Castro's Dream

by Lucy Wadham

  Opinion is divided on that matter.

  Did any commandos fall in the wake of his arrest? Lola asked her. Was anyone arrested?

  Well, there was Txema Egibar, she said.

  Mikel didn’t give Txema away. Txema knows that.

  And there was your sister.

  Lola shook her head.

  That was different. That was my fault. It had nothing to do with Mikel.

  That surprises me. She was staring at Lola with glassy eyes, a faint smile on her lips. Lola thought she looked stoned.

  Why does that surprise you?

  It surprises me in view of his subsequent relationship with your sister.

  What relationship?

  Lorea Molina turned over the folder.

  Lola read: Mikel Angel Otegui/Astrid Hamilton Arnaga.

  Lola reached out and touched the folder with her fingertips. She looked at Lorea Molina who seemed to be studying her through the bars of an invisible cage.

  What is this?

  Open it, she said gently. Read.

  Lola picked up the folder and opened it. She recognised Mikel’s close, furious handwriting slanting across the page. Astrid … Her chest, her arms and her hands had gone numb and she had a constricted feeling in her throat. She looked at Lorea again.

  Read, Lorea said again.

  I can’t. She was feeling faint. Get out, she said. Her voice was weak. She folded her hands on the table and rested her forehead on them. Get out, she said again. She sounded drunk.

  You can keep those, she heard Lorea say. We have copies.

  *

  At the sound of Lola’s cry Astrid dropped the sponge she was using to wash her mother’s back. She jumped to her feet, leaving her mother in the cooling bath, her hands over her ears in terror. Astrid ran down the stairs:

  No. Please God, no.

  When she ran into the kitchen Lola was kneeling on the floor, the letters all around her.

  Astrid stood there staring at his madman’s writing. She knew she could not go near Lola and kept back, close to the door.

  Suddenly Lola looked up and shrieked her name. Astrid could see Lola’s face, distorted with rage. She knew Lola was screaming at her but she could not hear what she was saying. Her whole body was shaking and the room was falling silently around her like red-and-white snow.

  Astrid is sitting on the sofa in the sitting room. It is a hot summer afternoon and all the windows are open. The windows, set deep in the thick, stone walls, frame a green landscape and a blue sky. Although it is warm, Astrid is wrapped in a blanket. She has a high fever. Her mother, who is dressed in an orange, silk kimono with emerald-green birds of paradise embroidered on it, is sitting beside her stroking her hand. Margot Hamilton Arnaga does not know what is wrong with her daughters but she believes it has something to do with Eugenio. He does not try to hide his preference for their younger daughter. Beatrice has shut herself in her bedroom and won’t come out. Astrid is crying and her teeth are chattering.

  There there, she says. Mummy’s here.

  Astrid covered her mother with the blanket and lifted her frail legs onto the sofa so that she could sleep comfortably. Getting out of the bath by herself and walking downstairs had exhausted her. Astrid crept from the room. She stood in the hall, trying to pull the shards from her memory but the complete picture was irretrievable: she saw herself running down the stairs and she saw Lola sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by Mikel’s letters; the rest was missing.

  She climbed the stairs, walked along the corridor and stopped at Lola’s bedroom. She leant against the door and listened. She could hear only the sound of the pages. Lola would be reading the letters one by one; every letter sent over five years. She would see his obsession, how it was born, how it had grown into the monster it had become. Did she have her letters to him too? She had not seen her own handwriting in the mess of paper on the floor.

  Lola?

  She rested her forehead on the door.

  Please, Lola. Let me in.

  The door opened. Lola’s face was distorted from crying.

  I dream of a simple life with you, Lola quoted. I want to build you a house.

  Suddenly her expression softened and she put out her hand and laid it on Astrid’s cheek. It’s so sad. Our lives have been wasted, she said, taking Astrid into her arms. All our lives.

