Bernardo and one of the shop stewards wait at the end of the carriage for Raul and Salvador. Unaware of the men waiting for them, Raul and Sal look at each other across the table. Marianela watches them from the bench, her legs tucked under her and her head resting on a cushion against the window. The seconds pass and the tension grows. Finally, Raul speaks, “We defend our freedom whatever the cost.”
A smile breaks across the whole of Sal’s face as he replies, “Whatever the cost.” Sal puts his arms around Raul and whispers, “Keep your head under cover, we will need your guidance afterwards.”
Raul responds, “Do not worry yourself about that, they will be fine with or without us, brother.”
Sal turns to his mother and bends down so their faces are almost touching. “Stay here, whatever happens. If for any reason things go badly, you are to run and don’t stop moving until you reach Barcelona. Find Cati in the Poble Sec CNT and she will take care of you.”
Looking up into her son’s face she realises that until these last few days she had not once imagined her son was putting his life at risk in this manner. In the deepest recess of her mind she questions if it was worth it. She allows her mind to wonder if it would not be better to simply accept the deprivations, the hunger, the beatings and the constant fear. She looks into his eyes and wonders if it could ever be worth it. She sees Pedro’s eyes looking back at her and asks herself if now is the right time to tell him. She cups his face in her hands and looks deep into his eyes. Sensing the worst, Raul put his hand on Sal’s shoulder. “It’s time to go.”
Sal nods his head and then whispers to his mother, “I promise I will see you later.” He kisses her and leaves the carriage.
Marianela lets her head fall into her hands, silently cursing her cowardice. Raul sits down beside her and pulls her into his arms. Blinded by emotion and gagged by her own weakness, she is unable to cry. Raul reassures her in a soft, slow, deep voice, reverberating in her ear and stroking warm breath against her neck, “It is not the right time to tell him now. He must be focused on the situation. Your boy is not just your son anymore; he is a leader of others. He is important to not only you, but to the whole village.” He pulls Marianela’s chin up so that she is looking into his face, “He has a good heart, but if you confuse him now then people will die needlessly. Let him get through this first, yes?”
She pulls him tighter to her. Feeling the need to reassure her and repay her for her understanding, he makes a promise that he would before long regret. “I will do what I can to ensure his father sees the morning.”
She looks up at him through her fringe matted with dust and replies, “Thank you.”
Raul squeezes her and then gets up. He holds her chin in one hand and says, “Once the village is safe I will send someone to bring you to me.” He kisses her on the lips. He pauses just long enough for both of their minds to go blank. Raul pulls away, turns and walks to the back of the carriage. He picks up the last shotgun and closes the train door behind him. Marianela stares down the empty carriage for nearly a minute, hoping for one of them to return.
Outside the carriage Raul hobbles quickly after Salvador who is making his way alongside the tracks back towards the station. Hearing his calls Salvador stops and waits for his friend. Raul catches him up and is greeted by a warm comment wrapped in a knowing smile, “To think you thought you could still fight.” Salvador laughs and without malice continues, “You are definitely better on the hill looking down at the battle. Like one of those fat conquistadors watching the massacres of the Indians.”
Raul allows himself a smile through the panting. His knee has still not properly healed and as time passes looks less and less likely to ever fully heal. He puts his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “You need to stop Pedro from taking part tonight.”
“Don’t worry; if he takes part he’ll get what he deserves,” Sal replies.
“You don’t understand. We need him alive, he could act as a bridge between their world and ours,” Raul lies to him.
“You don’t know him, he can’t be trusted. He is a son of a whore like the rest of them. I owe him for spilling mine and my mother’s blood,” the young man replies, his tone growing shorter.
Raul implores him, “Please trust me. I know what he has done to you and your mother. But you must do what is right for all of your comrades. This isn’t a time for petty vengeances.”
Salvador looks down at his feet and breathes in deeply as his mind deliberates with what is right and what he wants. In that moment he knows that they are different and he suspects that his friend is right. “What would you have me do?”
Raul feels the tension lift from his shoulders, “Get into the house and stop him from leaving. He must remain in his house tonight at all costs.”
Salvador puts his hand on the other man’s shoulder, their arms supporting one another and responds, “I will do it. But tomorrow you will need to explain it to me.” Raul thanks him and leaves. Salvador turns back to Bernardo and says, “We have an unpleasant detour. Come with me.”
The men make their way to their various posts around the village, flitting between the shadows of the low buildings. The streets are silent like a cemetery. Those who wish to look the other way hide safely behind their locked doors and barred shutters. In other houses children cling to pillows or bundled rags in their sleep while women watch their husbands and fathers and brothers anxiously loading shotguns and sharpening knives.
Salvador and Bernardo reach Pedro’s front door unseen. Sal slings the rifle over his shoulder and takes the pistol from his belt. Bernardo leans against the wall carrying the shotgun at waist height. He swings it in a slow arc towards the dim, empty street. Salvador quietly tries the door handle. It is locked. He whispers to the mayor and then knocks gently on the door. From inside the house they hear Juanico’s voice; “Who’s there?”
