See How Much I Love You

by Luis Leante

  ‘She had an accident on her motorcycle. She was nineteen, and her name was Teresa, like my sister.’

  After that she only hears the sound of the scissors and the wind beating against the canvas of the jaima. The last thing she hears before falling asleep is Layla’s voice:

  ‘Thank you.’

  Chapter Eleven

  SOLDIERS WHO’D NEVER READ A NEWSPAPER IN THEIR LIVES could now be seen queuing up for one, or standing in circles while the better educated read the news from Spain out loud. The Spanish government had sold the largest share of the phosphate mining company Fos Bu Craa to Morocco, but the news arrived quite late in El Aaiún. By the time it spread among the civil servants, the deterioration of public life was apparent. In the barracks the officers barely mentioned the pro-independence revolts taking place in the streets to the troops. The robbery of the church and the murder of the sacristan had upset the precarious stability between Saharawis and Spaniards.

  Very few things, apart from sergeant Baquedano’s presence, worried Santiago San Román or caused him to lose sleep. Yet the general insecurity in the barracks unsettled him. He often found conversations about politics tedious and difficult to follow. April and May saw the coming and going of troops, new orders from superiors, counter-orders, manoeuvres, and night-time operations. Many blamed the Polisario Front for all the outrages that were being committed, and the desecration of the Church was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The press called it a terrorist act. San Román was frightened by the memory of that night, and struggled not to think about his participation in it. He tried to salve his conscience by not adding his voice to the proclamations against the Polisario Front and its supporters.

  Guillermo experienced things differently. The building works at the zoo stopped, and most of his company was assigned to planting landmines on the border with Morocco. When the landmines ran out, they started planting plastic fakes, which looked so real that they caused confusion, which led to some fatal mistakes for the people handling them.

  Meanwhile, San Román was required to drive Land Rovers, official vehicles, trucks, diggers, anything with a steering wheel and an engine. Every day he would encounter battalions on the road who were out on a mission or returning in a state of exhaustion to the capital. At least three times a week he had to transport security troops to the Bu Craa phosphate deposits. The fear of sabotage was rife not only among workers but also among the directors of the state company, who lived in the city. Only a year earlier, the conveyor belt used to carry the phosphates to the sea had been set on fire by a group of young Saharawi workers, who were at present serving prison sentences in the Canary Islands. Now soldiers and legionnaires spent endless hours in the blazing Sahara sun, stopping even the foxes from coming near the conveyor belt and its premises. The offices and personal residences of high-ranking civil servants were also guarded by soldiers.

  The atmosphere in the streets was charged, which Santiago San Román thought absurd. The Instituto de Enseñanza Media, the Parador Nacional, the Gobierno General del Sahara, and the Estado Mayor building, were guarded by soldiers at all times. He had often seen patrols armed with Cetme rifles or machine guns who mingled with the civilian population and were suspicious of anything out of the ordinary. But now everything in El Aaiún was out of the ordinary. Whenever Santiago had to ask a Saharawi for his ID or stop a vehicle, he would look at the papers without paying much attention, exchange greetings in Hassaniya, and send them on their way; people responded with a mixture of annoyance and surprise. Santiago felt awkward during the searches and controls carried out in the main junctions. But he was happy to patrol the street market or the souk. On those occasions he was always on the lookout for Andía, her mother, her cousins or any of the women of her extended family.

  Lazaar wouldn’t take him seriously. He started laughing whenever San Román spoke to him about his sister. Santiago was annoyed at how frivolously his friend dealt with Andía.

  ‘You’re in love with Andía? But she’s only a girl.’

  ‘She’s seventeen.’

  ‘Is that what she said?’ Lazaar asked, laughing. ‘You’ll soon be discharged, go back to your city and never come back. And you probably have a girlfriend in Barcelona already.’

  ‘No, no. You’re crazy, man.’

