“Jesus, Elena, he isn’t that stupid!”
“Well, where do you think Carlito is?” Elena demanded, fear and impatience finally making her snappish.
Tejada shook his head. “I don’t...I can’t...” he realized that he was not making sense. He took a deep breath, and tried to start over again. “I thought...the war was over. I’ve worked so hard...tried so hard all these years, and now I feel as if...everything’s coming back, and I’m afraid...Carlito will pay for what I’ve done.”
“That’s nonsense,” Elena hugged him, while a voice in her head screamed. What about me? Why do I have to pay twice, for you? What about Toño and Mercedes, who weren’t even born? Are we hostages for your sins too? Out loud she said. “I’ll call Pilar, and let her know what time we’ll drop off the car tomorrow. And then we can call Toño and Mercedes again, to see if there’s any news.”
Tejada nodded. “Don’t tie up the line though. Someone might call.”
At two a.m. Carlito was still missing. He’s a smart kid. He couldn’t be fool enough to go out on the streets tonight. The words slid through Tejada’s mind like rosary beads. He listened to the radio broadcasts with increasing impatience, waiting, irrationally, for them to give him some clue as to the boy’s whereabouts. Surely sooner or later one of the reports on the mood on the street would say something like, “and here in Madrid, a young student gives voice to the support for the Congress” and he would hear Carlito’s voice, arrogant and truculent, the way it always was when he argued about politics. Or else (Tejada swallowed) or else there would be an “isolated violent incident” or “a clash between students and police,” and there would at least be a hospital named where the casualties were taken.
But there was nothing. Their daughter called back, and announced that she and her husband were going to bed. “Our bags are packed,” Pilar reassured her mother. “And we’ve set the alarm for seven, and we all have valid passports.” She choked a little on a laugh. “And Anita said she understood it was urgent so she’s only bringing her four favorite dinosaurs.”
The captain, impatient, called his son a little before three. There was still no news. Both his son and daughter-in-law sounded as if they had been crying. He hung up with shaking hands. Still no news. The troops remained in their barracks, and the radio began to talk about the coup waning. Elena paced back and forth in front of the sofa, too nervous to sit down.
Tejada watched her pace, knowing that he should try to comfort her, and uncertain of the right words. “It’s all right,” he spoke dully. “If the rest of the Guardia hasn’t come out in their favor by now, they won’t. Not after the King’s address. And not if the army isn’t turning out.”
“How do you know?” to his surprise, she actually seemed eased by the statement.
“Trust me, love. I know.”
She smiled briefly. “Right. Then maybe we should go to bed?”
He shrugged. “I might as well stay up and keep an eye on things.”
She sat down next to him. He put one arm around her, hoping that something to hold on to would ease his own fear. It worked a little. They dozed off, exhausted and uneasy, a little before dawn.
*****
At 6:00 a.m. the radio announced that Captain General Milans had resigned from his post. Valencia was once more under the control of the government. Ramona and her house guests greeted the news with a cheer. The situation in Congress remained tense, but it was a question of negotiating surrender now. Roberto and Nina began to discuss converting their demonstrations into a victory parade.
Rita listened silently to the discussion, and then stood up. “I’m going home. It doesn’t look like you’ll need me.”
“Me too,” Carlito shot to his feet this time in an effort to prolong the silent understanding he and Rita had seemed to share all night.
She gave him a long, cynical look, but said nothing, bound, perhaps, by the promise she had made to make no embarrassing comments about his family. The rest of the group said farewell to them with a sort of sad and sulky relief. The adventure was ending. Soon they would feel the delayed effects of suppressed fear and a sleepless night.
The blazing apartment lights gave way to the chill darkness before dawn when they stepped out of Juana’s building. Carlos shivered slightly in the morning air, aware that he had not brushed his teeth, and that his parents would probably be angry. “You want me to walk with you?” he asked, more from habit than desire.
