Wide Is the Gate (The Lanny Budd Novels)

by Upton Sinclair

  Through the intervention of the friendly officer they were able to fill their fuel-tank in Valencia, at twice the normal price. They were warned that they might have trouble getting gasoline in the interior, and the conscientious Alfy was worried lest his friend be stuck in Madrid. He suggested that it might be better if Lanny gave up the trip and let them travel the rest of the way by train. But Lanny retained his faith in a bunch of five and ten-dollar American bank-notes which he had sewed up in his trousers lining, just under the belt; he said that at the worst he would donate another car to the cause of Spain.

  The radio gave them news from the land of these highly valued dollars. The national elections had been held the previous day, and some forty million citizens had registered their choice. President Roosevelt had been re-elected, carrying all but two of the forty-eight states. Lanny said “Poor Robbie, he can have his way in business, but never any more in politics!” They talked about “the States” for a while, and Lanny explained the New Deal to the young Englishmen. It was making many blunders, he said, but was establishing the principle of public responsibility for economic insecurity; also it was training a great army of social-minded men and women in the public service. “Nobody can run a government until he has learned about the machinery,” opined Robbie Budd’s heretical son.

  VI

  From the time they left Valencia they were rarely out of sight of refugees; women, children, and old men fleeing from Madrid, or from the territories which the Moors had already taken. Those who owned vehicles of any sort or could hire them fled on their own; autos in all stages of disrepair, peasant carts, donkeys, even handcarts, loaded with everything imaginable, pots and pans, bedding, bird-cages, and babies. Each family had loaded what it could not bear to leave behind; but exhaustion forced many of them to change their minds, and the roadsides were strewn with objects enough to stock many junkshops.

  An old story on this old Continent. All over its surface poor people and sometimes rich had been fleeing in front of armies as far back as the records of history go. It seemed worse nowadays, when people had grown soft and had come to take comforts and conveniences for granted; even the poor had acquired notions as to their right to possess and to be undisturbed. Now their misery was spread out on the public highways; one saw aged flivvers broken down or run out of fuel, old people staggering under burdens, babies crying feebly, children holding out their hands begging for food. Kind-hearted idealists were tempted to stop; but if they meant to help win a war they had to toot their horn and keep going.

  In the evening they reached Cuenca, least spoiled of ancient places. Lanny would have liked to stay and see the Old Town, built above the gorges of two rivers; it had seven gateways, and a cathedral with famous grilles. But this temptation also had to be resisted. They inquired about the route, and were advised to strike through the mountains to Guadalajara, so as to approach Madrid by a road that was safe from possible raiders, safe especially from air-raiders.

  On that night-ride the weather, which had been so fine, turned stormy, and they came upon a car which had skidded into a ditch and stayed there with a broken axle. It seemed likely to stay indefinitely, and Lanny had the bright idea to inquire if there was la gasolina in the tank; by offering three prices he bought it. While the transfer was being made they stood waiting, and heard for the first time faint rumbling sounds in the west: artillery or bombs, or perhaps both. The two airmen had been getting ready for this and talking about it; now they heard it for the first time in their lives. Lanny was an old hand, having been bombed in London almost twenty years ago. The sounds gave them thrills not entirely pleasant, but of course they would give no faintest hint of that fact.

  When they reached Guadalajara they found the highway crowded with refugees, even by night, so that it was no longer possible to travel fast. The sights grew more pitiful and the stories, if you stopped to hear them, more harrowing. It seemed in order to be passing through Alcala de Henares, birthplace of Cervantes, with these sights before one’s eyes. Few spectacles of human misery that unhappy writer had missed in his long life, and his sorrowful countenance companioned the three extranjeros all the way.

