The Sentinel: 1 (Vengeance of Memory)

by Mark Oldfield

  Galindez stiffened. She pursed her lips. There was no one apart from Tia Carmen she’d ever talked to about what happened. Not even the shrinks. Especially not the shrinks. ‘It’s a long story. I wouldn’t want to bore you.’

  ‘You won’t.’ Tali smiled. Galindez was vaguely aware of the waiter swooping through the bustling tables, leaving the drinks without a word.

  ‘I’ve never talked about it to anyone I’ve been seeing,’ Galindez said.

  Tali nodded. ‘Well, I’m glad that it’s with me. If you want to?’

  Galindez wanted to. It took her a while to get through her story. Papá, the car bomb, Mamá’s suicide. Half a lifetime to cover. How she went to live with Tia Carmen, how Uncle Ramiro paid her way through university, how she’d joined the benemérita as a forensic investigator. And then the sad slow coda of Tia Carmen’s decline with cancer. And how when Carmen died the previous year, Galindez bought the flat in Calle de los Cuchilleros. All that tragic detail. Galindez found herself relaxing, enjoying the warm intimacy between them. The strangeness of sharing.

  ‘God, you didn’t have an easy time of things, did you?’ Tali said. ‘And you really can’t remember anything that happened before the explosion? Can’t the doctors do something?’

  ‘Seems not,’ Galindez said. ‘Retrograde amnesia, it’s called. I had some therapy after Mamá killed herself, but the first eight years of my life are just a blank. I remember little things sometimes, playing with a ball with Papá in the garden, stuff like that. But it’s always very hazy. My early memories went up in smoke along with Papá’s car.’

  ‘No wonder, Ana, it must have been terrible.’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking: tragic child, sad character – how can anyone have a normal life after that? It’s what people at work think. Particularly since Papá was the perfect guardia civil. Did everything right by the book, loved by his men – you get the picture? Most of my colleagues think I went into forensics as a cop-out, rather than trying to live up to Papá’s reputation working on the front line.’

  ‘I don’t see you copping out of anything, Ana María,’ Tali said. ‘You got through university despite everything that had happened and you’ve got a good job. Your dad would be proud.

  ‘Maybe.’ Galindez shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. It’s hard for me to imagine, because he’s hard for me to imagine.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re like him in lots of ways,’ Tali said. ‘You’re quite tough, aren’t you? You know when Sancho flattened you? Luisa said all you were concerned about was that you hadn’t hit him hard enough.’

  Galindez sighed. ‘With my history I learned to stand up for myself. Kids at school used to call me little orphan Ana and pick on me. For a while, anyway. Tia Carmen paid for me to have karate lessons. They stopped picking on me.’

  Tali laughed. ‘Good for you. You went through a terrible time, losing your parents the way you did, but you’ve got past it. Mind you, with your luck I wouldn’t ask you to buy a lottery ticket.’ She smiled. ‘I wanted to know all about you, because you interest me. And now you interest me even more.’

  A shadow across the table. A sharp voice shattering the moment of delicate intimacy. ‘Filthy perverts. Get indoors, you dirty bitches.’

  Shocked, Galindez looked up, to be confronted by a bizarre couple. An elderly man and woman, both with mercilessly dyed black hair, the woman’s face an orange mask of crudely applied cosmetics and garish crimson lipstick. Their clothes dated back to the fifties, maybe earlier, lapels plastered with badges – Galindez saw the yolk and arrows of the Falangist badge, a gold swastika and the more recent fascist emblem of Fuerza Nueva. In the stunned moment before Galindez could react, the elderly woman snatched up Galindez’s wine and tossed the contents over Tali. She shouted in surprise as icy wine soaked her shirt.

  ‘It would take more than that to wash the dirt off you, you filthy bitch.’ The old woman’s voice was high-pitched and loud. Heads turned, people looking, staring, looking away again. The old woman began to reach for Tali’s glass, but the waiter stepped in.

  ‘Fuck off out of it, you lunatics.’ He grabbed the old man’s arm, pushing him after the woman. ‘Joder, piss off to Franco’s mausoleum if you want to relive the old days. Cabrónes.’

  ‘Leave them alone, maricón,’ A sharp, nasal voice.

  ‘Shit,’ Tali muttered.