He was not surprised when Rita shook her head. “I know the way.”
He nodded, half relieved, wondering if he would be able to get home before the time his parents normally woke up. “See you at school, then?”
She snorted. “You think I’m going today? Damn, Chino, I’m not going anywhere until I find out what happens to the deputies. And then, if they get out okay, I’m going straight to bed!”
This was so exactly what he wanted to do that he could not suppress a laugh. “See you later, then...God willing.”
“God willing. If my parents don’t kill me for staying out all night,” Rita agreed ruefully, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. “Take care.” She hurried off in the direction of the sunrise, with firm footsteps.
Carlos looked at his watch. It was nearly 6:30. An hour’s trip home, at best. And that was assuming that the Metro was running. He was tired, and his parents were at least as likely to kill him as Rita’s were to kill her. He turned his face northward, and headed for his grandparents’ apartment.
A bakery was just opening its shutters as Carlos turned into the Calle Mauricio de Ravel. He stepped closer, attracted by the smell of fresh bread, and saw a pile of newspapers lying on the street. “COUP ATTEMPT FAILS” the headline blared optimistically. He considered buying a paper, and then decided that showing up with a copy of Diario 16 was bound to enervate his grandfather.
The outer door of number 24 was locked, and he had to pound on it to attract the concierge’s attention. Fortunately, the man on duty recognized him. “What brings you here so early?” the concierge rubbed sleep out of his eyes, sounding accusing.
“You haven’t heard the news?” Carlos asked, pleased at the opportunity of being able to tell someone.
The concierge made a contemptuous noise. “Heard it? Of course I’ve heard it. The guy on the midnight shift didn’t bother to show up tonight, so I’ve had to stay here all night listening to the damn radio. My wife was having fits when I called her.”
“Well, I got stuck somewhere too,” Carlos explained, deciding that this was close enough to the truth to work as an explanation.
The concierge nodded. “Likely just as well. My wife didn’t want me out on the streets tonight anyway. It’s dangerous, and I was safe enough here.”
“Looks like things are going to be all right,” Carlos hazarded, as the elevator came.
“Let’s hope,” the man nodded.
A wave of exhaustion hit Carlito as he stepped into the elevator. All the night’s excitement and fear and unaccustomed activity suddenly seemed to have fallen on his shoulders at once, and he staggered with weariness as he stepped out of the elevator, and made his way down the hall to his grandparents’ apartment. With any luck, his grandmother could make him an early breakfast. Thinking about hot chocolate, and orange juice, and buttered toast and pastries, and possibly (if he could persuade her) eggs to make up for the dinner he had missed, he knocked eagerly.
*****
Tejada started awake as he felt his wife suddenly stiffen in arms. Someone was pounding on the door. He was disoriented for a moment, reliving a lifetime’s worth of bad awakenings. The flickering colors of the television set, and the steady drone of TVE’s announcers, reminded him when and where he was. Elena stretched, staring at the screen in disbelief. “Carlos, look!”
Guardias civiles were filing out of the Congress, hands above their heads, and retiring to waiting buses, supervised by troops. The captain blinked, wishing that his horrible sense of dislocation would subside. He shoul
d not be relieved by the sight of guardias surrendering. He should not be heartsick at his own relief.
The hammering on the door was even more persistent now. Elena and her husband exchanged glances. “I’ll get it,” he said. “It’s probably just one of the kids.” He rose, and headed for the door, trying to squash the hope that there would be news of his grandson. Elena followed him. He turned back, forcing himself to confront the worst possibility as well as the best. “You’d better stay in the bedroom,” he warned quietly.
“You haven’t done anything.”
“That’s why,” he agreed, gently shoving her back into the apartment.
Elena took a few steps in the direction he wished, and then, when he turned around, hovered silently behind him as he unlocked the door. A rumpled figure in blue jeans and a parka stood on the threshold. “Hi. Umm…I hope I didn’t wake you up?”
