The Exile

by Mark Oldfield

  ‘And he said Ana’s pants looked like a piece of string.’

  Mercedes put a hand over her daughter’s mouth. ‘See, Ana? He never noticed a thing.’

  Capitán and Señora Fuentes came out onto the porch, dressed for their evening at the theatre. Mercedes was wearing a black dress that looked like it had cost more than Galíndez earned in a month.

  ‘I don’t know which of you two is smarter,’ Galíndez laughed.

  ‘It had better be her, Ana María, given the time she’s taken to get ready,’ Fuentes said. ‘I hope you’ve got the stamina for a night with these two?’

  ‘Of course. I’m looking forward to it. Have a great time.’

  Merche squeezed her arm. ‘Thanks for coming at such short notice. We owe you.’

  Galíndez lifted Clari so she could wave goodbye as her parents’ car went up the drive.

  ‘Ice cream,’ Clari mumbled, absently twisting a strand of Galíndez’s hair. ‘Pizza.’

  Once indoors, things went downhill fast. Clari put on one of her extensive collection of Dora la Exploradora DVDs. Loud. And then, from upstairs, Galíndez heard the unmistakable industrial barrage of Legions of Death. It took her back to her early days at university, crammed into a hot crowded bar, listening to Legions, though she didn’t listen for long: they were crap. With any luck Inés would get over them. Please God.

  The sudden blast of a ring tone. Woody Woodpecker, from the sound of it.

  ‘Inés?’ Galíndez called up the stairs. ‘That was your phone.’

  The heavy metal suddenly stopped. Inés came stamping down the stairs and snatched up her phone from the kitchen counter.

  Galíndez peered into the fridge. ‘So what do you want for dinner?’ She noticed several items that didn’t look like they’d fit into a microwave and ruled them out. ‘We’ve got pizza, or there’s different pizza. Do you want to choose, Inés?’

  No reply.

  ‘Inés?’ Galíndez turned, sensing something was wrong.

  Inés was staring at her phone. As Galíndez watched, a tear welled up and slid down her face. The phone trembled in her hand. Galíndez went across the kitchen to her. ‘What’s the matter, mi vida?’ She took the phone from Inés’s hand and held her close as she wept. Lifting the phone, she glanced at the message:

  WE HATE INÉS

  Inés Fuentes is a fat bitch.

  Let her know if u agree & send her this text.

  Do the world a favour Inés & die.

  ‘Who sent you this, querida?’

  Inés clung to her, her arms wrapped around Galíndez’s waist, her face pressed against her chest, tears soaking her shirt. ‘Don’t tell anyone, Ana.’ Her voice quivered. ‘Please.’

  Galíndez felt sweat on her palms. She knew how Inés felt. That was a part of her childhood she remembered very well. The part after Papá was killed. Clinging to Aunt Carmen, soaking her blouse with tears each day after school.

  Why are you crying, Ana María?

  No es nada, Tia.

  Has someone been picking on you? Tell me, Ana. Remember what your father used to say? Tell the truth even if it hurts.

  But that’s just it: I don’t remember Papá, Tia. I don’t remember him and that’s why they do it. At school, they call me Little Orphan Annie. Mad Annie. Loca Anita, can’t even remember her papá. Why can’t they like me?

  ‘Please don’t tell Mum, Ana María.’ Inés’s voice was painful to hear. ‘Promise?’

  Two days later, Aunt Carmen was waiting when Galíndez got home, her cheeks flushed from being chased.

  I’ve booked you some lessons, mi amor.

  What lessons, tia?

  Something to make you more confident, mi alma. So you won’t be bullied. I found this place in the local paper. Do it for me, cariña: I can’t bear to see you like this.

  Bueno, Tia Carmen. If that’s what you want.

  ‘Come outside.’ Galíndez took Inés by the hand and led her outside to sit on the porch. Inés was still shaking as Galíndez stroked her hair. ‘Tell me who’s picking on you,’ she said, still remembering.

  A newspaper cutting. A small advertisement with a crescent moon in one corner:

  LUNA NEGRA DOJO

  Martial Arts training for women – Multi Discipline – Self-Confidence – Inner Strength

  Your first lesson is on Saturday, Ana María. One thirty. The tone of Aunt Carmen’s voice told her there was no backing out.

