He motioned for me to come into his study. ‘May I see her?’ he said, indicating Julieta. I pulled the blanket away so he could see her rosy face. He smiled. ‘She’s very beautiful, Evelina. You should be proud.’
Francesc had aged since I had last seen him: the grooves around his mouth had deepened and he looked tired. He’d always appeared so healthy and fresh.
‘My parents, along with Penélope and her husband, have decided to leave for Argentina,’ he told me. ‘Barcelona isn’t what it used to be and, although we are a noble family, we don’t support murderers. I know I can’t ask you to leave your family, Evelina, so I want to grant you a divorce.’
My heart plummeted. ‘But I’ve just had a child. You can’t abandon me.’
He lifted his hand in a reassuring gesture. ‘You have been a wonderful wife, Evelina. I can’t say a word against you. I’m only doing this because the Republic has made divorce legal and there is no shame in it any more. I know that you have not been happy with me. Gaspar is Julieta’s father and you should be free to marry each other.’
I stared at him.
‘I’m made for different things,’ he said. ‘We both know it.’
I was overcome by a profound sadness. I was sorry that Francesc and I could not have been so open with each other from the beginning.
‘Now,’ he said, rising to take some papers from his desk drawer, ‘unfortunately, the properties that came with your dowry have been collectivised. But I have bought you a house in France, in the Dordogne, and deposited some money for you in a Swiss bank. I want you to go back to France with Julieta and your family. Gaspar, the fool, returned to Barcelona after you left and volunteered. He’s now an officer in the Republican army. I don’t know where he is but I will try to get word to him. I hope you will be happy together.’
I don’t know which overwhelmed me more: Francesc’s generosity in freeing me to be with Gaspar, or the dangerous position Gaspar had put himself in. Please don’t let him be killed, I prayed. The idea that Gaspar could die before he had a chance to see Julieta made me weak in the legs.
‘In the circumstances, I think it is best that I return to my family home,’ I told Francesc.
He nodded. ‘I imagine that your parents will be upset. I haven’t told mine yet. But it’s for the best, Evelina. We both know that.’
Francesc and I embraced. He walked me to the door and we embraced again. Francesc might not have been an ideal husband, but he was a fine human being. I knew that I would never say a bad word against him.
The Republic of Spain amazed the world. Despite suffering a military revolt, it had rapidly created a disciplined army. In spite of the high-technology arms supplied to the rebels by Germany and Italy and the lack of similar support from its supposed allies, the Loyalist army, along with Madrid’s courageous civilians, had repelled Franco’s forces from the city to the rallying cry of ‘No pasaran!’: they shall not pass. By some miracle, the government was even able to recreate a sense of normality in the country’s non-combatant zones. But the Republic was bleeding and its strength could not last. It was the charging bull — courageous and noble, but the odds were hopelessly stacked against it.
Franco and his forces pushed forward into the Basque country, Santander and Asturias. In April 1937, Guernica, a market town of no military significance, was firebombed by the German Condor Legion as a test to see what damage shrapnel bombs and machine-gunning from the air could inflict on a civilian population. Barcelona and other Spanish cities were bombed too. Still neither Britain nor France would come to our aid.
By October, Republican Spain was cut in two halves. There was the Catalan north-east; and the centre-south, which encompassed the cities of Madrid and Valencia. The government, which had already relocated from Madrid to Valencia, now moved to Barcelona.
This meant Margarida was back living with us when Xavier returned from another unsuccessful mission to France. It was the first time all of us had been together in the house for over a year. One afternoon, we gathered in the drawing room to discuss the progress of the war, except for Conchita, who was nursing a headache, and Feliu, who was having a lesson with his governess.
‘Things are going from bad to worse,’ Xavier said, pouring us each a glass of black-market wine. ‘It looks as if both the Russians and the British intend to make deals with Hitler. They should know that what the Germans did in Guernica is what they intend to do to the rest of Europe.’
‘What will happen if they sign pacts with Hitler?’ I asked.
