“Give him time. He will recall stories from his mother, about when she was young in Cuenca. Now, he is sitting in her childhood home. Hell, he got conceived in that house. Your father has had a tough five years, finding out he got adopted within the family, and your mother’s stroke.”
“Papá wanted to come here,” Cayetano shrugged. “He is ready. When we married here in 2010, he wasn’t ready. We shouldn’t worry about Papá. He’s okay.”
Luna watched her three sons pirouette in the dust on the bottom floor of the house, and Paquito coughed. “Look what the boys found on the third floor.”
Cayetano took Scarlett’s identification book from Luna and examined it. “That’s one hell of a find.”
“I can assume she lived on the third floor and the attic and Cayetano slept on the second floor.”
“Well, until the night your father got conceived.”
“No, that happened in a tent outside Requena one lonely night at Christmas.”
“Oh yes, wine country, I can see how that happened!”
Luna chuckled and brushed her daughter’s curly black hair back from her face, where her green hairpin had come undone.
“What is the place like?” Cayetano asked and looked around the room.
“Three blank levels, just like this one. An attic on the fourth floor.”
“Could be a nice little home.”
“Water, electricity, walls, floors, and a kitchen and bathroom would help!”
“Remember what you were saying about the Cuenca bullring, needing a sponsor? Rebelión could be the sponsor. Rename the ring after our grandfathers, and we could bring these places back to life.”
“Wow, that’s fabulous, but you said you wanted to stay in the city after retirement.”
“We could renovate these places and have other people live here. Unless you want to keep them as is…”
“It’s an odd shrine for our families.”
“We could renovate one, get someone to live here and work at the bullring. Eduardo, Elena, and their girls, perhaps.”
“Just move your cousin to Cuenca, why don’t you?”
“Hey, Eduardo would love to run a bullring after he retires as my banderillero.”
Paco appeared in the doorway with a tired smile. “You could make a lot of money renovating these places, Luna. That one across the road; you could fix it up and rent it out to people on holiday like you do with your Valencian apartment. Make a tidy sum with that view.”
“But it’s the Beltrán family home.”
“It would still be our family home, just without the sad interior. No one has set foot in that home for over seventy years. I bet it got filled with deplorable memories, filled with sadness. The guts should be ripped from the place and changed.”
“This one too,” Luna said and looked at the dodgy ceiling. “There is nothing here.”
“Other than this.” Cayetano handed Paco the identification booklet.
“Dios,” Paco muttered under his breath. “Yes, rip these places up and make them new homes. One for yourselves and the other for another family, maybe Eduardo, like I heard you suggest.”
“Are you sure, Paco?” Luna squinted. “I feel protective of them, and I’ve been inside for five minutes.”
“Had the war not happened, maybe our families would have lived here their whole lives if they could have afforded it,” Paco said with a smile. “Let’s make them homes again.”
“And buy into the bullring,” Cayetano said. “It’s not an offer that comes along too often. The ring is just two kilometres from here.”
Paco nodded with enthusiasm. “Luna, one more thing.”
“Anything, Paco.”
“Your suggestion of getting Cayetano Ortega and Sofía Perez’s bodies removed from Escondrijo and bring them to Madrid with my mother and wife – let’s go ahead right away. We’ll bury Alejandro Beltrán’s ashes there, too. Scarlett Montgomery may be buried in New Zealand, but the rest of the clan can be together. How soon can it be done?”
“I’ll call Jorge and see what he can do. I’ll try to schedule a dig between bullfights.”
“Are you sure you want this, Papá?” Cayetano asked as Paquito wandered to his father for a hug.
“Yes, let’s move on now. Finish that place of yours at Escondrijo and live there, holiday there, whatever, without ghosts buried in the front garden. Make these homes new again. We are the current Beltráns; we make the rules.”
