A Most Uncivil War

by Nicolas Lalaguna

  Salvador leans down with his free hand and helps his mother to her feet, never letting his gaze leave Pedro’s face. “Careful, old man, fascists have been killed for less,” he warns him; his voice is monotonous and emotionless. Pedro steps backwards slowly, raising his hands above his shoulders.

  Marianela starts sobbing as she clambers to her feet. “It is only out of respect for my mother that I do not kill you now. Know that Pedro,” he says as he walks backwards out of the house, pulling his objecting mother with him. Sal ushers his mother out of the doorway ahead of him, and continues to back out until he has crossed the threshold. “Don’t follow me, Pedro. You won’t be the first to die doing so and I assure you, you won’t be the last that tries.” He closes the door and hurries his mother down the street and around the corner. He pulls her running towards the fields and the camouflage of the corn reaching up towards the sky.

  The door slams and Pedro rushes to the pantry. He starts loading cartridges into his shotgun, mumbling under his breath, “Whore-son, little bastard. I’ll kill the little bastard.” Noisily, he locks the gun shut and turns to leave the room. His mother is standing in the doorway, blocking his way. “Out of my way, woman. That little whore’s son will die for this disrespect. As will his whore-mother,” he barks at her.

  Soledad doesn’t move. “No. This is not the way. You will have your chance. You have to do it the right way.” She places her hand on the twin barrels and lowers them to the floor as she closes in on him. “This is not the way to do it. You will have your chance,” she repeats and puts her arms around him.

  Pedro feels his reason struggling with his emotions. He knows that she is right. He knows that he will get his chance far sooner than she thinks as well. But in his heart and stomach he is seething with rage. He looks her in the eyes, “I will kill that little bastard with my own hands. I should have drowned him before he uttered his first unholy screams. You were right. A whore’s bastard would never come to any good.”

  His mother strokes his shoulder. “I know, son. You must be clever about this. You have a family to provide for. Your friends will help you make sure he gets what he deserves.”

  He closes his eyes and places the shotgun against the wall. He feels the palms of his mother’s hands stroke down his tight back. The feeling of maternal warmth, so often devoid in the relationship, for a few brief moments reassuringly laps across his angry mind. In a slower, gentler voice he says loudly enough for only her to hear, “I promise you, Mother, him and that ungrateful whore will pay for their ingratitude.”

  *

  Hurrying through the fields towards the station master’s house Marianela tries to make some sense of what is happening. “What have you done, why have you come back like this? Stop running, I don’t understand,” she struggles with her breath as she tries to speak and keep up with him at the same time.

  “We are almost there, Mother. Be calm. We are almost there. That bastard will never hurt you again. I swear I will kill them all before I let him raise a hand to you,” he promises her as they keep pushing through the swaying corn.

  They reach the house and he peers around the corner and down the track towards the station. Once he is sure that there is no one following them he hurries her into the house where Raul is waiting by the table with several workers from the village. One of the barbers, the station master, the postman and two men from the factories all look up. Salvador holds the door slightly open, peering back through the crack to make sure they are not being followed. Marianela stands dumbstruck, staring back at the men.

  The postman quickly folds the map closed. Raul immediately senses that something serious has happened. Salvador stands peering through the open crack, his hand with the pistol in it resting against the door. Raul kisses Marianela on both cheeks and feels her shaking. He puts his arm around her and draws her into his chest. He runs his hand down the back of her head, brushing her hair flat while saying over her shoulder, “What happened?”

  Without drawing his head from the crack Salvador replies, “He became angry and we had a confrontation.”

  Marianela speaks into Raul’s shirt through her sobs, “That is not what happened. You started an argument and then pulled that gun on Don Pedro. You stupid boy. What have you done?”

  Raul closes his eyes for three seconds and then quickly turns to the men at the table and says, “You take our things to the carriage. We cannot stay here now. You know what the plan is. Go back to your work and be ready.”