  However, it was different with the family. Santiago was embarrassed to find out that Andía’s mother, aunts and younger sisters would do anything to please him. Their house underwent a transformation that he took a while to notice. The walls, initially devoid of decoration, were covered with photographs and posters, the point of which he couldn’t quite see. Sometimes it was maps of the Iberian peninsula, or newspaper cuttings about famous people: photographs of Franco, Carmen Sevilla during his Christmas visit of 1957, Fraga Iribarme inaugurating the Parador Nacional, calendars showing Julio Romero de Torres, matadors, footballers. He didn’t make much of this at first, but later understood they did it to please him. They also started replacing the Saharawi music with pasodobles or boleros sung by Antonio Machín. Santiago tried to repay their kindness in his own way.

  The family relations were so extended and complex that he was never sure who was a cousins, brother-in-law, sibling or a distant relative. But he tried to be nice to everyone. He would teach the men how to take apart and clean a carburettor, replacesits hoses, or recognise the faults of an engine from its noise. Andía’s little brothers followed him everywhere. However, the real man of the household, since the father’s death, was Lazaar. He was revered not only by the family, but by the neighbours as well. Anything Lazaar said was immediately acknowledged as true. And so San Román knew that, until the Saharawi took him seriously, he had little chance with his sister.

  Andía, for her part, would sometimes behave like a woman and sometimes like a girl, but Santiago did not dislike the ambiguity. Whenever he found himself with a couple of hours to spare, he would go up to the Zemla quarter and sit down to share some tea with whomever happened to be there. The girl welcomed him in a casual manner, as though she was used to his presence, but she would avoid his charged glances, his attempts to get closer to her, or the covert compliments he paid her. He spent more time talking to the family than to her. Sometimes she would go to another room and not even come to the door to see him off. Santiago found these customs deeply irritating, and would often leave the house promising himself never to return. Yet the presents Andía gave him in secret, her evasive eyes, the small attentions she had for him, or her nervousness when he spoke to her, raised his hopes again and he came back whenever he had a chance.

  When he told Guillermo what was happening with Andía, his friend didn’t know whether to be glad for him or help him get her off his mind. At least Santiago no longer spoke of Montse, nor asked him to phone or write letters to her. Guillermo was sure that the infatuation with the Saharawi would lead nowhere, but Santiago seemed so taken with her that Guillermo could not be entirely honest. Unlike San Román, Guillermo viewed the situation in Western Sahara with anxiety. Lacking informed opinions, he let himself be influenced by rumours, what he heard in the soldiers’ mess and saw in the streets. Planting landmines was a terrible job. Nor did the officers seem to know what was really going on. When he asked a sergeant or a simple corporal, they reprimanded him or told him to shut up. But their faces looked obviously worried.

  San Román was only worried by his conscience and by the prospect of meeting Sergeant Baquedano. He was happy when he took part in operations that lasted several days, when he was sent out to patrol the streets, or when he was dispatched with the new recruits to the training grounds, twenty kilometres away from the city, by the sea. Sooner or later, though, he knew that he was bound to bump into Baquedano and would have to stand to attention. This finally happened on a morning when the sergeant entered the regiment riding on the side of a truck. As soon as he saw San Román, he jumped off and quickly walked towards him. The soldier saluted and stood to attention.

  ‘San Román, I’v
e got something for you.’

  Santiago started sweating, and tried to conceal the trembling of his legs.

  ‘At your command, sir.’

  ‘I want you to sit the exam for corporal.’

  ‘Corporal, sir?’

  ‘Yes, corporal. You know what that is don’t you?’

  ‘Of course, sir. But you need to study and have a head for figures.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you can’t read and write.’

  ‘No, sir. I mean, I do, sir. Read and write, yes, in my own way. But I’m not really good with numbers.’

  ‘I won’t take any nancy-boy excuses. You’re a legionnaire, you hear me? You don’t need to read or write. All you need is balls. Like these ones. Don’t tell me you haven’t got any?’

  ‘No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. Of course I have.’

  ‘Then sit the examination, damn it. That’s an order! Saturday. Don’t get drunk or go whoring on Friday. Saturday at eight I want you at the officers’ pavilion. The Legion need patriots like you.’