  Sitting in Tia Carmen’s car outside the dojo. The sign over the door with its black moon logo. Galíndez reluctantly gathered up her bag and trudged to the entrance, hearing Tia Carmen drive away as she went down the short flight of steps. A woman was waiting in the doorway. Tall, dark-skinned, high cheekbones, her curly hair bound in a tight knot.

  You must be Ana María? Your aunt told me about you. My name’s María Cristina but call me Mendez – everyone does.

  ‘One of the girls at school,’ Inés said, her voice wavering. ‘She started calling me names and it just got worse. She hits me before class sometimes and everyone laughs – even people who were my friends...’ Tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘Now they’re texting me...’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Galíndez muttered, her fists clenched.

  Inés snuffled. ‘She calls me No-tits Fuentes.’

  ‘She’s just silly. You’re twelve. Everyone’s different. It’s normal.’

  ‘She’s got big boobs. And she’s taller than me. If I tell Dad, he’ll say to hit her back. But she’ll only hit me harder.’

  Galíndez kicked off her shoes. ‘OK, show me how she hits you. Do it slowly.’

  Inés mimed a slow-motion punch to Galíndez’s chest.

  ‘Bueno, do it again, but this time try and hit me hard. Don’t worry about hurting me.’

  Inés drew her arm back and lashed out. Galíndez deflected the blow with her left arm and moved forward, her right foot hooking Inés’s leg from under her, turning as she went sprawling onto the grass. Inés sat up, laughing as she brushed dirt and grass from her T-shirt.

  ‘That was cool, Ana, I wish I could do that.’

  ‘You’re going to. We’ve an hour or two before dark. Now, hit me again slowly and I’ll show you what I did. Then you can try it.’

  As Inés began taking off her shoes, anxious to emulate her teacher, Galíndez did a few warm-ups, bending forward, touching the ground with her palms. As she straightened, her gaze wandered across the green sweep of the garden to the top of the drive. A blue four-by-four pulled away from the gate, the sun glinting on its tinted windows as it drove off. Troubled, Galíndez watched it go. She decided to mention it to Capitán Fuentes in the morning.

  ‘I’m ready,’ Inés called.

  An hour and half later, Inés had got the basics: block, move and push. She’d even dumped Galíndez on her culo a couple of times.

  ‘OK, that’s enough for today,’ Galíndez said, visualising a cold beer.

  Inés twisted and feigned a punch, miming an attack on her. Annoyed, Galíndez remained motionless, facing her down. ‘Hey, remember what I told you? What did I say?’

  Inés sighed. A sigh that said Galíndez was really just another adult after all. ‘Only for defence... blah blah... never use it to hurt anyone... and so on.’

  ‘I mean it, Inés. Having the ability to hurt someone means you have to make sure you don’t abuse that ability. If you do, you become a bully. Just remember that.’

  ‘Whatever. Can I choose the pizza?’

  ‘Go ahead. I’ll see you in a few minutes, I’m off for my shower.’

  The shower in the guest-room was almost as big as Galíndez’s flat. Steam misted the mirrors and surfaces as she stepped under the powerful jet. After a few minutes, she turned off the shower and stepped out, looking round the bathroom for a towel. She didn’t find one and padded out into the bedroom where she saw a pile of clean towels on the window sill, behind a small sofa. She walked across the carpet, leaving a trail of wet footprints as she went. As she r
eached the sofa, she looked out of the window at a sudden flash of blue as a car passed the gate. Suddenly uneasy, she knelt on the sofa and leaned forward to grab a towel from the window ledge.

  A sudden noise behind her. She whirled round. Inés stood in the doorway, pushing her hands into her pockets. Her guilty look told Galíndez she’d been spying on her.

  ‘Dios mio, you could have knocked, Inés. You made me jump.’ Galíndez wrapped the towel around her, trying to be casual, deciding not to make a big thing out of it.

  ‘The pizza’s ready,’ Inés said, staring.

  ‘Do you want to go and slice it?’ Galíndez said. ‘I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.’

  Inés’s face crumpled. ‘I wish I looked like you, Ana.’

