Secrets of Spain Trilogy

by Caroline Angus Baker

  “It’s true,” Inés said and placed a hand on Luna’s broken arm. “We have all moved into your house, taken over your children and done everything.”

  “It’s time to give in and accept help,” Cayetano said and kissed Luna’s still scratched cheek.

  “Give me time, I have plenty of excuses to be stubborn.”

  “How are you?” Sofía asked as she appeared from the hallway.

  “I feel drugged, to be honest,” Luna said as her sister-in-law hugged her. “I can’t even begin to thank you for all you’ve done for my boys.”

  “Nonsense, Darren and I have had a good time,” Sofía said, and glanced at her brother, who frowned.

  “Are José and Consuela here?” Luna asked as she pulled at the thick foam helmet she wore in place of her long hair. The top of her skull itched like hell where Doctor Roig had removed her stitches.

  “They are already in bed down the hallway, in Darren’s old room,” Sofía said. “Mamá and Papá are in the spare room, and I’m on the fold-out bed in the office. So don’t worry, your room is still all yours.”

  “I might go to bed,” Luna replied. “I wanted them to discharge me earlier in the day, but the doctor was in surgery for hours. I just want to lie in my own bed. I’m sorry, I should be drowning you all in gratitude for everything you’ve done.”

  “You just go and rest. We will be right outside your room if you need us,” Inés said.

  “Mamá, please don’t stand outside our bedroom. That’s just weird,” Cayetano cringed.

  Luna shook her head with a smile as Cayetano navigated her wheelchair down the hallway to her room. “I’m not going to keel over and die, you know,” she said as she pushed the bedroom door open. On the bed sat Giacomo and Enzo, chatting to one another.

  “If you think I’m going to let you go anywhere without me, you’re dreaming,” he replied as Luna got out of the wheelchair and sat on the bed. Both boys grabbed her for another hug.

  “Gentle, boys, please. I’m still broken.”

  “When will your arm be fixed?” Giacomo asked.

  “In about a month.”

  “What about your head?” Enzo asked.

  “The doctor told me that my head is looking good. I need to be extra careful with it for about three months. No bangs, no bumps, and no sports over the summer, not even swimming. I have to wear this stupid foam hat and neck brace to keep my head safe.”

  “Wow, it’s going to be a hot, boring summer… for you,” Enzo replied. “When will your hair grow back?”

  “That could take a long time.”

  “Are you still getting married? Can brides be bald?” Giacomo asked

  Luna sighed and smiled. She couldn’t blame them for wanting to talk. “Brides can be bald, but I won’t be. The wedding is postponed for a little while until I get better.”

  “That sucks,” Giacomo said. “We will never be a part of the family if you don’t get married.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you were away, we had a family to take care of us. You always talk about how it’s us against the world, but it’s great when it’s not like that.”

  Luna glanced at Cayetano, who raised his eyebrows. “We can be a family, even before the wedding,” she said.

  “It’s not the same,” Enzo mumbled.

  “I’ll heal faster for you, okay?” Luna replied, and they both nodded.

  “Right, boys, bed time,” Cayetano said with a clap of his hands, which received a round of groans. “No, it’s late, and you have seen your Mamá now, so it’s time for all of you to sleep. Mamá will be here in her bed day and night, so you can visit whenever you like.”

  Luna gave each of her boys a tender kiss goodnight, and Cayetano took them from her room. She lay back on the bed and pulled her arm from the sling. Shit, it was terrific to be home. But every time she closed her eyes, she felt someone’s hands on her back. The more she recovered, the more she knew for certain that someone did this to her. This wasn’t an accident. With the aid of the painkillers, Luna’s body seemed heavier with every passing second. She tried to fight the urge to sleep, but the desire to sleep was stronger than the desire to talk to Cayetano.

