Secrets of Spain Trilogy

by Caroline Angus Baker

  Jaime daydreamed about the news of the morning as he polished his saddle. He had oil on a rag, but he rubbed his expensive seat with idle hands. He didn’t bother to look at what he was doing; Jaime’s gaze went through the stable and out over the parched fields in the distance. He thought of the mourners in San Isidro Cathedral in central Madrid. Plain clothes officers had waited for them as they prayed for the souls of those executed. But showing sympathy for terrorists was a crime, punishable by up to twelve years in prison. Fights broke out; men, women, the young and old, cried and fought, many dragged away in handcuffs, plenty attacked by the police. One journalist took a photo of a little girl being dragged into the cells for these alleged crimes.

  The Basque country had been in full lock-down for days. Tens of thousands had protested in Bilbao and other locales, police also using violence to control the angry population. People wanted to take on the military, but it had been police who had committed the executions. The whole country had gone to hell, but Rebelión, quiet near the once bloody banks of the Jarama River, rolled along just the same.

  Almost the same. For a week now, Alazne had been at Rebelión. Once José found out she was the bastard child of his old friend Fermín Belasco in Valencia, he had insisted she stay. Alazne put on no airs or graces; she seemed defiant, almost proud of being the illegitimate child of a prostitute and the Guardia Civil officer who stopped by the brothel. Alazne seemed determined to rise from her place in life, and José admired her for it. Little did José know of her less-than-glowing stints in jail, defying the government he revered so much, and God knows what else.

  “What are you doing, boy?”

  Jaime glanced up to see his father. José, dressed in his ringside clothes of beige trousers and a crisp white shirt, a challenge in this climate and level of dust, stood with his hands on his hips. José never lost his threatening posture brought on from his time as a Guardia Civil. “I am readying my gear to go into the paddocks,” Jaime said. “Like you asked.”

  “I asked you to water the bulls almost an hour ago!”

  “My saddle needed attention.” Jaime gestured to his saddle on the wooden table before him and hoped to placate his father.

  José made a gruff sound as he inspected Jaime’s lacklustre polishing. “Do it later, Jaime. Check the bulls in paddock sixteen now. You know you cannot check on bulls…”

  “On foot, yes I know,” Jaime finished for José. Bulls destined for the bullring could never come into contact with a man on foot in their paddock. When they charged through the gate of fear into the bullring, it had to be the first time the beast confronted a man. Until then, all the bulls were fed, exercised and cared for by men on horseback.

  “I’m going to Madrid,” José announced. “Tomorrow.”

  “Is that because Franco is giving a speech in Plaza de Oriente?”

  “Indeed. Anyone who wishes to go and support our Caudillo is welcome to join me. I am taking the girl, Alazne, to Madrid.”

  “What? Padre, no…”

  “Why not? The girl is the daughter of one of my friends in Valencia. A man who served his country.”

  Alazne would probably somehow throw a homemade bomb at Franco, given a fraction of a chance. “I thought you frowned on illegitimate children.”

  “My partner, Fermín, got cut down in his prime.”

  “Would he have married the prostitute who bore his child?”

  “Jaime, I know you don’t like Alazne, and that’s fine. But she has been labouring here at Rebelión for a week for free, and I am rewarding her with a free ride to Madrid. What she does after that is her business.”

  “Oh, I see. She’s leaving.” That struck Jaime; he had avoided Alazne all week. Her presence was odd; the country seemed caught in a shit-storm and rather than fighting, Alazne was hiding. “May I come to Madrid? Is Paco going?”

  “Paco? No, he has six fights left this season, and he needs to stay quiet, focused and ready to perform. Pedro, of course, cannot tolerate the crowds and fighting in Madrid at the moment, and Luis mumbled something about being too busy. Yes, Jaime, it would be a pleasure to take you with me. We can stop by and see my old friends.”

  Terrific, Franco-loving Brigada Especial members. But curiosity about the outside world was getting to Jaime. “Gracias, Padre, sería un placer.”

