A Most Uncivil War

by Nicolas Lalaguna

  Salvador holds a hand up to stop him. “Slowly, slowly, all in good time. Firstly, Caterina and her family are as can be expected. Her father is bedridden but his voice is still strong. I spent a few hours with him before returning. He asked after you. And she will join us when she can.”

  Raul closes his eyes and listens to Salvador. “The generals are preparing to overthrow the government. Some of the soldiers, priests and police are with them. Our brothers and sisters are telling us that they are readying themselves as we speak and that it will be any day now. That is why I am here. I have a few rifles. We need to locate whatever weapons are in the village and prepare our brothers and sisters here. We need to do it fast and without letting them know that we are preparing.” He pauses and looks at the grey shadow of the man in front of him. He chooses his words carefully, “I will speak to the members and prepare the militias.” Raul nods his head, his eyes still closed.

  Salvador takes the tobacco tin from the knapsack at his feet and starts rolling a cigarette. Suddenly aware of the other man’s silence, Raul lifts up his head and opens his eyes. His withered muscles make every move difficult. Sal passes the cigarette to him and rolls another. “I will need your help in planning,” he says.

  Raul interrupts him, “I can still fight.”

  Sal smiles. “Of course you can.” The smile leaves his face to be replaced with a look of heartfelt sincerity. “But if what I have heard about the village is true I will need you to help plan our response. All the organisers have been arrested and few have yet to return. I believe we are the first. I will mobilise the young men and women. You are to let us do the fighting; we will need you to tell us where and when, and how.” As he speaks his eyebrows raise and his face looks kind.

  Raul pauses and looks deep into the other man’s eyes before replying. Inside, he struggles to accept that his weakened body would stop him from being part of this moment. This moment that he has struggled his entire adult life for. It takes him a few seconds to make his decision. He surrenders his dreams for the sake of his brothers and sisters, “You are right. We still have about 1,500 members in the village. But they have been silenced and forced to hide for months; for years now. Also, I have sent word to our members in Teruel. Antonio and Esteban are there. I am hoping they will return to help us. The rest are in Zaragoza. If they have not yet been released, they will be soon and if they can they will join us also.”

  Salvador had felt nervous the whole journey back from Barcelona, not knowing what would be waiting for him when he arrived. In his mind he damns the fascists for breaking the strength of the man before him while in his heart he is thankful that he is still alive and waiting here to guide him. In those few years that he had been fighting without Raul’s counsel he had felt like a fraud, a charlatan making it up as he went along. Sitting with his friend in that hut once again bathed him in the belief and optimism of his youth. He smiles and grasps the other man’s hand across the table. Raul looks up at him. Sal says with determination, “Now is our time. We have fought for generations with these whores. Finally, they will overreach and we will create the Spain we have dreamed of; the Spain with neither gods nor masters, as you taught me.”

  Raul feels a tenderness and an admiration growing in him as he feeds on the energy emanating from the younger man. In a more fragile voice he replies, “This village gave you your life and your reason to fight. It was Barcelona that gave you the love, the strength and the mind to win.”

  Salvador places his cigarette in the ashtray and puts his second hand on top of his friend’s and smiles back at him, “It was you that started me on this journey, but it is with our families, our towns and our comrades that we will reach our journey’s end.”

  Raul feels stronger than he has in months. His voice rises and echoes around the room, “Until the revolution and until we are victorious.”

  Sal pats his hand and replies, “Always, brother.”

  *

  In the duke’s main house Garcia, the estate manager; Manolo, the Civil Guard Officer; Nicolas, the priest; Jose Antonio, the ex-mayor and village lawyer; and Pedro sit and stand around the book-lined study. One of the servants makes his way around the men with a tray of coffees, giving one to each of them in turn. The duke sits behind the desk in silence, rolling the smouldering cigar between thumb and forefinger, with his back to the other men. The early morning sun coming through the window creates a glowing halo around his silhouette. Pedro glances around the room. A feeling of imminent dread seems to mingle with the swirling clouds of cigar smoke. The duke waits for the servant to leave the room and close the door behind him before spinning the chair around to face his audience and continue from where he had left off.

  Manolo straightens his back to lift himself to his full height. The stomach hanging over his belt struggles with the buttons on his jacket. The duke rolls the ashen structure built up on the end of the cigar into the ashtray. He then looks towards the men. He looks at each in turn before speaking. “I have had word from my cousin at the academy in Pamplona. Our time is imminent.” Pedro feels his stomach drop and shoulders slouch as his fears begin to materialise. The duke continues, “These Russian Jews and their mindless rabble have dragged our once great country into the open sewers which they are too lazy to get out of.” He pauses and lets his gaze once again take in each of the men in turn while they digest what he has said. Each of them greets his look with a silent nod. Pedro fights with himself to not let his face give away his distaste for what is to come.

  The duke stands up from behind his desk. The sunlight creates a corona around his face, “It is our duty to play our roles in the coming days. The future of our great nation lies in each of our hands.”

