A Most Uncivil War

by Nicolas Lalaguna

  Garcia rolls his glass in his hand and the brandy inside it swirls. “What do you intend to do with it?”

  Pedro pulls his chair a few inches forward. “I would like to build houses on it for my workers. They have been with me for many years, and a token rent while they are able-bodied would further support my family. And of course, a roof over their heads and a warm bed will make them better workers.”

  Garcia drinks from his glass and with his voice still coated with brandy responds, “I wouldn’t be too quick to domesticate them. This Jewish conspiracy in Madrid to destroy our country will not last long.”

  Manolo allows himself a smirk. Garcia continues, “There are already plans being made to send the communists back to Russia and the Jews back to their ghettos.” He flicks the ash from his cigar onto the floor. Pedro remains silent. Garcia continues, “If you insist, I will speak to the duke. But understand; if you let the animals believe they can have more, they will not stop taking.”

  Pedro leans back in his chair. Manolo enters the conversation with the intention of changing the subject, “Pedro’s family is part of the village. He is one of us. I do not trust his field manager, perhaps if we keep him on a tighter lead.”

  Garcia listens to Manolo and pauses to think about his comments. Garcia’s thoughts are never far from what course of action will best secure his own position with the duke. With an air of magnanimity he pats the table in front of Pedro. “I will speak to the duke. I will counsel him on my reservations and we will see what he decides.”

  Uncomfortable with the course of the conversation, Pedro tries to not let it show on his face. “Thank you, Don Garcia, I would be most grateful if you would be so kind.”

  The estate manager stands up to leave. “That is more than enough talk of business, Pedro. I think I will take the air. Good evening, gentlemen.” As he leaves, Pedro continues looking down at the other man’s half-finished brandy.

  Manolo watches him for a few moments before speaking, “He never pays for the drinks.”

  Pedro’s train of thought is broken and his focus dragged back to the table. Garcia and Manolo are as bad as each other in this respect, he thinks. Pedro was under no illusions when he sat down that he wouldn’t be left with the bill. He surrenders, “Not at all, Manolo. Garcia is a good man and I am sure he just forgot with all my rambling on about business. You must let me get this.” He pulls some coins from his pocket and places them on the saucer of the coffee cup. The policeman nods his head in gratitude. Pedro recognises it for the worthless gesture it is.

  *

  In the bar across the square Raul gets up from the table to rejoin his colleagues. The older man at the table whispers something to the men remaining. Shortly after Raul leaves the table they all get up, two leaving the taverna altogether and one joining some men at another table. Raul makes his way through the crowd to Salvador and the other men. The four of them are talking of drunken memories and sexual exploits from years past. As Raul rejoins them he sees Salvador is still as wide-eyed and hanging on their every word as he had been when he had left them earlier.

  Esteban makes room in the circle of men so that Raul can join them. Raul smiles politely, only half listening to the conversation as his mind wanders back to the conversation he had at the table. Esteban’s younger brother notices the vacant look in his friend’s eyes and asks him quietly, “Is everything all right?”

  Raul smiles. “Nothing to spoil our evening with.” He picks up the carafe of wine on the bar and fills all the glasses. With Raul back within the circle Salvador feels any residual tension that had been playing at the back of his mind lift. He looks up at Raul and smiles broadly.

  Across the square Pedro finishes his brandy, makes his excuses and leaves the table. The policeman takes a notepad from his top pocket and scribbles something down. Pedro walks home slowly.

  Chapter 10

  The following morning Pedro wakes up, gets dressed, washes his face and hands, and makes his way downstairs. When he reaches the kitchen he finds Marianela making a tortilla and talking to the two boys who are sitting at the table eating their breakfast. The boys notice Pedro standing in the doorway.

  Marianela gazes wistfully out of the window at the garden. Oblivious to the man in the doorway, she continues talking. Pedro watches the two boys while he waits for her to finish. He watches the boys interacting and sees a familiarity that bothers him. “Good morning, son. I trust you slept well and are ready for a new day,” he says divisively.

