“Please,” José replied. “Women have always been inferior to men. Sure, we love a few of them, but most of them are there for satisfaction. My wife, she is a brilliant woman, and my daughter, granddaughters and great-granddaughters are to be treasured. But, we men are in charge.”
Cayetano opened this mouth to object, but Paco stopped him. There wasn’t any sense in arguing.
“I’m proud of you, Caya,” José continued, “for taking those boys on as your own sons. Did I tell you how proud I am?”
“You have, yes.”
“It’s a brave thing to do. Women are enough trouble without expecting you to take on their spawn as well.”
“That’s enough,” Cayetano snapped. “Giacomo and Enzo are not spawn. They are my family. Luna has let them become my family, and I am grateful. You talk of Mamá and Mamí having infertility trouble, well, I’m the next generation to be struck down with the problem. I can’t have children of my own. Cayetano Beltrán, the sterile bullfighter. If God does indeed bless children on his subjects, and I don’t believe that, He won’t bless me. But I do have Luna, who I love and her children are terrific. If you continue to speak so bluntly, Papí, I don’t see how we’re going to remain close.”
“I’m sorry, but I have a low tolerance for poor female behaviour.”
“No one here has done anything immoral,” Paco said. “Please be nice to my son.”
“There was a time in my life before I owned Rebelión, where I didn’t have the luxury of giving people the benefit of the doubt,” José said. “I had to uphold the law, and it put certain things in my path, things I can’t forget. These things would have been easier if women behaved themselves.”
“How?” Paco asked.
“Before I worked as part of Franco’s special forces in Madrid, I had to do my time as a regular Guardia Civil officer. First in Albacete, right out of training camp there, and then in Valencia. I did nearly four years in each city. Albacete was tough; In 1948, they were still flushing out left-wing reds after the war. But I was a junior officer and never got to enjoy any executions. I just stood by and watched, took notes, made coffees. The shit jobs. Then I went back to Madrid and married Consuela. We had Inés, and then we moved to Valencia. Consuela, she loved the little city, but I was out on the streets. First it was easy; traffic offenses and petty theft. Then, I was partnered with a guy from the Basque Country; Fermín Belasco. Then we received tougher assignments.”
“Such as?” Cayetano asked.
“To start with, nothing thrilling. Belasco, he liked the easy assignments, such as guarding cells, or street patrols. He didn’t like to do any work, just collect his pay-cheque. Valencia seemed to be 1000 miles away from the action at home in Madrid.”
“It still feels that way,” Cayetano said. “It’s amazing how different the two cities are.”
“In the late fifties, the government decided to do a crackdown on tax evasion, which was ironic since the government in power were getting the cream off the top of everything. The thought of arresting tax evaders bored me. The Valencian city was already having a crackdown on prostitution, and that was dull enough. I wanted to leave and open Rebelión, but I had no money. Instead, I got stuck arresting prostitutes to make a living, and I saw harsh nights in Valencia.”
“But I doubt it was all their doing,” Paco said. “No woman decides to be a prostitute.”
“No, no, they don’t.” José went quiet for a moment. “You’re right, there was no avenue of salvation for those girls, but the whole thing made me look at women in a different light. Like objects, as you said, Caya. I felt like all I saw was the evil side of the city. The late-night haunts, the hate in people. The greed.”
“But it was your job to clean up the city, for the good of the people who lived there,” Paco said.
“I know,” José agreed. “But it weighs on your mind. I went home every night, and saw my family, who were happy, but I couldn’t leave some things behind; images wouldn’t leave me. After a while of seeing the world twisted from its natural state, I started to become disinterested with life. I thought no one cared about anyone, the law, the church, society – greed was the answer for everything. My partner Belasco and I… we got caught up in it all. But then the city flooded, and things changed. People died, and suddenly I was out there in the water, fighting to save people’s lives. I saw people washed away by the flood waters. I remember having to let a young girl go, and hoped the rope I tied her to would save her. Afterwards, Franco came to visit the city, and I received a medal for bravery that night. That’s when I got the chance to leave the little city for good and start my time in Madrid. Then, I left and bought this place, like I always wanted.”
“Why did you get a medal?” Cayetano asked.
“A woman I knew before the flood, she had eight children. They became trapped, and their mother died. But I rescued all the children between two flooding incidents on our street.”
“That’s amazing!”
“No, I was lucky. I believe it was part of God’s plan to redeem me for all that had been going on in Valencia.”
“Do you dislike Luna because she is from Valencia?” Cayetano asked. “Just because you have sad memories of the place doesn’t mean Luna should be hurt by them. Besides, she is Valencian by fate, not her genes.”
“I know the whole story of Luna and the Ortega family,” José said. “I know all about her. I’ve just learned to be wary of all women, and you’re my only grandson. I want to protect you.” They heard Consuela call out to her husband. “Excuse me,” José said and left the kitchen.
“Only grandson,” Cayetano squinted. “Papí has five grandsons, including me.”
“The only one born to Inés and me. Maybe that’s what he meant,” Paco shrugged.