  The men hurriedly start collecting the items and one by one leave the house, pushing past Sal blocking the exit. The station master picks up the two men’s bags and before leaving says, “I’ll leave your things at the carriage as we agreed. Give me a few minutes and then go before the search starts.” He looks once more at Salvador, looks back at Raul, shakes his head and leaves.

  Raul helps Marianela into a chair and pours her a brandy. “For your nerves,” he says as he passes it to her. He pulls Salvador across to the other side of the room and whispers, “What were you thinking? Have you lost your mind? You have put everything at risk.”

  Having had time to come to terms with the course of events Salvador very calmly looks him in the eye and says, “Nothing is at risk that they hadn’t put there first. I couldn’t leave my mother there while this was going on. And so what if they know I am here? That is all they know. Let him know that I will kill him if he comes near me or my family. Perhaps it will give him a moment’s pause before he takes part in this insurrection.”

  Raul looks down at the fireplace. He looks back over his shoulder at Marianela. He asks himself why she had never told the boy that Pedro was his father. He looks back at Salvador and wonders if now is the right time to tell him. He quickly decides that it is neither the time nor the place. He puts his hand on Sal’s shoulder and says, “You are right, brother. But this means that we have to go to the old train carriages to wait for this to start. And your mother will have to come with us. We cannot trust them not to hurt her now.” Marianela watches the two men’s backs as she listens to their conversation and sips at the brandy. For a few moments the room is silent. Raul looks at the blackened fireplace and Salvador watches him looking at it.

  *

  Pedro carries the shotguns and hunting rifles to the dining table and places them down carefully. The two women and his son stand in the hallway watching him move between the storeroom and the dining room, bringing cartridges and bullets through. He starts loading the guns and issuing orders to his audience, “Juanico, lock the storehouse door and start bringing sacks of grain through to the garden; bring any that are still there. Also, bring empty sacks through and start filling them with dirt. We need at least twenty in total. Aunt, help him. Mother, you close all the shutters in the house and bar them shut.” The three stand for a few moments just staring at him. Noticing no movement in his peripheral vision, his calm tone is replaced by a more urgent one, “Now, start. We don’t have a lot of time.” Once the guns are loaded he places one shotgun by the front and back doors and one on the first floor landing. He leaves his hunting rifle on the table.

  His mother comes down the stairs and asks, “What now, son?”

  He gestures to the front door, “Lock the front door and do not let anyone in. Come and get me if anyone knocks.”

  Pedro enters the garden and finds his son shovelling dirt into the sack that his aunt is holding open. He takes the shovel from him. “Give me that. You start piling these up against the doors.” He buries the blade of the shovel deep into the sunbaked earth and starts digging clumps of it out and into the sack. Juanico feels the sweat seeping from every pore in his body as the sun beats down on him. His muscles stiffen and strain as he struggles to build a wall of sacks against the door.

  In just under an hour there are sacks by the front and back doors waiting to be piled up and the back garden has been secured from entry via the storeho
use. Feeling a little more assured, Pedro sits down at the table where his family have been waiting for him while he walked around the house. They shift nervously in their seats in anticipation.

  Pedro rolls a cigarette and drinks from the waterskin. His family scrutinise his every move. He wipes the water from his mouth and lights the cigarette. “I will have to leave you here shortly. Stay close to the guns. Do not let anyone but me into the house, whatever reason they give. Do you understand me?” he asks. The three of them nod in a unified silence. He carries on, “If anyone tries to break in you are to shoot first. Do you understand?” He places the gun belt over his shoulder and diagonally across his chest and then puts on his jacket over the top. He puts the rifle over his shoulder and makes his way towards the house. “Juanico, come with me,” he says. The boy looks quizzically at his grandmother and, receiving no response, follows his father to the front door.

  The man puts his hand on his son’s shoulder as they walk side by side to the front of the house. “I am trusting you to protect our house and our family, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Father,” the boy replies, looking at the ground as he accompanies him.

