“Poverty inspires ingenuity,” Alazne said and rubbed her arm where Jaime had pulled and pushed her. “When I was young, my mother’s customers would drop their pants and I would fish the change from their pockets. These days, I can always figure out a way to make money, hitch a ride. A poor girl looking to catch a glimpse of Paco Beltrán can pick up a ride on the back of a truck.”
“Dangerous. Although, you’re the type I wouldn’t want to see in a dark alley. Are you alone?”
“Oh no, there are other people here in town with the same ideals as me. People like me are never short of a place to stay. Even small towns have those who harbour the desire for revolution.”
“I just busted you out of jail and you’re looking to hurt people!”
“No! Just highlight the injustice of those in prison! We are here to protest for their release!”
“Oh sure, Franco will just bend over and change the rules for you, Alazne. That will happen if you and your anarchist friends threaten the mayor of a small town at the local fiesta. I have heard the saying that blondes are stupid, but you…”
Alazne slapped Jaime hard across the face. He had to resist the urge to punch the girl. “We don’t all have powerful families to do whatever we want. We don’t all have famous family members, drawing the crowds and distracting them from more important issues going on in their town. Why do you think the town petitioned Paco Beltrán here for the fiesta? Do you think a tiny town, miles from anywhere, had the funds to have ‘El Potente’ Beltrán appear at the local fights? Of course not. The government paid, to show Hoy de Manzanares in a favourable light and hope like hell that no one cares about the impending executions here. People are about to garrotted, Jaime-boy, and the Movimiento have paid your clever brother-in-law to be the news in town, so they can bury the real facts.”
Jaime stepped away from Alazne and looked at the crowd, still swirling around Paco as he signed autographs and posed for pictures. The Hoy de Manzanares booking had been odd; José said so at the time. Small towns requested Paco’s attendance all the time; the promoters promised bulls bred for Paco’s fighting style, but the pay-packets were always tiny. Paco liked to oblige sometimes, but he was a man who took on the afternoon of responsibility in the greatest rings and fiestas in Spain. But this year, Hoy de Manzanares had been rich enough for Paco.
“It is nice to see you, though,” Alazne said.
The words distracted Jaime’s thoughts, and he glanced back the girl. “See me? Why?”
Alazne shrugged. “You busted me from prison, and I never said thank you. I won’t hurt your brother, Jaime-boy.”
“You could hurt his reputation, though.”
“Must be nice to have a good reputation.”
“Good reputations are hard work. Is your hair naturally blonde?”
“That’s an interesting way to chat up a girl,” Alazne laughed. “Guys try to buy me a drink first.”
“It was just a question.” Of all the girls in the plaza, Alazne was the one who caught Jaime’s eye, because she was a threat, though a beautiful one.
“Thank you for getting me out of jail. I don’t know why they relented and let me go. I didn’t get a hearing or anything; I was just tossed a dress and thrown out on the street, so I ran while I had the chance.” Alazne’s eyes were now on her target, the fat mayor, getting forgotten in the crowd as everyone wanted to see Paco.
“The guard at the desk in Valencia, he wanted to leave for the day,” Jaime shrugged.
“No matter; good name dropping or a good luck, I never thought anyone would come to speak of my good character. My friends wouldn’t go near the prison, for their safety. You mentioned the other girl was in pain. Was she tortured?”
“By the look of her, I would say yes. Were you?” Jaime swallowed hard as he spoke.
Alazne nodded as she pulled a packet of cigarettes from her back pocket. “You bet. No one gets out of jail without a beating. You got a light?”
Jaime pulled a packet of matches from inside his jacket pocket. He was sweating through his expensive navy jacket and felt desperate to change. He watched Alazne light her cigarette and toss the match on the cobbles. She blew a mouthful of smoke in his direction and offered a puff. He shook his head in reply.
“You have thwarted my plans tonight, Jaime-boy,” Alazne said as she watched the sky turn to darkness.