  VII

  The radio continued to be a jumble of claims and counter-claims; but they had found the way to make sure who was gaining—to note the names of places which came into the account, and compare them with the next day’s names. In the car was a map of the capital and its environs, necessary for aviators to know in detail; now they learned that Franco had taken the Getafe airport, eight miles south of the city, and the Cuatro Vientos airport three or four miles west. A poor consolation to hear the government assertions that the planes and supplies had all been saved and the hangars and landing-fields dynamited. The radio station at Cuatro Vientos had apparently been captured intact, and now they heard it giving an account of how the Moors were advancing through the woods of the Royal Park, immediately west of the city. The Pink aviators in the car clenched their hands and fidgeted, saying: “We are going to be too late!”

  Hoping for comfort, they turned to a government station and listened to an account of the bombarding of the beautiful red-brick buildings at Univeristy City by Franco’s columns approaching along the Coruna road. Lanny told his friends how he had visited that inspiring place with Raoul Palma. Alfy exclaimed: “Franco would come that way, on purpose to wipe them out!” Lanny assented, saying that El Caudillo had just enough intelligence to know that the strongest of his enemies was modern science.

  The sound of guns was never out of their ears, and the stream of fugitives was undiminished. Madrid was being evacuated, it appeared, and many gazed in astonishment at three perverse foreigners who persisted in going the wrong way. Lanny attached himself to a government truck apparently bound for the front; presumably the covered contents included ammunition, which made them dangerous hosts, but everything got out of their way in a hurry, and the foreign pleasure-car came tooting along behind. So in clouds of dust if not of glory they raced toward the capital of Spain, by that same Via de Alcala on which Lanny and Raoul had left it four months previously.

  They had talked out their program. Lanny was not to be publicly known as having any connection with the two volunteers. They understood that the city was full of spies; indeed, General Mola, heading one of the advancing four columns, had boasted that he had a “fifth column” inside. So Lanny would drop his passengers in the neighborhood of the Barajas airfield, each with the duffel-bag containing his belongings, and from that time on they would be on their own. Lanny would proceed to the Palace Hotel, and whatever they wrote him or phoned him would have to do with the marketing of art works; if they wished to meet him it would be at a prearranged place on a quiet street where he would pick them up in his car. He expected to stay only a few hours, for after he had got the six paintings into his charge he surely didn’t want to risk getting bullet holes through them.

  So adios, and don’t forget your crucial sentence: “Donde esta el aerodromo?” Don’t forget to add: “Muchas gracias!” for this is an extremely polite people, to whom dignity and ceremony are of importance, even in the midst of battle. Lanny felt a tugging at the heart-strings as he saw those two pathetic-looking lads start out of sight, each with a bag over one shoulder. He knew he might never see either of them again; and anyhow, to go away is to die a little. The incessant thunder in his ears kept telling him that there was no peace or safety anywhere in this capital of Spain.

  VIII

  He registered at the hotel and had his car taken to the garage, hoping for better luck than under the same circumstances in Barcelona. He assumed that after nearly four months of war the government would have matters organized; moreover, it was a less Red government, even with the Socialists who had been taken into the Cabinet. Not wishing to do any telephoning from the hotel, Lanny went out and walked on the street until he found a public telephone in a booth, and from there he called the office of Raoul Palma, the only person he wished to see besides the butler of Senor Sando
val.

  Raoul now had an important post in the Foreign Press Bureau. Because of his knowledge of the language he censored dispatches for the French press, and also received those delegations of French workers who had been coming to investigate conditions in the new people’s republic. When Lanny heard his voice he said: “This is your old friend the Comendador.” Raoul would understand the need of speaking in code.

  “Bienvenu!” exclaimed Raoul; and that, too, was code. “Where are you?”

  Lanny told the location, and said: “I can only stay a few hours. Can I see you at once?” His friend was delighted, and told him on what street to walk so that they would meet each other half-way. “Watch out for bombs!” he added.