  The following Monday Santiago San Román was already a Corporal of the Legion. His peers, including Guillermo, started to treat him differently. He wanted to impress Lazaar when he turned up at the Nomad Troops’ pavilion, but the Saharawi only glanced at his stripes, looked him in the eye and said sarcastically:

  ‘Now you’ll get some real girlfriends.’

  The phrase hurt him like an act of treachery. So much so, that the following day he refused to be the Saharawis’ goalkeeper.

  Things were changing apace. A few days later, after returning from a reconnaissance mission, he found Lazaar waiting for him at the football pitch. He looked very serious; Santiago had further reason to worry when he heard Lazaar’s first sentence.

  ‘Listen, San Román, I don’t know how to tell you this without causing offence.’

  The corporal didn’t know what to expect. A thousand things went through his mind, but none as bad as what was to come.

  ‘Come on, Lazaar, I’m your friend. Say it. Whatever it is.’

  ‘Are you my friend?’

  ‘Of course I am. You know it. Why do you ask now?’

  ‘Well, then you’ll understand that sometimes friends have to do things they don’t like, if it’s good for the other one.’

  ‘You can ask me whatever you like: it won’t frighten me.’

  Lazaar looked Santiago straight in the eye. He was holding him by one hand, and had his other on his shoulder.

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t come to my house. At least for now.’

  Corporal San Román swallowed. It felt as though all his blood had left his brain.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ he said, without letting go of Lazaar’s hand. ‘It’s because of your sister, right?’

  ‘No, it’s not because of her. I know she’s fond of you, although she’s only a child of fifteen. It’s because of me.’

  ‘Have I offended you?’

  ‘On the contrary. I’m proud to be your friend. But things are not as simple as they look. One day you’ll understand, but I can’t explain it to you right now.’

  These words disconcerted San Román. He couldn’t believe there might be any reason other than Andía for him not to be welcome at Lazaar’s. He would never have thought that the young Saharawi would cause him such distress. Nor did he believe that he would ever understand what was happening. He felt despondent.

  He stayed away from Lazaar’s for two weeks. When he patrolled the city he would look up to the stone houses and wonder what Andía might be doing. He stopped eating and sleeping well. Once again a woman had destabilized his life and become an obsession. He still spent his spare time with friends from the Nomad Troops, but his relationship with Lazaar wasn’t the same. Santiago felt a mixture of admiration and envy for the Saharawi. He seemed special. He was familiar with the secrets of the desert and the language of the dromedaries; he knew as much about the climate and geography of the desert as an old man. But in the course of two weeks their relationship cooled to the point that they only said hello and exchanged a few polite words.

  At the beginning of May, however, something happened which helped San Román get out of the hole he was in. He was driving a truck full of supplies across the Colomina quarter. There was an armed soldier in the passenger’s seat, and another one in the back. Santiago was half-listening to the soldiers’ talk when he thought he saw Andía in the crowd, walking down the street. He slammed on the brakes and almost called out to her, but was wise enough not to. He knew he could not abandon the truck or go off the set route without a good excuse. The other legionnaire seemed frightened when the vehicle stopped.

  ‘What’s going on, Corporal? Did you see anything?’

  Santiago was craning his neck out of the window, trying to make sure it was Andía. It was the first time he’d seen her outside her neighbourhood.

  ‘Stay in the truck. I think there’s something weird ahead of us. It’s a bit strange.’

  The soldier went pale. He looked everywhere, holding on to his Cetme rifle, trying to spot the danger. Corporal San Román jumped out.

  ‘I need to make sure,’ he shouted with forced authority. ‘Don’t move away from the truck unless they shoot at you.’

  Santiago ran down the street after the girl. When she turned a corner, he approached her. He was greatly relieved not to have been wrong. Andía was with another Saharawi girl who, on seeing him, instinctively covered her face with her melfa and blurted out a few words in Hassaniya. Santiago didn’t catch their meaning. She was addressing her friend, who couldn’t stop laughing as she covered her own face. After a while, the girl went quiet and serious.