“What was your plan, make a scene and get thrown in prison again?”
“Yes, but at least I would be in the right town for revolution this time. I will come up with a new plan.”
“If I leave you, Alazne, how do I know you won’t just stalk through the crowd and assault the mayor? I should find a Guardia Civil guard to take you away. Whether the guy is standing next to Paco or not makes no difference. Paco’s name will still hit the papers in a bad way tomorrow.”
“You must stay with me all night,” Alazne said with a grin and wide brown eyes. “Should you get back to playing bodyguard?”
“Don’t tease; I caught you, didn’t I?”
Alazne giggled and took another drag on her cigarette. “We have nothing in common, Jaime-boy, that’s why you like me so much.”
“Who said I like you?”
“I’ve been in the hands of men who don’t like me. You don’t touch a woman with evil in your veins. Your father, maybe he does, but not you. You don’t look like your father. Your family is from the south?”
“No, Madrileños through and through. None of my brothers look like my parents, that’s just how it is.”
“Is your fancy bull breeding farm near here?”
“No, we are about fifty kilometres east of Madrid, about ten kilometres north of the village of Corpa, were a few hundred people live. Rebelión is pretty isolated among the olives.”
“I’ll know where to come if I need to hide from the police.”
“I thought Valencia was your hide-out, though, you’ve burned those bridges.”
“Never found my father’s grave there. He was a Guardia Civil, so it’s time I stopped looking. I don’t want to know the truth. I’m a mistake, a stain that should have gotten caught on the sheets.”
Jaime didn’t know what to say. He had grown up surrounded by love; family was everything to him. But he knew his father could be a cruel man; he would beat Jaime and Luis bloody if he ever found out about the prison incident in Valencia. “Just because things have been bad in the past doesn’t mean you need to annihilate your future with reckless actions.”
“Who said I was doing such a thing?” Alazne tossed her cigarette on the cobbles and stomped on it. “I’m fighting for a better Spain, not profiting from its engorged, evil, soul.”
“Like me, you mean.”
“Thanks for getting me out of jail, Jaime-boy; I hope it gave your upper-class life the cheap thrill it needed.” Alazne broke away from the conversation and scarpered. Jaime saw her disappear back into the crowd and across the plaza in under a minute. She would be in jail in no time.
11
Madrid, España ~ Mayo de 2014
“Have you ever wondered what you would do if a child turned up on your doorstep, claiming to be yours?”
Cayetano narrowed his eyes and glanced at Darren, who sat in the lounger next to him. The pair had their feet up in the plush outdoor loungers, a glass of Rioja in hand. But the atmosphere was far from comfortable; every word spoken felt stiff, awkward, mostly simple pleasantries. Cayetano squinted at Darren, whose expression lay hidden behind sunglasses. The early summer sun beat down on the pair in the backyard of the La Moraleja manor. The privacy provided by the wide yard, surrounded by tall pine trees, meant Cayetano could relax for the first time in weeks. With no fights for a few days, he could rest and enjoy the glowing reviews of the past few performances. His sister’s husband, back from Italy, didn’t make relaxing any easier. Cayetano and Darren would never be friends. Even the warm sun wouldn’t take the chill off the odd pairing.
“Is there something you need to confess?” Cayeta
no replied and shut his eyes in the sunshine. “Is Sofía going to open the door one day and find some 20-year-old bearing your resemblance?”
“It terrifies me that I’m old enough to have a child that age. No, it happened to a friend; one night in a French hotel years ago has come back to haunt him.”
“A smart man takes special care,” Cayetano said and sipped his wine. “Anyway, apart from a year in South America, I’ve had my father tag along almost every trip I’ve ever taken. That’s contraception right there.”
Darren chuckled and put his wine on the cobbles underneath his long beige seat. “What are the odds of Paco ever liking me?”
“About the same as me liking you.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“You bet.”
“How long does it take Luna and Sofía to do something in the house?”