  As Lola held her, Astrid felt as though all the shame and fear that had accumulated over the years was draining from her. They clung to each other for a long time. But when Lola pulled back and Astrid saw her face, it was as if they had been set down on opposite sides of a rapid stream. She knew she had lost her.

  She found as she watched Lola move away that she no longer felt any pain, only a fascination for everything that her sister did. She watched Lola carefully; watched the movement of her skirt as she bent to gather up the letters from the floor; watched her put them neatly into the folder; straighten up and walk to her bed, turn and face her.

  He wants to have children with you.

  I can’t have children, Astrid answered.

  You tell yourself that. You don’t know.

  I know.

  Lola set the folder down on her bedside table. She seemed to be looking at her as though she might find something in her face that she had missed, some detail that could have warned her. Astrid felt that Lola had a new authority. She wanted to know but she was afraid to ask. She looked down.

  Who gave them to you? she asked.

  That’s not important, Lola said.

  Was it Txema?

  No it wasn’t. Why didn’t you tell me, Astrid? Her voice was light. It sounded like curiosity.

  Astrid shook her head.

  Why didn’t you?

  I tried.

  No you didn’t.

  Astrid was now simply a child trying to reclaim something she had lost.

  I was afraid of losing you, she said.

  You’ve lost me by not telling me.

  I know.

  Will you leave me alone now?

  Astrid went to the door and stood on the threshold. She was suddenly convinced that if Lola closed the door behind her, she would never see her again.

  Did you visit him?

  Astrid stared at her sister.

  Lola shrieked,

  Answer me!

  Yes.

  When?

  Once. I went once.

  When?

  In the summer. Four years ago.

  Lola slammed the door in her face.

  Astrid stood staring at a knot in the wood. Something prevented her from moving, an old sense that she would be punished if she did. She held still as the door opened again. Lola’s face was distorted with an emotion that Astrid had never seen there before. She tried to look beyond it to a face she knew.

  I remember, Lola was saying. You lied to me! You told me you were going to Morocco, didn’t you? For a conference with Chastel. Was it then? Astrid looked at the vein sticking up on Lola’s forehead. Was it? Lola shouted again.

  Astrid nodded.

  He was in an open prison. You made love.

  Astrid could not find her voice. She swallowed and looked down. Lola’s voice was flat now.

  I hate you. You’ve stolen my life. Get out of this house.

  But Astrid could not move.

  We didn’t make love, she said. I didn’t go back.

  You should have. You’re a monster. You should have made love to the poor man.

  Astrid looked at her sister and for a moment believed that there might be a way back to her. But then it became clear that Lola had made a decision.

  Leave this house, she said gently. Go to Mikel, or don’t go to him.

  I won’t, Astrid said.

  I don’t care what you do. I just don’t want to see you again.

  This time she closed the door carefully, letting the latch slip home.

  THIRTY

  Astrid had walked out through the gate and down the hill to the pelota court before becom
ing aware of her surroundings. The day unfolding around her was grandiose. She walked shabbily through it all like a stagehand – the joy cries of children, the mountain sunlight, the cool breeze. She was ridiculous; for once truly punished. Her parched throat waited for tears.

  None came; she was calm. After all the torment, after the rebellion of her mind and body in anticipation of this moment, she was calm. Pain, she knew, would come, when the longing to be re-attached set in. Now she floated, in between two states of anguish.

  Then she saw Txema. He was crossing the road ahead of her. She halted. Fear filled her upper body. He had seen her. He came towards her, striding, looking about him like certain prison guards she had known who needed to make a great show of their strength. His mouth hung open; he was smiling at her. Close up she saw the alcohol in his eyes and had the presence of mind to think that she would not take his liver if his next of kin begged her.

  She greeted him in Basque.

  Astrid. What a pleasure to see you.

  Next of kin, she thought:

  How is your mother?

  Thank you. She’s eighty-seven, he said, blinking slowly, as though this were information enough.

  Is she well?

  She is. She sleeps a lot. But she’s in good health.