  Lanny was glad to stretch his legs after so long a period of sitting in the car. The streets were not safe—but, then, what place was? The four columns of the Fascists were literally at the gates of the city on the west and southwest. Along that side there curves a little river called the Manzanares; at this time of year it is only about two feet deep, and in the summer Lanny had watched little children wading in it and sailing their toy boats. Such a river would not offer much of an obstacle to infantry, but there were parapets of stone and concrete sufficient to stop artillery and tanks. There were a number of bridges, and at four of them Franco’s forces were about to attack, so his radio boldly proclaimed.

  The Loyalists declared that the bridges were mixed and would be blown up when necessary. Perhaps these were some of the explosions which shook the ground under Lanny’s feet and made his ear-drums ache; evidently a full-scale attack was going on somewhere, and it might be that the Moors had already crossed the bridges and were marching the two miles or so which lay between the river and the paseo where Lanny was walking. At every street corner he took the precaution to look to the west; he tried to do it inconspicuously, for somehow it seemed to him that it was especially up to a grandson of Budd Gunmakers and son of Budd-Erling to show that he could “take it” as well as make it.

  There were two human tides in these city streets, one moving eastward, away from the firing, and the other moving toward it; both were moving fast, and Lanny appeared to be the only one who had leisure. Those moving westward were armed men, some in uniform but most having to be content with armbands on their coats; many had guns, while others followed along, doubtless planning to use some other man’s gun when he fell. There were women carrying picks and shovels to help in digging the trenches. Some had spiked clubs and pitchforks, even butcher knives which had been found so helpful in Barcelona. Few women wanted to live after being taken by Moors. The government had proclaimed mobilization of all workers who were not engaged in making arms or ammunition, and now they were pouring out for the defense of their homes. Trucks were carrying as many men as could be crowded in or could hang on behind; other vehicles were loaded with supplies for the fight.

  Lanny kept looking ahead, expecting to see Raoul; and there, less than half a block in front of him, an extraordinary thing happened. There came a screeching sound, followed by a huge burst of flame and smoke, and the whole side of a small business building flew to pieces or came tumbling down into the street in a mass of dust and rubble. Really, it was hard for a modern man to believe that a city, so permanent a part of his world, was being shelled and knocked to pieces; but the conclusion seemed inescapable, and Lanny had a moment of panic, a strong desire to be somewhere else. But he thought: “Raoul might have been in front of that!” so he ran toward the spot. A peculiar thing to look at a building and discover the front all gone, the rooms laid bare as you see them on the stage. Rooms with office furniture in them, and perhaps people, though you couldn’t be sure on account of the dust and smoke. Strange odors, too, that come out of high explosive shells and get mixed with lime and plaster!

  Lanny saw his friend running from the opposite direction, doubtless with the same idea that Lanny might be hurt. They fell into each other’s arms with unwonted demonstrativeness, and Lanny said: “We might as well get away from here!” They could have stopped for rescue work, of course, but they had no tools; and each had his own job already. “Shall I get my car and take you out of town?” Lanny asked.

  “Oh, no! I can’t run away from my work,” declared the other.

  “Well, let’s walk in an easterly direction,” replied Lanny, putting a smile on his face. They did this, but it really didn’t make much difference, for the guns had plenty of range, and the explosions were all around them. “Is the enemy breaking through?” he asked.

  “I don’t know for sure; but it seems like an act of desperation when he starts shelling at random.”

  “I hope so. We had just about given up in despair.”

  “The workers are not giving up, I assure you. The International Brigade is coming—they have been training at Albacete, you know.” Raoul went on, pouring out the news of this great moment in his country’s life. Suddenly he asked: “What on earth are you doing here, Lanny?”

  His friend told about the two fliers. Raoul knew Rick, and had met the son once or twice at Bienvenu. Lanny asked him to look the youngsters up and do what he could to help them along. They might have trouble getting into the Barajas airfield, even with their credentials.

  “They’ll probably send them to Albacete,” said Raoul. “The greater part of our air force has been moved there in the last few days.”