  Juan Nicolas replies with his mouth overflowing with peach flesh, “Yes, thank you, Father. And you?” Salvador watches the man in the doorway who nods his head and smiles at the younger boy.

  Marianela turns, wipes her hands on the cloth tucked into the string of her apron and pours him a coffee from the pot. She adds the milk and sugar and then offers it to him in silence. As the cup passes between them their fingers touch for the briefest of moments and they find themselves looking uncomfortably into each other’s eyes. The blood rushes to her cheeks and, embarrassed, she quickly looks away. He turns back towards the boys. “Yes. Thank you,” he replies.

  There is a knock at the front door. Pedro turns and calls out, “Enter.”

  Raul opens the door and the sunlight surrounds him like a halo. Pedro looks at the clock on the wall and then turns back to Raul who is now crossing the room. “What brings you here so early; is there a problem in the fields?”

  Raul replies with his head partially bowed to avoid direct eye contact, “I am sorry, Don Pedro. I have received a telegram in the night. My aunt has taken very ill. She is in hospital in Barcelona.”

  Pedro points to a wicker chair in the hall. “Please sit. What does the telegram say? Will she be all right?” Raul and Pedro sit down by the table. Marianela and the boys edge closer to the kitchen doorway to listen. Marianela holds her index finger to her mouth to ensure the boys remain silent as they eavesdrop.

  Raul continues explaining, waving the folded telegram in his hand. “All I know is that she was visiting my sister and was taken ill. The telegram says that it is serious but little else. I don’t want to ask, but —”

  Pedro cuts him off before he finishes his sentence, “Of course you must go.” He pauses briefly as he looks back at the clock. “The train for Barcelona leaves in just under an hour. How long will you need?”

  Raul nods his head. “I should return no later than the evening train tomorrow if that is all right?”

  Pedro mirrors Raul’s head, nodding as he replies, “Of course.” Pedro pauses for a moment, looks back towards the kitchen and thinks. “Perhaps it is best you take the boy with you. That way he won’t be getting under anyone’s feet here. Yes?” Pedro says.

  Raul pauses as he struggles to understand why he would want the boy to go with him. Unable to guess the other man’s motivation and not wanting to raise suspicion, he quickly acquiesces, “Of course. I would be more than happy to.” Raul stands up and shakes Pedro’s hand. “Thank you, sir. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your kindness.” He turns to Salvador who is peeking around the door frame. “Meet me at the station in thirty minutes. I need to give instructions to Esteban first.”

  Salvador turns to his mother with a broad grin that almost closes his eyes. She feels her heart beginning to speed up with fear of her gentle boy in the brutal city. Knowing that she cannot countermand Pedro’s orders, she wraps her arms around her child and whispers into his ear, “You do exactly as Raul says. You don’t let him out of your sight for a moment, do you understand?”

  She can feel the young boy shaking with excitement in her arms. She puts one hand on the back of his head and whispers again, “Do exactly as Raul says at all times, do not do anything stupid and you stay beside him at all times. Do you hear me?”

  He pulls back from her embrace and looks her in the eyes. “Of course, Mother. Thank you, thank you v
ery much.”

  Salvador rushes out of the kitchen and as he pulls back the beaded curtain to leave the house he turns back to Pedro. “Thank you, Don Pedro. Thank you very much.”

  Pedro cranes his neck back to see him from the chair. “It’s nothing. And don’t cause my man any mischief or I’ll thrash you when you get back.”

  Salvador turns back towards the garden and shouts back over his shoulder as he starts running, “Of course, sir.”

  *

  When Raul arrives back at the hut the men and women are cleaning away their bedrolls and breakfast utensils. He pulls Esteban and the cousin to one side. “What is all the secrecy about and why are you receiving telegrams?” Esteban asks him. Raul tells Esteban the same story he had told Pedro, adding the instructions for the work needed over the next two days. Esteban listens in silence, staring at the earth between his sandals, nodding his head at the end of each sentence. Eventually, the other man finishes talking. Recognising the conversation is over for him Esteban walks back to the hut.

