“Is it? How do we know there won’t be war again?” Jaime asked.
“Franco won’t allow it, his forces would crush anyone,” Pedro said.
“Franco will die eventually. The man is frail. Anti-terrorism laws, freedom restrictions, executions, bombings – we will weather this storm,” Paco said to his younger counterparts. “Let’s go home to Rebelión. Let’s get you well, Pedro. Arguing into the night won’t solve Spain’s crises.”
6
Madrid, España ~ Abril de 2014
A room occupied by a soul shouldn’t feel so cold. But the library at Rebelión seemed bitter and distant. Paco sat on the end of the leather couch; his gaze cast through the full-length window to the countryside. The bullring, the practice ring for Cayetano, sat within his line of sight, but it was obvious Paco concentrated on nothing at all.
The room, home to the Beltrán Morales book collection and countless family photos, seemed austere; photos of people in happy times smiled down on the bereft Paco.
“Paco?” Luna asked as she stood at the doorway, baby Paquito on her hip. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Paco wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. He had been crying again, but Luna wouldn’t dare say anything. She would often sit and cry alone after Fabrizio died. There wasn’t anything to help the emptiness.
“When did you arrive?” Paco asked as Luna put Paquito on the floor.
“An hour ago.” Luna watched her son go to the window to look at the view.
“Oh,” Paco said and tried to hide the handkerchief in his palm. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Luna kissed Paco’s stubbled cheeks and sat down next to him.
“Where are the other children?”
“With Caya. Giacomo and Enzo are playing with Scarlett on the lawn. Paquito is irritable after the drive.”
“Paquito is beautiful,” Paco spoke so softly as he watched Paquito wander about the room, reacquainting himself with the space he visited so often. “Luna, your father would have been proud.”
“I would like to think so. Alex died before I ever thought of having children. I think my father would worry about me having children. Alex said women lost their identities by becoming mothers.”
“I still think Alexander would have been very proud that you named your son Alejandro after him, well, the Spanish version of his name. And I thank you for naming him after my biological father.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
“I wish I had met my real father now. But I’m glad you met Alejandro Beltrán before it was too late.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.”
“Alejandro abandoned me at birth. But he did that because my mother died. Now my Inés is gone, I understand the pain he must have suffered. Alejandro lost all he knew. He came apart. Now, it makes sense. I was lucky when Luna Beltrán adopted me, kept me safe and fed in a horrid time, even after seeing her real love shot in the back. I don’t have Mamá’s strength.”
“But you do, Paco, she was your adoptive mother, your biological aunt. Both her blood and her nurturing is inside you.”
Paco half smiled, his eyes still on Paquito, who was enjoying pulling books from the bottom shelf and giggling at his mess. “You’re sweet, Luna.”
“I’m also known for my honesty.”
“Did someone send you in here, to tell me to come outside and join everyone?”
“No, I wanted to see you. Paco, don’t come out into the sun if you wish. You understand the routine – Isadora, Jovana and Alysa are cooking; Pedro, Jaime and Luis are talking bulls, Caya is minding the children, Miguel is chatting with him. It’s not a full house today, but if you would rather remain in here, that’s fine with me.”
“I saw that Caya did well in Seville. Didn’t you go with him?”
“No, I couldn’t attend. Haven’t you discussed the fight with Caya?”
“No, what’s the point?”
“Paco, you’re his manager. Caya needs you.”
“Caya has his uncles.”
“That is not the same.”
“Caya always complained I was too hard on him.”
Luna glanced at her baby son, who flicked through a book, looking at photos of bulls. The Beltrán genes were strong in that one. “Paco, Caya needs you.”
“Why? What did he say?”
“What did he say? Nothing, you know Caya never says anything. But 2014 is Caya’s last ever season in the ring, and he is having a hard time coping with the transition. Caya needs you, Paco, and no one else. Whether you give advice or just yell at one another, it’s you at his side all these years that made him the great torero he is now.”