Cayetano frowned as Paco too left the kitchen. José had definitely left out an significant part of the Valencian flood story.
18
Valencia, España ~ Septiembre de 1957
José glanced at his hands as they sat on his lap. The skin was dry and rough from the soap Doctor Lugo had in his house. It smelled awful, and he wasn’t sure it cleaned him at all. He could still smell the hot dirty room he had been in as he watched Marta, a young innocent girl, bleed to death after Fermín raped her. When José said he wanted to get rich, this was not the way he thought he could do it.
“Teniente Morales, are you well?” the doctor asked him from across his desk.
José glanced up at the doctor, who sat opposite him, his hands on his desk. The windowless room seemed to act as a cocoon away from all that happened. But the sun would come up soon and light would flood this dark city, which threatened to expose the whole incident. “No, I’m afraid I’m not.”
“We got the outcome we wanted,” Fermín said. He sat there with the young prostitute’s blood on his uniform and a smile on his face. “We got the bastard kid.”
José glanced over the desk to the baby who lay in an open drawer of a cabinet behind the doctor. She had been swaddled tight in a white blanket, unaware of her eventful entry into the world. She had been surrounded by a terrified prostitute, two hovering Guardia Civil members and a doctor who couldn’t save his patient.
“Teniente Morales,” the doctor said again, and pushed his glasses against his face, “is there anything I can do for you?”
“Call me José, for a start.”
“Then call me Adán.”
“What happens now?”
“The girl is dead and will be in the morgue now. With no family, she will be given a common burial paid for by the Town Hall. None of the other prostitutes knew her well, and it’s up to them to search for the family, but naturally no one will care.”
“We don’t want anyone to care,” Fermín added.
“I feel so bad for that girl,” José muttered.
“It is one of the most horrific things I have seen in a while,” Adán said. “Of course, when I was in prison during the war, I saw plenty of violence.”
José shook his head. “Are we going to get caught for all this?”
“Did you have something to do with her death?” Adán asked with a frown. “This girl died in childbirth, that is my opinion as a doctor. She was twelve, and her body couldn’t cope.”
“Then I’m off the hook,” Fermín grinned.
José glanced at Fermín’s cleaned baton and bile crept up the back of his throat. “And the baby?”
“Listed as dead, as well. I have already signed the papers to be given to the records office. You can take the baby wherever you like now.”
“I know where we can go,” Fermín said. “I know just the priest, Padre Nefando. We can name our price. That little girl came out looking perfect, and with pale skin. I hear that fetches a higher price.”
“That’s his name?” José asked. “Padre Nefando?” Father Heinous? “Really?”
“Really, by name and nature. I heard he got a few girls pregnant and sold those babies, too. It’s astonishing what you can get away with when you wear a uniform. Isn’t that right, doctor? You would know.”
“I’m not like you,” Adán said as he turned to inspect the child who lay in the dark corner of the tense room.
“Nobody is like Teniente Belasco,” José said. He glanced at his watch; he was off duty now and keen to get out of his bloodied uniform. He would have one hell of a time explaining it Consuela. The whole time he been at the station, lying about what had happened to little Marta, all he could think of was Consuela, and how he had let that gypsy girl go down on him. It was a blessing that a dead prostitute found by two officers raised no suspicions, just an open and closed case of ‘social deficiencies’. No one cared. José Morales cared, and felt ashamed.
“So you will take the child?” Adán asked.
“Sí, it’s our prize,” Fermín said and stood up from his seat. He ignored José’s eyes which widened as Fermín picked up the child. “I hear of children going for 200,000 pesetas.”
“I don’t think you will get that from the priest,” Adán said to him. “You must hold her head, or you will break her neck, and get nothing.”
José jumped up and took the baby from Fermín. “I can do this.” He looked at the little girl. It hadn’t been that long since his daughter was this age, a frail little being that needed so much care from her mother. If he took this child home, his wife would bestow her with the love that she deserved, but José wanted this child as far away as possible. Even if the buyer lived as far away as the United States, the child would be too close. Last night needed to be erased from history.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Adán asked. “You look unwell.”
“I just want to go home,” José said and looked at Fermín. “Let’s drop this baby off at the church.”
~~~
The whispers of light had begun to sneak through the dark alleys by the time they arrived at the steps of the church. This baby would get a better life with a devoted Catholic family. He knew that. She would be sold to someone who wanted her, who wanted to raise a child the way she deserved to be raised. Until now, José hadn’t given a damn about the filthy society that he looked down on, or tossed in the cells. But last night, in Marta’s eyes, there was a humanity he had never seen until now.
“You aren’t going soft, are you?” Fermín asked as he banged his fist on the back entrance to the church. “I mean, except for when you’re in a whore’s mouth. That would make you hard and then ultra-soft.”
“Shut up,” José replied and didn’t even look at his friend.
The door opened an old face peered through the gap. They saw the old nun smile when she saw the police, as if she had been expecting something worse. What could be worse than Fermín Belasco?
“Officers,” she muttered and swung the old wooden door open. “Can I be of assistance?”
