“Thanks, Chino,” to everyone’s surprise, Rita did not argue, although she had on several occasions vigorously refused escorts on the grounds that chivalry was a patriarchal code designed to oppress women.
Juana got up to see them to the door, and then suddenly everyone was crammed into the tiny foyer, hugging them goodbye as if they were setting off on a year-long journey, instead of merely a short trip home. “See you tomorrow....See you tomorrow...” the words echoed like a futile blessing. El Chino nodded, and muttered “see you tomorrow” wondering if he was lying. It was not until the door swung shut behind them and they were in the darkened hallway, with the last “See you tomorrow” ringing in their ears, that he heard Rita say softly. “God and the Virgin willing.”
He looked at her in surprise. “God and the Virgin willing” was what little old peasant women in black said. It was not a phrase of Rita’s. She caught his look, and gave him a twisted smile as they headed down the stairs. “My grandmother’s from Andalusia. Real boonies.”
“My grandfather, too,” he offered.
“Is he the one who’ll want you at home?”
Carlos shrugged. “I guess so. He doesn’t live with us.”
“My grandmother lives with us,” Rita was herself enough to throw herself against the outer door of the building before he could open it for her. The street was eerily empty. No shadows disturbed the pools of gold made by the street lights. The rain had stopped, and even the wind had died down, as if the city were holding its breath. Rita continued talking, with a slight catch in her voice. If there had been any cars in the streets, he would have been unable to hear her. “She doesn’t talk about the war much. I know my grandfather died in a camp, when my Mom was three. Mom says she was like a rock, all through those years. But she hardly ever says anything. Dad says she was crying tonight though. And saying that I had to come home.”
“Probably she’d feel more comfortable with you at home,” Carlos spoke awkwardly, embarrassed by the unexpected confidence.
“It’s worse than that,” Rita was crying now. “Dad says I have to come home and pack. He says we’re going to Chamartín as soon as it’s light tomorrow, and taking the first train to France.”
“You’re leaving?” Carlos was stupefied. An insurgent Madrid without Rita was like a cactus without blooms.
“I don’t want to go, Chino! I don’t want to just let them get away with it without even fighting!” Her breath made angry dragon puffs in the cold air. “But...if my parents stayed because of me...and anything happened to them...My Dad was practically in tears, when he asked me to come home. He said...if anything happened to me they wouldn’t care what became of them...”
“At least you know they’d be proud of you,” El Chino spoke without thinking.
“What do you mean?” Rita squinted at him, but it was impossible to read his face in the dim light.
El Chino felt his stomach churn, realizing that Rita had just confided in him, and that she would probably feel betrayed if he explained himself. He plunged ahead anyway. “My family’s pretty conservative,” he admitted. “They’d probably want me to come home because they don’t want me getting mixed up with any radicals.”
“They don’t support Tejero?” Rita was astonished.
“I don’t,” El Chino spoke hastily. “And I’m sure my parents don’t either. At least, pretty sure. But my grandparents…well, my grandfather…he’s old...and he’s a...well, he’s…”
“A traditionalist?” Rita suggested.
“Something like that,” El Chino agreed with relief. “So you see, I’m not looking forward to going home either.”
“They wouldn’t make you support the coup?” Rita spoke gravely.
“No. Well, they couldn’t. But they’d probably try to keep me from supporting the government,” Carlito’s tone was disgusted. “Some kind of nonsense about being ‘safe,’ as if there were any safe places at a time like this.”
“Don’t go home, then,” Rita said urgently. “We may need every loyal man, before long.”
He stared at her for a moment, stunned. She was serious. He reflected, with a certain fleeting amusement, that a few hours earlier he would have been flattered by being called a man. Now it seemed trivial. He felt very wise, and sad, and grown-up. “I don’t know where to go,” he said. “Would your family take me in for the night?”
“I don’t know,” Rita also seemed to have become older. “It couldn’t do any harm to ask, I guess.”
