See How Much I Love You

by Luis Leante

  ‘When the time comes to leave, I’ll take you with me to Barcelona. You’ll like it. You’ll like it a lot.’ Andía smiled. It wasn’t the first time Santiago had made promises to her.

  ‘And what about your girlfriend there?’ Santiago pretended to get angry. He knew it was a game.

  ‘There’s no one waiting for me, I swear.’ Eventually, as usual, she smiled, pleased.

  ‘I want to ask you something, Santi. It’s a favour for me, just for me.’

  ‘Of course, anything.’ She put her hand in her melfa and took out an envelope.

  ‘This is for Bachir Baiba. Tell him it’s from her sister Haibbila. You can read it if you like.’ San Román smiled. He knew Bachir well. He’d been to his house, and knew his family. His sister Haibbila was a close friend of Andía’s; it was she who had offered Santiago a bracelet as a gift. He had no intention of taking the letter out of the envelope, even if it was open. It seemed rude. Besides, he was sure it would be written in Hassaniya.

  The letter reached Bachir Baiba. It was the first thing Corporal San Román did on arriving at the barracks. The Saharawi read it in front of him, and his serious expression did not make Santiago suspicious. He started to say goodbye, but Bachir asked him not to go yet. They drank tea and smoked for a while. Bachir Baiba was kind but distant. When it was finally time for Santiago to leave, the Saharawi asked him:

  ‘When are you going back home?’ San Román understood immediately.

  ‘I’d like to go up tomorrow, but it’s become very hard to get a permit.’

  ‘I see,’ Bachir said, trying to find a solution. ‘We have no way of getting out of here. They’ve taken away our arms and there are no permits at all.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Will you do a friend a favour?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘When you get a permit, come and see me. I’ve got stuff for my mother: dirty clothes and stuff like that.’ Santiago knew what the other meant, but he raised no objections.

  On Friday 31st October, Santiago walked to the exit gate carrying a bag that weighed over fifteen kilos. He naively thought that no one would take any notice of a corporal leaving the barracks on foot, like so many other times, and so he didn’t realise that, near the sentry box, a lieutenant and two sergeants were exchanging nervous looks and shaking their heads.

  ‘What have you got there, corporal?’ The question caught him unawares. He blushed and his voice trembled.

  ‘Here’s my permit,’ he replied. The lieutenant didn’t even look at the piece of paper.

  ‘I’m not asking you for that. I’m asking you what you have in your bag.’

  ‘Dirty clothes and stuff like that.’ As soon as he said it, he understood he was in serious trouble. The bag was too heavy. When he put it down it made a suspect noise. Before he even opened it, the two sergeants were pointing their guns at him. When the contents came out, the lieutenant went pale and nearly dived for cover. Among the clothes were hand grenades, detonators and explosives. In less than an hour, the news had spread throughout the barracks like the darkest of omens.

  Insomnia and fleas were turning the guardroom into a dungeon. But it was the absence of news that most distressed San Román. He felt terribly alone, more alone than ever. He could picture the commotion that would erupt in the barracks as soon as the death of the Caudillo became known. Yet all he cared about was his own situation. That day he finally slept normally, at the usual hour. But no one deigned to explain to him what was happening. He kept his eyes and ears open to every noise, every movement outside. Any moment now they would come for him and take him to the Canary Islands or Spain. Worse than the wait was the fatigue. His eyes stung, and his whole body ached as if he were running a temperature.

  In mid afternoon the door opened and Guillermo turned up in uniform, armed with a Cetme rifle. He only said:

  ‘Time for your walk, Corporal.’ And stepped aside. Santiago went out, deeply moved. He walked towards the end of the runway, as he’d done in previous afternoons. Guillermo followed a few metres behind, holding the Cetme with both his hands.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Guillermo. I’d like to have your forgiveness for everything,’ said Santiago without turning back.

  ‘I don’t want to hear a word from you, Corporal.’

  Tears welled up in San Román’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks. It felt good. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t a good friend, I’m sorry I…’

  ‘One more word and I’ll shoot you.’

  Santiago knew he didn’t mean it, but did not say anything else. When they reached the end of the runway, Guillermo walked away a few metres. He stood with his back turned to Santiago, looking at the dunes, seemingly oblivious to everything. Santiago made a run for the Land Rovers. With each step he felt closer to freedom. He jumped into one of the vehicles, retrieved the key from under the seat, and drove off as fast as he could. Guillermo started shooting into the air. No one reacted, no one noticed what was going on. In a few minutes, the vehicle disappeared down the road, leaving a trail of black smoke behind.