  Half a dozen skinheads pressed through the café tables towards them, their clothes covered with predictable slogans: Make My Day: Kill a Gay; Spain’s not Black – Send them Back; Franco lives! Arriba España! The skinheads halted, confronting the solitary waiter standing between them and Galindez and Tali.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ a young skinhead demanded, tattooed face sullen with dull menace.

  ‘Lesbians,’ the old women howled. ‘Practically fucking in public. Filthy animals. If they’re going to do it, they should do it behind bars where they belong.’

  ‘They’re my customers,’ the waiter said, coolly. ‘They’re staying. You lot can piss off.’

  The skinheads began to mock his bravado with growing belligerence until they saw the ring of waiters quietly forming around them, several with baseball bats. The gang made a sudden collective decision and backed off, shouting insults as they went. A couple of officers of the policía nacional appeared, one talking rapidly into his radio, the other drawing his baton. The skinheads quickly began to melt away into the crowds around the edge of the square.

  ‘Come on,’ Galindez said. ‘Let’s go back to my flat.’

  Shaken, Tali got to her feet, failing to see the old woman lurching towards her again, snatching at her with a wizened hand, seizing the neckband of her T-shirt and ripping it away from her body. There was the sound of tearing, a sudden moment of exposure and then Tali’s anguished cry as she hurriedly pulled the sides of her ripped shirt together. Galindez moved quickly to push the old woman away – a little too hard: a metal table clattered noisily to the ground as the woman fell across it, glasses shattering. The ageing fascist pulled herself to her knees, her corpse-coloured face twisting into a mask of hate as she unleashed a barrage of obscenities. Focusing on the woman, Galindez failed to see the old man grab a glass from a nearby table and toss the contents over Tali. She staggered back, shocked, cold liquid dripping from her face. Galindez grabbed the old man firmly by his lapels, giving him her opinion of his ancestry before shoving him away.

  The afternoon had become a nightmare. The world seemed out of time, suddenly malevolent and unpredictable. Galindez steered Tali across the square, a protective arm around her shoulders. Tali leaned against her, holding her torn shirt together, letting Galindez guide her, ignoring the stares. And the catcalls: not everyone in the square was sympathetic.

  Finally, they reached Calle de los Cuchilleros. The narrow cobbled street was deserted. Tali stopped for a moment, raising a hand to her face to wipe her eyes. Her ripped T-shirt flapped open. It made her seem even more vulnerable, Galindez thought.

  ‘I’d give good money to see those,’ a familiar voice said. ‘But I can wait my turn, Galindez.’

  Galindez turned quickly. Emerging from behind a builder’s skip outside the old bodega across the street was Sancho, piercings twinkling, his eyes dark and flat like a snake. Galindez realised he wasn’t staring at her, but instead was more intent on ogling Tali. Aware of his attention, Tali pulled the sides of her shirt together more tightly.

  ‘Never mind her, Sancho, I’m the one you need to deal with.’ Galindez’s mouth was suddenly dry. She breathed deeply, trying to calm her anger.

  Sancho laughed. ‘I’ll do what I want, Galindez. Who’s going to stop me – you? I don’t think so, you little dyke. I know who you are, where you live – everything. And I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, when it’s going to happen and when it will stop. Me entiendes, puta?’

  He was trying to wind her up, Galindez knew: threatening Tali, calling her a whore, all of it a distraction so she’d come into the fight with her he
ad messed up – already a loser. She knew better than to let Sancho’s insults put her off. They were things she had trained for in the dojo: clarity of thought, detachment from emotion. But those were ideals. Right now she wanted to beat Sancho to a bloody pulp.

  Tali backed away from Sancho as he came towards her with his slow, reptilian gait. ‘Ana, I’m scared,’ she called.

  ‘Not half as scared as your novia, blondie,’ Sancho sneered.

  A sudden playground memory. A ring of kids surrounding little Ana María, her dark eyes bright with fierce defiance, fists clenched, her cheeks glowing with anger as they pushed her down again and again. And every time, she struggled back to her feet, lashing out at them. Voices harsh with childish malice: ‘Little orphan Ana. Where’s your mum and dad, Ana? Huérfanita Ana.’

  Sancho stopped, surprised by how quickly Galindez closed on him. His attention was on her now – just as she intended. Tali backed away, moving behind the skip.

  Sancho grinned. ‘Tell you what, Galindez. If your girlfriend doesn’t want to show me her tits, show me yours. They’re not as big but they’ll do.’

