Juanico puts the satchel over his shoulder. He replies, “Yes, Grandmother.”
Finally, Marianela hears the door close behind the boy and the two women and she peers around the kitchen door to make sure they have left. The room is empty and she allows herself a moment. She sits down heavily on the wooden chair at the kitchen table, unwraps the cloth from her hand and inspects the cut. She slouches back into the chair and lets her hands fall dejectedly into her lap.
Juanico walks behind his grandmother and great aunt; everywhere he looks there seems to be guards. They turn the corner before the church and see the priest standing in the shade talking with the boys from the CEDA youth. Embarrassed by being with his grandmother, Juanico tries to secrete himself behind the two women. They reach the doorway of the church and the two women come to a halt. His grandmother puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in front of her. The priest greets her with a warm smile. She looks at the twins in their shirts and ties. She strokes the yoke and arrows badge sewn onto the jacket pocket of the nearest twin. “Look what fine men you have both grown into. I know that your father is very proud,” she says. The two boys smile back.
The priest puts his hand on one of the boy’s shoulders, “They are fine and faithful men. Not only their father, but all of us should be proud of them. Just as the example the Holy Son gave us, so they also are defending all of our immortal souls. It is they that will protect our village from the peasants and their Jewish idolatry.”
Soledad acknowledges the priest’s words by nodding and crossing herself: “You are right, Father; the Jews would kill all of us if they could.”
The priest slaps the boy’s shoulder, “How right you are. Our young Catholic men, like the German Fuhrer, are doing the will of the Holy Father in Rome. It is they who will protect Spain from the Jewish Bolsheviks.”
He turns to Juanico. “Isn’t that right, child?” The young boy forces a smile and nods. The priest continues, “And you are nearly big enough to help defend your family, no?” The boy watches the dust between his feet settle as he nods. He can see the bigger boy’s sandals in the corner of his eye and the dusty hem of the priest’s cassock.
Soledad prods the boy in the shoulder with a claw-like talon. “Answer Father Nicolas.”
Juanico feels his shoulder pushed forward under the pressure of the bony finger. “Yes, Father. I will defend my family,” he replies under duress. The priest smiles and steps to the side, allowing them to enter the church. The two women and the boy step into the shadows. Soledad pulls her shawl up over her head and crosses herself as she enters. Her sister repeats her movements two seconds after her.
The priest waits for them to be out of earshot before saying to the three young men, “Come to my office after mass; I have pickaxe handles for you there. Until this Bolshevik disease has passed it is your holy duty to help the Civil Guard to keep order.”
The eldest of the two twins answers, “Yes, Father.” The boys follow the priest into the church.
When mass is finally finished Juanico says goodbye to his grandmother and great aunt and makes his way to the classrooms at the back of the church. He enters the room and sees the three young men from the CEDA standing at the front of the class behind the priest’s desk. He stands behind his desk avoiding their gaze. The three of them stand motionless like sentries at the front of the class. By the time the priest enters all the children are standing by their desks. The priest walks up and down the line of youths at the front of the room looking each of them up and down, from head to toe. He turns to face the class. “Who killed our Lord?” he bellows at the children in the front row.
One of the children holds his hand up. The priest points to him. “The Jews,” the boy says.
The priest nods. “Correct. And who are the leaders of the Bolshevik uprising in Russia?”
A boy in the second row raises his hand. The priest points to him. “The Jews.”
Again, the priest nods, “Correct. And what did the peasants, their minds poisoned by the Jews, do to the priests and their faithful congregations?”
He turns to the three young men standing behind him and points to the oldest of the twins. The boy replies, “They flayed and murdered the priests. They raped the women and girls, cut the men’s heads off and crushed the skulls of the babies, Father.”
The priest turns back to the class. “And how do we respond if they come to our land?”
The same twin replies, “We protect holy Spain and defend our women and children. Whatever the cost.” Juanico watches the boy speaking, he can see no emotion. Like the Latin verb conjugations the room is normally home to, the boy’s words beat out a machine-like rhythm.
The priest paces between the lines of desks, the cane in his hand gently taps against his cassocked thigh, interspersing an offbeat between the sound of his sandals padding on the stone floor. Juanico keeps track of him in his peripheral vision as he stares directly ahead. The priest stands at the back of the class looking at the backs of the boys’ heads. “The Jewish conspiracy has already reached our village. The peasants make noises of shutting down the factories and fields. This is their first step to weakening us. It is God’s will that your parents are their masters. Questioning the authority of your parents is blaspheming against the Lord. These are godless peasants led by the teachings of those that killed Christ.” The boys stare directly ahead while the three young men stare back like stone gargoyles, their gazes scanning the prepubescent faces.
The priest walks forwards to the front of the room. “It is each of your duty to God and Country to tell me or these fine upstanding men if you hear of anything that threatens our village.” He holds the cane out at arm’s length and waves it across the top of the front row heads as if fly fishing, “Anything that threatens our village, anything at all. Do you all understand?”
The boys respond as one, “Yes, Father Nicolas.”