  Manolo begins to interrupt him, “I have received word from —”

  He is immediately cut off by the duke raising his voice and throwing him a stern stare. He deliberately repeats himself before continuing, “…In each of our hands. I will travel to Pamplona to join my fellow officers to await the arrival of our commanding officer the great veteran General Jose Sanjurjo. I leave the five of you in charge of securing the village and the surrounding lands. I expect you to take whatever actions are required to take control of this village. The unions must be crushed once and for all and the imposter mayor and any of his communist lackeys replaced immediately.” Garcia makes notes.

  Manolo, in his most officious tone, interrupts, “I have been ordered to put my men at your command. You can rest assured that the village will be secure.”

  The duke doesn’t acknowledge Manolo, he just continues talking across him, “Anyone that dares to question us must receive swift and absolute retribution as an example to the rest. This revolutionary virus infecting our country will be smothered and killed in its cradle. My family has ruled these lands for centuries and I will not have Jews, gypsys, foreigners and whores destroying my family’s legacy. Do you all understand?” The men glance at one another. The duke continues, “I have purchased arms and employed five mercenaries from the colonies to help secure the village. They will be here tonight. Manolo, you will mobilise your guards to take control of the station, the telegraph and the main square; Garcia, you will use my staff and the moors to secure the roads in and out of the village, the house and the factories; Pedro and the other smallholders under your command, you will secure the main grain stores and bank; while Father Nicolas, you will use the CEDA to round up any communists without the courage to fight. And all of you listen carefully; they will put up a fight. These dogs have been snapping at our heels for too long now. We must put them down and put them down hard.” All the men but the priest and the duke lower their heads to the floor, nodding gently, trying to imagine what will happen over the days to come.

  The tension in the room hangs heavy in the air. The duke looks around the room trying to hide his nervousness. In that moment he knows that his and his family’s future lie in the hands of men like thes
e. Eventually, Manolo speaks, “Do not give the village another thought. We will make sure that once this is over you will be welcomed back with fiestas and a parade that would honour a saint.”

  The priest takes the baton, “For our holy church, our benevolent duke and our soon-to-be-once-again-great empire we will restore our village and its simple peasants back to the path of holy righteousness. It is God’s will that this uneducated rabble remember to respect the will of their church and their masters. It was written in the bible, and as God proclaimed it, so we shall all do our solemn duty to uphold his will.”

  Jose Antonio, not to be outdone, steps in to take over, “Once again your lands and people will show you and the church the respect that is a divine right. They will bend their knee or they shall burn in their hovels.” Garcia looks up from his notebook to see if Pedro will respond. Manolo and Jose Antonio, sensing a pause in the pattern, both look across towards Pedro. Feeling all eyes on him, Pedro’s stomach ties in knots and his throat starts tightening with fear.

  The duke waits a few moments before prompting him, “Gardener, will you do your duty to the family that has fed you and housed you these past generations?”

  Pedro nods his head twice, still looking at the floor, before speaking, “Of course, sir.” He pauses as he tries to muster an adequately respectful response; the pressure of the collective momentum is almost tangible in the air. “I am an uneducated man; I do not have the place or learning to speak in such company. You know, kind duke, that all of my family will lay down their lives in gratitude for what you have done for us.”

  The duke crosses the room and put his hand on Pedro’s bowed head, “I know. You and your father before you may not have the gilded words of these pampered and educated civil servants, but it was your family’s blood that fertilised my fields, their sweat that soaked the mortar of these walls and I do not doubt that it will be your lives that will be given to protect us from the animals at our gates. Do not be ashamed, gardener, you might still have the chance to demonstrate your love for me with the ultimate sacrifice.”

  Pedro feels the patronising hand on the top of his head. He replies through gritted teeth, “I would happily give mine and all of my family’s lives to defend your honour, my duke.” The men in the room hear awe in Pedro’s stifled anger.

  *

  Marianela hangs the sheets out on the line at the back of the main courtyard. She listens to Soledad, her sister and Juan Nicolas talking as they drink their coffee in the shade of the covered arches. The sun beats down on her back and she feels the sweat across her shoulders cling to the cotton dress. Her shoulders ache as she lifts each sheet up onto the line, and her back muscles fire a gripping pain up her spine each time she bends to pick up the next sheet from the wicker basket. Without wanting to be seen to be listening, she struggles to hear the conversation.

  Juanico says, “My friends say that the government is destroying the country and the generals will save us if they don’t stop.”

  Soledad doesn’t look up from her lace work as she replies, “Those are not the sort of things you need to worry about. All you need to worry about is your school work and doing as your father tells you.”

  Juanico pauses for a few moments before responding. Marianela pegs another sheet onto the line and another series of pains shoot across her back and shoulders. “But Father Nicolas tells us that the government are godless Jews that hate us and everything about us. I don’t understand why my father —”

  His grandmother talks across him before he gets a chance to finish his sentence, “Your father is a good, honest, hard working Catholic man and you would do well to remember your place.”

