I am assistant alguacil of the regional jail outside of Las Granyas, and I like that work.”
“Your father says you also work in the olive business?” Eduardo said.
“Yes. Well, but growing olives is just another form of farming. I am not fond of farming, and my boss is an unpleasant man…. Life is always partly difficult, no?”
Eduardo murmured an assent. “And do you work regularly with the Guardia?” he asked his old friend.
“No, no. But I know them all and they all know me, because at one time or another every Guardia officer brings prisoners to my jail or takes them away from it for questioning. Actually, I am thinking of trying to join the Guardia myself. It is difficult because many apply, and one must take classes and pass examinations. But as I say, I know many of the Guardia now…and the work is related to my experience at the jail. These two were aware that I am from Santa Eulália. When they were sent here, they invited me as their guide and assistant, so I can assure the village that they mean no harm.”
“But Tonio,” Marimar said anxiously, “why are they searching our land?”
Tonio hesitated. “You need not be concerned,” he said.
Marimar made her eyes large. “Why did they ask me if I knew a certain colonel?” she whispered.
Tonio’s face showed his pride in being an authority. He cast a glance to make sure the two Guardia officers were out of sight. “A colonel with a desk at the Ministry of War has gone missing. Corporal Bagés says he is a coming officer with a brevet rank of brigadier. Corporal Bagés says one day he may be a general.”
“But…why do they search for him here?” Eduardo asked.
Tonio made a face. “The reason is meager. Among other papers found on his desk was a District of Catalonia list naming the members of the town and village councils. The listing of Santa Eulália, including the three names of its council members, had been encircled.”
The village council. That is how he found me, Josep thought.
“That is all? A circle drawn on a list of villages?” Eduardo said incredulously.
Tonio nodded. “I laughed when they told me. I said that perhaps the colonel was planning his eventual retirement and considered settling in this little village to raise grapes. Or perhaps he planned to send troops hereabouts on training maneuvers, or perhaps, or perhaps, or perhaps. But they insisted on sending investigators, so I had to dig a hole in my own father’s field! They overlook nothing, not the smallest detail. That is why they are so successful, that is why they are the best.” He smiled at Marimar. “But be patient, and we will be gone very soon.”
Presently Corporal Bagés returned. “Senyor,” he said to Josep, “will you come with me?”
He led Josep to the door in the ridge.
“What is this?”
“My wine cellar.”
“If you please,” he said, and Josep opened the door and they entered into the darkness.
In a moment Josep had found a match and lighted the lantern and they stood in its flickering light.
“Ah,” the Guardia said softly.
It was a sound of pleasure. “It is so cool here. Why do you not live in here?”
Josep forced a smile. “We don’t wish to warm our wine,” he said.
The corporal reached over and took the lantern. He held it high and examined the scene before him: the rock wall and ceiling, the stonework that began behind the rack of filled bottles.
He held the lantern close to the stonework and peered at it, studying, and Josep realized something with sudden dismay. The clay between the stones would show different colorations, according to the different periods of time they had been drying. The grout became a light gray in color after it dried, almost the shade of many of the rocks, while the clay was much darker when wet, with brown tones.
The two newest sections could be identified.
His heart was hammering. He knew exactly what would happen next. The corporal would study the clay and begin to remove the stones that had been laid most recently.
The man held the light close to the wall and took a step forward, and in that moment the door of cellar was opened and the other officer entered.
“I think we have something,” Private Manso said.
The corporal handed Josep the lantern and went to his colleague. Josep heard the murmured words, “A sunken grave.”
The door remained ajar, and warmth was pouring in.
“Senyores, please…the door,” he managed to say, but the two Guardia were not listening to him as they hurried out, and Josep extinguished the lantern and followed, firmly closing the door behind him.
It was not an extremely hot day for Catalonia, but the contrast with the cellar’s coolness was dizzying.
He saw that everyone was gathered at the eastern rear edge of the Alvarez piece, even Angel Casals, who must have hobbled slowly from his farm. The alcalde looked done in and was leaning on Marimar for support.