  Luna woke up with a jump, and she suffered a twinge in the back of her neck. Darkness. She fumbled on the nightstand for the lamp but couldn’t find it. How odd. Luna pulled herself to sitting, no easy task while sleeping with a foam helmet, a neck brace and an arm in a cast. She rested carefully against the soft headboard and looked at the outline of Cayetano asleep next to her. He had tucked her into bed. Perhaps the boys were right, being part of a family was all they needed. But how was Luna supposed to let go of her independence after going it alone, day in, day out? Perhaps getting pushed off a hillside was the best thing that could have happened; she stopped, but her life continued because people were there to help.

  Typical that she would be wide awake in the middle of the night. Luna swung her legs off the bed and stood up, surprised at how steady she felt. The painkillers must have worn off a bit, and the headache seemed a dull ache. She fumbled her way out of the bedroom, grabbing her dressing down of the back of the door in the process. Cayetano’s walking cane, a by-product of last year’s goring, stood by the door, so Luna grabbed it.

  Luna wandered into the kitchen; someone had left the light on, and she could see the clock on the wall. 02:46. But she wasn’t alone. She stopped in the doorway, to find José standing there, looking out the door to the balcony, which looked out over the park at the Arts and Sciences complex. He turned and seemed surprised to hear her there.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said and folded her broken arm over her dressing gown, the other on the walking cane to hold her steady.

  “Takes more than one bald girl to startle me.”

  “Takes more than one angry old man to upset me just because I’m bald now.”

  José smiled and leaned back against the window. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, I just can’t sleep.”

  “I’m glad to see you out of the hospital so soon.”

  “Are you?”

  “Of course I am. Do you think I want to see Cayetano at your bedside? He bawled his eyes out, worried that you were going to die, or end up brain damaged. You drive me crazy, but I don’t want you to die.”

  “Refreshing.”

  “I didn’t come to Valencia to see anything unfortunate happen. I’m here, with the rest of my family, to help you through the accident. I never wanted to come back to Valencia after we left in 1957. I’ve avoided the city for over 50 years, but I’m back because of you. You hate me, but I am capable of being a decent person.”

  “You must be, you have a wife who loves you, a daughter who is proud of her Papá, and a whole extended family who respect you.”

  “I know you are… perturbed by my past, Luna. I’m sure you and I misunderstand each other for the same reason. Getting to know someone well is overwhelming in the beginning. That’s why we all go through life only knowing a few people very well. Who I was for Franco is not a total picture of who I am.”

  “Some stupid foreign girl who doesn’t know her place is not all I am.”

  “So you do understand what I’m saying to you. I know I have released my dreadful temper on you. It has mellowed over the years, but sometimes I do snap. Those little breaks from reality have resulted in some ugly scenarios. I have done many things I regret. I have done things my wife would be ashamed of, but I tried to make up for some of them. There are things I never talk about, and being away from Valencia helped me to get over those things. A lot of my ghosts still walk these streets.”

  “Would you like to go for a walk?”

  “What, now? Luna, no.”

  “Why not? You can see it’s quiet out there. I’m not sleeping, you’re not sleeping. It’s warm outside, and I have a wheelchair.”

  “You shouldn’t go outside.”

  “There’s no rule against going outside. In fact, t
he middle of the night would be handy. The odds of getting bumped would be low when everyone is in bed. My children are sound asleep, and Cayetano isn’t here to tell me I can’t go outside.”