26
Madrid, España ~ Octobre de 1975
Jaime wiped his hands on a rag as he strode into the barn not too far from Rebelión’s main house. The old building had been restored along with the home and was wide and tall, though just used for storage and got referred to as Luis’ space. Jaime’s younger brother spent almost all of his time at Rebelión, rarely travelling with Paco around the country, and preferred life in solitude on the family farm. The barn was Luis’ domain, who always knew where to find something among the masses of equipment Rebelión amassed over the years.
“Luis,” Jaime called out as he continued to rub motorbike grease from his fingers. He couldn’t see his brother, but Luis was somewhere in the barn. “Luis, you won’t believe what Padre heard on the radio just now. Franco has gone and had a heart attack. Though, after seeing him in Madrid a few weeks ago, he already looked dead. Maybe all the drama around the country will die down with Franco ill.” Jaime paused; he still hadn’t heard Luis say anything. “Luis, are you here? Padre said you were in here, repairing the…”
Jaime paused; a murmur. Luis was no doubt busy with one of his projects. Jaime headed down the dirty path between boxes, machine parts, the tractor, hay bailed high. “Where are you, Luis? You need to hurry up; we are having Paco’s end of year celebration dinner at eight. Shit, the Zaragoza fight yesterday was a pain in the ass. So glad to be home…”
There was Luis, with his pants down. Among the hay, a few bales high, lay Luis away from prying eyes. Blankets rested on the hay, so it was a regular spot for Luis. Jaime spun away before he could see the face of the girl Luis was so enthusiastic about screwing in his hideaway. “Jesus Christ,” Jaime swore as he looked anywhere but at his brother midway through quick sex. “Luis, I didn’t know you had it in you! Well, it’s in someone else right now!” Jaime chuckled as his own joke.
“Very funny,” Luis shot back from behind the stack of hay. Jaime heard his brother fumbling, presumably getting dressed. “Why can’t you just fuck off?”
“Because I need all the details of this tryst before I share with Pedro and Paco at dinner, that’s why!”
Luis appeared, still shirtless, but with his jeans on again. Sweat poured from Luis, despite the October weather being chilly at best. Luis tried to smooth his jet-black hair and wiped hay from his caramel coloured skin. “Jaime, you need to leave,” he said through laboured breaths.
“Fuck, you were going at her,” Jaime mumbled and elbowed his brother. “Who is she?”
“She can hear you.”
“I don’t care. I assumed you were lifting something heavy, not fucking the life from someone. Who is in there?”
“Does it matter? Do I ask the names of the girls you screw?”
“No, but that’s because you’re an innocent country boy. Luis, I’m so proud.”
From around the corner of the hay appeared Isadora. Her long brown hair had worked loose from its braid, and hay stuck to her pale blouse, which needed to be tucked into her wide-leg jeans. Her eyes stared wide with fear, her cheeks flushed.
“You don’t need to say anything, Isi,” Luis said.
“Isi,” Jaime repeated. “Isadora, my Isadora.”
“I’ve never been yours,” Isadora said, her voice meek. She was a beautiful girl, just sixteen, but far from the innocent mouse Jaime thought her to be.
“I love Isi, I always have,” Luis said.
“What you do in the barn isn’t love,” Jaime replied.
“I should go,” Isadora said and pushed past bo
th brothers.
“Let me take you home,” Luis called to her. “Isi, you can’t walk all the way home to Colinas from here. Not in the dark.”
“How did she get here from Colinas farm?” Jaime asked.
“I rode to a spot where we meet.”
“And you bring her here for sex? That’s bold, Luis.”
“No one ever comes here. Everyone assumes I’m the simpleton of the family who works in the barn.”
“We assumed you love Rebelión. We assumed you loved your work. Now I find out your work is fucking the girl from the farm next door! Incredible! The only knob you’ve been turning out here is the one between your legs! How long has this been going on with Isadora?”
“About two years.”
“Two years? Luis, she’s only sixteen now!”
“You’ve been planning to marry her for that long! Isi is of legal age, has been the entire time.”
“You’re lucky she isn’t pregnant.”
“I have condoms.”
“Where did you get those?”
