*
Raul unhitches the donkey from the cart as Marianela comes through the doorway from the garden. Raul looks up and smiles. “Good day, young lady.”
Her eyes smile and she responds quickly, “How is my son? Have you been filling his head with more nonsense?” She puts the bucket of grain in front of the donkey.
Raul replies as he rubs the donkey’s nose, “Your son is well, he should be back shortly. It has been a good day’s work.”
Marianela smiles and nods her head. Her brown eyes glisten in the half light of the evening. “Don Pedro has asked if you will join him,” she tells him.
Raul follows Marianela through to the garden where he finds Pedro sitting at the table with his ledgers laid out in front of him. Pedro points to the empty chair without looking up from his papers and Raul sits down. Pedro makes a final note in the journal and then looks up from his work. Raul nods his head once and says, “Good evening.” Pedro pours him a glass of wine as the other man rolls himself a cigarette.
Pedro speaks first, “How was the day?”
Raul nods his head in gratitude and takes the glass, “Good. Everyone is happy, tired but happy. And the harvest should be better this year.”
Pedro waits a moment before replying, “I wanted to discuss something with you. I am purchasing several plots of land in the area approved for development near the station. Once they are built, do you think Esteban and his family would wish to rent one of them?”
Raul raises his eyebrows before speaking, “Erm, I do not know.” He pauses again before continuing, “If they can afford it I would imagine so. They are happy here in the village and they have been using the hut in the fields for some years now. I will speak to them if you would like.”
The edges of Pedro’s mouth curl downwards as he half smiles. “Thank you, Raul. You have been a great help over the years.” Raul smiles back. Pedro continues, “And, of course, I would like to make a slightly different offer to you. If you would like me to buy a plot in your name I would be happy to find a suitable arrangement for you to pay me back.”
Before Pedro finishes making the offer Raul is already starting to feel uncomfortable. Seeing the worry in the other man’s eyes, Pedro tries to assuage what he thinks are the other’s misgivings, “You have managed the fields, you have made sure there is no unpleasantness with the workers. Why, you have even taught the boy to read and write. I assure you, Raul, we will find a financial agreement that works for both of us.”
Sensing Pedro had seen his discomfort Raul instinctively begins to distract him, “It is a truly kind offer, Don Pedro; and I will, of course, think about it. It is not the money, it is my family. They are a long way from here and I will need to talk with them first. Don Pedro, it is very kind of you and I will speak to Esteban and my own family at the first opportunity.”
Hearing Raul and his father speaking outside, Juan Nicolas rushes to the doorway and pulls back the beaded curtain drawing both men’s attention. Pedro asks him, “What do you want, my son? We are talking.”
Juanico joins them at the table, looking down deferentially as he replies, “Sorry to interrupt you, Father. I only wondered if Salvador had returned from the fields.”
Pedro allows a small smile to flash across his face before responding, “He is on his way; you can wait for him in the storehouse.”
Salvador and Esteban’s brother and cousin reach the storehouse door. The older of the two cousins speaks: “Are you sure you will not join us for a drink before dinner? You deserve it after today’s work.”
Salvador shakes his head and pretends not to turn them down, “Maybe after dinner. I have to clean up before I eat with my mother.”
The older man puts his hand on Salvador’s shoulder, “Good. We need to introduce you to the girls in the bars, no?”
Salvador laughs nervously as he walks into the storehouse. “Soon,” he says.
As the older boy enters the area of the storehouse where he sleeps, he sees Juanico sitting on his bedroll reading one of Raul’s papers. “You shouldn’t be reading that. Your priest will condemn you to hell,” he jokes as he takes off his cap and jacket.
Juanico looks up from the newspaper with a serious face, “Why do you joke about such things? Who will I talk to in heaven if you are condemned?”
Salvador, sensing his friend’s worry, tries to reassure him, “Don’t worry. I am sure we will end up in the same place.” The tone of his voice jumps an octave on the word ‘same’. Under his breath, he curses.
While the younger boy keeps reading the newspaper, Salvador washes his face, head and neck in the cold water from the pump. The evening heat is stifling and he drinks deeply from the cool, clear, flowing water. Finally, he sits down beside the younger boy. “Tell me, little cousin, what you have learned today,” he asks. While he waits for the other boy to answer him he takes off his own sandals and starts rubbing his aching feet.
Juanico’s face relaxes as he rests his hands on the paper on his lap and retells his day’s lessons. “The Jews that threw out our king are the same Jews who killed the holy son.”
Salvador feels his eyebrows rise involuntarily. His teacher had taught him something entirely different.
“I thought the bible said that the Romans killed Christ,” the older boy says.
The ten-year-old boy parrots his priest’s default answer, “That is what they want you to believe.”
Salvador ruffles the younger boy’s hair. “Of course it is.”
Raul stands up from the table. “If you will excuse me, it has been a long day and the men have come into the village for the evening.”
Pedro gestures towards the back door and mumbles, “Of course.”
Marianela makes her way through the garden carrying a plate of vegetable peelings towards the chicken run in the storehouse. Raul walks behind her. Waiting until they are out of earshot, he asks, “I was going to ask your son to join me and the men for a drink. Do you mind?”