“Now start reading Galatians. In silence,” he says as he turns and leaves the room. The boys sit down and open their bibles. The three young men follow the priest out. Juanico stares blankly at the Latin verse, barely able to focus.
*
Just before 9pm Manolo marches into the workers’ bar with six of the Civil Guard under his command. Outside on the veranda and in the square eight members of the CEDA youth militia, armed with pickaxe handles, take up position watching the square and the roads onto it. As Manolo enters the bar, the workers fall silent. Several of them stand up and reach into their jacket pockets for weapons. The Civil Guards raise their rifles and take aim around the room. The workers freeze. Manolo marches across the room to the corner table, pushing people out of his way, his revolver in his hand.
The union organisers don’t get out of their seats. He reaches the table and pulls out a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. Pointing the revolver at the two men in the corner he says, “I’ve got warrants for your arrest. You are coming with me.”
The two men lift themselves out of their seats and the people in the bar start clamouring, “Who do you think you are?”
“They’ve done nothing wrong,” and “You’re nothing more than the duke’s dog,” they shout.
Manolo lifts his gun above his head and fires one round into the ceiling. The gunpowder exploding in the barrel echoes around the room as if lightning had struck the ground. He points the gun towards the man standing nearest to him and the paper high above his head. “This is an official arrest warrant. Get in our way and we have the right to shoot.”
Within two seconds of the gunshot the CEDA youth militia start making their way towards the workers on the veranda of the bar with the axe handles gripped in tense anticipation. The men in the bar edge back towards the walls, making a space for the Civil Guard to leave. The two men from behind the table walk silently out of the bar, with rifle barrels pushed hard between their shoulder blades.
The CEDA
youth stop as they see the procession making its way from the bar and then slowly fading back into the shadows of the square. The men in the bar follow tentatively out onto the veranda. From a distance they watch Manolo lead the procession back to the station. The Civil Guard lower their rifles to their waists but still keep them pointing towards the onlookers.
Pedro watches the events on the other side of the square from his usual table with Garcia. Both men sit in silence until they see Manolo and two of the guards take the labourers into the station. Garcia drinks from his brandy. He puts the glass down and says, “That should help.”
Pedro looks up at him. “Do you think?”
Garcia smiles knowingly and then allows himself a small laugh before replying, “Probably not.”
Chapter 15
It being still early in the day, the sun has yet to heat up the air in the streets of the village. Marianela and Juanico make their way to church. They turn a corner and happen upon Maria Dolores walking to the market. She falls silently into formation behind them. Marianela slows her walk to let the boy move slightly ahead. The two women start speaking quietly under their breath so as not to be heard. His keen hearing allows him to make out the majority of the conversation.
“There was another attack last night,” Maria Dolores whispers.
Marianela watches the back of the boy’s head nervously as she replies almost inaudibly, “What happened?”
Maria Dolores leans in closer, “After the arrests in the square some of the young Valencians that live by the river were beaten horribly.” Marianela listens. Maria Dolores continues, “Two of them were so badly hurt they don’t think that they will survive, two more are still not awake but should be all right.”
Marianela asks, “Do they know who did —? ”
Maria Dolores cuts her off before she gets to finish, “Who do you think did it? It was those hairless whores of the CEDA.”
Noticing that the boy is ever so slightly slowing down and cocking his head to one side, Marianela holds a finger to her lips. Maria Dolores nods. They continue walking in silence until the boy begins to pick up his pace. Marianela leans towards Maria Dolores and very quietly asks, “What did the guards say?”
Maria Dolores smirks, “Who will go to the guards at a time like this? Those sons of bitches will arrest the Valencians and kill them in their cells. No. Our women will tend to our boys and our men will deal with those bastards.” Marianela feels a distant nervousness, like a faint memory.
They turn the corner into the church square and see the priest standing with one of the Civil Guards and one of the mayor’s twin sons. A heated but whispered discussion is clearly taking place between the two men while the youth looks down at the floor in silence. Maria Dolores immediately starts to pull away from Marianela and without saying another word turns down the next corner. Marianela speeds up slightly to lessen the distance between her and Juanico.
Seeing more of the children arriving for lessons, the priest ushers the guard and the youth further along the wall of the church and away from the main entrance. Marianela reaches a hand out to Juanico’s shoulder. “I hope you have a good day,” she says. He pulls his shoulder away from her touch and says nothing. He walks on into the church. Marianela stands watching him for a few seconds. She notices the guard looking at her. She feels an unsubstantiated guilt growing within her. She quickly turns and walks towards the market.
After the morning lessons Juanico waits at his desk. He watches the other boys make their way out of the room in silence. Once all the others have left, the priest finally looks up from his desk to see him standing waiting. His voice rises above its normal level. “What are you waiting for?” he asks. Juanico hurries from his desk to the front of the room. “I asked you a question. What are you waiting for?” the priest demands. Juanico shuffles his feet as he tries to find the courage to speak. The priest stands up abruptly, pushing his chair crashing into the wall behind him. “Answer me, child; you are trying my patience,” he bellows.