  Galíndez smiled. ‘Come on. We already talked about that. Don’t take any notice of what some nasty girl at school says. You’re an attractive young woman.’

  ‘You think so? Really?’

  ‘Of course. You’ll have boys flocking around you in a year or two.’

  Inés brightened at the thought. ‘Is that what happened when you were my age?’

  ‘Sort of.’ Galíndez nodded, planting a kiss on her forehead. ‘I’m going to get dressed now. See you downstairs.’

  The introductory lesson in martial arts had left Inés exhausted and after three slices of pizza she was ready for bed. As they said goodnight, Galíndez remembered there were things she had to do. ‘Inés, is there a computer I can use to check my mail?’

  ‘It’s in Dad’s study, the room next to their bedroom. It’s always switched on.’

  ‘Thanks, see you in the morning.’

  ‘Night, Ana María.’

  Once she’d cleared the table and restored order to the kitchen, Galíndez opened a bottle of beer and went out onto the veranda. The night air was warm and soft, pulsing with the sound of crickets. She sat on the porch and drank the cold beer, staring into the darkness, half expecting to see the blue car drive past again. After a few minutes, the silence started to bother her and she went back inside to use the computer.

  Capitán Fuentes’ study was chaotic, a far cry from his spartan office at HQ. The computer was on a desk by the window. She slid into Fuentes’ ergonomic chair, revelling in its structured comfort as she touched the mouse, bringing the screen to life. The computer desktop was neatly organised: just one folder labelled ‘Work’. In the far corner of the desktop, she found a shortcut to the access screen of the guardia network and logged in. There was no mail apart from messages about server downtime, upgrades to the system and parking arrangements at HQ.

  Outside, the darkness of the garden was suddenly broken by headlights. She heard the low grumble of an engine at the top of the drive and leaned over the desk, trying to catch a glimpse of the car as it drove away. Galíndez peered into the darkness, worried now. She took out her phone and walked up to the gate. If she could get the registration, she could call it in, get a patrol car to come over. She smiled to herself as she looked up and down the darkened road. It was empty. No sign of a car at all. She was being paranoid.

  Galíndez logged off the guardia network. It was time to do a bit of quiet surfing. There was plenty of time and no one to disturb her. That was how she liked working: alone with her friend Señor Google. She wondered whether to trawl the net for any new mention of Guzmán, in the hope that someone somewhere, had come up with something that would throw new light on what little she already knew. But she did that so often that after five minutes she was bored. He operated long before the internet. Even if his deeds had been recorded, they weren’t online.

  Maybe it was time to go to bed. As she got to her feet, she recalled her conversation with Fuentes about Ramiro’s kids. The family tragedy. She sat down again, tapping the desk with a finger, distracted. Remembering Aunt Carmen telling her never to mention it in the presence of Ramiro and his wife. There were some things time couldn’t heal, Carmen said, and Ramiro’s broken heart was one of those.

  Galíndez stared at the screen. Naturally, she had never said a word to Ramiro. And Aunt Carmen only mentioned the tragedy obliquely. But Carmen was gone and Galíndez felt a sudden pang of curiosity as she looked at the computer screen. What good would it do to know more about it? But this was not just idle curiosity. Her amnesia erased so much of her memory of childhood that any new detail about the family took on added significance. It couldn’t hurt to know a little more, surely?

  Her fingers rattled on the keys as Galíndez went to the website of the daily newspaper ABC and checked their archive, searching for Ramiro’s name. Nothing. She tried to think laterally. If the deaths weren’t recorded, maybe the funerals were. She entered more search terms and got nothing. A better idea: who would attend the funeral? Definitely, there’d be Ramiro and Aunt Teresa, of course, and his sister Aunt Carmen, and Galíndez’s parents, Miguel and Amaranta. The keyboard rattled again as she entered the words. Her eyes were dry and tired. If this didn’t work, it was definitely bed for her. She waited as the hour glass turned on the screen. One hit. A small article tucked away deep in the paper.

  Tragedy in San Sebastián de los Reyes

  Madrid 15/3/1982

  Agents of the guardia civil found themselves dealing with a family tragedy on Tuesday evening when they attended an emergency call to a chalet in San Sebastián de Los Reyes. Inside the chalet, the agents found a baby and his sister aged 12, dead from carbon monoxide poisoning, the result of a malfunction in the boiler. No further details have been made available out of respect for the bereaved family.