  Raul watches Esteban walking away and waits for him to reach the others. He beckons the cousin to come closer as he walks away from the hut. Once they are just over twenty metres away Raul hands the other man a piece of paper. “Speak to David from the factory. Tell him that I have gone to Barcelona and will be returning tomorrow night. Tell him to send me a telegram with what he finds out. He needs to send it to this address.” Raul puts his hand on the man’s shoulder, “Do you understand?”

  The other man nods his head. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”

  Raul squeezes his shoulder, “Good, go now. I am catching the next train to Barcelona with the boy.”

  The other man runs towards the village. Raul looks to the east where the sun is still low in the sky. He waits for a few seconds, letting his gaze rest on the train tracks in the distance. He can’t see or hear any sign of the train coming early and so starts jogging across the fields towards the station.

  When he arrives at the station the boy is standing beside the ticket office waiting for him. Along the platform men in suits wait impatiently. Raul climbs the stairs to the long, low, wooden platform. The train from Teruel blows its whistle far in the distance. Salvador looks up at Raul and asks, “Do we buy the tickets here or on the train?”

  Raul smiles. “Don’t worry; I’ll deal with that.”

  Salvador opens the sack sitting on his lap to show Raul its contents. “My mother has packed us some lunch. Bread, tortilla and wine.”

  Raul holds the bag partially open to look in. “She is a good woman, your mother. You must honour her by being a good son.” Salvador pulls the drawstring on the sack closed and knowingly nods his agreement.

  The train pulls into the station and struggles to bring itself to a halt. The screeching of metal wheels on metal tracks tears through the air. Raul opens a door into a third class carriage, far away from the businessmen clambering up into second class. Salvador pulls himself up onto the train with Raul following close behind. Raul stops Salvador from entering the carriage as he looks through the window for the guard.

  The whistle blows again and the train jerks forwards. After waiting a few moments the guard eventually reaches the centre of the carriage and Raul takes this as his signal to move. He walks into the carriage in front of Salvador, pulling his union membership card from his inside jacket pocket. The guard looks up and catches a glimpse of the card in the man’s hand. Raul leans into the guard and speaks just loudly enough for the other man to hear him, “Union business in Barcelona. Are there any police on board?”

  The guard shakes his head, “No, there were some at Teruel, but they were checking passengers at the station.”

  Raul points to four empty seats next to the doorway of the carriage. “Are we all right here?”

  The guard nods and smiles. “Of course, brother. I will let you know if any police board the train. You will need to be careful when we reach Barcelona; there was trouble overnight.”

  Standing a few feet back from the two men, Salvador struggles to hear any of the conversation. Once the conversation is over Raul turns and faces his travelling companion, points to the seats next to the doorway and says, “We are here.”

  *

  Salvador stares in silent awe at the landscape rushing by. After several hours the outlying villages of Barcelona start to dot the countryside racing past the window. The ticket inspector asks Raul to join him in the vestibule between the carriages. Raul smiles and puts his hand on Salvador’s shoulder as he gets up to leave him. “Stay here, I will just be a moment.”

  Once the two men reach the private space the guard starts speaking quickly. “I received word at the last station, the situation in the city is worse. The union has shut down all the transport in the city. The Civil Guard are checking identification at all the stations and the Assault Guards are surrounding a factory at the port. Poble Sec and Raval are completely locked down and barricades are going up. If they know you, you will need to jump off at the points change outside the station; the train slows to a stop there. I’ll let you know when it is coming up. Whatever you do, don’t go through the main station.”

  Raul looks out of the window of the train as the guard speaks to him. Rolling past his gaze are the shanty towns that have been springing up around the city for the last few years. Raul feels his jaws clenching as he takes in the squalor and deprivation. He flicks his cigarette through the window, pauses for a moment to look back towards the carriage and then turns back to the guard to answer him. He smiles genuinely and says, “Thank you. We’ll be ready to go when you tell us.” He kisses the guard on both cheeks and repeats himself, “Thank you, Comrade.”