“I want Padre Nefando. Now,” Fermín barked.
She beckoned them, and they stepped into the dark hallway. The stone walls didn’t let in a single speck of light or warmth that had begun to emerge out on the street. Despite the heat of summer, José thought he could smell damp. They walked through a series of dark hallways until they reached the priest’s office. The nun knocked on the door and called his name with considerable caution.
“Leave me!” barked an angry voice.
“But Padre, the Guardia Civil are here.” She turned and looked at the pair. “They have a delivery.”
The door opened, and there stood the short priest. His ankle-length white linen vestment seemed discoloured around the bottom, too long for his short frame. “I’m preparing for mass,” he barked. “What do you want?” When he spoke, his rotten teeth protruded, which made him spit with every word.
“We wish to speak with you; we wish to do a deal.” Fermín gestured at the sleeping baby in his partner’s arms.
Padre Nefando dismissed the nun with a wave and the three men stepped into the office. “Sit,” he ordered, without looking up from something placed before him on the desk. “What do you want?”
“We have a baby we want to sell,” Fermín said.
“Sell a child? How could you suggest such a thing?’
“Oh, come on, Padre, how stupid do you think we are?”
“You make it sound like I’m into something illegal.”
“We are aware that the baby trade is on the edge of legality,” José said. “This child belonged to a prostitute, and the mother died in childbirth.”
The priest’s interest raised a notch. “She passed away?”
“Yes, and the doctor has already signed the paperwork to say the baby died alongside her.”
“And you have this paperwork?”
“We do,” Fermín said. “This is perfect for you, isn’t it?”
“I take babies from doctors at the hospital. The paperwork needs to be in place, and we need certificates to fill in to say the buyers are the natural parents.”
“Yes, the doctor signed a blank birth certificate, so you can fill in the buyers’ names as the natural parents.”
“We’re looking to set up a private baby handling service,” José said to the priest. “We don’t wish to be in direct competition with the baby smuggling going on through the hospitals… merely picking up babies from the edge of society, to save babies from undesirable lives.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t sell the babies, you would allow us to take them and adopt them out.”
“But you don’t adopt them out, do you, Padre?” Fermín said.
“We do sometimes oversee legitimate adoptions.”
“In order to cover up the baby trade.”
The priest paused but didn’t contradict the statement. “I will offer you 50,000 pesetas for the baby. No more. And that includes the paperwork from the doctor. He doesn’t get a cut.”
“The doctor’s cut comes out of our fee,” José said.
“Wait, only 50,000?” Fermín screwed up his face. “I know you can get four times that on the open market.”
“I’m your gateway to the open market,” Padre Nefando said. “Adoptions are done through the church. You can’t sell without my help.”
José knew the vile old man had a point. “It’s a deal. The baby is in desperate need of a mother, and is healthy and ready to be housed.”
“I know just the people. I have a couple who have been in Valencia for months, and have lied to their families, telling them a baby is coming.”
“How does that work?”
“We get the mothers to stick cushions under their dresses. When a baby becomes available, she disappears for a few days, ditches the cushions and collects her baby. This couple has already bought two boys in the past, and want a girl.”
“Perfect,” Fermín said. “But the price…”
“You can’t afford to haggle with me,” the priest said. “You can accept my terms, or I will tell your superiors. I’ll say you forced me int
o an impossible circumstance over a baby you lied about and stole from its non-existent grave.”
Everything had something on someone. Fermín could rely on José’s discretion about the incident, or he would expose José’s own recklessness at the brothel. He couldn’t bear to have Consuela hear about that. The doctor wouldn’t tell, or his black market drugs trade would be exposed. Now the priest had the officers over a barrel about the baby trade they wished to set up through their position within the law. The system could be a disaster, or a money-spinner.
“Do we have a deal?” Padre Nefando asked.
“You give us the money, and we give you the child and the paperwork.”
“You’re sure you have a couple for this baby?” José asked as he looked at the infant in his arms. Poor innocent thing.
“Oh yes. Don’t worry, Teniente, we want the best for these children. They should be raised in loving religious homes. We have proven that with thousands of adoptions. This child won’t be harmed, in fact, this baby could be with her new mother by lunchtime. We are saving people, not hurting them. These babies will never be able to track down their real families, and we are never going to be caught. The church cannot be questioned. The medical profession is incontestable, like you upstanding men of the law. We can do anything we like, and we have the blessing of Franco and his government. We make our own rules.”
~~~
“We should apply for more night-shifts,” Fermín said with a grin as they stepped out onto the side street outside the church. “We can work and track down babies. This is a dream come true!”
“This is a nightmare!” José cried.
“This was your idea.”
“Not like this, not violently killing girls.”
“Hey, that was just an opportunity.”
“Someone with a soul wouldn’t do what you did last night.”
“That prostitute had no life or soul. What do you think would happen? She wouldn’t marry a righteous man, raise her child and live a virtuous life. She is better off dead. The baby’s life has been saved. It’s like the priest said, the babies go to people who want them.”
Secrets of Spain Trilogy Page 58