  Juanico starts to respond, “But Father Nicolas —”

  His grandmother theatrically puts her lacework down into her lap and exasperatedly responds, “Father Nicolas teaches us God’s will. Father Nicolas will also have told you not to question your father. Am I right?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer before continuing, “The Jews killed our Lord and their Bolshevik assassins may well have infiltrated our government. If Father Nicolas tells us that this is so, then this is so. It is the holy Roman church that will guide us, all of us, including your father. But remember this, God does not want us to be led to the inferno by godless vermin and will give our men the strength to protect us.” A warm, reassuring smile plays at the corner of her mouth. Juanico’s confusion is replaced by a reassured calm.

  The woman looks over her glasses at the boy for a moment before restarting her lacework. She carries on, “So as I said, you do not need to worry yourself about such things, now continue with your parables. God is always watching and when he sees us learning from his holy book he will protect us.” Juanico opens the book on the table and once again starts reading aloud in a somewhat stilted Latin. Soledad’s sister restarts her lacework and the two women listen to the boy’s reading in silence, their fingers busy and their consciences clear. Marianela lifts the empty wicker basket onto her hip and goes back to the kitchen where she begins preparing the lunch.

  As Pedro passes the kitchen door he says to Marianela, “Bring me coffee.”

  She looks up nervously and replies, “Of course, sir.” He joins his family at the table in the shade. Juanico looks up at his father and sensing that he is about to speak closes the bible and places it on the table in front of him. Neither of the women looks up from their lacework.

  Pedro sits down and under the table slips his sandals off his feet. “I have important news,” he says. The two women look up from their busy hands. “Very important news,” he continues, eyeing the activity in their laps judgementally. The two women place their half-finished lace on the table in front of them. Marianela places a cup and saucer on the table and pours the coffee from the saucepan. He watches the steaming mahogany liquid flowing into the flawless, white china. He waits for her to leave the garden before speaking.

  Marianela positions herself by the sink chopping the onions noisily so as to be heard working while at the same time straining to hear him speak. “I have just met with the duke and some of the other men,” he says. Soledad’s face lights up. “Over the next few days there will be a lot of activity in the village and you are all to remain indoors at all times.” He looks at his son and repeats himself for his benefit, “All of you are to remain indoors until I say that it is safe to leave. Do you understand?”

  His mother responds on all of their behalves, “Of course we do. We will do exactly as you say. Won’t we?” Juanico lets his eyes flicker back and forth between his father and his grandmother as he nods.

  Pedro’s aunt speaks, “What is going to happen?”

  Pedro glances at her and his forehead furrows. “Nothing for you to worry about. There will be some activity, and some people might get hurt. But none of you will be involved.” He looks back at his son. “Do you understand?” The boy nods again in silence. His father grabs his wrist and squeezes it tight in his vice-like grip. “Tell me you understand and that you will not do anything stupid.”

  The boy feels the pain in his wrist shooting up his forearm. “Of course, Father. As you say, I will stay in the house,” he answers.

  Pedro releases his grasp on the boy’s wrist. “Good. I will have situations to deal with around the village and expect you to protect my home. While I am absent you are the man of the house.” The two women look at one another nervously.

  The front door of the house opens and Salvador peers tentatively around it. The hallway is dark and empty. The sun from the central courtyard slithers through the beaded curtain hanging over the rear door. He can hear the deep bass of Pedro’s voice in the garden. The time that has passed since he was last in the house has changed Salvador. He checks that the revolver is tucked safely into the belt of his trousers at the small of his back and then pulls down the tail of the jacket to ensure that it is hidden. He offers a greeting to anyone in earshot, “Hello, g
ood morning. It is Salvador.” As soon as Marianela hears the words coming from the front hall her focus on Pedro’s words is broken. She drops the knife and runs to the front door. At the end of the hall stands a taller, stronger and darker, more adult son than she remembers. She wraps her arms around him and he in turn pulls her tight to his chest. Hearing the clamour from inside the house Pedro gets to his feet and walks quickly into the house.

  Salvador sees the man’s face over her shoulder and pushes his mother gently away from his embrace.

  “You choose now to return to the village. Today of all days you choose to return,” Pedro says. Salvador allows himself a small smile. He was worried that his inner strength would fail him but seeing Pedro in that moment reassures him that he no longer fears the other man as he once did. He slowly and unassumingly puts his right hand behind his back and grips the handle of the revolver.

  “Good afternoon, Pedro. It is truly a pleasure to see you again,” he replies with a disrespectful familiarity.

  The boy’s insubordination doesn’t go unnoticed. “You would do well to show me respect in my house, boy. You are not too old to be taught —” Pedro begins to reply before he is cut off.

  “Be careful how you address me, old man. I am not a boy any more. And in case you hadn’t heard, your kind don’t run this country any more either. I will treat you with the respect your actions merit, no more and no less,” Salvador snaps.

  Pedro crosses the hall in three long strides, raising his hand threateningly as his voice crescendos into a torrent of fury, “How dare you come into my house and speak to me like this.”

  Marianela throws herself in front of Pedro to block his path. “Please, sir, don’t,” she begs. He pushes her to the floor and out of his way. In one swift move Salvador pulls his hand from behind his back, raises it horizontally and points the revolver at Pedro’s chest. The other man stops instantaneously with the barrel of the gun only inches from his heart. He stares into the boy’s wide, brown eyes for any sign of bluff or fear. He sees none in the young man’s face.