Xavier’s mouth turned into a grim line. ‘The Soviets will withdraw all aid to us. Then we will have nothing but our bare hands to fight with.’
‘Things are so dire,’ said Margarida, biting at her nails, ‘that I go around with an insane kind of optimism that they simply have to get better.’
Despite the enormous strain she had been under as a member of a government at war, I was relieved to see Margarida had lost nothing of her black humour.
‘Well, those stupid street battles between the Communists and the other factions of the Left didn’t help,’ said Pare. ‘For a moment there it looked as though we were going to have a civil war within a civil war.’
Xavier turned to Margarida. ‘The Anarchists are saying that they are not being as well supplied with weapons as the Communists because the government doesn’t want a revolution; and the Communists are under order from Russia not to cause one.’
‘The approach we are taking is that we need to win the war first, then we can worry about revolutions,’ Margarida told him. ‘That’s why the Loyalist army is gearing up for another offensive.’
‘In God’s name, why?’ asked Pare. ‘We should focus on controlling what we’ve got and making a compromise with Franco. He can have his part of Spain and we can have ours.’
I knew that my father felt that as long as Catalonia was safe, nothing else really mattered. He wanted to get back to business as soon as possible.
Margarida’s face became serious. ‘We are not dealing with someone who makes civilised compromises. When the Republican side captures rebel soldiers, we feed them and treat them according to military conventions. The democratic justice system still prevails in our zone. When Franco’s forces take over a village that has shown any sort of resistance, they kill everybody without question or a trial. Franco is not interested in saving lives. Therefore we have two choices: either we fight until the growing tension over Czechoslovakia finally brings about a European war and the British and French need us as allies against the Germans; or we get the hell out of here!’
I thought of Gaspar. The last I’d heard of him was what Francesc had managed to find out: that he was alive and well, but posted on the dangerous Aragon front. I could flee to safety but what would happen to him? It frightened me to even consider it.
I turned to Pare and Mama. ‘I think we should leave for France as soon as we can. Margarida and Xavier will go with the Republic to form a government in exile, but we should go now. I have that property in the Dordogne.’
‘And leave everything?’ Mama asked, horrified.
‘Everything is not worth our lives, Mama. Plenty of people have already departed the country.’
‘The Cerdà and the de Figueroa families might have cleared out,’ said Pare, his eyes blazing, ‘but we are the Montellas! We own Barcelona. If Franco wants it, he’s going to have to negotiate with me!’
‘Don’t be a fool!’ Xavier told him. ‘Franco hates Catalonia and all it stands for. He will crush it and you will simply be a pebble under his feet!’
A few weeks later, I met la Rusa again. She had come to Barcelona on leave. When the military coup had first broken out, women had fought alongside their husbands and brothers in the militias. But as the Republic began to organise a professional army, women were called up to the home front to take men’s places in factories, transport and on farms. However, la Rusa’s role as an ambulance driver kept her close to the front. Xavier had told me that her ambulance was
constantly fired upon by German and Italian planes and that she had witnessed stretcher bearers blown to bits by them. ‘The government keeps offering her a role as an entertainer to the troops,’ he’d said. ‘But she refuses. She says she wants to fight with the “real people”. Besides that, the army medical unit wants to hold on to her: she’s proved to be a skilful driver.’ What Xavier didn’t tell me was how much la Rusa had changed.
I found her waiting for me in the café where we had arranged to meet. She was wearing khaki overalls with a red-cross armband and no make-up. Her thick hair was hidden under a beret and, apart from her dramatic eyes and sensual mouth, she looked like any other woman in the street. Her hands and fingers were devoid of jewellery. The only adornment she wore was a pair of golden hooped earrings: the kind the gypsies favour. It was hard to believe that she was one of Spain’s most popular entertainers.