  “A pleasure? Yes it will be an honour to spend time with these men.”

  “I shall go and check the bulls in paddock sixteen now.”

  “Take Alazne with you.”

  “What? Why, Padre?”

  “Alazne likes you.”

  “I doubt it, Padre. Besides, what difference does it make? I have to marry Isadora Núñez. You said so yourself. You arranged it with her father.”

  “Take the girl riding on her last day here. I don’t need to explain to you why I would help the daughter of a friend, bastard or not. Be nice to the girl. Alazne means no harm.”

  ~~~

  Jaime sat atop his horse, a dark chestnut beauty named Seguro, named after the animal’s confidence. The reins rested loose in his hands, the animal calm below him. Jaime watched over eighteen animals in the paddock, green, unlike the land around the area cultivated for the lucky bulls. The silence was almost deafening, strange as the notion seemed. Away from the main house and the smaller places built for staff, Spain was still, the plains before Jaime nothing but isolation and dust.

  “What did I do?” Alazne muttered behind him.

  Jaime watched Alazne struggle with her horse, an older animal named Suerte, though luck didn’t look on Alazne’s side. She clearly had little in the way of riding experience. “Padre told me that you could ride,” Jaime said as he steered Seguro in her direction.

  “My grandmother had a donkey. I figured it wouldn’t be much harder to ride a horse.”

  Jaime gently took the reins from Alazne. Suerte was an old animal which Inés took riding on occasion. “I’m surprised you got this far. I’ll lead you back to the house.”

  “My brave Jaime-boy,” Alazne teased.

  “Don’t start.”

  “You’ve been avoiding me all week.”

  “You’re a stranger hanging around my home,” Jaime said, his voice monotone. “My father may like you. But we are not friends.”

  “Hey, I slept in the labourers’ house away from you. Why can’t we be friends?”

  Jaime frowned and looked up from the reins to Alazne, her blonde hair so bright in the overhead sunshine. She smiled, but her light brown eyes told Jaime she was looking to stir up trouble. “Why are you here? Spain is foaming at the mouth with anger, and you, one of the angriest people I’ve ever met, are working on a farm in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I want to be on the front line. But I can’t. You got me out of jail, and I am lucky, I am grateful. I’m wanted on charges of enticing rebellion in public and sympathising with terrorists. Now, as the country rises up against Franco and the regime, if I get caught again, no sweet talking will get me out of the cells.”

  “But knowing José Morales Ruiz will help you. So you came here to get my father on your side?”

  “Your father will not help me if I get caught. All he talks about is his love for Franco. I’m pleased that coincidence brought me into the path of a man sympathetic to my asshole father. José has helped me lie low for a week. But tomorrow I will jump into Madrid again. If there is nothing for me there, I will find a way to Valencia, to see my friend, Apolinar. I go wherever the call takes me.”

  “What call?”

  “The call to save Spain. I’m no fan of violence, but I’m sick of being the one hurt. Maybe I need to hurt someone else.”

  “That’s no way to live.”

  “Can I get off the horse now?”

  “God no,” Jaime exclaimed. “We are not allowed on foot in the paddock with the bulls. The bulls must be untarnished before a fight. You shouldn’t be here. Anyway, they can be aggressive beasts, even out here while they’re eating and enjoying the high life.”
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  “But the bulls are all the way over there.” Alazne pointed to the bulls, grazing in peace on the far side of the paddock. “Please, I need to stretch my legs.”

  Jaime led her horse to the gate and unlatched it. Suerte passed through the gap; the horse could lead even the most inexperienced rider all the way home. Jaime carried on through the next paddock to a lone tree, its dry leaves just enough for a little shade. Alazne fell from the horse with great satisfaction. Jaime tied up the pair of horses and sat with Alazne nearby as she went through his bag for a drink.

  “Help yourself,” Jaime joked as she gulped from the bottle.

  “With pleasure,” she replied and wiped the water from her lips.