  “How about we drive instead? That way you can just sit.”

  ~~~

  “In my day, we could drive over that bridge, the Puente de Serranos, when the trams weren’t there, of course.”

  Luna turned to face José, who sat behind the wheel of Cayetano’s Mercedes. It felt so great to be outside the hospital. “I hate to break it to you, but it’s still your day, José. You’re not dead yet.”

  “Many people wouldn’t mind if I died.” José’s stare shot straight out the windscreen as he spoke.

  “I’m not one of them.”

  “For what it’s worth, I don’t want you dead either.”

  “That’s worth quite a lot.”

  They sat in silence, and Luna adjusted her foam helmet, which tied under her chin with velcro. It was the most uncomfortable choice of headgear, but it would act as a pillow if she fell or got bumped. “They call the bridge Pont del Serrans now. The streets received Valencian names.”

  José glanced at the street sign next to the car; Carrer de la Batlia. He glanced out his side window at the building next to them; the tiled sign said Calle Bailia, the Spanish translation. “When I lived here, Franco banned all the Valencian signs, Valencian books, even speaking the language.”

  “Well, they’ve banished that idea now. Why are we here?”

  José looked out of Plaza de la Virgen, and the square sat in silence. The fountain, the same spot where Cayetano proposed to Luna, continued to flow in the dark. The Basilica de la Virgen de los Desamparados, and behind it, the Valencia cathedral, were still lit up, but not a soul stirred in the small area. “I used to live here.”

  “Wow, that’s fancy.”

  “No,” José said, and took off his seatbelt. “It wasn’t this nice when we lived here. It wasn’t a plaza like this; it had cars and trams running around it. But this, just for walking around this new fountain, is much nicer.”

  José got out of the car, and Luna followed his lead. She got herself out of the car, careful not to trip, but she felt much better than she imagined this early in her recovery. She closed her door and stood with José against the car, who seemed lost in the dark. He looked around the space, lit up with yellow lights that reflected off the dark tiles of the square, and said nothing. Luna couldn’t imagine what went through his mind.

  “So where did you live?” Luna asked.

  José pointed across the plaza to a small street, partly hidden from view by the orange trees outside the gorgeous Palau de la Generalitat building. “Calle de Reloj Viejo, or whatever they call it now. Number nine.”

  “Would you like to walk down there?”

  “I don’t know if I can.” José turned and looked at Luna in her foam helmet. “The city looks so good.”

  “Best place on earth.”

  “When I was young...” Luna noticed José glance down Calle de Almudin behind her, and he shivered, “…this plaza didn’t flood when the river burst its banks in ’57.”

  “But it’s so close to the riverbed.”

  “I know.” José gestured over his shoulder. “The Torres de Serranos around the corner got surrounded by metres of water. Calle de Serranos flooded, but right here was dry. Plaza de la Reina around the corner was dry, too. Where I was during the first flood, over in Plaza Poeta Llorente, was metres under water. Plaza del Caudillo… sorry, I’m not allowed to call it that anymore…”

  “They changed the name of the main square after Franco died. It was Plaza del País Valenciano for a while, and now it’s Plaza del Ayuntamiento.”

  “You know your city well.”

  “Because I love it here.”

  “That’s where I met Franco, at the Town Hall in Plaza del Caudillo. That flooded quite badly, and all those little streets around that area, too, all the way to the bullring.”

  “The streets were once canals connected the river. I suppose the river follows its old roots. Ever been to the bullring here?”

  “I have, it was all new again after the 1946 fire, when I used to visit. It’s all different now.” José paused and stood in silence. In the distance, a police siren could be heard, but everyone had gone to bed on this innocuous Tuesday night.

  “Come with me.”

  Luna watched José walk out into the plaza and shuffled behind him with her cane, careful not to slip on the smooth granite surface. They walked past the fountain of Neptune and his seven angels representing Valencia’s irrigation channels, and towards Calle de Reloj Viejo on the other side.

  “I sometimes blame the city for making me who I was in my youth.” José walked at a slow pace to allow Luna to keep up. “But it was never true. The place was always superb; I ruined my own time here.”

  “What happened here?”

  “There was a friend of mine, a colleague… I should never have been friends with him. He wasn’t an honest man, but I always thought I could trust him. He is buried here in Valencia.”

  “Someone could drive with you out to the cemetery tomorrow if you like,” Luna suggested.

  “No, I’m not sure I could manage that.”