  “Good. Once I leave, you are to lock the door and pile the sacks against it. You are to watch the back and front doors at all times until I return, with the guns at the ready. Do you understand?”

  Nervously, the boy forces out a reply, “Yes, Father.”

  They reach the door and Pedro stops to face his son. “Your friends will come and tell you to join them on the streets. You must not leave this house. I am leaving you as the man of the house and your first obligation is to your family. People will be dying on the streets tonight. I am trusting you to protect our family. Tonight I will be protecting the village; it does not need you as well.” He pauses and looks into the boy’s eyes, trying to commit them to memory. The boy feels his eyes welling with tears as he is overwhelmed by the emotions emanating from his father. He tries to respond but no words leave his mouth.

  Pedro kisses him on both cheeks and reassuringly says, “Do not worry. Just think of it like one of our hunting trips. This will all be over soon and we will back here sharing a beer and discussing our exploits. Do not worry, my son; like your grandfather before you I will give my life to protect our family and our village. You are fifteen years old now; and as I was at your age, and he was at your age, you are more than old enough to accept the responsibilities of being a man in this family.” He kisses him again, turns away and unlocks the door.

  Juanico watches him leave and pushes the door shut behind him. He can hear his father’s sandals on the path outside growing dim as he locks the door and drags the sacks in front of it. He picks up the shotgun and sits down in the chair facing the door; the cold metal of the gun’s twin barrels rests across his thighs. His delicate fingers lightly stroke the barrels and the stock.

  Chapter 19

  Much like the day, most of the night passes with little more than furtive glances and hurried whispers behind closed doors. However, what had been unspoken openly the day before, the next morning becomes very public displays of activity and preparations. Before first light the duke leaves his house with his driver and a third man; the Hispano-Suiza travelling at high speed hurtles away from the village and up the road towards the north. In the car each of the men are armed and in military uniforms. At the same time all of the Civil Guards posted in the village are seen reporting for duty. Shortly after dawn five North Africans in civilian clothes are seen arriving at the duke’s house in a demobilised army truck where they unload army regulars’ kit bags and two crates of arms.

  The day passes without incident, as the villagers wade through a tension that is almost tangible. By the time the sun is sinking into the west again the CEDA youth have met at the church and squirrelled themselves away behind the thick oak doors. Once again it doesn’t take long for the baker’s boy to deliver the news to Raul and Salvador in the disused train carriage three quarters of a mile from the main square. Watched on by Marianela, the two men plan their response over the hastily drawn maps. Standing over the table with them, the key trade unionists left in the village listen intently. A few antique rifles, some hunting shotguns and the stolen military issue rifles brought to the village by Salvador rest in a cone against one another in the corner of the carriage. As each piece of news is delivered, the two men keep tinkering with their plans. Sometimes they disagree, but mostly they appear to be two mouths attached to the same mind.

  The baker’s boy passes the message telling of the CEDA youth massing in the church. Salvador hangs his head in silence for a few moments as he arranges his thoughts. He starts to speak, “The mercenaries in the duke’s house, who are probably ex-colonial fighters, and the Civil Guard, all of whom are armed, have to be our initial focus. We need to hit them hard and fast as soon as they leave their buildings. Don’t stop to ask questions with the Africanistas and the guards. Remember ’34 and what they are capable of. As for the priest’s children, we can mop them up afterwards; they are not going to be heavily armed, if at all. It is the regulars and the guards that will pose the greatest risk so we take them first.” Salvador looks around the faces at the table seeking any sign of disagreement as he speaks. He finds none and so continues, “Once they surrender lock them up in the guard’s cells. Anyone not needed can then secure the train station and the telegraph. Finally, we will regroup and take the priest and his harem. Any of the bastards that refuse to surrender can die fighting. I hope none of them will put up a fight when they see our numbers, but —”

  The mayor interrupts him, seizing an opportunity to maintain any remaining semblance of authority he possesses, “If we secure them, once this awful action is over, we can try them appropriately.”