Her voice was unconvincing, and El Chino suddenly realized that she had just talked him into doing what she did not have the courage to do herself. “You should stay too,” he said. “You said it yourself. We’ll need every loyal - every loyal person. We can find a bar or something that’s open, and then there’ll just be a couple of hours until daylight. And I’ve got a cousin at the University...”
She stopped walking. For a long minute she said nothing, and they shivered in the empty street together. Then she turned, and took his hand. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go find someplace to get a drink.”
*****
“Hello?” Elena spoke quietly. Her shoulders were very square, and her limbs were rigid. Tejada held his breath, watching her. What happens when I tell them ‘no?’ he thought, and remembered the tense excitement of being twenty-five, and running down the lists of brother officers in a smoke-filled room. “That one won’t answer the Generalísimo’s call. Too old…Too stuck on the Reds.” What happened to the ones who stayed loyal? The captain thought. What will happen to me?
“Mercedes!” an iron rod seemed to slide out of Elena’s spine as she pronounced her daughter-in-law’s name. The captain relaxed. His wife flashed him a quick smile, and continued talking. “How are you?…Yes, we’re fine…Yes, we saw it on the news a few hours ago…Carlos doesn’t think anything will happen before morning…What…No, why?” Tejada heard his wife’s voice change from relief to surprise. “No…No he isn’t here, why should he be?” Surprise was giving way to fear. The captain stood, and went to stand beside his wife. She continued speaking, her voice increasingly shaky. “No, he hasn’t called. And he’s not with his cousin? You’re sure?...He what? No…no, of course we’ll let you know as soon as we hear…Yes, I’ll ask if Carlos knows anyone he can call…I’m sure it will be fine, dear…Yes…yes, you too, dear…Yes, we’ll call.” She dropped the phone into its cradle with trembling hands.
“What is it?” Tejada asked, half suspecting already, but wanting to push the suspicion away.
“Carlito,” Elena whispered. “He was out tonight, at that study group. Mercedes says she called two hours ago, to tell him to come home, and was told he’d left already. He’s not back yet.”
It was cold, Tejada thought confusedly, wondering why no one bothered to turn up the thermostat. He couldn’t remember being so cold in years. Not since before he had known Elena. Not since the war. Alejandra was lucky to be in San Juan, where it was warm. But she knew better than to walk the streets alone at a time like this. God doesn’t take hostages. “…care tonight?” Elena was asking.
The captain blinked. “What?”
“I said would it be worth calling the local police over a missing child tonight?” Elena repeated, her face drawn. “Would they care?”
“Probably not,” Tejada admitted. “And after all, he’s only been gone a few hours.”
Elena took a deep breath. “Maybe the Metro isn’t running, and he had to walk.” She gave a pathetic attempt at a laugh. “That boy has the worst luck!”
“Boy? He’s just a child,” the Captain clung to her earlier words as if they were a talisman. “I’m surprised Toño and Mercedes let him stay out so late generally.”
Elena relaxed a little, falling into the standard banter, and made a fatal error. “He’s seventeen!”
“Seventeen,” Tejada repeated slowly, blundering toward a chair like a blind man. Seventeen; the age when a boy was too eager to grow up; when boys were mistaken for men, and treated li
ke them, because their bodies and their bravado were more advanced than their years. “Those friends of his,” the captain whispered. “He wouldn’t…they wouldn’t…do anything stupid?”
“There’s no curfew,” Elena murmured, one hand on his shoulder. “Only Valencia’s in a state of emergency. Carlito’s probably just stuck on the train.” She stopped speaking, as she saw her husband bring his clasped hands to his mouth, eyes closed as if afraid to see a great evil. He was bent almost double, with his elbows pinned under his body, his hands tightly clenched, and his lips working silently. After a moment Elena made out the words he was mouthing: forgive us our trespasses...
*****
El Chino knew a little bar near his cousin’s apartment that stayed open late. It was empty when he and Rita reached it, and the proprietor looked at them as if they were insane when they marched in, and ordered beers. The radio was tuned to the news, although there was a football game on that night. The bartender looked at them balefully as the radio reported that throughout Spain people were keeping to their homes, and not stirring out onto the street. Rita and El Chino avoided his eyes, but caught each others’ and were suddenly overcome by hysterical giggles.