  “How did you become a terrorist?” Jaime asked as he brushed dust from his hands.

  “I’m not a terrorist,” Alazne laughed. “Standing up for your country and your rights does not make you a terrorist. Being an anarchist doesn’t make you a terrorist.”

  “You don’t go down the legal route in defying the government though, do you?”

  “Thanks the laws of this country, doing anything legal, and doing what’s right, are not compatible.”

  “What types of activities have you been involved with so far?”

  “It started simply,” Alazne shrugged and handed Jaime his water bottle. “I attended protests, riots. I learned to make Molotov cocktails, though I threw them at buildings, cars, not people. All these police shootings over the past year, they are a result of things getting out of hand. Some were specific murders, but usually people shoot officers while trying to flee violence. Of course, the papers don’t reflect that aspect of the story.”

  “But you paint terrorist groups as innocents. That isn’t true either.”

  “No, I know. Now the ETA and FRAP men have been killed, expect reprisal killings. Expect more policemen to get killed. Everyday people are taking to the streets, not just ‘terrorists’. No doubt the ultra-right secret police will now start killing. Nothing good can come of these executions. They are acts carried out by a frail old man losing his grip on his country. Spain is ready to move forward without Franco.”

  “What does that mean for you?”

  “I don’t know, Jaime-boy.” Alazne sighed and just looked out over the open plains of Rebelión. “Have you ever been with a woman?”

  “That’s an old-fashioned expression.”

  “Sometimes I like to be old-fashioned.”

  “I have had sex with women.”

  “Young, rich, handsome, it’s a silly question.”

  “Why ask?”

  Alazne shrugged and turned her gaze to the man next to her. “Curiosity, I suppose. Why bust me from prison?”

  “It was Luis’ idea to get Inmaculada released. I saw your name on the list and did it for the thrill of disobeying my father.”

  “I should thank your desire to have a thrill now and then.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You would be the first guy I’ve met to say that. You didn’t even ask for a blowjob in return.”

  “Why would I?”

  Alazne lowered her eyes to the dust beneath the pair. “How do you think we get food and supplies in prison? How do you think I get rides around the country when I have no money?”

  “You’re a whore?”

  “No! Fuck, no. I swore I would never become my mother. But before you know it, a man in a uniform is shoving himself in your mouth, and you can’t do anything because he holds all the power. Spain isn’t changing fast enough for people like me.”

  “If you’re asking me about sex because you think I expect something…”

  “I don’t find you suspicious, Jaime-boy. I wouldn’t be out here with you if I thought you were threatening. I have long assumed my virginity would be lost to some guy taking what he wanted, but I never thought would be a good man like you. That’s why I like you.”

  Jaime shook his head with surprise. “You do?”

  “Do you think I would hide out on any old farm?”

  “Well, having my father’s friend as your father helps your cause.”

  “That was a coincidence when I told José of my father’s name; I never suspected he would know Fermín. We all met by pure accident. But you are engaged to Isadora.”

  “I am.”

  “Pity that Luis is in love with Isadora.”

  “What?”

  “Isadora came by with her mother yesterday. You didn’t even go inside to see her. Luis couldn’t get inside fast enough.”

  “That means nothing.”

  “It means you are marrying the girl your brother lusts after - deeply.”

  “Life is full of disappointments,” Jaime sighed.

  “Yeah, for some of us. How long does it take for you to check the paddocks, Jaime-boy?”

  “As long as I want it to take.”

  “Can I ask a favour?”

  “Have you not taken enough liberties here at Rebelión already?”

  “Perhaps. I will get caught by the police at some point. I don’t want my first full-on sexual experience to be with a guard, like poor Inmaculada.”

  “They raped her?”

  “You bet they did. She has no voice, so she is the perfect victim. I am much the same; there are plenty of us to torture.”

  “So what favour do you want? How can I help you?”

  “Show me what sex is like when both people want it.”

