Blood Wedding

by P J Brooke

  ‘That too needs closure,’ she said. ‘It must be terrible for the family.’

  Max returned to his flat. He must phone Ahmed soon. He was in the middle of having a bite to eat when the phone rang. It was Davila.

  ‘Max, excellent news. Judge Falcón has considered the . . . um . . . evidence, and decided to send his file to el Juez del Juicio. El Juez, after reviewing the evidence, immediately sent the file to the magistrates. Apparently the Minister phoned the magistrates to make a quick ruling. And they have just ruled that, given the weight of the evidence taken together, Hassan Khan was probably responsible for the death of Leila Mahfouz. They can’t decide between murder or . . . um . . . covering up an accident, but the case has been archived.’

  ‘So the case is closed?’

  ‘Yes. Bonila has ordered you off the case. So that’s the job done. Good work, Max. There’s a press conference coming up in Diva. Bonila wants you there.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘We’ve told Navarro he’s certain to be reinstated. Oh – and expect a phone call from Inspectora Jefe Concha. She wants to know if you think there still might be . . . um . . . a terrorist connection. The election’s very close, you know.’

  ‘I really can’t say, sir.’

  ‘Okay then. You’ve done a good job, Max. It won’t go unnoticed.’

  Shortly after, the phone rang again. It was Linda.

  ‘Max. How are you? Heard about your accident.’

  ‘I’m fine now, thanks.’

  ‘Great news about Hassan Khan. We’re going to give it maximum publicity. I want to emphasize a possible terrorist connection. Got anything that might help?’

  ‘Nothing really. I had tried to persuade González and the department to wait until we had news about Javeed Dharwish. But no joy – they’re all keen to get this out as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Sure. That’s understandable. We should meet again soon. Give me a call if you’re ever in Madrid. I know some great restaurants. Have to rush.’

  Then González rang to confirm the time and place of the press conference in Diva. Max immediately phoned Ahmed and arranged to see him.

  He carefully wrapped Antonio’s notebook, its fragility a reminder of the fragility of life. He checked his best uniform – it was still clean, but could do with a press. He put the notebook and his uniform along with a clean set of clothes in the small suitcase, and went down the stairs to his car. He was not looking forward to the press conference. He would just have to bite his lip, and praise the Diva police for their brilliant detective work. He drove straight to Paula’s. He got there in time for lunch. Paula was back in good form.

  ‘Max, I’ve had some wonderful news. Lunch is almost ready, but I want you to be the first to know. Let’s sit on the terrace.’

  ‘Well, abuela. What is it then?’

  ‘Remember I told you I’d made contact with Beatrice – you know, El Gato’s daughter – and she said she might have some more information on Antonio? Well, I sent her that photo of Antonio. I didn’t hear anything . . . then this morning I got an email. Chico, her uncle, was in hospital and she’s only just been able to show him the photo. But he was able to tell her about Antonio, himself and El Gato . . . and Beatrice wrote it all down for me.’

  ‘That’s amazing. I’ve got something to tell you as well. But you first.’

  ‘Antonio . . . didn’t get away. He was shot in Banjaron in 1937. But he died well.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘El Gato and his brother Chico were arrested in Banjaron, and locked up in the church there, along with Antonio and about twenty others.’

  ‘So that’s what happened to him.’

  ‘Sí. Antonio kept everyone’s spirits up by reciting poetry and telling stories. He made them laugh. He even got them all singing. Antonio had a little black notebook. He said it was his life in there. Chico says Antonio thought he had been betrayed.’

  ‘Betrayed? Did he say who by?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. He said someone had also betrayed Lorca. Neither Chico nor El Gato had the faintest idea who Lorca was. Well . . . after a few days in the church, one of the guards, a young, decent kid of seventeen, warned them they were to be shot the next morning. Antonio gave the boy his notebook, and asked him to get it to his sister, Paula Vargas, in Diva.’

  ‘Oh, gosh. That’s amazing.’

  ‘I never got it of course. Antonio had been hurt during his arrest. But he said El Gato and Chico were young and fit, and if he created a diversion they might stand a chance of getting away.’

