“True enough,” I said. I glanced over to make sure my sisters were still on their bench.
“The worst part was at the station. There were so many parents there, especially those from Catalonia. When they saw us, the crying and screaming began. Some mothers broke through the police barrier to give their kids one last kiss. They were all carrying on, howling and swearing they’d see them again soon. The kids were crying and trying to reach their parents. The guardians couldn’t pry the kids away from their mothers, who had changed their minds and wanted to take the kids back home. What a scene.” Manuel shook his head.
I thought about my mom from the day before and made a herculean effort not to cry. I glanced toward the bench again, and a chill ran up my spine when I saw it was empty. I remembered Ms. Serra’s warning and started running around the plaza in front of the cathedral. Manuel helped me look for my sisters, but we couldn’t find them anywhere. They couldn’t have just disappeared. We kept calling their names and looking in all the shops and stalls. Had something happened to them? My heart was racing. How could I have already lost them? We found a group of other Spaniard kids who helped us look for them, too, but it was no use. There was no sign of them anywhere.
Chapter 13
Just a Minute Ago
Bordeaux
May 24, 1937
I was distraught. I hadn’t known that anguish had physical symptoms, but my chest constricted and made it hard to breathe. Manuel told me sit on a bench to calm down, but the pain just got worse, not better. An older woman saw how upset I was and came up to us. We couldn’t understand her French, but she called a gendarme over.
“I speak some Spanish,” the policeman said. “My grandmother was from Spain.”
Manuel and I looked at each other hopefully. But, after a few questions, the gendarme had a grave look on his face. “We’ve had several cases of Spaniard children disappearing. It seems the Spanish rebels kidnap them and take them back across the border.”
It was hard to believe the wickedness of our enemy went so far.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen them?” he asked.
“About fifteen minutes,” I answered.
The gendarme raised his voice for everyone around to hear him. “Someone must have seen something.” The adults in the shops and stalls who had ignored us before now started talking, pointing in the direction my sisters had gone. We walked down alleyways to a central market, which smelled like rotten vegetables and fish. At the gendarme’s questions, a shopkeeper pointed to an old, three-story building. From the outside it looked like a medieval house, with a balcony barely held up by strips of wood and rafters weakly supporting the cracked exterior. The door was unlocked. We went in, and the gendarme knocked at the first door he came to. No one answered. The same thing happened at every door until we reached the top floor.
We heard a creak of wood from behind the door, footsteps that halted, and the sound of the peephole being opened. Bolts were unlocked, and before us appeared a very old woman with gray hair, round glasses, and a look of complete surprise on her face.
“Excuse the interruption, ma’am, but we’re looking for two Spaniard girls.”
The old woman appeared surprised, but she smiled sweetly and assured the policeman that she had been home all day and hadn’t seen anyone. The gendarme turned to us with a resigned shrug. The old woman started to close the door, but I heard something that resembled the muffled cry of a child.
“Ana!” I yelled.
“Marco!” came a voice from the back of the house.
I shoved the door, and the woman fell backward. The gendarme jumped over her, and we tore down the hall to one of the rooms at the back, but the door was locked.
“Where are the keys?” the gendarme demanded. The old woman just shook her head. The policeman took a few steps back and kicked the door. The old wood splintered. I pushed through and my sisters lunged at me, and we all fell into a pile.
“I’m so sorry!” Ana wailed, hiding her face in my lap. Isabel clung to us both, and it took us a while to stand again.
The old woman, however, sprang up with more agility than anyone would have expected and started screaming at us in Spanish. “You’re a bunch of communist brats! I could’ve sent you back home and you’d at least have the chance to change your ways, but you’re hopeless! You belong to an accursed race!”
Manuel was beside the woman. “You’re insane!” he spat.
“Insane? There are patriots risking everything to save Spain. Those disgusting reds—”
The gendarme went up to her and spoke calmly. “What you’ve done is very serious. These children are here at the invitation of the French government, on their way to Mexico. They have suffered enough and don’t need people like you doing them any more harm.”
“Communist lackeys!” The woman was nearly spitting in the gendarme’s face. “Their hour has come. It won’t be long before decent people recover this continent from the red hordes. The Popular Front is a disgrace for France and will lead us into another war or to anarchy.”
The gendarme wrote down the woman’s information, then the five of us made our way out of the house. The woman started yelling at us from the doorway of the top floor in a mix of Spanish and French, her voice echoing off the landings as we descended. Ana and Isabel trembled as the gendarme opened the front door. He walked us back to the cathedral and paid for a taxi to take us back to our hotel.
“I’m so sorry for everything. I’ll make sure that woman receives her due,” he said before shutting the door.
“Thank you for helping us, sir.” My voice came out as a strangled croak.
The gendarme took off his hat and saluted us as the taxi headed for the road that went along the river. Within minutes we were back at the hotel. We let out a collective sigh of relief to find ourselves in a safe place, and we sat down on the steps of the entryway. Before I could even ask what had happened, Isabel started talking.