‘Xavier asked me to take you and your family over the border to France if the rebels reach Barcelona,’ she said, reaching into her pocket and taking out a packet of cigarettes. She lit one and stared at me. ‘Your parents won’t go now? That’s foolish. If you go now, you can simply catch a train. You won’t have any trouble getting into France. If you leave it too late, the French might close the border.’
She spoke like she danced: in short, staccato bursts of energy.
‘I can’t leave without my parents,’ I said.
‘Eventually they are going to have to leave,’ she said. ‘Unless they have a death wish!’
La Rusa had always had a hard edge to her personality, but now I sensed a layer of armour around her that was so thick I doubted I would ever be able to penetrate it. In the whole time I had known her, I’d never seen her put a cigarette in her mouth. Now she was chain-smoking and the tips of her fingers were stained yellow. They were Lucky Strikes: foreign cigarettes. She must have had a good contact on the black market. Most people these days were smoking dried maize leaves.
‘Why do you say that?’ I asked her.
She didn’t answer my question directly. She only repeated what Margarida had said. ‘If the rebels come, you’d better get away. If you don’t value your own life enough, then at least think of Julieta.’
While in Barcelona, la Rusa had agreed to do some performances at the old Samovar Club. It seemed strange that in the midst of bombings and the prospect of death, the people of Barcelona still liked to be entertained. Xavier, Margarida and I went to see her at the club a few evenings later. The place was shabby and run-down now. The columns were covered in hand marks and the floor was in need of a polish. The glamorous women in their evening dresses and furs had disappeared too. La Rusa’s audience consisted of soldiers and workers.
When the band walked onto the stage, I half-expected Gaspar to take his place at the piano. But of course he wasn’t there. The thought that anything could happen to him was like a stone in my heart.
La Rusa’s vigorous dancing meant that she had never had a spare ounce of fat on her, but it seemed to me that she was even thinner now: I could see her rib bones through her dress. Her face looked taut with fatigue but she’d lost nothing of her forceful energy. She still managed to mesmerise the audience with her rapid footwork and fiery arm movements. When she finished, she stared down at us as she always had, with that attitude of triumphant arrogance. But I saw something else in her eyes, a kind of cruel passion. Any trace of softness that she’d ever possessed had disappeared. She looked wild, bitter and tragic.
‘I thought la Rusa was put on leave to have a rest?’ Margarida whispered to Xavier. ‘Before the push into Teruel.’
‘She doesn’t know the meaning of rest,’ Xavier said, forcing himself to smile. ‘She reminds me of those ex-soldiers who used to come to Barcelona after the Great War: the ones who had seen so much horror that they could never settle down again.’
After her performance, la Rusa joined us at the table. Xavier lit a cigarette and she took a few puffs before handing it back to him. ‘I go on duty again in a few days,’ she said.
Xavier didn’t look pleased by the news but he didn’t say anything.
‘How is the morale of the men?’ Margarida asked.
La Rusa’s face darkened. ‘How do you expect it to be?’ she snapped. ‘You’ve taken away their revolution. They were fighting for a better life. What should they fight for now? Franco or the Republic? Either one is just another form of capitalism. After the war, everything will be the same for them — the rich will be rich and the poor will starve.’
‘It won’t be that way,’ said Margarida, looking affronted. ‘Whether it’s a revolution or reform, the Republic will be much better for the workers and the poor than Franco ever will be!’
La Rusa didn’t seem to hear my sister. ‘You know, there was a soldier I picked up from the military hospital after an offensive,’ she said. ‘His intestines had been blown out of his abdominal cavity and the doctor had stuffed them back inside as best as he could. The man was dying but do you know what he said to me: “I don’t regret for one moment going to fight. For once I was treated as something better than peasant dirt!”’ La Rusa looked from Xavier to Margarida with piercing scorn. ‘While you’ve been pushing your pens around your desks and making trips to and from Paris, I’ve seen the men who have been dying for a promise … for an ideal … for a lie. They’ve been betrayed! Why do you think you have to conscript people for the army now?’
Margarida glanced at Xavier. She looked puzzled and hurt.