  ‘That was courageous of him.’

  ‘Verdad, Antonio made a run for it when they came to put them all on a truck, and during the confusion Chico and El Gato managed to escape. They heard shots as they were running – Chico thought it was the soldiers shooting Antonio.’

  Paula suddenly burst into tears. Max got up, and put his arms around her.

  ‘Está bien,’ she sobbed. ‘At least I know now he’s dead. He died bravely, didn’t he?’

  ‘He did,’ said Max.

  ‘That means he’s probably buried in that secret grave outside Diva. I’m going to ask for permission to dig it up. Could you help me get, you know, one of those experts who can identify people from their bones? I forget what they’re called.’

  ‘Forensic anthropologist. Sure, abuela, sure. Now close your eyes, and let me get you my surprise.’

  Max went outside and returned with the notebook, carefully wrapped. He put it on Paula’s lap.

  ‘You can open your eyes now,’ he said.

  ‘You are a rogue,’ she said. ‘You know how I love surprises. What’s this? Qué . . . Max – it isn’t. It is. It’s Antonio’s notebook. Ay, I can hardly believe it,’ and she burst into tears again. ‘Oh Antonio. It’s his poems. I can’t believe it.’

  ‘You can thank Leila,’ said Max. ‘She found it in the police archive. The young soldier never managed to get it to you, and it ended up in the files in Granada.’

  Max went over and hugged Paula again. ‘I think we should try and get the poems published.’

  ‘Sí. You’ll stay the night, won’t you. I’m so happy.’

  ‘Of course I will, abuela. But let’s have lunch now. I’ve got to go and see Ahmed soon.’

  ‘I’ll just sit here and read the poems.’

  Max left, and drove to Ahmed’s house. Yes. He was right not to give Paula that list of names. Over mint tea, Max told Ahmed about the plans for the press conference, and that it looked like the case had been closed because, in the opinion of los magistrados, Hassan was the only person involved in Leila’s death.

  ‘I was expecting that,’ Ahmed replied.

  ‘Well, Ahmed, it seems that Leila was seeing my cousin Juan.’

  ‘Señor Romero . . . who lives with Paula?’

  ‘Yes, my cousin.’

  ‘But he’s married . . . and has a young family.’

  ‘Yes. Juan finally told me about it.’

  ‘And you think . . .?

  ‘I don’t know what to think. I know he was on the bridge with Leila shortly before . . . and they had a terrible row.’

  ‘Oh . . . do you think . . .?’

  ‘Juan says Leila wanted him to leave his wife and family, but he couldn’t. He says they had a terrible row, but she was fine when he left. Very upset, but . . . Ahmed, what do you think I should do?’

  ‘Do? Why ask me?’

  ‘I didn’t want to find out all this, but I wasn’t sure about Hassan. I really wasn’t. So I tried to do my job as a police officer, and got more than I bargained for.’

  ‘Do you think Juan might have . . .?’

  ‘I don’t know. He swears he didn’t harm her, but I’m not convinced a court would believe him.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You’ve met my abuela. She’s eighty-three. It’s her birthday soon. She brought Juan up after his parents died, and we’ve got a big family party arranged. I just want her to have a few happy days
before I hand over my notes to my superior officers. I fear his arrest might kill her.’

  ‘I see. You want to keep your concerns to yourself? You’ve told me now.’

  ‘At least until after her birthday.’

  ‘I suppose the press conference will go ahead whatever you say.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you believe Juan?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘So it could still be Hassan or someone else.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ahmed frowned, and stood up, lost in concentration. ‘Max, I would like to know the truth. But give me a few days to think. I should talk to Juan.’

  Max stood up, and embraced Ahmed. ‘Thanks. You are very kind.’

  ‘I am only doing what Allah the Merciful would recommend.’

  ‘For that I am truly grateful.’

  Max returned to Paula’s. Fortunately Juan was staying in Granada that evening. Max sat and talked with Paula about Antonio until the evening meal was ready. Paula was tired, too tired to go through the whole notebook. Max was grateful for that: he did not want her excitement and pleasure spoilt by the last pages. After the meal, Paula went to her bed early, exhausted by the day’s events. Max stayed to play games of cards with Encarnita and Leonardo. Encarnita soon got bored.