  The two agents of the benemérita attending the scene were identified as Agents Luis Fuentes and Miguel Galíndez.

  Galíndez realised she was holding her breath. She looked at the article again, reading it carefully for anything she might have overlooked. There was nothing. She felt a sudden rush of anger as she realised Fuentes had deliberately withheld this from her. As she got up, she saw her face reflected in the window, her deep frown accentuated by the darkness outside.

  ‘Buenos días.’ Fuentes looked up from his breakfast as Galíndez came into the kitchen, her hair wet from the shower.

  ‘Hola.’ She poured herself a glass of juice. ‘How was the show?’

  He shrugged. ‘Went on too long. But don’t tell Merche I said so, will you?’

  ‘Promise.’ Galíndez helped herself to a croissant.

  ‘Did the girls behave themselves?’

  ‘Of course. Clari fell asleep watching Dora and Inés and I went out in the garden – I showed her some martial arts moves.’

  ‘Really? That’s good.’ Fuentes nodded. ‘She should do more sport.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Christ, look at the time, I’d better get off.’ He excused himself and went into the hall. She heard the creak of the leather gunbelt as he fastened it round his waist. Collecting her briefcase and the new boots from the bedroom, she followed him into the garden, wondering whether to mention the article. Probably better not to, she decided. He must have had his reasons. Let sleeping dogs lie. As she got to her car, she threw her things onto the back seat and hurried up the drive after him.

  Behind the wheel, Fuentes looked up and saw her in his mirror. He leaned out of the window. ‘What’s on your mind, Ana? That’s your serious look.’

  ‘You know when we talked about the deaths of Uncle Ramiro’s children?’

  Fuentes tensed. ‘You didn’t say anything to him?’

  ‘Of course not, but I did find a piece in ABC about it.’

  ‘There wasn’t supposed to be any publicity.’ A sudden edge in his voice.

  ‘You could hardly stop the press reporting something like that,’ Galíndez said.

  ‘Oh yes, we could. I thought we had. What did the article say?’

  ‘That two children had been found dead following an accident. It didn’t name them.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘But it did name the officers attending the scene,’ Galíndez said, her face dark with anger. ‘Joder, it was y
ou and my father, jefe. Why didn’t tell me?’

  Fuentes sighed. ‘We were ordered not to talk about it. Look, I’ll tell you the rest, but promise me you’ll forget about it after that? It was a long time ago.’

  She gave him a curt nod.

  ‘It was the start of a night shift,’ Fuentes began. ‘We were on a routine patrol that evening, your dad and me. We got a call to a summer house out at San Sebastián de los Reyes. When we got there, we had to break in by smashing a window. We turned off the gas and found two kids dead from carbon monoxide poisoning. It was the boiler, no doubt about that. But...’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘It wasn’t an accident. The girl had put towels along the bottom of the doors and round the windows. Then she pulled the gas pipe from the wall. When we saw some correspondence on the table, we realised it was Ramiro’s house. Since we didn’t know where he was, we called his father, General Ortiz senior.’

  ‘The one they called Iron Hand Ortiz?’

  ‘That’s right, and with good reason. Anyway, within twenty minutes, several cars full of plain-clothes men arrived along with General Ortiz. He said he’d find Ramiro and break the news. Then he took your father and me to one side and ordered us to keep quiet about the entire thing and let him and his staff officers clear things up.’

  Galíndez narrowed her eyes. ‘What did he mean by that?’

  ‘He meant they’d deal with the press. That’s why I was surprised when you said you’d found that article.’

  ‘They censored the press?’ Galíndez glared at him. ‘And you helped?’

  ‘I was young, Ana María. We were given a direct order to keep quiet. And we were rewarded for doing it. That was how things were done back then.’

  ‘And what did you get for your silence?’ She guessed maybe a hundred thousand pesetas, three months’ wages back then.

  Fuentes shrugged as he started the engine. A dry crunch of gravel as the big car rolled forward. He leaned through the window. ‘You see this house?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘That’s what I got.’ Fuentes put his foot down and drove away.