Relieved that his knock doesn’t result in anyone firing at the door Sal musters the calmest voice he can, “It is me, your friend. I need to speak to your father; his life is in danger.”
Shocked by the seriousness of the comment, Juanico runs across to the door and leans his head against it. The double mouths of the shotgun scratch across the tiles as he goes. “What do you mean, his life is in danger? Don’t play games with me. I’m not to let anyone in,” he replies.
Hearing that the boy is only on the other side of the wooden door Sal lowers his voice so only his friend can hear him; “There are men coming to burn down the house, you must let me in so that I can get you all to safety.” He pauses and listens. A few moments pass before he hears the key turn in the lock. As soon as the tumblers click into place Salvador leans his weight against the door, pushing it open. Juanico is thrown to the floor, dropping the gun as he falls. Salvador pushes into the house and sweeps the room with his eyes and the revolver. There is no one else in the hall and he quickly helps the boy up. He pulls the younger boy backwards against his chest like a shield and holds his hand over the boy’s mouth. He whispers into his ear, “I’m sorry, cousin. Your father is going to put his own life at risk tonight if I don’t stop him. I promise I am not here to hurt anyone.”
Bernardo follows him into the house, closes the door and then takes up position in the corner of the room with his gun trained on the back of the hallway. With his foot Salvador slides the boy’s shotgun across the floor to the other man, the metal scratching painfully on the tiles. The seconds pass in silence, the heavy nervous breathing of the three of them is the only noise in the room. Halfway down the stairs Pedro sees the situation and is immediately paralysed with fear. He scans the scene: the mayor is in the corner with a shotgun trained on the room and another one slung across his shoulder, Salvador is leaning against the door with his son in front of him. In the young man’s free hand Pedro can see the revolver pointing at the boy’s side but not touching it.
Sal shakes his head over the b
oy’s shoulder and waves the pistol to make sure he has seen it. Pedro looks around the room and sees one of his shotguns against the back door frame, and though he can’t see it he knows his rifle must still be on the dining table. He lifts his hands up to shoulder height and slowly makes his way down the remaining stairs. “Have you lost your mind, child?” he asks.
“Please be calm, Pedro, I am not here to hurt any of you,” Sal responds as he gestures the man towards the chair.
Pedro reaches the bottom of the stairs and stops moving. He stares back at the young man. “Where are the two old women, Pedro?” Sal asks. Pedro nods his head towards the back door. Bernardo crosses the room. Salvador releases the boy and gently pushes him towards his father, keeping the gun trained in their direction. “Please sit down, I don’t want to hurt you but I will if you force me. We know what your friends have planned for tonight and we are going to stop them,” he tells the man assuredly.
Pedro wraps his arms around the boy and inches back towards the chairs by the staircase. Without lowering the pistol Sal locks the door behind his back and puts the key into his pocket. The two women push through the curtain over the back door with their hands in the air. Bernardo follows behind with his gun at waist height trained on them.
Sal pulls a wicker chair over to the opposite side of the room and sits down in the corner facing them. Bernardo gestures to the women to sit in the chairs with their family. As he sits down Sal places the rifle across his thighs and rests the pistol across the top of it, pointing in the general direction of the family. “You won’t get away with this,” Pedro offers with little conviction.
Sal smiles. “It is your friends that will not get away with this. It is your duke, your whore guards and your child-fucking priest that won’t get away with it. It is they that have stepped outside the law, Pedro. And as it was workers that built this country, so it will be the workers that save it from your parasite friends.” Pedro looks down at the tiles; the fear he is unwilling to admit even to himself slowly begins to take form in his mind. Salvador’s words demonstrate a clear understanding of the situation, a clarity that has been eluding him. What is taking place is an insurrection led by the greedy and the cruel. He feels the shame rising in him and fears that it will somehow project out from his flesh for all to see. He closes his eyes.
Sensing the man’s struggle, Sal stays silent. The two women and the boy watch Pedro staring at the floor. Unable to understand why he is not doing anything, Soledad can’t stop herself from reacting. “What kind of a man are you? Are you going to let this rat insult our holy church?”
Salvador smiles for a second before his face turns darker and his lips purse with anger. “Quiet, witch. It is only out of respect for your son and your grandson that you are still able to talk.”
Her tone winds up, “Respect for my son. If you only knew what —”
Before she finishes her sentence Pedro snaps at her, “Quiet. Before you get us all killed.”
The muscles in Salvador’s face relax and Pedro sees it. “Thank you. It is better that comes from you than me,” Sal says. He then turns to the two women. “If you can’t stay silent then you will be bound and gagged. Do you understand?” he asks them. Soledad’s sister puts her hand on her sister’s lap and nods her head. Soledad stares blankly at the other’s hand in disbelief.
“Good,” says Salvador, standing up and slinging the rifle over his shoulder. He walks calmly across the room to the four people sitting down and picks up a cushion from the double chair beside Pedro. “Not only can’t you be involved tonight, but you can’t be seen to be making that decision,” he says as he puts the cushion against the man’s thigh, presses the revolver into it and pulls the trigger. There is a dull muffled thud.