There was the sound of digging and the soft grunts made by someone using a shovel.
As Josep drew near he saw that everyone was watching Tonio Casals, who stood in a wide hole of his own making.
Josep joined the others, a bubble of hysterical mirth rising within him because the situation was exactly as his fearful imaginings had pictured it, with his wife and son and friends and neighbors assembled to witness if disaster and disgrace came to him.
“Here is something,” Tonio said.
He dropped his shovel and reached down to pull, tugging until there emerged from the earth two long joined bones to which shreds of dirt and matter still clung.
“I think it is a leg,” Tonio said, a bit importantly, Josep thought. But quickly he gave a small scream,“Mare de Déu!,”and cast the grisly object back onto the earth. “A cloven hoof! It is the leg of a demon!”
“No, senyor.” Francesc’s young voice rose, excited and shrill. “It is not a demon. It is a pig.”
In the small silence, Josep watched Eduardo begin to tremble. Eduardo’s shoulders shook and his serious face worked.
He groaned, a sound that could have been made by a primed pump, and then for the first time Josep saw and heard Eduardo Montroig really laugh. His laughter was soft and wheezing, like the barking of an asthmatic dog that had run a long way.
Almost at once others joined in—even the Guardia—seduced as much by Eduardo’s helpless joy as by the situation, and Josep found it easy to surrender to the hysteria, and to the laughter that began all over again as Tonio stoically reburied the boar.
Josep didn’t like the way the alcalde looked, and he led Angel to the bench and brought him cool water.
Tonio continued to ignore Josep but turned to Marimar. “I would like to taste your wine,” he said.
She hesitated, seeking a way to avoid serving him, but Angel Casals spoke to Tonio brusquely. “I would like you to take me home now. I have hired Beatriu Corberó to cook us her summer paella with chorizo and vegetables, a village-style dinner for you and your friends, and I must see to things.” So Eduardo helped the alcalde onto his son’s mule, and Tonio led him away.
Light-headed, Josep filled a pitcher from the almost empty barrel of ordinary wine and served it in Quim’s wineglasses to the two policia and Marimar and Eduardo.
The two Guardia officers did not hurry away. They drank slowly, complimented the wine, and allowed Josep to convince them it was fitting that they have another glass, in which he joined them.
Then they shook his hand
and wished him a bountiful harvest, and they mounted their horses and rode away.
61
The Monsieur
By early September several people had sought out the bodega to buy wine, and when Josep noticed the rider turning into the vineyard from the lane, he thought it was another customer. But as he approached, he saw that the man was reining in his horse while he examined the sign.
And then Josep recognized the man’s face, which bore the broadest of smiles.
“Monsieur, Monsieur,” he called.
Monsieur Mendes can taste my wine! he thought at once and felt joy and terror.
“Senyor,” Leon Mendes called back to him.
He was very pleased to be able to introduce Maria del Mar and Francesc to Leon Mendes.
He had spoken to Marimar at length about Mendes, and she knew what the Frenchman meant to her husband. As soon as the introductions were finished, she took Francesc by the hand and hurried to the Casals farm to buy a chicken and to the grocery for other ingredients, aware she would be spending the afternoon preparing a dinner.
Josep unsaddled the horse. When Josep had been in Languedoc, Monsieur Mendes had ridden a very good black Arabian mare. This one was a mare as well, but a swaybacked brown animal of dubious lineage, a livery horse Mendes had rented in Barcelona after leaving the train. Josep saw to it that it had water and feed. He set two chairs in the shade and brought his visitor wet cloths with which to bathe his face and hands to remove the dust of the road.
Then he brought a cántir and cups, and the two of them sat and drank water and began to talk.
Josep told Mendes the story of how he had assembled his winery. How his brother and sister-in-law had wanted to sell the Alvarez land and how he had bought it. He recounted how his love-haunted neighbor had thrust upon him the responsibility for the adjoining Torras piece, and how, when he and Marimar had married, they had merged their properties.