Paco took Luna’s hand and sighed. Even talking seemed hard for Paco. “Inés always said I was too hard on our son. I would whip him into shape, and Inés would be the softening touch he needed. Now, without his mother, won’t I just hurt Caya?”
“No,” Luna said with a smile. “If you need a softening touch, I’m here. Caya has four children, so if he ever needs to be soft, he can be soft with them. Caya needs you, more than ever. Caya’s successes won’t mean anything without you.”
“But I can’t help him,” Paco said, his voice impassioned with pain. “I can’t explain it, but I can’t leave here unless I have to do something. I don’t want to do anything, say anything, go anywhere, enjoy anything.”
“You can’t breathe, can’t think straight, even the most simple task seems overwhelming,” Luna replied. “Food doesn’t taste good, smiling makes you feel guilty, and laughing isn’t even an option. Trying new things seems to violate the world’s natural order. Thinking about anything but the person you loved, who you saw dead before you, is a vicious notion.”
Paco nodded a little, his eyes on his hand in Luna’s. Age had taken over Paco at a vast rate. Even at 70, his hair had been unnaturally dark, but since Inés’ death, he had gone grey. The wrinkles on his face were deep, pulling his face downwards. Hands, once strong and proud as they held a sword in the bullring, now seemed caught in an eternal clench. Paco’s dark eyes looked bereaved and dispossessed.
“I’m sorry, Luna, I realise you understand the loss of your partner. But you were young in your grief, and I’m an old man. I won’t recover from this. I don’t have your courage.”
Luna pointed a photo on the wall, a magnificent black and white portrait of Paco, in his traje de luces, sword in hand. “Are you telling me that man has no courage? That man stood at the gate of fear and fought before crowds who would cry ‘long live the King’.”
“That man is dead now.”
“No, he isn’t, Paco. ‘El Potente’ Beltrán is sitting with me.”
Paquito wandered over to his mother and put his arms out for a hug. Luna let go of Paco’s hand and picked up her son to sit on her lap. “Did you say hello to abuelo?” she asked.
“Hola, abuelo,” Paquito said, his voice as clear as a bell on a still morning.
“You are a clever boy,” Paco said, forcing his lips to smile. Luna’s saw a tiny spark of happiness in his eyes. “You would have made your abuela so happy.”
“Perhaps Paquito and Scarlett can make you happy.”
“They do,” Paco said as he ran his thumb on Paquito’s tender cheek. “Who knows, maybe Paquito will grow to be a torero, the next generation of Beltrán in the ring.”
“Well, Caya already has plans,” Luna said. “Perhaps Scarlett will be the next Beltrán in the ring.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Paco said and Paquito cuddled against his mother for comfort, his ice-blue eyes peering at Paco. “Does Giacomo still have dreams of being a cyclist?”
“Most certainly. Enzo shows interest in bullfighting, but he prefers the spectacle, the family feeling of it all, rather than the actual performance.”
“Enzo does not have the soul for bullfighting,” Paco replied and paused. “Sorry, that sounds mean. Enzo is a gentle soul, that is very obvious. He does not have the masculinity required, and I don’t mean t
hat in a negative way. It takes a powerful man to step in the ring. There needs to be hunger for the torero to succeed. I see Enzo’s hands healing, not killing.”
“I agree.”
“Caya always wanted to be a bullfighter, even when he was little like Paquito is now. Caya would be at the gate out there at the ring, with his grandfather while I trained with the practice bulls. I pushed Caya hard, but it was what he wanted, and I wanted him to carry on my legacy. A combination of my vanity and his hunger made Caya who he is now. No one can force the desire into someone else. Caya will need to learn that when it comes time to decide if any of his children can enter the ring of death.”
“If it were up to me, none of them would take on the challenge,” Luna said. “It scares me enough when Caya enters the ring.”
“But you can’t hold back a torero.”
“Oh, that I know, and I wouldn’t even dare try.”
“Inés never wanted Caya to become a torero. Inés would pace when Caya fought; you saw her like that. But Inés had faith I would care for Caya, and I did, barring a few injuries.”