  Raul goes back into the carriage and takes his seat beside Salvador. The boy watches him carefully as he gestures with a flick of his head to the window, drawing the boy’s attention to the landscape of hopelessness rushing past. Raul leans in close so as not to be overheard. “Listen carefully; there is a lot of trouble in the city so you must do exactly as I say, understand?” Salvador nods. Raul takes a notepad from his inside pocket and writes down an address and a series of names. He passes it to the boy. In a very serious and measured tone he gives the young boy his orders, “If for any reason we get split up you are to go to Parallel and down towards the port. When you reach the Windmill Theatre on your right there will be a road on your left. Go down that road and ask anyone manning a barricade for this café. When you get there ask the waiter for this person. They will know what to do.”

  As Salvador listens to the man’s words a feeling of fear starts to rise up from his stomach to his throat. “What will happen, what is going on?” he asks nervously.

  Raul, sensing his anxiety, tries to reassure him. The man puts his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Nothing to worry about, Comrade. The bosses are trying to crush our revolution. But you are not to worry; once we are beyond the barricades Barcelona will protect us. We will be amongst our own people there.” The boy feels a warm security in the older man’s embrace. He forces a smile. Raul smiles back, a kind and gentle smile.

  After a few minutes the train guard re-enters the carriage and taps Raul on the shoulder. “It is time,” he whispers into his ear. The brakes of the train start dragging against its forward motion as it slows. Raul pulls Salvador up and out of the door to the vestibule. Looking from one window first, he pulls the boy across to the other side of the train. He opens the door and holds it slightly ajar as the train slows. Raul puts one arm around Salvador’s waist and waits, watching the ground below slowing. Once the train is travelling a little faster than walking speed, he steps down onto the step and then onto the siding, pulling Salvador down with him.

  Across the skyline of browning buildings, taller than any he has ever seen before, Salvador sees plumes of smoke rising into the picture perfect blue sky. The heat and humidity of the city washes over him like a shower and t
he noise of the train rattling past their backs deafens him to the city’s sounds. Raul takes his hand and starts running across the tracks towards the wasteland by the backs of the buildings. Salvador lets himself be pulled along, focusing on the uneven surface and tracks below his feet as he runs.

  Within fifteen seconds they are down the bank and into the bushes of the wasteland. Raul crouches down and pulls Salvador down beside him. Scared to look up, Salvador stares at the earth beneath his feet. From the corner of his eye he sees Raul take a revolver from inside his jacket, open the cylinder and spin it. With a flick of the wrist he snaps the cylinder closed and puts the revolver in the outside pocket of his jacket. Looking in both directions, he waits.

  What is in reality only the briefest of moments waiting in the scrub passes agonisingly slowly for the boy. Raul points to the back of a building twenty metres away. “Stay low and walk fast, stay below the bushes if you can.” Before waiting for a response the man pulls the boy forwards into a crouched walk. The wire-like branches of the bushes scratch at their clothes and faces as they push through them. They both hold one hand up in front of their faces to protect themselves against the tearing thorns.

  Once they reach the back of the building Raul straightens up to his full height. The boy follows his lead. Raul turns to him when they reach the corner of the building and the street beyond it and says, “If we are stopped or anyone asks anything, you are my son; other than that, tell them the truth. Understand?” Salvador feels increasingly scared and nods his head half-heartedly. Seeing his nerves, Raul smiles at him and tries to reassure him, “Don’t worry. Just let me do the talking and we will soon be with my family.”

  They walk out onto the main street from the alley between the buildings and are greeted by a site Salvador could not have imagined: four and five storey buildings, crowds of people going in every direction and horses, carts and cars cutting swathes through the crowds. In awestruck silence he stops short, rooted to the spot.