  They walked down Calle de Reloj Viejo, a street just wide enough for a car to enter. The paella restaurant on the corner had its metal shutters pulled over the doors and windows.

  José stopped at a wooden arch door, and just looked at it. Luna glanced to see the tiled number nine house number. Carrer del Rellotge Vell stated new Valencian street sign.

  “I almost died here,” José whispered as he put his hand on the door.

  “I thought you lived here.”

  José turned to Luna, and in the darkness, she saw tears in his eyes. “The flood, the first flood, almost killed me. I got washed over the river, and God’s hand saved me from death. I lay unconscious in a government building, and then had to wade through the flooded streets to get home. I made it here and collapsed in my wife’s arms. I suffered a significant head injury. I should have been here, to save my family, and others in the city, but I was useless.”

  “Sounds more like you were lucky to be alive.”

  “I was. I suffered nightmares about drowning for years. A doctor suggested I write about my experiences, and I did, but then I hid the journals away. It didn’t help me recover from my nightmares.”

  “Were the nightmares only about the flood?”

  José took his large hand from the door and stared right at Luna. “No. For years, I heard the voices of people who died here, and I would take my anger out on others while I worked in Madrid.”

  Luna thought of soldiers who suffered post-traumatic stress disorders. José would be a prime candidate for that. “Telling your story to me might help.”

  José stood in silence for a long time as he attempted to compose himself. Luna didn’t dare touch him; one of his famous outbursts to her head and she would be dead. The tiny cobbled alley had filled with dread.

  “After the flood waters began to recede,” José said with a new-found conviction, “people could be rescued from rooftops, damage could be surveyed. I was here at home, on the fourth floor, in bed. I remember Luis, who was a few months old then, crying for hours while I lay on the bed in pain. Consuela had to care for the children, plus the eight youngsters from the bottom floor apartment, so the people from the apartments on the other floors helped care for me. A doctor wasn’t an option. The streets had filled with mud. Then, things got worse.”

  “What happened?”

  José reached up to touch the beautiful white stonework above the door, too high even for him to reach. “This high,” he said and pointed at the second floor balcony. “I remember, lying in bed at about two in the afternoon, when the rain came back. The noise; I have never heard rain like that since. You couldn’t even see in front of your face, that’s how heavy the rain had become. For about half an hour, the deluge drenched everyth
ing. Even where the water had receded, mud covered everything and people ran indoors. For some, it saved them; but some, they became trapped. The river surged again, way upstream in the mountains, and the city flooded all over again. At least this time it was in daylight. But still, many people weren’t at home and got caught up the second set of waves. People had their homes washed away and had nowhere to go. Emergency crews had started surveying the city and got caught out on location as the water rose again. This time, it was even worse. I remember, afterwards, someone said the water was moving at 6000 cubic metres per second, and the second floor of our building flooded. Right up there,” José paused and pointed again, “their floor was covered with mud after the water went down again. I could hear the water getting closer and closer to us, rushing along the street like a torrent. I was in bed, unable to move, thanks to a head injury. In my day, there were no soft helmets for protection.”

  Luna touched her sore head. “But your family was safe.”

  José nodded and sighed. “They were. At least I knew, on level four, everyone was safe. Everyone in our building was in our tiny apartment, all crammed in together. But we were safe. No one left for two days afterwards, thanks to the water and mud. Food supplies came in from Gandia down the coast, loaves of bread and enormous pots of milk, which people received one soup-ladle at a time. I managed to get up from bed after a few days, and re-join the efforts to save the city. The army and their helicopters arrived, to save stranded people and help Valencia come to grips with the aftermath. We never quite knew how many died; the toll said about 80, but I know it was more. I pulled bodies out of everywhere. As the torrent flooded the city, it got in the drainage and manhole covers burst into the air thanks to rushing muddy water. One man got struck in the face and died. I found one of the local priests dead in his car; he had been in there, drunk probably, and couldn’t get out when the water rose around him.”

  “What a horrific way to die.”