  ‘Tito Max. Tell me the story again . . . about Blood Wedding.’

  ‘Just a short one. I’m tired. And you must go to bed soon.’

  ‘Only when you’ve finished.’

  ‘Okay then. A long time ago, when Paula was a little girl like you, there’s a farm, a bit like this.’

  ‘Does it have a kitten like David?’

  ‘Probably. Yes. Well . . . the people on the farms then don’t have much money, and they work very hard on the land. Men are always quarrelling – over little bits of land, over water for their vegetables, and sometimes there are fights and people are killed.’

  ‘That’s very bad. We always have water for our vegetables here. Don’t we?’

  ‘Yes . . . There’s a woman who lives alone with her son. The son’s father and brother had been killed in a knife fight.’

  ‘That’s terrible, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. It is. The son is about to marry a girl who lives in a cave.’

  ‘In a cave? I’d like to live in a cave. Leonardo says he knows where a cave is, and he says he will show me when I’m bigger.’

  ‘That’s good. It’s time Leonardo showed you things.’

  ‘He always says he’s too busy.’

  ‘But to return to the story. The bride is still in love with Leonardo.’

  ‘Leonardo? Can’t be, silly. That’s my brother.’

  ‘No. Another Leonardo. He’s married, and has a baby son.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘The girl’s a good girl, and gets up very early to make the bread and sew the clothes.’

  ‘That’s good . . . but I don’t think I would like to get up so early. Why didn’t they buy their bread in a shop?’

  ‘They were a long way from shops. Well, everyone starts to prepare for the wedding. The bride has some lovely presents from the bridegroom and from his mother: she gets lacy silk stockings.’

  ‘That’s nice. Did she get presents from Leonardo too?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . but he loves her. Anyway . . . the night before the wedding, the bride runs away with Leonardo.’

  ‘And they gallop away on his horse?’

  ‘Yes . . . but the bridegroom finds out, and he is very angry. So he follows after them. And he catches up with them.’

  ‘So what happens?’

  ‘The moon appears and speaks. Then Leonardo and the bridegroom have a big fight . . . with knives. And they kill each other. The bride is very sad.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Does she keep the presents?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It’s a tale of revenge.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s when somebody does something bad to you. And you decide to do something bad back.’

  ‘Like when Leonardo pulls my hair. And then I hide his football shirt. He shouts when he can’t find it.’

  ‘Yes. Something like that. I’m tired now, young lady. And it’s time for your bed. That’s all for tonight.’

  Max kissed Isabel and the children goodnight, and retreated to the guest bedroom. He read for a while, and then fell asleep. He woke at dawn with the cock crowing, but soon fell asleep again.

  Chapter 26

  Run, run,

  Bring the wool,

  I feel them coming

  Covered with mud.

  Frederico García Lorca, Bodas de Sangre (Blood Wedding)

  in a version by Ted Hughes

  The next morning Max put on his uniform, and went down for breakfast. Isabel was in the kitchen, washing up. ‘Morning, Max. How are the ribs?’

  ‘Better, thanks . . . had the best night’s sleep for ages.’

  ‘That’s good. La virgen María must have been looking after you. Coffee?’

  ‘Thanks. Where are the children?’

  ‘Big night tomorrow, so they’re getting a lie-in.’

  ‘Where’s Paula?’

  ‘She didn’t sleep much last night . . . I think she’s even more excited than Encarnita. So she’s sleeping in this morning. Toast?’

  ‘Let me get it. You’ve enough to do without waiting on me.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Did Juan phone?’

  ‘Yes. He said he’d be back this afternoon. Santa María, he still sounds a bit stressed.’

  ‘Probably work.’

  ‘I’m not sure. He’ll make a lot of money on the Recina mill conversion, so he could take it a bit easier now.’ Isabel turned, and looked at Max. ‘My . . . the best uniform. Important meeting?’