  Jaime struggled to find any words as Alazne leaned over him. She wasn’t looking for a simple favour; she had every intention of seducing him from the moment they left the main house. That had become obvious by the way she looked at him. Innocent little girl? No way.

  The first kiss seemed awkward, but Alazne’s warm lips on his made all the tension inside Jaime ignite in a moment. He took the initiative from Alazne and laid her down on the dirt under the old tree. No one would be anywhere for miles; they felt as if they had the whole of Spain to themselves. And that’s precisely what they needed, one lonely day at Rebelión.

  18

  Valencia, España ~ Mayo de 2014

  “I can’t believe the silence.”

  Luna glanced at Alysa as they sat together on the rocky earth. Yellow dust covered their jeans, their shoes, their hands. Giacomo and Enzo kicking up a storm didn’t help. Paquito and Scarlett had dust in their curly black hair as they sat next to their mother.

  “You mean the silence when my children aren’t around,” Luna joked.

  The Mediterranean twinkled in the distance, and the sun reflected off the tall modern buildings of Valencia thirty kilometres down the mountains of the Sierra Calderona. The pines, which trailed along the hillside dotted with small towns, sat still in the windless summer air; the smell of their needles everywhere. Giacomo and Enzo ran free, their little siblings watching them with squeals of excitement on a Saturday afternoon in the country.

  Escondrijo enjoyed a stunning silence. The old stone house, its grey façade pocked by time and decay, sat as empty and as unloved as when Alejandro Beltrán had lived and died here. In the five years since he passed away, Luna had made sure the house was safe and structurally sound; the battered terracotta roof tiles repaired or replaced. In a fit of energy, the interior was prepared with new roof beams and interior walls and staircases got built. But now, nothing but the silence of Escondrijo accompanied the bodies that lay undisturbed beneath the yellow dust, blue heather flowers and pink blossoming almond trees.

  “We are out at Rebelión all the time, but there isn’t a sense of isolation there,” Sofía said next to the pair. She brushed her dark hair behind her ear, and she glanced around the yard area before the enormous house. “Perhaps it’s because I’m used to Rebelión.”

  “No, there are people, animals, cars and trucks coming and going to Rebelión,” Alysa said and rubbed her shoe in the dust, fiddling with loose stones. “Escondrijo is so isolated from the world. It’s like being in an enclosed bubble in the wilderness. It’s amazing to think t
here are towns just five kilometres away. The unsealed roads, the trees which hide all signs of life…”

  “That’s why it’s a beautiful place to be buried.” Sofía stood up and rubbed the dust from her pants and squinted in the sun. “My grandmother is buried here. How amazing.”

  Luna gestured toward the pink almond trees. “The graves are marked, but only just. The purple ribbon on the tree is my grandfather, Cayetano. The red ribbon is Sofía Perez, your grandmother. The green ribbon is baby Gorka.”

  “It’s incredible you would even find them here,” Alysa commented.

  “Which brings me to the next problem,” Luna sighed. “Do I leave their bodies here, in peace and quiet, yet forgotten? Or do I bury them in a cemetery? Alejandro Beltrán pined for Sofía his whole life, living next to where she was buried, while his sister raised Paco for him in Madrid.”

  “Alejandro also lived next to the body of Cayetano Ortega, the best friend whom he murdered,” Alysa said. “That is creepy.”

  “That is messed up,” Sofía agreed.

  Scarlett wandered over and sat down on her mother’s knee. Luna brushed the dust from her daughter’s hair and kissed her forehead. The other three boys were running around the pine trees by the house, far from the dangerous cliffs. “I feel as if their souls have already found rest, but leaving them here? I’m not sure.”

  “Who makes that decision?” Alysa asked.

  “Me. Escondrijo is in my name. Cayetano Ortega is my grandfather. However, Sofía Perez is Paco’s biological mother. Paco laid his ‘mother’ Luna to rest fifty years ago.”

  “Plus, since Inés died…” Alysa added.

  “Papá has had enough death,” Sofía said. “So have I.”

  “Trust me, so have I,” Luna added, and looked down at her daughter, who played with her mother’s earring.