“We had no idea that lady was a witch. We were sitting on the bench, and she passed by with lots of bags. She stopped in front of us and started talking in French, but we couldn’t understand her. When she heard us talking, she switched to Spanish. She told us she was from Spain but had lived for a long time in France, that she was retired and lived alone. She asked us for help carrying her bags and said she didn’t live far. We felt bad for her and started walking with her, taking some of her bags. We thought we’d be right back, which is why we didn’t say anything to you, Marco. She was so sweet and asked us where we were headed and if our parents were nearby. She was surprised we were traveling so far away from Spain. So we explained all about the war and that it was for our safety.”
Ana filled in the rest. “We went through the front gate and took the bags to her house. She told us she had some candy she’d give us and asked us to wait in a room. Before we realized it, she had locked us in. I was so scared.”
I stood up in front of my sisters. “I’m really, really sorry, but you’ve got to learn we can’t trust anybody.”
“She was just an old woman, and we only wanted to help her,” Isabel explained.
“But she was an old fascist woman,” I answered. “You’re my responsibility now, and you can’t go away from me under any circumstance. What would’ve happened if we hadn’t found you? I can barely even think about that.”
Manuel put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right.”
I tried to calm down. One of the other kids came out to tell us it was time to eat. As we headed toward the dining room, my mother’s words resounded in my ears. I was responsible for my sisters. We had lost everything: our family, our home, our country, and our poor childhood. We couldn’t afford to be naïve. Innocence was too dangerous right then.
Chapter 14
Forbidden Suffering
Bordeaux
May 26, 1937
After the incident with the old woman, we didn’t venture outside the hotel. Rumors swirled about rebels kidnapping Spaniard
children and sending them back to the peninsula. I hardly slept the night Ana and Isabel had been kidnapped. I spent the next day reading the few books I had brought and playing with Ana, who was getting more anxious as the time approached for boarding the Mexique.
The morning of May 26 was warm. Our guardians asked us to pack our blue suitcases and get everything ready to board the ship. We had a light breakfast, as the adults didn’t want us to spend the whole trip with sick stomachs. Most of the children had never been on a boat before, and we weren’t used to the motion of the waves.
We went back to our room to get our suitcases and ID tags, then made a big pile of luggage near the front door. We would walk in formation to the train station so that no one got lost. From there we would go to the port and before sundown be on our way to Mexico. We were all swinging between excited and scared. Our departure was imminent and, in a way, we just wanted it to be over.
Ana and Isabel chatted with some of the girls they had befriended while Manuel and I joked around, studying the other kids and making bets about who would make the whole voyage without barfing. Just then one of the older boys walked by me and shoved me into the pile of luggage. I jumped up in a rage and grabbed his arm. “Hey, who do you think you are?” I yelled.
The boy looked down at me from his towering height like I was a germ. He stuck his face right in mine. “You got a problem, Madrid?” He spit a little as he spoke, though it was hard to tell if it was intentional.
I knew this boy’s name was Luis and that he was from Barcelona. “You pushed me. Be more careful next time,” I said.
“And what are you gonna do if I don’t?” he taunted.
Manuel grabbed my arm to hold me back, but it was too late. I wasn’t in the habit of losing my cool, though it wasn’t the first time I’d been in a fight. When I fought, I was usually sticking up for people weaker than myself.
The giant boy grabbed me by the front of my shirt, lifted me up like a feather, and threw me back down on the suitcases. Several kids scrambled out of the way to avoid any crossfire. I got up awkwardly, and Luis took the opportunity to kick me in the stomach. I doubled over in pain, and that’s when Don Alfonso, one of the Spaniard guardians, showed up. Luis became calm and quiet. I had heard other kids talk about Don Alfonso, and though I’d only run into him a couple of times, I didn’t want to make him angry.
“Quiet!” he barked. “Just now as we’re leaving, you two little know-it-alls want to ruin everything with a fistfight! I swear I’ll leave you here on dry ground. I won’t have bullies in my group. Besides, you two are above the age limit. I don’t care who your parents are. I’ll leave you here in France or you can walk back to Spain.”
He picked me up by the shirt and seared me with his cold, impenetrable blue eyes. “Is that clear, little Madrid? You kids from the capital are all so cocky,” he boomed in fury.
He put me down and then looked to Luis. “And you—this is your second warning. There won’t be a third.”
Luis hung his head and, after apologizing, went out to the street. Don Alfonso turned his piercing gaze back to me. “I don’t like you, boy. Those arrogant eyes worry me, your prideful look, the hardness in your face. I won’t let you jeopardize this journey. We’re guests of a foreign government, and we represent the Spanish Republic, if that even means anything anymore. Now, get out of my sight!”
My sisters had watched everything from the back of the waiting room, and they ran toward me as soon as I left the luggage area.
“Are you okay?” Isabel asked.
I gingerly touched my stomach. It was still very sore from the impact of Luis’s foot. “Yeah,” I said. “It hurts a little, but it’ll go away soon.”