  IX

  They had so much to talk about, and it was difficult, with shells bursting in houses and on sidewalks, regardless of who or what happened to be in the way. “This has been going on for the last two or three days,” Raoul said. “Bombing by planes has gone on for as many months. It’s really strange how you get used to it; you go on and do your work and take whatever comes.”

  Lanny guessed that this pose was costing no little effort on the part of his friend. On the trip he had seen tens of thousands of terrified people, and at the hotel he had been told that the government was on the point of moving to Valencia. But a few foreign correspondents were staying, and evidently Raoul was expected to stay with them and take his chances with the Moors.

  In addition to all the sounds of gunfire they noticed a roaring overhead and, looking up, saw a flight of black bombing-planes, perhaps half a mile high; nine of them flying in wedge formation. Half a dozen fighter planes accompanied them, higher in the air, keeping watch. It was a nerve-testing moment when the bombers were at the proper distance, and you dreaded to see them drop their deadly eggs, and see those eggs coming straight at you. But it didn’t happen this time; the squadron was bound for some more distant goal.

  “Those big fellows are German Junkers,” remarked Raoul. “We get to know them all.”

  Lanny said: “The pursuits puzzle me; they look like Budd-Erlings but they’re not quite. Robbie never built a tail-assembly like that.”

  “Look! Look!” exclaimed the Spaniard. “They’re fighting.”

  Sure enough, a couple of Loyalist pursuit planes had dived down out of a cloud, and there began what was known as a dogfight; the planes darting here and there, performing an extraordinary series of evolutions, each trying to get on the tail of some other. You saw the bursts of white smoke some time before you heard the chatter of the machine guns. Everybody on the street stopped to watch the spectacle; curiosity was greater than fear, and people bent their necks backward and called out to one another, regardless of whether they had ever spoken before. There was loud cheering as one of the hated Nazi giants faltered, dropped out of line, and then plunged down, pouring out a trail of black smoke. Before it reached the ground it burst into flames, a highly agreeable spectacle to persons who were being bombed out of their homes.

  When Lanny raised his eyes again the squadron had gone on to the east; but one of the enemy fighters was still overhead, and was behaving in a peculiar way, circling irregularly. “That plane is in trouble,” Lanny said, and after watching for a few moments: “It behaves as if the steering-gear was stuck.” It was one of those he had noticed because of its
resemblance to a Budd-Erling. “Serves them right for changing the tail-assembly!” he added.

  They watched with no little excitement. The plane was losing altitude, and apparently would be forced to land. “He’s over El Retiro,” said Raoul. It was the beautiful park of which the Madrilenos were proud. “Do you suppose he can make a landing there?”

  “I don’t recall many clear places,” replied Lanny. “Too many statues and fountains, and ponds, to say nothing of trees.” They watched the plane out of sight behind the houses, and then Lanny exclaimed: “I’d give a lot to find it and have a good look! Do you suppose we could?”

  “Why not?” replied the other. “It can’t be far away, and so many people saw it coming down, there’s pretty sure to be a crowd around it.”

  “I might learn something important to my father,” Lanny explained. “He sold planes to Germany, and I warned him they would steal his patents; he wouldn’t believe me, and it might be a good thing if I could prove myself right. But you’ll have to come along with me, for it would seem a suspicious thing for a foreigner like me to be doing.”

  Raoul was exalted by the spectacle he had witnessed, and eager to see the outcome. He said that he had got somebody to take over his job for an hour, and if it proved to be longer, he would make it up later. They made note of the direction of the plane’s descent, and then hurried to the hotel garage and got Lanny’s car. They drove on the Paseo de Coches, which cuts across a formal and much-ornamented park; they saw people running, and came to a crowd gathered in a clear spot among some trees. Leaving the car and hurrying to the place, they saw a portion of one wing up in the tree, and the rest of the broken plane on the ground. They were told that the flyer had been found unconscious and had been carried away. Now the crowd was being kept back by a couple of milicianos with red arm bands.