Like all grandparents, the captain and his wife had always been old. But Carlito had never before thought of them as weak. He was astonished to see that his grandfather was leaning heavily on the door, trembling as if from Parkinson’s disease. “Carlito,” his grandmother’s voice cracked in a way he had never heard before.
“Ummm...I came because I was out kind of late,” Carlito shifted uncomfortably in the face of their shock. “It’s kind of a trip home...”
“You’re not hurt?” his grandfather stretched out a shaking hand.
“No,” Carlito was a little surprised by the question, but he gave his grandfather a reassuring hug as he spoke, thinking that possibly physical reality might make an impression on the old man.
The captain clung to his grandson with surprising strength and tenacity for one of his years. Then he shut the apartment door, still keeping one hand on Carlito’s shoulder. “YOU GODDAMN STUPID BRAT!” he yelled. “WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU LAST NIGHT?”
Carlito blinked slightly, and discovered that he was unable to free his arm from his grandfather’s grip. “I...” he began, and discovered that the captain was far from finished.
“Do you have any idea of the suffering you’ve caused?”
His grandmother was hugging him now too, and speaking rapidly, her quieter voice almost lost in his grandfather’s indignant bellow. They dragged Carlito into the living room, tripping over each other’s words. “...never heard your mother so upset before...”
“Toño was crying on the telephone!”
“...could have endangered your entire family if they’d had to flee....”
“...thought you were lying dead in the street!”
“You’re too young to remember...”
“God only knows what you were doing with those Commie friends of yours!”
“...didn’t even know if you’d heard the news when you started home...”
“...planning a suicide bombing of the Congress for all we knew...”
“...could have guessed how we’d feel, even so...”
“...should beat you within an inch of your life!”
“....if you could have seen your grandfather...”
“...and when was the last time you had a haircut?” Tejada finished finally, apparently out of fresh ammunition.
“About three months ago,” Carlito said automatically. “And I’m sorry you were worried.”
“Sorry?” the captain repeated, in tones of deepest contempt. “Sorry!”
“I’m going to call Toño,” his wife moved hastily towards the phone, wiping her eyes.
“Now,” said Tejada, keeping a death grip on his grandson’s shoulder. “Where were you?”
“At Ramona’s, mostly,” Carlito shifted uncomfortably. “I was heading home, but...but I thought maybe the coup would mean there was a civil war, and...and I was scared...that maybe you’d all be on the wrong side.”
To Carlito’s surprise, his grandfather loosened his grip, and slowly dropped his hand. “Suppose you’d been right?” he said, and his voice was strangely flat. “Suppose...just suppose, the army had thrown its weight behind the Guardia tonight. What would you have done? Volunteered to join a militia?”
“I-I suppose,” Carlito nodded. Lifting his chin he added. “We all talked about it at the club. Ri - someone said that every loyal person might be necessary. To serve the country,” he added, quoting a favorite phrase of his grandfather’s.
The captain nodded slowly. “Let’s suppose then that you’re right that your father would have supported the rebels. Would you have denounced him? Shot him as an insurgent?”
Carlito reared back, flushing. “I…I...no...I didn’t really think he would....I can’t imagine him...”
“What about me? You know I’d never betray the Guardia. You know I haven’t approved of much of what the government’s done since ‘78.”
“B-but you’re...you’re not young,” Carlito stammered, fighting an absurd desire to cry. “N no one w-would ever...”
“Oh, but they would,” the captain said gently. “That’s what happens in civil wars.”
“I...I didn’t want that to happen,” Carlito choked.
“I know,” the captain put an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “But you must know that none of us - me, your parents, - any of us, would ever hurt you. You must have known that we would never support a coup that might lead to a war like that...because we love you.”
“I’m sorry,” Carlito whispered.
“So am I,” his grandfather gave him a lopsided smile.
Elena rejoined them. “Your parents are coming over to pick you up,” she said, smiling. “I told them they should bring your brothers, and stay for breakfast. I think today will probably not be a normal work day.”