After another hour of waiting, the teachers and guardians instructed us to take our luggage and line up in front of the hotel. We got into two long lines in age order. My sisters didn’t want to leave my side, but they had to stay with the girls in front. That didn’t worry me since I could see them from my place in line.
Genaro, the man who had first welcomed us when we got to the hotel, signaled for us to start walking, and we started off down the street. There were not many cars out, and the few we came across stopped to let us pass. People stared at us with a mixture of compassion and relief. Humans are always happy when misfortune passes by their door and knocks at the neighbor’s house instead. In many ways, the French saw us as a reflection of themselves. Tensions between Germany and France were already rising, and though they weren’t at war yet, most people knew it was inevitable.
We rounded a corner and met up with another group of children. Within five minutes, we were nearly five-hundred strong. The French smiled and waved as we marched past. Some reached out to hand us candy or pastries. My companions stuffed their pockets with rolls and sweets or ate them right then and there, as if their lives depended on it.
When we got to the station, a retinue of French workers bade us an official farewell by singing the workers’ anthem “The International” and waving little Republican flags. We held our fists high as a final goodbye.
We walked into the station amidst happy cheers and tears of sadness. The younger children were calling for their mothers, and the older ones held out as well as we could, though we would’ve rather cried along with the younger children. Police officers checked our papers before we were allowed onto the platform. Then we were divided among several train cars and, half an hour later, were on our way to the port.
The train left the station slowly, as if wanting to delay us. I sat next to Manuel, and a boy named Guillermo sat on his other side. I’d only spoken to him once or twice. He had the look of a rich kid. Not everyone on the ship was from the working class. Some high-ranking government officials had sent their kids with us to keep them safe.
Guillermo said, “Have you guys heard about the German submarine?” We looked at him uneasily. We hadn’t heard anything about any submarine.
“No. What do you mean?” Manuel asked, intrigued.
“There’s a rumor that the fascists know about the ship that’s taking us to Mexico. Supposedly they want to sink it,” Guillermo said. Fear made his voice tremble.
“That’s ridiculous,” I answered. “They’re not going to sink a ship full of kids.”
“Are you sure? They’ve killed tons of kids in Barcelona with bombs. I don’t think it matters much to them,” Guillermo said. He seemed convinced that a fascist attack would occur as soon as we got out to sea.
Manuel smiled. “Well, you just don’t know.”
“I was thinking about sneaking away on the port and going back home. My parents would be happy to see me again,” said Guillermo.
“Are you crazy? The Francoists would snatch you up, and then you’d really never see your parents again. The war is a disaster, and the fascists are advancing with each passing day. My parents don’t have much hope for the Republic, which is why they wanted to get us out of the country. It’s not just because of the dangers,” I explained.
“I know,” said Guillermo, “but it’s better to stay in Spain. What are we going to do in Mexico?” He was on the verge of tears. He must’ve been around eleven years old, and though he was skinny, he still had a boyish face.
“It’s okay,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Think about this journey like an adventure. We’re going to the Caribbean, to the land of pirates. Imagine all the excitement we’re going to feel. I’m sure that when we come back in a few months you’ll be able to tell your parents all about it.” I fed him the lines I’d been told to cheer him up.
He didn’t buy it, but he did calm down on the way to the port. When we arrived, a new crowd was waiting for us at the foot of the boat. Our teachers and guardians had us line up, and we boarded the ship in order while the crowd cheered and waved, as if their own children were heading off to exile. As we walked up the gangway, some of the younger kids stopped short, crying like mad. The caretakers and teachers tried to move them along, but the little ones, holding their ti
ny suitcases, looked so pitiful that we all ended up crying. The first-class passengers had at first seemed annoyed at the presence of so many children, but when they saw us all crying, they threw chocolates at us and called out in French, “Long live the Spaniards!”
We were all scared by the time we stepped onto the deck. My sisters broke from their line and ran toward me. I tried to comfort them as they hung on to me, but a sizable lump sat in my own throat. The caretakers called for us to go to our cabins, and I had to leave my sisters again. Their horrified faces were burned into my mind, a memory to torture me in misfortune. We walked along the narrow passageways of the boat to the cabins, and we were not to leave those cabins until the boat weighed anchor. After being shut in for several hours, we were allowed back up on deck. It was such a relief to be under the open sky again. It was already nighttime, and the light breeze had a calming effect on me. I searched out my sisters, and with Manuel we went up to the second-class deck.
We stood at the rails and watched as the boat slowly moved away from the harbor. We heard a whistling and saw white smoke rise from the enormous chimneys that towered above us. Our eyes dried the farther we ventured into the dark ocean, which seemed like a reflection of night itself. The lights of the coast disappeared like shooting stars, and the breeze carried the smells of the sea. Fewer kids were crying now, though perhaps more from exhaustion than from anything else. Our hearts remained there in Old Europe while our little bodies headed for the New World—one long journey toward the adventure of our young lives.
Chapter 15
In Bed
Remember Me Page 9