Marianela has been finding it difficult to accept that her son is growing up. Over the preceding months she has given way on letting him make some of his own decisions. Decisions like spending so much time with Raul. In hindsight she now knows that the man has proved to be a better role model for her son than she had first imagined. Not ideal but better than none, she thinks to herself. “Of course, if that is what he would like. I don’t expect him to get drunk or into any trouble,” she replies.
Raul smiles mischievously; the sunbaked skin at the corner of his sparkling eyes wrinkles into crow’s feet. “You have my word.” She stops to throw the peelings into the chicken run and Raul continues walking through the storehouse.
The two boys look up as they hear the man approach. Raul has become something of a fantasy character for Juan Nicolas after the long evenings of listening to Salvador go on about him. Raul stands in the doorway looking back at the two boys and Juan Nicolas takes his opportunity to study the man that has so enamoured his friend. Staring back at him, Raul looks like any other field hand. His blue overalls are tied at the waist with a rope belt, the black beret on his head is pulled to one side, the small, round glasses framing his deep set, brown eyes perch on the bridge of his nose and the mud-caked, rope-soled sandals are planted firmly on the floor. Juan Nicolas fears that whatever is so special about the worker is more subtle than he can discern.
“Sal, you are coming out with me tonight,” the man says from the doorway. Salvador pulls himself up and quickly puts his shirt back on. Working in the fields is starting to define the young boy’s body; the muscles across his back and wiry arms are beginning to form clearly under the tight skin.
Juanico stands up and summons the courage to speak to Raul, “And may I come also, sir?”
His question is greeted by a warm smile. “I am afraid not, young sir. Your place is here with your father.” The man’s gent
le tone softens the refusal. Juanico forces a faintly dejected smile as he walks back to the house.
Salvador calls after him, “Good night. Perhaps we can read together tomorrow?” The younger boy waves his hand and mumbles an agreement before disappearing into the garden. Raul recognises a simple tenderness in the boys’ relationship that he had also enjoyed as a child and smiles to himself.
Raul leaves the storehouse with Salvador stumbling behind him, tucking his shirt into his trousers. Coming up the street towards them are three boys between seventeen and eighteen years old. One of them is the son of the village’s doctor and the others the twin sons of the village’s mayor. As soon as they see Raul and Salvador coming out of the storehouse they begin muttering to each other. Salvador feels a nervousness growing inside as the fear takes hold. Raul glances up and down the road and then scans the boys. No weapons and no witnesses, Raul thinks to himself.
As they get closer the smallest of the boys says loudly enough for them all to overhear, “Look, the whore’s pup is being taken for a walk.”
To which one of the other boys responds, “The son of the whore must not be house-trained yet.” Salvador feels the sweat beading on his forehead and the base of his neck as he looks down at the ground to avoid eye contact. Raul watches his companion’s reaction and shakes his head.
As the two groups pass, the first boy throws out an open palm, pushing Salvador to the ground, “Off the street, dog. Back to your bitch’s teat.”
Raul stands between the boys and Salvador lying prone on the street. “You had better take care, gentlemen. This situation is more dangerous than you think.” Two of the boys edge back slightly at the sudden confrontation. This leaves the smallest of the three standing alone facing Raul.
The young boy’s arrogance struggles with his fear as he tries to muster confidence: “Do you know who you are talking to, peasant? Show me some respect or I’ll have you thrashed.” His voice trembles slightly at the end of the sentence and he feels himself physically shrinking under Raul’s cold-eyed stare as the man takes one step towards him.
Never blinking and with no emotion registering on his face, the words leave the man’s mouth in a measured and deliberate tone. “Be very careful, little ones. Look around, you have no support. I will give you only one chance to leave.”
The two boys at the rear feel the man’s anger building like a stormcloud in front of them and continue stepping backwards slowly. The first boy stands still, frozen to the spot. Raul takes another half step towards him, bringing their faces uncomfortably close together. “I’m not playing. You best leave before I spill your belly in the street,” he says as he reaches into the pocket of his overalls menacingly. The three boys turn as one and run up the street.
Salvador picks himself up and pats the dust from his behind and back. “What did you say to him?”
Raul turns him around and pats the dust from his back, “What I said is not important.” He pauses for a moment and then turns the boy back to face him. “Remember this. These people need you to think you are less than them so that they can have more. They need you to think that you are stupider, or more uncivilised or unclean or whatever shit they are feeding us now. Remember this, Salvador. You are none of those things. We are none of those things. We are their equals. No one is above you and no one is below you. That is the world I am fighting for.” He pauses for a moment and the two of them stare into each other’s eyes. In the briefest of moments the boy feels a connection as the man’s words resonate through his mind.
Raul sees the recognition in the boy’s eyes and feels a strength growing in his chest. He pauses, puts one hand on the boy’s shoulder and continues through a tight-lipped smile, “What made them freeze is that they just realised they are at war. What made them run is the realisation that wherever they go we will surround them.” Raul leaves the statement hanging in the air for a few moments before puncturing the tension, “Come, we deserve that drink. No?”