“Paco procured them from the city. Paco has kept this secret for years. He helped Pedro marry Jovana and he helps Isi and me. We can all count on Paco. I have to take Isi home; she can’t walk that far in the dark on her own.”
“What are you afraid of, that a man will stick his dick in her? That’s your job!”
Luis took off without a word, and Jaime shook his head. All that worry about marrying Isadora, and here was salvation! José wouldn’t allow Jaime to marry a girl without her honour intact. When Pedro had insisted on marrying Jovana last year, Pedro had to go to great lengths to promise José that Jovana’s virtue was unsullied. It was because of Jovana’s careful nursing of Pedro, after the Cafetería Rolando bombing, and her agreement to give up work and become a wife at Rebelión, that saved the relationship for Pedro. Now, Jaime was off the hook with Isadora.
Jaime rushed back to the house to change for dinner. Pedro and Paco needed the gossip before Luis got back, so they could all have a good laugh about it. Seeing Luis having sex wasn’t a pretty sight; but it made a good joke. Going on about seeing his dark-coloured ass bouncing around on the neighbour’s daughter would make for a good laugh for a while to come.
Consuela met her son at the entrance of the main house as he kicked off his boots. “Jaime,” she said and shook her head, her short black curls bouncing a little.
“Yes, Mamá, I’ll go and shower before dinner. Is Padre still upset about Franco’s heart attack?”
“Yes, but that can wait, there’s a phone call for you.”
“Me?”
“It’s that nice girl, Alazne. She wishes to speak with you. Use the phone in the library, your father is in the living room, and he was quite upset about the Franco news. He is watching television, so don’t disturb hm.”
Jaime bolted down the hallway and shut the door to the library. The phone on José’s desk sat off the hook, and Jaime grabbed it without a thought. “Alazne?”
“Jaime?” Alazne’s sharp tone came through. “How are you?”
“Where the hell are you? Alazne, you just… you just ran away…”
“I wasn’t under arrest was I? I was free to go anywhere I wanted.”
“Sorry,” Jaime stumbled, his mind still somewhere between Franco’s heart attack and Luis’ bouncing backside, “but you said nothing.”
“It was a case of leave, or charge the palace, wanting to hurt Franco supporters.”
“I’m glad you left. Where are you now?”
“I’m back in Valencia. My friend, Apolinar, has a place for me to stay.”
“Why are you calling me? Are you planning on knifing Franco while he is in bed and need a ride?”
“Oh please, that old man is already dead, you saw him in Madrid.”
“I was saying the same to my brother just now.”
“Jaime, I needed to talk to someone. Something has happened, and… well, my conscience told me to call you.”
“Do you have a conscience?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Pregnant. Four weeks ago she had claimed to be a virgin. That could have been a lie, though their sex seemed like her first experience. “But we had sex once.”
“No shit. I went to the doctor today; you should have seen his face, and the nurse, too. Just another pregnant whore. Don’t worry, nuns can give out abortions.”
“Nuns administer abortions?” Jaime whispered, terrified his parents would discover him. “Abortion is illegal, and a sin.”
“Come on, Jaime, you weren’t all religious under that tree four weeks ago. I will kill the baby, and you can marry Isadora and be perfect.”
“Isadora is having sex with my brother. In fact, they’re probably fucking right now.”
“Luis? I told you that he was in love with her.”
“Yeah, you’re a psychic like Jovana. Alazne, you can’t get an abortion, it’s against all the laws of nature, of God, of Spain.”
“Fuck Spain. It’s my body. I will do as I please. I will get it done straight away. Apolinar will pay for it; he has money. Then we can get on with our projects.”
“What projects? Terrorism?”
“You’ve seen the riots, the fires, the protests since Franco executed those poor men in September.”
“Yes…”
“Now is the time to put more pressure on Franco and his cretins; now is the chance to rise and take over the nation. Spain doesn’t need some Franco-like puppet taking over the country when we finally get the old man in the ground.”
“Do you think bombing something, burning things, striking at work, any of these things help Spain as a nation?”