  Salvador looks up at him. The months of fighting on the streets of Barcelona have nurtured a cynicism in the young man that was now difficult to suppress. “Yes, but only if they do not fight, Bernardo. The moment one of them threatens one of our lives we kill them. I have fought their kind before and they will not hesitate so we cannot either.”

  Raul chooses that moment to speak, sensing the mood of the group may be slipping, “Salvador is correct, Bernardo, I have fought this war for years and they think we are dogs and will kill us like dogs if we give them the chance.”

  Feeling emboldened by the supportive statement of his friend, Salvador continues, “I have seen our unarmed brothers and sisters, children and grandparents killed by these whores in cold blood. If they fight we execute them where they stand. They will give us no chance if we hesitate. And remember, we are not starting this. It is they that are committing the crime; we are only defending our communities and families. It is your republic that they are trying to overthrow; it is your democracy that they are going to try to assassinate.”

  The mayor hangs his head and slowly inches back from the table. The moment is out of his hands and he increasingly recognises the processes and laws that he had held in such high esteem were quickly becoming irrelevant. Under his breath he prays that the conspirators have not lost their faith in the rule of the law as the men around him believed. He looks closely at the eighteen-year-old’s face. The boy he remembered running barefoot through the main square has been replaced by a hardened cynical revolutionary and in that moment the mayor worries for all of their futures. He looks at the two gun belts crossing Salvador’s chest filled with bullets and in his mind starts allocating targets for each one; the Civil Guard officer, the duke, the priest, the casino owner and perhaps even Don Pedro who put a roof over his head as a newborn. His thoughts are interrupted by Salvador speaking directly to him, “I am truly sorry. And I promise we will try to avoid harming them, but in my heart I know what these people are like and I fear the streets will run with blood. Our only choice is whether it is ours or theirs.”

  *

  Night falls and the final reports of the conspirators’ movements reach the
train carriage. Salvador gets up from the wooden bench, pushes the revolver into the front of his belt and opens up the map on the table made of planks of wood lying across the headrests of two rows of bench seats. The other men all get up from their seats and crowd around the map. Salvador issues one last set of instructions. He cycles through their faces. “So as we have agreed Raul will go to the factory now. And on hearing the first gunshot, will sound the factory siren to raise the alarm.” He looks towards one of the factory shop stewards who is busy trying to relight his loosely packed cigarette and says directly to him, “You go with him.” He then gestures towards the baker and the station master, “You will take command of our comrades in the main square; be ready for the guards and anyone coming from the casino. Use the flats above the shops to set up observation. We think there are about five armed guards in the station and four or five of the landowners in the casino. They are armed also.” He looks towards the postman and at the other factory shop steward, “You two will take command of our comrades in the new houses. From there you will cover the main entrance to the duke’s. You will have about twenty-five comrades with you, and ten of the rifles. We have also got ten petrol bombs there and in the main square. Be careful with them – we do need these buildings in one piece once this is over. There are a lot of people that will need housing once we collectivise.”

  Bernardo the mayor looks at Salvador nervously. “And what should I do?” he asks.

  Salvador smiles at him. “You are coming with me to secure the town hall and your offices. All the land registries and deeds of ownership are there. Also, there is a telephone which needs controlling. Once we have secured that I will leave you there with some of our comrades to send word to Barcelona and Teruel of what is happening. Raul, I will send word to the factory so that you can set up a command post at the town hall to oversee everything. I will then mobilise a third militia from the workers on the streets to take the priest and his little bastards.” He smiles at the men watching him in an attempt to reassure them. Half-heartedly, they force smiles back in response. “Remember, brothers. Let them act first. This is not our revolution; we are going to defend the workers, then the village and finally the republic. Once we are victorious, if our comrades will it, then we will collectivise.” The men around the table nod in agreement. One by one they make their way to the end of the carriage where each in turn picks up a gun before leaving.