  ‘What are you doing here, Andía? Where are you going? Is this a friend of yours?’

  ‘My brother told me you’d gone back Spain, that you’d been discharged.’

  ‘It’s not true, Andía. I would never leave without saying goodbye. Actually, I wouldn’t leave without you: you’re my girlfriend.’

  A smile returned to the Saharawi’s face, and also to her friend’s. Santiago was so nervous he hopped about and couldn’t stop putting his hands in his pockets, only to take them out again.

  ‘I won’t lie to you. It was Lazaar who asked me not to go back to your house. He says it’s not because of you, but he hasn’t given me any other explanation.’

  Andía found it difficult to understand Lazaar’s motives. She wrinkled her brow and took her friend by the hand.

  ‘My brother is a busybody. He treats me like a child; he thinks I’m stupid.’

  She dragged Santiago and made him walk with her. The friend stood to one side. They walked across the street and Andía asked him to go with her into a Saharawi bazaar. It was very similar to the stores in Hata-Rambla: same smell, same chaos.

  ‘Do you like dates?’ Andía asked. ‘No, better take raisins. Do you like raisins? No, no, not those.’

  She asked the shopkeeper for a pipe with a case and then put it in Santiago’s hands.

  ‘Do you like this?’

  ‘A lot, Andía, I like it a lot. But I…’

  ‘I want to give it to you as a gift.’

  The friend asked to see some bracelets and tried them on Santiago. She chose one that fitted his wrist.

  ‘Haibbila wants to give you a present too. She’s my best friend.’

  Santiago didn’t know how to thank them for their attentions. He was confused, and quite surprised that two young girls should be capable of such generosity. He said goodbye promising to come and visit her at home as soon as Lazaar went away on manoeuvres. That evening he slept with the bracelet and the pipe in his hands.

  The manoeuvres Santiago referred to were in fact a special mission that the Nomad Troops had to carry out at Amgala. But it wasn’t made public until a few days later. Like everything else in those days, the movements of the army aspired to secrecy even if it wasn’t achieved. On Monday 5th May, a day before leaving, Lazaar went to see Corporal San Román at the soldiers’ mess. It was the
first time he’d set foot in that place, which surprised Santiago. The words the Saharawi had prepared surprised him even more.

  ‘You know I’m leaving tomorrow on patrol.’ Santiago nodded, trying to anticipate Lazaar’s thoughts. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back, so I’d like to ask you a favour.’

  ‘Anything.’

  The Saharawi took his time before saying:

  ‘I’d like you to look after my sister and my family.’ He paused and studied Santiago’s reaction. ‘I know they’ll be fine, but keep an eye on them for my piece of mind. My brothers are young and busy with other things. They sometimes don’t really understand what’s going on in the Sahara.’

  ‘You speak as if you’re not coming back.’

  ‘Of course I’m coming back. But the situation is worse than they tell us. Morocco is about to pounce on us like a hyena.’

  ‘That won’t happen. We’re here to stop it. You’re a part of Spain.’

  ‘You must be the only optimist left. Which is fine. But I’ll feel better knowing that you’ll look after my family, whatever happens.’

  ‘You shouldn’t need to ask. I’ll be happy to do it. But only until you come back.’

  ‘Of course, only until I come back,’ he said, smiling.

  They hugged and shook hands looking each other in the eye.

  Lazaar’s words were bewildering. Santiago didn’t fully understand their meaning until the following week, when important news reached El Aaiún. At first the information was confusing, even contradictory. Not even the press relayed the events. But eventually the officers informed the soldiers what had happened. On Saturday the 10th of May, 1975, a Nomad Troop patrol, code named ‘Pedro’, went over to the Polisario Front. They took two Spanish lieutenants, a sergeant and five soldiers as hostages. This happened in Amgala. The following day, a patrol in Mahlbes did the same, though in this case the Spaniards offered resistance, and a soldier and a sergeant were killed. Seven other soldiers were taken prisoner and whisked off to the Algerian border.