  ‘Fuck you.’ Galindez knew she shouldn’t let him get her riled but he wasn’t easy to ignore. He’s saying it to mess with you. Focus.

  Sancho smirked. ‘Think of it as the price you pay for pressing the wrong buttons, Galindez. Let’s have a look, niña. The alternative is I make you cry in front of your sweetheart.’

  Well if he wants it that much. ‘If I do, you’ll leave us alone?’ Galindez asked quietly.

  Sancho licked his thick lips and nodded. His eyes greedily followed Galindez’s hand as it moved to the top button of her shirt. She fumbled with the button for a moment and then her foot lashed out, catching him in the groin.

  Sancho’s eyes bulged and he swore as he staggered backwards. He didn’t go down, instead bending forward and taking a deep breath before straightening up, rubbing his crotch. ‘Nice one, Galindez,’ he spat. ‘But your timing’s all wrong: you should have taken me out with that kick. No attention to detail, niña.’ He turned to Tali. ‘Watch this, blondie. I’m going to take your girlfriend apart.’

  Galindez was incensed. No one says I lack attention to detail. She launched herself at Sancho, aiming for his face. Sancho deflected the blow and punched her, connecting with her right shoulder, almost in the same spot he’d hit her in their previous fight. The pain was dazzling. A sudden thought occurred: He is better than me. And then another: Shit.

  Swinging round, Galindez tried a kick to his head. Sancho ducked and caught hold of her foot, holding it just long enough to send her flying backwards across the cobbled street. It was a bad fall: her shoulder flashed with sparkling pain and she felt a sickening crack as her head hit the cobbles. Sancho came towards her as she scrambled to her feet. Her foot slipped on the smooth cobbles and she went sprawling to the ground again, shaking her head in angry frustration.

  ‘Come on, I haven’t finished yet.’ Sancho turned to Tali. ‘I hope she’s not this lazy in bed, amiga.’ He faced Galindez again. ‘Get up, you idle little fuck.’

  Galindez shook her head again, taking deep breaths. This was bad. He’d turned his skills up a notch. She was in trouble. The best she could do now was to keep him busy while Tali got away.

  ‘Tali run.’ Galindez’s voice was tight with pain. She struggled to her feet just as Sancho came steaming in on her.

  Sancho feinted, throwing tentative punches, keeping Galindez on the defensive. Suddenly, he caught her with his forearm, a blow that smashed against her chest, sending her reeling back, struggling to stay on her feet. Lights danced across her vision as Sancho leaped forward and slapped her, her head snapping to one side and then the other as he hit her with alternate back- and forehand slaps. Sancho laughed crazily as his blows rocked Galindez’s head, her hair whirling with the impact of his blows. He kept coming, swapping slaps to her head for painful jabs intended to humiliate her, easily wading through flurries of her counterpunches. Galindez kept moving, desperate to keep a distance between them until her head cleared. If it cleared. She moved back a few steps and he followed. That was good. While he focused on her, Tali could get away.

  Sancho grinned, his mouth open, strings of saliva hanging between his lips. ‘I’ve got you breathing heavy, Galindez, and you’ve still got your clothes on.’ He dropped his hands to his sides and swayed his shoulders, mocking her. With a sudden angry shout, she leaped at him, trying to kick him in the throat. He moved, avoiding her easily. Galindez fell heavily, rolling quickly across the cobbles to stay out of his reach. ‘Come on, love, let’s cut the foreplay and give you that big bang you really want.’ Sancho was laughing like a lunatic, sensing victory.

  His hand shot out, grabbing for her hair. She ducked, desperately driving forward, striking upwards with a blow to his face that sent him staggering. Galindez saw motion behind him. Sancho stared at Galindez, her hair dishevelled, blood trickling from her nose, her body shaking as she gasped for air. With a laugh, he raised his hands, ready to attack again. The attack didn’t come. Instead, he straightened, his head snapping back, legs folding under him as he fell to the ground. Tali stood behind him, holding the pool cue she’d pulled from the skip. Galindez saw the blood on the back of Sancho’s head and wondered if Tali had killed him. But Sancho suddenly moved, dragging himself to his knees on the cobbles, shaking his head.

  ‘Fuck.’ He sounded surprised.