  And you?

  He smiled.

  I’m fine so long as I stay away from doctors.

  It works for some people. But you should look after yourself. You look tired. It’s nice to see you, Txema.

  She stepped back, trying to get away.

  I don’t sleep much, I never have. He looked about him. I saw your lovely sister, he said. We had a drink together. She was worried about Mikel. He hadn’t called her. I told her she must try and be patient, Txema said, closing his eyes. Astrid remembered his sanctimonious manner from his days on the Executive Committee.

  Has he called you? she asked.

  Txema hesitated.

  He has. He watched the effect this might have on her. She stared back at him, her gaze level. Will you have coffee with me? he asked.

  The will to know, to be in possession of the elements, her old demon, drove her up the steps behind him.

  He gestured for her to precede him through the door of his café. Txema cultivated the gallantry of an old commando member.

  She went to sit down while he went to greet the barman. She watched him slap the man’s hand, then grip warmly. He leaned right over the bar to talk to him. Astrid saw the admiration in the barman’s face, his quickness to laugh. Txema Egibar was a local hero. To most people he still had the freedom fighter’s aura. Knowing him made them feel virtuous. He was an historic member of the armed struggle, they thought. Although everyone knew that the armed struggle was no longer entirely glorious, no one would condemn it, not in this village.

  Txema sat down opposite her. She could tell from the way he shifted uncomfortably in his seat that he did not like to have his back to the entrance but she did not offer to change places.

  Lola is patient, she told him. She’s the most patient person I know. Twenty years is a long time to wait for someone.

  I suppose it depends on what you mean by wait, he said.

  She looked into his lustreless, black eyes.

  What do you mean by that? she said, keeping her tone light.

  Oh come on, Astrid. Lola’s had boyfriends. Plenty of them, as far as I can gather.

  That’s none of anyone’s business, Txema. Except for Lola and Mikel’s.

  And yours.

  Astrid flushed. She opened her mouth to speak but he interrupted her.

  What will you have?

  Coffee.

  Shaken, she watched him raise his arm and summon the barman. She watched him order but realised that she had not heard a word that had been said. When the barman had gone, he faced her again with perfect composure.

  Again she wanted to leave.

  Txema rested his hands on the table. She saw that they were spattered with pigmentation.

  I think he’s terrified, Txema was saying.

  Of what?

  Of the outside world. He leant back again. It happens.

  Astrid leaned forward, speaking quietly. She felt trapped and knew that he wished her harm.

  How do you know? she asked him. You were only inside for nine months.

  Txema looked up at the barman who was now at their table. He watched intently as the man put down her coffee and his lager. Astrid could see he was grateful for the interruption. He waited for the barman to leave before taking a sip. When he looked up at her again, his lips were wet. It was disgust that made her go on.

  You must have been distraught when they refused an amnesty for Mikel.

  Have I missed something? he asked. Do you actually know Mikel?

  He went out with my sister for four years before he went to jail.

  Txema smiled. His teeth were grey.

  Of course he did.

  Once again she could feel the blush spreading from her neck up. She swallowed. He wished her harm and he knew about the letters. Unable to look at him, she took a sip of coffee. What could she fear now? She had lost what she cared about. She put down her cup and looked him straight in the eye.

  I’ll be frank with you, Txema. I’ve never liked you, but more importantly, I don’t trust you. And I don’t think Mikel should, either.

  The lids of Txema’s eyes seemed to sink a little, giving him a weary look.

  You’ve always been clever, Astrid, but never politic.

  He took another sip of lager.

  Again, the sight of his wet mouth filled her with a repulsion that spurred her on.

  Do you know so little about me that you don’t know how much I hate politics?

  I know more about you than you think, he said, setting his glass down.

  What are you talking about?

  All knowledge has a price, Astrid.

  Astrid huffed out a laugh. She knocked back her coffee and stood up. Thank you for the coffee, Txema.