  ‘Press conference – announcing los magistrados’ ruling on Leila’s death.’

  ‘Yes, I heard about that. Everyone’s saying it’s that poor lad who killed himself. But if it’s a press do, you can’t go with your shirt looking like that! Take it off, and I’ll iron it for you.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s one thing I’ve never learnt to do well. Are you ladies going to be suitably dressed for the performance?’

  ‘Well, Paula will be wearing the “Persian Rose” shawl. But her good black silk was looking a bit rusty, so we found something rather similar in a tiny shop in Realejo.’

  ‘And Encarnita?’

  ‘I found a very pretty dress . . . ivory and violet silk . . . but Princesa Encarnita was having none of it. She insists on showing off her new traje de Sevillanas in true Spanish traditional style. We have a flamenco dancer . . . a red one.’

  ‘And yourself?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t really need anything new, but Juan insisted. So I found a copper silk with an organza jacket.’

  ‘Wow. Juan and I are going to be seriously outclassed.’

  ‘Particularly if I don’t iron your shirt. Poor Leonardo wants to wear his Seville football shirt. But Juan insists he wear a suit. Leonardo will be sulking all evening.’

  ‘That’s a bit brutal.’

  ‘But Juan is taking him to watch the Sevilla play when the season starts.’

  The Diva police station was buzzing. The media were there in force. González was strutting about, being visible and affable.

  ‘Ah, Max. Good to see you. You know everyone. This is Roberto Cervantes from Channel TVE and Carmen Solera from Granada Hoy, Antonio Robinson from Ideal, and over there is Enrique Bardem from El País.’

  González finally called the meeting to begin. In his best Sunday voice, Teniente González explained the latest findings. He concluded, ‘So, in light of all the evidence, and in accordance with the decision of los magistrados, the case has been archived. The balance of probability is that our sole suspect, Hassan Khan, was responsible for Leila Mahfouz’s death. It is unclear whether it was manslaughter or deliberate murder. Señor Khan took his own life last week, so there will be no further investigation.’

>   Flashbulbs popped. Teniente González beamed to the crowd, and continued, ‘But before I answer any questions, I would like to thank the Granada police for their cooperation, and in particular Sub-Inspector Romero whose help has been invaluable in bringing this case to a satisfactory conclusion.’

  Max winced, and hoped he did not have to make a speech. It was going well for Gonzo so far. Be a promotion in it for him. Then the reporter from El País asked, ‘Hassan Khan along with his companions had been arrested on terrorist charges. There had been some unfortunate incidents relating to those arrests, and all except Hassan Khan were eventually released without charge. Does this mean there is – was – no danger of their being in any way involved with terrorism?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go as far as that,’ said González. ‘But that’s more the province of the Granada police. Perhaps Sub-Inspector Romero would like to comment.’

  ‘All the suspects were released because of lack of evidence. But we are still keeping an open mind,’ said Max.

  ‘What does an open mind mean in this case?’ asked the girl from Granada Hoy.

  ‘Well, we are still pursuing certain discrepancies in their stories. However none of them are in Spain, and we have asked the relevant authorities in their respective countries to gather more information as well as keep them under surveillance.’

  ‘Do you believe that or know that?’ asked the El País reporter.

  ‘We have no reason to doubt our allies in the war on terrorism. We are cooperating fully within the EU.’

  ‘What information have you received from the relevant EU countries?’ asked a TV interviewer.

  Hell, thought Max. This is going down a tack we don’t want. ‘I’m sure the media appreciate that such information is highly confidential. I suggest if you want to ask any further questions you should approach the relevant officers in Madrid who are coordinating all of this. Today we should concentrate on the highly successful cooperation between the Diva Guardia Civil and the Policia Nacional in Granada. I should like to pay tribute to the painstaking and careful work of our colleagues here in Diva, and in particular, to the leadership offered by Teniente González throughout this case.’

  González puffed his chest out, acknowledging the tribute. There were more questions, but finally the conference came to an end. González came up to Max. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘We may have had our little difficulties, but we worked well as a team in the end. We are having a small celebration. Will you join us?’