Finally, a little after midnight, the bartender told them bluntly that the bar was closing. “And you kids better get home,” he added. “You’ve heard what’s going on. Your parents are probably frantic by now.”
“Yes, sir,” El Chino agreed, paying for his drink, and wondering what on earth to do next. There were at least another six hours before dawn.
“There’s the Metro,” he suggested doubtfully, when they were once more on the cold sidewalk. “But that closes in another hour.”
“Why don’t we just head back to Ramona’s,” Rita suggested practically. “They won’t give us away. After all, it’s for the struggle.”
“What if your parents call there again?”
Rita shrugged. “We won’t answer the phone. And Juana can say she hasn’t seen us.”
“Okay.”
They turned their faces back towards the meeting place of the study group. Rita spoke up suddenly. “Chino!”
“Yes?”
“Thanks. For coming with me, and telling me to stay, and all. I wanted to. I just…just didn’t think any of the others had the same problems.”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “You won’t tell anyone about my family, right? I mean, about how my grandfather’s kind of a…well, kind of a fascist?”
“No problem,” Rita smiled at him. “I mean, you’re cool, so it’s not as if that’s your fault or anything.”
Chino, smiling back at Rita, with a warm glow of camaraderie that was completely different, and yet somehow as satisfying as his most secret romantic fantasies, barely noticed a car sweeping past him on the otherwise deserted street. Nor did he register that the car suddenly pulled to a halt at the corner. The slamming of the door as someone climbed out broke his reverie.
Rita started also, and they moved a little closer together as the dark figure who had climbed out of the car moved towards them. Climbed out of the back of the car, El Chino realized, with a little flash of nervousness. Whoever this man was, he had a driver. He stepped into a streetlight, and El Chino felt his breath congeal in his throat, as he recognized the uniform of the Guardia Civil. He reached for Rita’s hand, and felt her squeeze it, but whether she was giving reassurance or asking for it was impossible to tell. Hand in hand they began to saunter along, doing their best to look casual.
They drew level with the officer, hearts beating in their throats. In the light of the streetlamp, his dark shape resolved itself into a man in his early fifties, clean shaven, with steel-gray hair. He was wearing a captain’s uniform, Carlito noted automatically. “Can I see your I.D. card, son?” the man’s voice was amused, with the tolerant amusement of a playful cat, who would like a real mouse on principle, but is well-fed enough to be content with a toy.
Carlito El Chino gulped, and fished in his wallet, feeling as guilty as if he had just planted a bomb in front of the Ministry of Defense. “Here, Captain.”
The officer took the outstretched card, looking slightly surprised at having his rank correctly identified. He scanned it for a moment, and then looked at Carlito with suddenly searching eyes. “Carlos Tejada?” he said, sounding puzzled, and somewhat pleased. “But you’re not…you must be Carlos Antonio’s son?”
“Y-yes, sir!” Carlito gulped again, uncertain whether to be relieved or more worried.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” the captain began to laugh. “And to think I remember your father as a kid with scraped knees, careering around the barracks on that old bike! Time flies when you’re not looking! What’s he doing with himself nowadays? Is he in the Guardia?”
“H-he’s a lawyer, sir.” Carlito mumbled, miserable. Confronting the power of the state was scary, but a little exciting at least. Confronting someone likely to call his parents was just awful. A little breath of warm air past his face made him aware that Rita’s jaw was hanging open.
“That’s right, Captain Tejada had a degree in law, too, didn’t he? My God, little Carlos Antonio with a son who’s already grown-up and with a girlfriend,” the officer was still chuckling. “You ask your father if he remembers Guardia Serrano. From Lugo. And pay my respects to the captain, too, of course.”
“I-I will, sir.”
Captain Serrano handed back Carlito’s identity card, his face becoming serious. “Come on. I’ll give you and your girl a lift home. It’s not a good night to be out.”