Before Pedro can understand what is happening he feels a sharp punch in the muscle of his leg. He tries to focus his eyes and through the blur he sees Sal putting the cushion to the side of his head and lowering him back into the chair. He feels the rough cloth of the cushion against his cheek and he looks down to see the crimson honey oozing through the cloth of his trousers. He feels his eyes slipping in and out of focus as his head becomes heavy and the room slips into darkness. He feels Salvador’s hands controlling his slide into the chair and the cushion and in the distance he can hear a scream. He grasps desperately at consciousness before the darkness finally engulfs him.
Salvador turns to the three watching him. Soledad’s scream is cut short by Sal slapping her across the face. Bernardo edges sideways along the wall, terrified by what he is seeing and dreading what will happen next. “We are going to take the keys. You are to tend to your son’s wound. It is only deep enough to stop him from getting himself killed tonight. Bandage it and I will send the doctor when it is safe. There will be no lasting damage, but do not leave the house tonight. We cannot protect you on the streets of the village. If you stay here you have my word you will not be harmed by our comrades. Do you understand?” Soledad is kneeling at her son’s side, the blood seeping through her fingers. She nods her head between sobs. “If this goes badly tonight you are to tell them I came for your guns. Do you understand?” he tells the sister.
Soledad continues crying and Juanico puts his hand on her shuddering shoulders. He looks up at the man that was once his friend, nods his head and repeats back what he said, “None of us will leave the house and if anyone comes we are to say it was you that came for our guns.”
Salvador looks at the boy and knows in his heart that their friendship will never again be what it once was. He forces a small, knowing smile and tells the boy honestly, “I am sorry that it had to come to this, cousin.” The boy’s eyes stare back with a cold contempt. Sal steps back from the chairs and nods towards the other man who has been collecting the various guns placed around the ground floor. Sal turns to leave the house, pauses and turns back to the family issuing his last instructions to them, “Pedro will wake up shortly, he is in shock, nothing more. Bandage his leg. Give him liquids. The doctor will be with you as soon as he can.” The two men then leave the house and lock the door behind them.
The two men make their way silently to the town hall, moving slowly from one set of shadows to the next. They edge along the wall until they can peer into the vacant square from the shadows of the covered walkway. In the far corner a light is still on behind the closed shutters of a bar. The moon lights the centre of the square, projecting a single shadow from the well. The two men wait. Nothing stirs in the square. Salvador pulls the revolver from his belt and edges along the wall towards a side door. Bernardo follows him, the twin barrels of the shotgun in his hand pointing at the base of Sal’s spine. Salvador stops when he reaches the door. The revolver in his hand is pointing out towards the empty square.
Behind him the mayor starts to question if he can put an end to the situation which is fast rushing from his control. A single thought keeps repeating itself in his mind, and that was that the man in front of him was leading them all to their doom. His mind starts to wander and questions if the uneducated rabble from the fields could really understand the republic as well as the soldiers who give their lives for it, or the priests who are guided by God or the men like him that through their families’ hard work and intelligence had afforded themselves a few luxuries.
Noticing the tension-filled silence emanating from behind him and suddenly very aware of not knowing the other man’s thoughts Salvador glances back over his shoulder to see the glazed look of the mayor staring vacantly towards him, his mind clearly elsewhere. Without having to look he knows the cartridges of the shotgun are staring down the barrels towards his back. He slowly reaches back and gently pushes the barrels away from him. Bernardo, noticing the gun in his hand is moving, is shaken back into the moment. He allows the gun to be redirected. Salvador takes both barrels in his hand and pulls the shotgun away from the other man. “Perhaps I’d better hold on to that while you let us in.” The man’s reluctanc
e doesn’t translate into resistance and he lets go of the gun. Relieved of the burden of responsibility, he smiles, hangs his head and rummages through his pockets for the keys to the building.
In the casino the ex-mayor, Jose Antonio, pulls the thick curtain covering the window a small way back and looks out onto the main square. The leaf-covered branches of the trees cast their dark shadow across the small garden at the centre of the square. He allows his gaze to scan the square. He watches the light in a room above one of the shops flicker and then snuff out. He lets the curtain fall back across the window. Sitting around the main room he sees the fear of overly civilised men facing their deaths. None of them have ever shot another human being in anger, he thinks to himself. The room is silent. The phone at the end of the bar threatens to ring at any moment and launch the commotion from which there would be no turning back.
He sits down at one of the tables alone and lays the shotgun across it. The dimly-lit room still reeks of mildew and alcohol. He takes out a cigarette and lights it. The moments pass and time seems to stand still. The smell of the burning dry tobacco masks the damp stench of spilled wine and sweat-soaked men. In rooms above the shops around the square workers take up positions, snuff out candles and open cracks in shutters. The guns are being checked and checked again as workers nervously watch the closed iron door of the Civil Guards’ station and the glass curtained door of the casino.
A Most Uncivil War Page 26