“I won’t tell you that you have grieved enough for Inés,” Luna said as Paquito wiggled to get off her lap. Luna knew Paquito wouldn’t wander far, not in his clingy mood. “Inés passed less than two years ago and it’s a tough time, for all who loved her; in different ways. Two years after Fabrizio died, the only reason I got up in the morning was for Giacomo and Enzo. Even then, some mornings, I would haul myself from the shower and Darren would have to brush my hair for me, because I couldn’t raise the energy. Everything I had went into the boys.”
“I’m glad you speak so highly of my only daughter’s husband.”
“Sofía is a lucky girl, and Darren was there for me, even though I never appreciated it until I recovered from grief. I got a job cycling with tourists just for company more than anything. Outside was a small and significant step. I had no choice but to be professional every day.”
“How long had Fabrizio been dead before you met Caya?”
“Almost three years. It was both wonderful and scary at the same time.”
“It is safe to say I won’t find a new love.”
“I said the same thing.”
“I don’t want a new love, besides, I’m 75 years old.”
“Paco, you don’t need a new love to recover, you need yourself.”
“I’m not myself without Inés. Not after 45 years of marriage.”
“All Inés ever wanted was Caya and Sofía, isn’t that right?”
“Inés lived for her children.”
“Then do her a favour and care for them.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Do what you’ve always done, Paco. Sofía needs a lot of space. Support her choices even if you have to bite your tongue. Caya needs you at the ring while he succeeds or fails with the bulls.”
“My son never fails.”
“Then be there to enjoy that, because Caya is struggling to enjoy his success and farewell his career without you. I’m not saying you’ve done anything wrong, and if staying at Rebelión full-time eases your pain, by all means, continue, Paco. I’m just suggesting a small but significant step to recovery or at least acceptance of your grief, just as Darren once did for me. It hurt to hear it at first, but actions helped my recovery.”
Paquito appeared at the doorway to the library after running up and down the hardwood hallway. “Mamá, tengo hambre,” he announced in his little voice.
“You’re hungry? That’s never a surprise. Okay, let’s go and have lunch.”
“I might join you,” Paco said. “I want to see my nietos playing. Plus my son needs tips. The replay of his Seville fight gave me a few ideas on what to improve.”
“I quite agree,” Luna bluffed. “You wouldn’t want the Beltrán name to fall flat in the bullring.”
“Damn right, my girl.”
7
Madrid, España ~ Abril de 2014
Luna didn’t watch where she was going as she dashed down the hallway. “Found them,” she called to Enzo, who waited in the kitchen. In her hands were Enzo’s school shoes. Luna didn’t see the metal pole protruding through the doorway into the living room until she kicked it with bare feet.
“Me cago en la leche!” she swore, the polished shoes dropped onto the pale carpet.
Giacomo looked up from his iPad on the white leather couch, dressed in his navy blazer and shorts, ready for school. “What’s wrong, Mamá?”
“Bloody crap everywhere,” she said as tears ran down her face. Luna stared at the offending object – the metal clothes stand from which Cayetano’s traje de luces hung, ready to go into Miguel’s van.
“That ‘crap’ is €10,000 worth of suits,” Cayetano reminded her as he came down the curved staircase from the bedrooms, and through the wide stair-gate closed for the babies’ safety. “Are you all right?”
Luna groaned and fell down on the couch next to her son. “Apart from a broken foot, I’m fine,” she cringed.
“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Cayetano paid little attention as he checked a box next to the suits, neatly packed manoletinas, his black ballet-like bullfighting shoes.
“Mamá,” Enzo called from the kitchen, “Paquito pulled off the lid on his milk cup and spilled it on the floor.”
Giacomo turned off his iPad and rubbed his mother’s back. “The fun never stops for you, Mamá.”
“But I’m lucky to have such a fine gent like yourself as my son.” The boys used to call her Mummy, New Zealand style, but had changed to the Spanish ‘Mamá’ instead several years ago, as their school friends said to their mothers. Giacomo and Enzo, fully-fledged Spaniards, spoke English with New Zealand accents like Luna. She left Giacomo and headed towards the mess in the kitchen, limping as she went.