Cayetano opened his eyes and watched Paquito and Scarlett in their sandpit. Giacomo and Enzo were climbing a tree, engrossed in conversation. “The girls may have hoped if they left us alone long enough, we would become friends.”
“Neither of us are throwing punches, that’s a good start.”
Cayetano nodded once and sipped his wine again. “I suppose I should say congratulations for your third place in the Giro d’Italia.”
“Thanks. At my age, being on the podium in any position is a triumph.”
“Looking forward to retirement?”
“I guess,” Darren sighed. “Now it’s my last year, I feel nostalgic about my career. I’ll miss the peloton; I’ll miss the crowds, the excitement. But I won’t miss the pain, the shitty hotel rooms and the constant travelling. But since it’s my last year, my mind makes everything rose-tinted.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I know it’s the right time to retire, but it draws a line in the sand regarding my life. I’m not young anymore; my sports days are done. Now I’ll become a coach, a manager. I’ve never looked beyond my cycling career, and now… Now, I will lose everything I know.” Darren adjusted his dark sunglasses, crossed his feet and sighed.
“You’re speaking my language,” Cayetano said. “There are photos of my father, cape in one hand while a bull passes him, me in his other arm. Forty-five years I’ve been living and breathing bullfighting. I have cemented myself in the life I always wanted, and now I will fade, like so many before me.”
“There aren’t many bullfighters who can maintain a career, are there?”
“No, there are about forty of us who regularly work. I perform in double the number of fights of many others. Some hold down other jobs; one guy is a school teacher by day. God sent my family luck, and we took it with palms outstretched. We are a legacy built on poverty, my father and I.”
“That’s why you’re so popular. The other fighters seem to be from famous families, whereas it’s just you and your father from the Beltráns.”
“All dynasties have to start somewhere.”
“And now you’re retiring and letting it all go; all your work, all Paco’s work.”
“Don’t remind me. My parents and grandparents wanted me to breed and secure the legacy with a son.”
“And you have now. Just a bit late.”
“There’s a magazine that wants to do a photo shoot, me holding the twins, one at time, obviously, while I do passes with a bull in the Rebelión ring. What are the chances of Luna agreeing to that?”
“Zero,” Darren laughed. “Let her babies into the bullring? Never.”
“I’m not sure how Papá ever convinced Mamá to let me into the ring young.”
“Because being in the ring was your duty, even as a baby.”
“True.” Cayetano gulped the last of his wine and turned to see if Luna was in sight. Nope. The doors into the living room and kitchen were wide open, but neither his wife nor his sister were nearby.
“Just a tip,” Darren said and sat up on his lounger, his feet on the warm grey cobbles. “If you have something to look forward to post-retirement, it makes it easier. I am focusing on what comes next, rather than worrying about what I’ll miss.”
“That’s fine for you; a cycling career gets prolonged with coaching.”
“And bullfighting can’t?”
“Good bullfighters make bad teachers; we exist on instinct.”
“What about breeding?”
“Luna has had four children. The last two were a miracle.”
Darren snorted with laughter. “I meant bull breeding!”
“I know you did,” Cayetano smiled.
“Selective breeding for fighting bulls has been going on for 300 years. You could work on your farm’s bulls.”
“Has Paco been trying to you convert you into a bullfighting fan?”
“Yep. I listen so Paco will like me.”
“You married his daughter, so he will like you. You’ll get there, in about twenty years.”
“Perhaps Paco is expecting me to provide the next bullfighter of the family, with Sofía.”
“No, Papá wouldn’t do that. He knows how hard Sofía’s miscarriage was years ago. Paco expects nothing from Sofía. She made it clear when she married you – no kids.”
“I know, and I don’t mind. I can swing in and out with my godchildren, and that is enough for me. Giacomo and Enzo are great kids, and I do poor Fabrizio a favour every time I encourage their riding.”