“I can’t sit and do nothing; I’m not you, Jaime. You stand idly by, which means you condone the actions of Franco, your father, and all like him.”
“If you are pregnant and get caught by the police, it might increase your chances of release.”
“I can’t use a baby as a card for getting out of prison. I will abort the baby on Friday.”
“But it’s already Tuesday!”
“It’s as fast as I can get the baby out.”
“Why tell me, Alazne? Why tell me you’re pregnant if I have no say in the matter, and you will kill the baby anyway?”
“I don’t know…”
“Are you asking for help? Money? Don’t have the abortion, Alazne, please.”
“Why? Are you going to come and marry me, and we’ll raise the baby in your fascist household in the country? That sounds like hell! I will bomb the Town Hall in Valencia with Apolinar and get on with my life. I want more from life, Jaime, than just to survive.”
“But your plans might kill you.”
“We made a mistake that afternoon in the paddocks. I’m sorry, Jaime-boy. Go back to your life. I have to go; phone calls are expensive.”
“No, don’t hang up the phone! Alazne, tell me where you are.”
“Why?”
“Let me see you. Alazne, I’ve missed you. Aren’t we friends now?”
“Why? Have you romanticised our afternoon of sex?”
“We have more in common than you suspect. When I listen to José talk… I don’t agree with any of his principles.”
“Do you want to come and bomb the Valencia Town Hall with me?”
If Jaime agreed, then Alazne might tell him where she was. But then what? Force her to have a baby she didn’t want and take it home, motherless to Rebelión? Lord, no. Jaime, you’re 19; you don’t want a baby, not with this woman. “Okay, I will help you bomb Valencia.”
“Are you sure, Jaime-boy?”
“Please, tell me where you are.”
“I won’t change my mind about the abortion.”
“An abortion is the best choice,” Jaime replied, and believed his words. “What other choice is there?”
“None.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At Apolinar’s new place, on Calle de Cabrito. It’s near Plaza del Carmen; the chur
ch is right by the alleyway of the street. We are at number one, on the second floor.”
“I’ll come as soon as I can.”
“We are planning to bomb on Sunday; there are fewer guards on Sundays.”
“Two days after the abortion?”
“Are you in or out, Jaime-boy?”
What a moronic situation. “I’m in, Alazne. I’m in.”
“I have to go; there is a lot to plan.”
Just like that, the line went dead. Jaime looked at the phone in his hand; the cord jiggled as he shook. He had gotten a woman pregnant. Is this how Paco felt when Inés found she was pregnant? Scared? Alone? But Jaime couldn’t discuss this with Paco; he was the proud, upright member of the family. Paco was a married man. Pedro and Jovana would have children soon; they wouldn’t understand. Abortion went against the family’s Catholic teachings. But José might be happy; if he discovered one of his sons had knocked up a girl, he might approve of abortion. No. No one could know.
Jaime wandered into the hallway, still wearing his dirty shirt and jeans from working with the motorbikes. Little Cayetano came running down the well-lit hallway. “Hola, tío Jaime,” he sang.
“Hola, pequeño,” Jaime muttered, his sock-covered feet dragging on the floorboards.
“¿Cómo estás?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Jaime said. “Where is your Papá?”
“Papá is with abuelo.”
“Gracias.” Jaime watched Cayetano continue on his journey to the kitchen where Inés would be, and then Jaime turned into the living room. Just Paco sat there with glass of vermouth in his hand. “Paco.”
Paco frowned at the sight of his pale brother-in-law. “Is something wrong, Jaime?”
“Do you need me for any work this week?”
“No, the season is over, you know that, my excellent sword handler.” Paco smiled, and Jaime returned the gesture.
“Is it all right if I go to Valencia for a few days, to see a friend?”
“Sure, you don’t need to ask.”
“You’re my boss.”
“Tell that to José,” Paco chuckled. “All is well with the bullfighting team. You’ve done a terrific job this year. You’re free to do as you please in the off-season. Rebelión is all quiet, too.”
Secrets of Spain Trilogy Page 111