Carlito nodded. “Some people this morning were talking about a demonstration in favor of democracy. A sort of thanksgiving/victory rally. Maybe we could go?”
“I certainly will,” his grandmother agreed, a smile of relief still splitting her face in half.
“What about you?” Carlito asked, turning to his grandfather and trying to keep his voice casual.
Tejada’s mouth twisted. “I’m not shouting any stupid slogans,” he said firmly.
“Of course not,” Carlito agreed. “It’s just a walk. A walk because we’re happy, with a lot of other people who are happy also.”
“Or going near any banners.”
“No, dear,” Elena’s voice had a little bubble of laughter in it.
The sound of cheering made all three of them look towards the television set again. Deputies were emerging from the Congress. “Thank God!” the captain said. “No more hostages.”
*****
Notes on “Hostages”
This story was written before all of the others, right after I finished Law of Return and before I started work seriously on The Watcher in the Pine. In fact, it was in some ways made redundant by The Watcher in the Pine, since I really wrote it to find out a little bit about how Tejada’s marriage worked out in practice after the “happily ever after.” I also wrote it because of my father’s response to Death of a Nationalist. “It’s almost too sad, and the only thing that makes it bearable is the knowledge that everything works out all right in the long long term.”
This was also the story that introduced Carlito, a character who becomes important in “The New World.” For reasons that will become obvious, I eventually made him a history major. However, I must admit that I was tempted to have him study Classics, continuing the Iliad theme which shows up in Death of a Nationalist and the Odyssey references in Law of Return with a few references to the Aeneid, another late-composed sequel which makes the fall of a proud city bearable by supposing an ultimate victory for a later generation.
“Hostages” is the only one of the stories based on a specific historical event, namely the coup attempt by Colonel Tejero on the evening of February 23, 1981. I have taken a specific poetic liberty here. All the accounts of the evening in question (there are quite a number on the web, and will probably be more in 2011, on the thirtieth anniversary of the coup attempt) s
pecify that the movie on television that evening was Bob Hope’s comedy The Princess and the Pirate. I have changed it to Gone with the Wind, a film more dramatically appropriate for the evening, and for Tejada and Elena’s relationship.
*****
The New World
The taxi driver didn’t want to drop him off. “You’re sure?” he had said dubiously, when Carlito had given the address. “That’s in La Perla. A very bad neighborhood.”
It had taken Carlito a moment to understand him, because the driver, like most people, had addressed his passenger in a rapid-fire and oddly accented English that bore no resemblance to the language spoken by the professors and newscasters the young man was familiar with. “Yes,” he had said. And then, to prove that he was not being simply eccentric. “I’m visiting a family friend. My grandmother gave me this address.”
“Okay,” the taxista had shrugged, wondering a little how his passenger’s grandmother came to know someone in San Juan’s most notorious slum. The boy had “tourist” written all over him, and though he spoke Spanish far more fluently than English, his accent was bizarre, and his vocabulary sounded like something out of a textbook. But there was nothing to be gained in asking nosy questions. If the boy was there for drugs, he could find them on his own, God knew. If he was fool enough to go slumming, that was his affair.
Carlito watched the high rises of the Condado give way to strip malls and fast food places, and then to cobblestoned elegance as they entered Old San Juan with interest. Then suddenly the taxi nosedived down a narrow, ill-paved fork in the road, and Carlito saw that they had actually driven under the walls of the old city, sandwiched between the severe fortifications Old San Juan and the tranquil blue of the Caribbean. “Here it is. Aquí está,” the driver corrected himself, switching to Spanish. Then, as the boy fumbled inexpertly with a number of bills, inadvertently flashing them. “Are you sure you want to stop here, m’ijo?”
What Happened When the War Was Over; further stories of Gonzalo Llorente and Carlos Tejada Alonso y Leon Page 6