Xavier put his hand on la Rusa’s arm. ‘You’re tired,’ he said. ‘Let me take you home.’
La Rusa stood up without protest. But when Xavier took her arm, she didn’t press herself against him the way she used to do. They didn’t look like lovers any more.
‘They used to be so happy together,’ said Margarida, watching them leave the club. ‘This war is killing everything!’
THIRTY-ONE
Evelina
There were moments of light in the darkness: flashes of beauty in the horror. At dawn, when the roosters that now lived on almost every balcony on Barcelona began to crow, I would hear Feliu running around in Xavier and Conchita’s apartment upstairs. ‘Pare! Pare!’ I would hear him call excitedly to his father.
My parents had reacted surprisingly calmly to my divorce. Perhaps we’d all developed a greater perspective on everything. Even Conchita stopped being at Xavier’s throat all the time, and as a result he stopped avoiding her. And Margarida no longer bothered needling Conchita.
Xavier was going abroad less frequently these days. ‘The Soviets have given up on us,’ he had told me after his latest trip. ‘Stalin is more interested in what’s happening in Europe and the Japanese invasion of China. We are a lost cause. Even Britain looks like signing a treaty with Italy to keep Mussolini from getting too cosy with Hitler. I’ve told the committee since the beginning that they were wasting time with the English.’
‘Have you given up on the Republic?’ I asked, remembering how he had always been an idealist.
Xavier looked at me seriously. ‘Sometimes I feel as if we all boarded a plane that we knew was going to crash but we got on anyway,’ he said. ‘And other times I feel like the dying soldier that Celestina told us about. I don’t regret for a second that we tried to build a better country, that we experienced moments of greatness. Perhaps our sacrifice will inspire future generations — or at least help them to learn from our mistakes. It’s for Feliu’s sake that I continue now and won’t give in to defeatism.’
In March 1938, we all went to the Liceu one evening to see a ballet by the Spanish composer Salvador Bacarisse: Corrida de feria. I was entranced. It was as though I was a young girl again, sitting in the family box. It made me realise how much I had missed ballet. At the end of the night, I overheard Conchita and Xavier talking while we were waiting for our coats.
‘Are you going away again?’ Conchita asked.
‘I have to travel to Paris next week,’ Xavier said, looking around to make sure Mama and
Pare were out of earshot. ‘We’ve got one last ace up our sleeve, although it won’t please Pare. We are going to offer Catalonia to France. If they annex us, I don’t think Franco will challenge it. The French will gain a wealthy industrial region and a port.’
Have we come to that? I thought. Selling ourselves off to the French?
‘I’m sorry that our marriage didn’t turn out to be all we had hoped,’ Xavier added. ‘But I will always make sure that you and Feliu have everything you need. If Barcelona looks like falling before I’ve had a chance to fetch you, I will give instructions to Evelina about how to move you all to a safer place. Please promise me that you will do everything she asks.’
The following evening we were together at dinner again, except for Pare who had sent a message that he had to work late at the factory. Some materials he had been waiting for had only just arrived and he wanted to move them into the factory in time for the morning shift. I stared at my plate of rice and pickled vegetables, knowing that I should be thankful for the cache of black-market goods Xavier had been able to secure when the rest of Barcelona was surviving on ever decreasing rations of bread.
We had gathered in the drawing room after dinner when we heard the air-raid sirens start. Barcelona had been bombed several times before, especially the port. I thanked God that Pare wasn’t at any of his factories in that area.
‘We’d best go to the cellar,’ Xavier said.
He called the servants and we all calmly walked down the stairs. While we believed Franco to be a tyrant, none of us expected him to order the destruction of the city centre. It wasn’t one of his tactics to destroy important buildings. But it soon became obvious that there was something different about this raid.
‘The air sirens are sounding so often, I can’t tell when one raid is finishing and another is starting,’ Margarida said.
Xavier frowned. ‘The explosions are close by. It doesn’t sound as if they are only targeting industrial areas.’
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