The words come cascading out of the young boy like grain spilling out of a cut sack. “I heard two of my father’s workers discussing the attack last night. They were discussing what the workers will do,” he blurts out.
The priest recognises the importance of what the boy has to tell him and contrives to visibly soften. He sits back down and smiles. “Come here, my boy. There is no need to be nervous,” he says in a more comforting tone. He holds his hand out towards the young boy. Juanico feels the fear subside as he inches towards him. The priest puts his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Now tell me what attack you are talking about?” he enquires with increasing gentleness.
Juanico, feeling safer, regulates his breathing and the words become more measured. “The women peasants said that the CEDA attacked the Valencian workers.”
The priest closes his eyes and stifles his anger. “The CEDA do God’s work. They will have attacked no one. Don’t you worry; the guard has told me this morning that some of the peasants were fighting among themselves last night. But you are not to worry, that is normal. They are like wild dogs. You know that, Juan Nicolas, don’t you?” He focuses in on the boy’s eyes.
Juan Nicolas nods his head. “It is just that the peasant woman from the field said that their men would deal with it.” The muscles around the priest’s eyes constrict and his grip on the boy’s shoulder tightens. His words become slow and measured as he becomes more insistent, “Tell me exactly which peasants you are talking about and exactly what they said.”
*
A short while later Pedro notices Manolo and the priest entering the courtyard. The October sun directly overhead casts no shadows. He pulls himself out of the chair and puts the rifle over his shoulder before walking across the sundrenched yard to meet them in the middle. Manolo glances around the yard to make sure none of the workers can hear him before he starts speaking, “The Father brings us bad news.” Pedro turns to the priest expecting him to speak. Manolo continues, “Your boy overheard two of your women workers conspiring this morning.”
Taken aback, Pedro’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “What are you talking about?”
Manolo continues, “Your house girl and the woman in your fields were discussing a plan to kill the mayor’s sons.”
Pedro takes a small step back and looks at the priest. “But I don’t understand, where is my son?”
The priest puts his hand around Pedro’s upper arm. “Do not worry, my son. Your boy has done the right thing by telling us. He is at home with your mother now. I took him there myself.”
Pedro looks down at the priest’s hand. He takes it by the wrist in his opposite hand and pulls it away from him. “What exactly did my son hear?” he insists, growing increasingly angry.
Sensing the tension, Manolo starts walking across the courtyard to the workshop, expecting the two men to follow him. When they don’t, he looks back towards them and points towards the inviting shade of the workshop. “If you would,” he urges them. The two men oblige. Walking ahead of them, Manolo continues speaking, “I need to hear it with my own ears.”
Feeling the situation moving at a dizzying speed Pedro tries to slow the conversation. “I don’t understand what you mean by trouble. We are talking about a couple of prattling women. They are nothing. The girl has been with us seventeen years. We have never had any trouble. My workers have never caused any trouble; they have been working my fields for years. My son is mistaken. I will speak to him immediately.”
Manolo positions himself between Pedro and his route out to the courtyard. “We both know that is not entirely true. You have had trouble controlling your workers and servants before.” Pedro shuffles one of his sandals in the dust. Manolo continues, “I insist I either speak to the girl or your son. You can question them with me, but I warn you, if she doesn’t tell me what I want to hear I will make her tell me.”
Defensively, Pedro stares him straight in the eye. “Let me speak to my boy first. I am sure he is mistaken.”
Manolo nods his head and turns to the priest. “Perhaps it is better you do not join us. Thank you for telling me everything, Father. I will take care of it.” He pauses before continuing, “I assure you of that.” Clearly annoyed, the priest bows his head and leaves.
When Manolo and Pedro reach the house they find Marianela in the kitchen preparing the lunch and Juanico in the inner garden sitting with his grandmother and great aunt. Nervously, Marianela watches the two men walk past the kitchen door and make their way into the garden. The swollen, red face of the guard masks his violent desires as he glances towards Marianela as they pass. Pedro holds the beaded curtain open for Manolo and then follows him into the pleasant coolness of the inner garden. The olive trees cast a dappled shade from their gently swaying branches. Everyone in the garden looks up as the beaded curtain rustles. Juanico feels a sinking feeling as he sees the Civil Guard staring back at him.
Soledad tries to welcome their high status guest but Pedro doesn’t give her the chance, talking across her, “Juan Nicolas, come with me to the storehouse, we need to speak to you now.”
The boy’s heart sinks. “Yes, sir.” The two men stride purposefully across the garden with the young boy following behind. The Civil Guard bows his head as he passes the women. “Nothing to worry yourselves about, ladies,” splatters out of his spittle-glistening ruby lips. The two women respond with a smile before looking at one another quizzically.
The two men stop at the front of the flatbed lorry parked in the storehouse. Juanico stops and nervously looks down at the ground. Pedro crouches down so as to look his son directly in the eye, “The priest told us what you told him.”
The boy nervously rattles out a response, “I am sorry, sir. I should not have said anything, Father.”
A Most Uncivil War Page 17