As they enter the bar they see the two cousins standing at the counter with Esteban. One cousin pushes a glass into Salvador’s hand and splashes wine onto his wrist as he fills it, “So you have come to join us after all. Good, we shall make an evening of it then.” Feeling safe in the middle of the group of men, Salvador quickly puts the events from the street to the back of his mind. Esteban offers him the cigarette he just rolled. Salvador takes it. Raul glances around the bar to reassure himself that he is amongst comrades.
Esteban puts one hand on Salvador’s shoulder and continues with the story he was telling when the others joined them. Sensing the boy is comfortable, Raul excuses himself in order to join the union organisers at a table in the corner of the bar. He gestures across to the table, “Sal, I have business to discuss, but I am just there if you need anything.” He makes a point of turning to Esteban before leaving. “I promised his mother we would not get him drunk or into any trouble.”
Esteban smiles, his hand still on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry; he is fine here with us, isn’t that right?” he says as he squeezes the boy’s shoulder. Salvador nods his head as he drains his glass.
Raul joins the same men that he had met at the same table the first time he came into the bar so many years earlier. The two guitarists are singing a song about the republic. It is barely loud enough to be heard above the clamour of the bar. Raul greets the men at the table, “Companions.” Raul leans in and the other men follow his lead. “I had a problem coming here. The sons of the mayor and the doctor tried to start a fight with Salvador.”
The older man interrupts, “Was anyone hurt?”
Raul glances behind him to see Salvador laughing with the men at the bar. He turns back, “No. Well, just their pride. I warned them off, and they ran off with their tails between their legs.”
The man nods his head. “Good. We can’t afford for you to get into any trouble now. I have received word from both Seville and Zaragoza that the general’s son has an eye on his father’s old job.”
Raul taps his newly-rolled cigarette on the table, packing down the tobacco as he replies, “Any word from Barcelona?”
The old man leans across the table to light his cigarette. “They are saying that our members are well placed to see if the whores will try anything again, but to be honest they have more than enough to deal with in Barcelona.” To reinforce his point he pushes a copy of the union paper across the table towards him.
Raul draws deeply on the cigarette and leans back in his chair. “I know what our paper says. Tell me what the fascists are saying?”
One of the younger men leans forward and says quietly, “A handful of politicians, priests and officers. Nothing more. They are no threat to the Republic.”
The older man nods his head, turns back to Raul and picks up the conversation, “Word is that they are befriending the Italian and German fascists. The union is already making contact with our brothers and sisters over there.”
Raul remains silent for a few moments. He focuses on the ashtray in the middle of the table while he listens to the men speaking. The conversation falls silent and the men swap glances while they wait for Raul to respond. Eventually, he speaks, “And what about here in the village, and in the other villages and towns around here?”
The older man replies, “There are mainly Carlists here, still dreaming of Isabel and Ferdinand.”
Raul flicks the ash from his cigarette. “And if the fascists try to overthrow the republic, have they got the balls to follow them?”
The lower half of the old man’s face starts a journey towards a smile but stops short. “I don’t know.” He shakes his head slowly and looks down at the table. “We outnumber them ten, perhaps fifteen to one.”
While the other man is speaking, Raul allows his gaze to wander across the crowded bar. The faces of the working men are grateful for the briefest of respites in the monotony of their lives. H
e looks back at the old man. “I need to go to Barcelona. Our members will be preparing for whatever comes next. You need to speak to our members and find out how they will respond. Quietly though; we cannot raise any suspicions.”
He pauses for a moment and then continues in a slower, more measured tone, “It is safer I do not speak to them directly. But know this; the republic will not save us, we will continue to struggle and starve while the politicians build themselves palaces and the communists take over from the bosses. The republic is only the first step on our journey. A journey that tens of thousands of us are now on.”
The older man leans across the table and put his hand on Raul’s wrist. “We will all fight and die if we must, for our own land and freedom.”
Raul places his other hand on top of the old man’s. “Good.”
*
In the square many families are taking their after dinner walks. Grandparents and grandchildren and parents and children all wander aimlessly through the streets and under the pine trees. With the sun behind the western horizon, the temperature is cooling and the lightest of breezes runs down the valley carrying the smell of distant pine forests through the village and into the square.
Pedro walks up to his usual bar and, like most evenings, finds the policeman sitting outside. This evening Garcia, the estate manager, is also sitting with him. Pedro walks over to the table. “Good evening, gentlemen.”
Manolo sips from his brandy glass. Garcia pulls out one of the chairs. “Will you join us, Pedro?” Pedro waves to the waiter and gratefully accepts the seat. As he makes himself comfortable, from behind him, someone asks if he can take the empty seat to another table. Manolo looks up at the man and shakes his head through the cloud of cigar smoke. The waiter puts an empty glass down at the table.
Pedro half turns to Garcia. “Don Garcia, I was hoping to discuss the land by the station that is for development.” Garcia looks at him over the glasses perched on the end of his nose without responding. Pedro continues, “I have savings and I would like to invest them in the village.” Manolo raises one eyebrow as he watches the conversation playing out in front of him.
A Most Uncivil War Page 7