“Papá,” Giacomo asked as he watched Cayetano check his suitcase. “What will you do when you retire?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t old people retire?”
“I will retire from fighting in the ring; I will get another job instead.”
“But doing what? Will you still be away all the time?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Cayetano sat on the floor, next to Giacomo’s seat and frowned. “I’m not sure what I will do after I stop fighting. My whole life has been about being, or waiting to be, a bullfighter.”
“Wow, so you will lose who you are.”
“Yes, I guess that’s true.”
“Will you stay home and look after us when Mamá goes to work?”
“What work?”
“With Uncle Darren. I heard them talking about Mamá being with him.”
The sound of the front door opening interrupted Cayetano’s feeling of personal despondency. “I’m here.” Miguel appeared in the living room from the entranceway, Scarlett in his arms. Miguel always liked to look flashy when they travelled, tailored pants and starched shirt, gold bracelets on one arm. Cayetano wore jeans and a T-shirt with Rebelión’s small logo of two swords on his chest. “Look who I found when I came inside,” Miguel added and bounced Scarlett in his arms to her delight.
“Hola, Miguel,” Enzo said as he wandered into the living room in his school uniform, with baby Paquito in front of him. The baby boy wore just a shirt, a nappy and a pair of socks. “Papá,” he continued, “Mamá need you to redress Paquito. He spilled milk and then sat in it.”
“We’ll do it,” Giacomo said and tossed the iPad on the couch. The two boys held their little brother’s hands and headed for the nursery up the stairs.
Miguel handed Scarlett to her father and sat down on the couch. “I’ll get these suits bagged up for you,” he said. “Let’s hope we can fit everything in the vans.”
“Why? I thought we had room.”
The familiar bang of the heavy front door emanated through the cavernous manor, and Paco appeared in the living room of his former home. He gave out a gentle smile but said nothing.
“Papá!” Cayetano felt ge
nuinely surprised to see him. “Why are you here?”
“I thought you could use a little help in Jerez. Jaime is going with you as a manager…”
“Paco,” Luna said as she stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a wet cloth in her hands. “What a surprise.”
“Buenas dias, guapa,” Paco replied and kissed her cheeks good morning. “I’m a last-minute addition to the Jerez team.”
“I am so pleased to hear that,” she said. Paco looked different to his forlorn self, rather well-dressed for the air-conditioned van drive to the deep south of Spain. “Look, I’ve just got to finish cleaning up, give me a minute.”
“Luna, you do whatever you need to do,” Paco replied with a smile.
“I’ll help you, Luna,” Miguel said, and excused himself so father and son could chat.
“I’m fine,” Luna said as she crouched down to continue wiping milk from the grey granite floor tiles, just cool enough to give her sore toes a little relief. “Standard morning stuff, someone spills milk everywhere.”
“How are you, Luna?” Miguel asked as he grabbed another wet cloth.
“You know, the same.”
“Was your check-up with a neurologist in Valencia successful?”
Miguel had been there the day Luna had fallen on the hillside at Escondrijo. Things had been weird between them at the time, but it was all ancient history now. “Nothing to worry about, I’ve made a full recovery at long last.”
“Scarlett looks like a beautiful miniature version of yourself.”
“Flattery will get your everywhere,” she joked and took the wet cloth from Miguel.
“The boys will finish school for the summer soon.”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to that. I have little in common with the families around here I’m afraid to say, so it’s a lonely existence.”
“So you’re still not happy in Madrid?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Luna sighed and wiggled her sore toes. “I’m one very lucky woman. I get to live here and raise my children how I want. I’m home for them 24 hours a day. Mothers all over the country no longer have that luxury. I don’t have the standard worries that most Spaniards have. I don’t know; perhaps the feeling of being an outsider will always persist. Most mothers work, so I’m the lazy one here. At the fancy red carpet parties Cayetano gets invited to, I’m a frumpy housewife.”
Secrets of Spain Trilogy Page 94