  She pushed back her chair. Txema did not raise his head. He was moving his glass in circular motions, widening the ring of moisture left on the table. She watched, alert, ready for a fight. Dandruff speckled his shoulders. The sight of him sitting there in the café he owned in the village he ran filled her with indignation. Why had he eluded punishment?

  She sat down again.

  I’ve often meant to ask you, she said. What happened on the night you were arrested?

  Which night? I’ve been arrested more than once.

  With Mikel, she said.

  She watched him carefully, measuring his reaction. She saw a tightening around his mouth.

  What about it?

  She allowed a pause. Her heart was beating fast but she felt invigorated, not afraid.

  You were arrested by the French, weren’t you? How come you weren’t together?

  Txema’s eyes seemed to turn a deeper black. It occurred to her that this was the veil that had enabled him to carry out acts of violence.

  I went one way, he said, parting his hands. And Mikel went the other.

  Astrid nodded.

  You must have felt terrible. Mikel must have been tortured in custody, she went on. Don’t you think?

  Txema looked down at his glass.

  I would be careful about discussing matters like these. You haven’t been back for a long time, Astrid. You’re no longer familiar with the lie of the land.

  She leant towards him, full of rage.

  Even I was made to sit naked on a chair for a night in the basement of the Guardia Civil and I was only being charged with logistical support. Txema had a vacant look, even unashamedly bored, but she pressed on. That was the longest night of my life, she said. I was too afraid to sleep. Every time I heard footsteps come near the door, I thought it was my turn. I was shivering and I couldn’t stop. Every muscle in my body ached. Then I think I started to hallucinate. I saw this woman in khaki uniform spraying blood off the tiled walls with a hose and I thought
the blood was mine. When they came for me the next morning, I passed out. They hadn’t laid a finger on me but the fear was enough, Txema. I can’t imagine what Mikel must have gone through. What about you?

  Txema did not answer. He was drawing patterns in the beer with his finger. The gesture was disconcerting. He looked up and smiled at her. Suddenly he had become dangerous. He sat with his finger poised in the spilled beer, as though some scruple was preventing him from speaking his mind.

  I should go, she said.

  He did not move.

  You, of course, have nothing to hide, he said.

  I suppose we all have something, she said.

  She stood up and held out her hand. Txema looked at it.

  We don’t shake hands with women here, he said, rising to his feet. He gripped her shoulders hard and kissed her on each cheek. She could smell his rancid scalp.

  Outside in the fresh air Astrid felt unclean. She had been drawn back to her old ways and had been humiliated. Her only desire now was to escape from the beautiful day. She needed a bath and a dark room. She walked back up the hill towards her car.

  *

  The man at the reception of the Hotel Lagunekin thankfully did not recognise her. He was Gachucha’s nephew and he had been a child the last time he had seen her, a child playing marbles on the steps to their cellar. She asked him for a quiet room and he gave her the key to room nineteen. She walked up the back stairs to the first floor, along a windowless corridor with a stained burgundy carpet, past a wall light with a flickering bulb, to a room squeezed behind a partition wall. The room had twin beds, a cot, a sink and mirror and a window that gave on to a concrete courtyard, just big enough for a municipal dustbin and a car covered with an electric-blue tarpaulin. On the wall above the beds was a poster of a bowl of fruit and a pitcher with a droplet of wine hanging from its lip, executed with obscene realism. Astrid opened the window and let in the smell of fried food but no children’s cries. She pulled the curtains, which had a motif of flying ducks and were lined with plastic for opacity, and went and lay down on the bed nearest the door.

  She folded her hands on her stomach, crossed her ankles and closed her eyes. Txema knew about Mikel’s letters to her. But how did he know and why had he made it his business to know? She believed that Txema’s ascension to power would never have happened if Mikel had not been behind bars. Mikel had always overshadowed him. He was his moral superior and he had always showed Txema up, both inside the organisation and out of it. She was sure Txema had betrayed Mikel, she just didn’t know how.