“I-I can’t. I’m walking Rita home. That is – it’s just around the corner. We’re almost there,” Carlito managed, flushing scarlet.
Captain Serrano looked surprised. “Have you kids been out all night?”
“Pretty much,” Carlito mumbled.
“We went to a movie over by Chamartín,” Rita amplified, with sudden inspiration.
“There’s been a coup,” the captain explained rapidly. “The Congress is being held hostage. It looks like everything will be all right, but we’re a little worried about keeping the streets clear. You didn’t notice that everything was pretty empty?”
“Not really,” Carlito looked at the ground.
“Listen, son, ten-to-one your parents are having kittens about you being out tonight. And yours too, Señorita.” Serrano’s voice was fatherly. Carlito hated him. “Take my advice, and get this young lady safely home, if you want her father to ever let you take her out again.” (Rita stiffened in outrage, and Carlito turned red with embarrassment.) “And then get home yourself.” The captain glanced at his watch. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride? The last train leaves in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be fine, sir,” Carlito hoped he sounded convincing.
Captain Serrano nodded. “If you’re sure. Nice to have met you, Carlos. Señorita,” he bowed his head slightly, and then hurried back to his car.
Carlos heaved a sigh of relief as it drove away. Rita turned to him, accusing. “Your grandfather’s a guardia civil?”
“Look, it got us out of trouble, right?” he snapped. “And it isn’t my fault.”
“All right,” she relented. “But come on. I want to get back to the club.”
“Me too!” Carlito’s agreement was heartfelt.
They headed back towards Ramona’s apartment almost at a run, and arrived within ten minutes. Carlos pounded on the door. “Ramona! Hey, Ramona, it’s Chino and Rita, let us in!” There was no answer.
After another few minutes of pounding, Rita put her ear to the door. “I can’t hear anything.”
They looked at each other in dismay. There seemed to be nothing left to do. A burst of noise from the apartment below made them exchange glances. Silently, they headed down the stairs. The door on the landing below was ajar, and members of the conversation club were crowding around, along with a number of people Rita and Carlos had never seen before. They joined the milling crowd. “What’s up?” Rita asked a nearby woman.
> “Daniel’s got cable TV,” the neighbor explained. “He’s been letting people watch, just for the night.”
There was a sudden cheer, and everyone strained forward, simultaneously shushing their neighbors and demanding to be told what was happening since it was impossible to hear. The news rustled away from the set, to the outer edges of the apartment. “TVE’s running! TVE’s back on air!” And then suddenly a man’s voice, in an authoritative bellow. “All right, shut up, everybody! The King’s going to talk!”
*****
“I address myself to all Spaniards....” Clunk. “In these exceptional circumstances...” Clunk. Clunk. Elena was methodically removing food from the cupboards, and stacking it on the kitchen counter, taking inventory as she did so. “...I have spoken to the Captain-Generals, and made it clear that any military actions are to be taken only in conjunction with the heads of government...” Clunk. Tejada tried to focus on the King’s address to the nation. It was good news, after all. TVE was running again, and the commander-in-chief had made his support for the government clear. He could hear his wife murmuring. “Three cans of beans, two tomato pastes, two of peas...” “The Crown stands firmly behind the democratic process...” “...four liters of evaporated milk. Three packages of pasta. Plus the perishables.” Elena was chewing her lip. “If I’d known this was going to happen I’d have bought more canned goods yesterday.”
“Is that all?” Tejada asked, without taking his eyes from the television screen.
“We’re all right through the end of the week,” Elena ignored the sarcasm. “If we can get to Geneva...”
“You still want to go?”
Elena sat on the couch beside him. “Probably the trains aren’t running,” she said, praying that her husband would be convinced, and would convince her in turn.
The captain shook his head. “He could have walked home by now, if he’d had to.”
“Maybe he took a more roundabout route. Maybe he went by Jerónimos, to see what was happening in the Congress.”
What Happened When the War Was Over; further stories of Gonzalo Llorente and Carlos Tejada Alonso y Leon Page 5