Cayetano was a long way from liking the fact that Darren James, former romantic competitor for Luna, was the children’s godfather. But the situation couldn’t be changed. When Darren admitted drug use with Fabrizio during the 2004 Tour de France, Cayetano hoped he had seen the last of Darren. But no, not only did his sister fall for the Australian champion, but Luna couldn’t do without her best friend, and forgave Darren… slowly. Time moved on, feelings changed… But Cayetano would always need to watch Darren.
“What’s the name of that thing, where a fake bull head is mounted on a wheel, so you can practice with a bullfighting cape without using an animal?”
“Carretón,” rolled off Cayetano’s tongue.
“Can I have a turn one day, at Rebelión?”
“Sure, we have amateur hour when writers or TV guys turn up, wanting to film me or whatever. We give them a turn.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Hey, once you retire from cycling, you won’t be a ‘pro’ anything.”
“Neither will you, Beltrán.”
Cayetano couldn’t help but chuckle. Darren was very much on the same page as him while coping with retirement. “This new cycling team you plan on managing, will it be in Valencia?”
“I will base it out of Valencia, but I will travel a lot, and the riders can live wherever they like to train. In this age, everyone can do whatever they like, and upload results to the performance site. No need to all work together. There will be training camps, but we don’t need to live together.”
“So if Luna helped you out, she could live in Madrid.”
“She could. Has it ever occurred to you that Luna doesn’t want to live in Madrid?”
“I know what my wife wants, but I have to be in Madrid and at Rebelión.”
“But will you a year from now?”
“I will still be the head of the family and my uncles can’t run Rebelión forever. My father is the boss, and I need to take over.”
“Do you want to take over?”
“I’m a bullfighter. What I want doesn’t matter, Darren. It never has.”
“Do you need to live in Madrid, Cayetano? Or is it a habit?”
“I’m a Madrileño, where else would I live?”
“Rebelión is fifty kilometres from La Moraleja. Once you aren’t fighting anymore, why live in Madrid? I know it’s the home of bullfighting, but still…”
“I’ve lived here my whole life. Either here in this house or in apartments in Madrid.”
“But what do you have here in Madrid?”
“My family! My life!”
“Paco lives at Rebelión now. I know
your cousins are still here, but Sofía is in Valencia with me. Luna would go home to Valencia in a moment.”
“You just said Luna doesn’t need to be in Valencia.”
“Never mind what Luna needs, it’s what she wants.”
“Don’t lecture me on keeping Luna happy, Darren. Don’t make me drown you in the pool in front of my children.”
“Lulu is a people pleaser.”
“Fuck off. Luna is more than a people pleaser. If Luna needed something, she would say so, not stay silent to keep the peace. What about Sofía? You should concentrate on keeping Sofía in line.”
“I have as much of a chance of keeping Sofía ‘in line’ as you put it, as you have of ‘controlling’ Lulu’s needs.”
“I appreciate that my sister is such a good friend to Luna, and that Sofía helps with the children in my absence. I’m very grateful. But those women feed off one another. Luna and Sofía are always up to something together.”
“I thought you would be thrilled that your wife and sister are so close.”
“I am, but all these protests, occupation movements and everything else they get into in our absence. The fine for protesting can be up to €30,000. Someone could get hurt. Now Sofía has decided she wants to get into politics and help the unemployed and the homeless. I applaud it; I do. But Luna will want the same things as Sofía.”
“That’s bad because…?”
“It’s not bad. Luna has the historical memory association work already. But as long as Luna wants to do things in Valencia, the longer it will take for her to settle into life in Madrid. I’m thinking of Luna’s happiness, not trying to hold her back from anything.”
“Lulu has lived in Madrid for four years. She will never like it now. Do you think we should stop Sofía and Lulu for fighting for their beliefs?”
“You saw Luna in hospital after her accident at Escondrijo. Whether we accept it or not, Luna has changed. I feel protective of her now, more than ever. Four years on and she still remembers nothing about her accident when she cracked her skull. Recovery took a year, and she will have to be careful forever.”
Secrets of Spain Trilogy Page 99