  ‘Give me that cue.’ Galindez’s voice shook with anger as she snatched the pool cue from Tali. ‘I’m going to fucking kill him.’ Raising the cue, she started for him, her voice trailing away as Sancho pulled a pistol from inside his jacket and aimed it at her.

  ‘Get the fuck out of here, Galindez. Both of you get lost.’ Sancho struggled to his feet. His cotton jacket had come open. Galindez saw a shoulder holster hanging under his left arm.

  ‘Go on. Your girlfriend saved you this time.’ He backed off a few metres before holstering the pistol. Then he turned and began walking unsteadily up the hill towards the main square.

  ‘Corre coño. Cobarde.’ Galindez’s shout echoed around the tall buildings. She staggered after him, still furious but then the pool cue clattered on the cobbles as her legs gave way. Tali rushed forward, taking Galindez’s weight against her and lowering her to the ground. Galindez looked around drunkenly, struggling to get up. She saw Sancho had stopped. He stared down the hill at her.

  ‘Don’t meddle with things that aren’t your concern, Galindez,’ he shouted. ‘You’ve been warned. You fucking mess with me again and I’ll mess you up permanently.’ He turned, and walked out of sight round the corner of the market.

  Tali looked at Galindez with concern. ‘Ana, can you make it back to your flat?’

  ‘Of course,’ Galindez said. ‘He hardly touched me.’ She tried to stand. The world rotated and she slid to the ground again. ‘I’ll be fine in a minute,’ she muttered, the cobblestones cold against her cheek.

  When she opened her eyes again, she was in her piso. In her bed. ‘How did I get here?’ she mumbled, struggling half-heartedly as Tali pulled a shirt over her head..

  ‘With a great deal of help, querida,’ Tali said, easing Galindez’s arm into the sleeve of the shirt. ‘Now shut up and keep still. Try and rest.’

  ‘I always sleep in my—’ Galindez began.

  ‘Ya lo se. You always sleep in your Barcelona shirt. You told me several times. Don’t worry. You’re wearing it.’

  ‘This is the home shirt,’ Galindez mumbled. ‘I sleep in the away—’

  ‘Shut up.’

  Tali applied antiseptic cream to the skinned knuckles of Galindez’s right hand. It was strange, just lying there, having someone look after her, Galindez thought. An unusual experience for her. She started to analyse the feeling, remembering she needed to tell Tali something, wondering if she’d double-locked the door to the street. And there was a lettuce in the kitchen that needed to go in the fridge. And something else, probably, she couldn’t
quite remember. That was funny, she thought, an amnesiac who couldn’t remember. She smiled to herself. Then she slept.

  8

  MADRID 1953, COMISARÍA, CALLE DE ROBLES

  It was almost eleven o’clock. Guzmán was shaving over the sink in the dingy cold of the mess room. He was in his shirt, his sleeves rolled up, exposing his massive forearms. His braces hung down over his hips. The razor gleamed bright and new as it moved over the anaemic foam Guzmán had managed to raise from the worn bar of soap.

  Peralta sat at a table, his hair dishevelled, his cheeks dark with stubble. His coffee was cold in front of him and he stared hollow-eyed at Guzmán as the big man cheerfully shaved. Peralta had been in this trance for some time. Guzmán ignored him. Finally, he stopped shaving.

  ‘For Christ’s sake buck up, Peralta. We’re going to a reception for the Head of State. Have you ever met Franco before? No, of course not, because you’re a fucking nobody. And you’ll stay one if you don’t mix in the right circles.’ He stared at Peralta angrily, eyes glinting in the weak sepia light. ‘You’re sulking because I chinned that priest, aren’t you? You were the one who said he was a disgrace.’

  ‘I was thinking about what you did,’ Peralta said in a subdued voice. ‘You killed them all.’

  ‘What did you think we’d do with them? Chat about the football?’

  Peralta shook his head, trying to dislodge the recurring image of the prisoners kneeling, facing the stone wall, picked out by the beams of headlights. Guzmán standing behind them with his Browning automatic. The explosion of the shots. The stone wall splattered with blood and brains.

  ‘The shooting was bad enough,’ he said. ‘It was what you did to el Profesor. That’s what really gets me.’ He took a drink of coffee. ‘How could you do it?’

  ‘It was personal.’ Guzmán returned to his shaving.

  ‘How could it be personal? You’d never met him before.’