  Santiago had never thought he would see the city so desolate. The streets were almost deserted. None of the shops were open. Some areas had been completely evacuated. Others, however, were now cordoned off with barbed wire, and no one could leave. His uniform and the military vehicle did not attract anyone’s attention, given all the units deployed by the army. It wasn’t hard to reach the Zemla area. He drove to Andía’s house and got out of the car without even cutting the engine. Inside he only found the women. He asked where Andía was, and someone went to fetch her. The girl ran to see him, short of breath. On seeing him she burst into tears. She knelt down on the floor, and started to tear her hair out. The women tried to calm her. San Román was frightened. This was not the reaction he had been expecting.

  ‘I thought you were dead, Santi,’ Andía was saying through her sobs. They told me you’d been executed.’

  Santiago had never seen anyone cry like that. He forgot all the reproaches he wanted to make to her. The neighbours turned up, and started shouting. Disconcerted, unsure of what to do, Santiago went out into the street. Someone had gone out to inform Sid-Ahmed he was there, and the shopkeeper came running to meet him. He tried to give Santiago a hug, but he pulled away.

  ‘It’s my fault, not the girl’s,’ said Sid-Ahmed. ‘She’s only a child, you can’t blame her.’

  ‘I thought you were my friend.’

  ‘And I am. That’s why I trusted you. You have baraka, my friend, you have baraka. Now you’re one of us.’

  Santiago thought at first that he was being tricked, but the Saharawi’s words got through to him. Eventually he let Sid-Ahmed hug him.

  ‘They are invading us, my friend. Didn’t you know? There’s no time for arguments between ourselves.’

  ‘You only needed to ask. Just that. I would have done anything for you. Anything. There was no need to deceive me.’

  Sid-Ahmed took him by the arm and led him into the house. Andía was laughing and crying at the same time. She clung to Santiago like a little girl and spoke to him in Hassaniya. Santiago could no longer pretend he was angry. He drank a glass of tea, accepted a cigarette and settled himself on the floor against a wall. Andía would not leave his side. The legionnaire’s eyes slowly closed. Suddenly all the tiredness accumulated in the days previous took hold of his body. His eyelids, his arms felt heavy. He had no strength left to talk. A moment later he was completely asleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  DOCTOR BELÉN CARNERO WENT INTO THE CANTEEN OF the hospital and saw Montse sitting at the back by the window. She’d been looking for her. After negotiating a few obstacles, Belén approached the table and sat down beside her.

  ‘What took you long? I was about to leave, Belén.’

  ‘It was a long operation. And the worst thing is, that poor man nearly died in there because of you.’

  Doctor Cambra raised her eyebrows.

  ‘How do you mean, because of me?’<
br />
  ‘Well, you know, Montse, that story of yours intrigued me so much I nearly overdid it with the anaesthetics.’

  Montse was about to protest when she saw the cheeky smile on Belén’s face. ‘What? Where’s your sense of humour?’ Montse covered her face with her hands.

  ‘I’m not sure I ever had one.’

  ‘Of course you do. Remember how much we used to laugh together?’

  ‘You’re right. But it’s been so long I can barely remember.’

  They looked each other in the eye for a moment, as if they were trying to read each other’s thoughts.

  ‘Listen,’ said Belén eventually. ‘Why don’t you come home and pick up your story where you left off.’

  ‘I haven’t got time. I have to go home, take a shower and…’

  Belén knitted her brow. ‘Is this what I think it is?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, yes, there’s no point hiding it. I’m going out to dinner with Pere.’

  ‘The most eligible bachelor. Well, none of my business really, but why don’t you finish telling me about Santiago San Romo.’

  ‘San Román.’

  ‘That’s it. You were telling me about your pregnancy. You were… nineteen?’

  ‘Eighteen. Eighteen years old. That’s all there is to it. But times were different then, and you know what my family has always been like.’

  ‘I do. That’s why I’m so intrigued. I can’t imagine you telling your mother you’ve become pregnant by a boy you barely know.’

  ‘Actually, I knew all I needed to know.’

  ‘You were saying you saw him with a blonde.’

  Doctor Cambra searched through her handbag and took out a pack of Chesterfields. She lit up a cigarette. Belén looked at her without saying a word.

  ‘Why the look?’

  ‘I didn’t know you smoked. Is it a new thing?’

  ‘A stupid thing, I’d say. I haven’t smoked since I was eighteen.’

  ‘You’re full of surprises, girl. No wonder Pere is crazy about you.’

  Monte blew the smoke in her face. Belén started coughing and laughing at the same time.

  That October was among the saddest ones in Montse’s life. Her father was proud of her when she started university, but that feeling was in sharp contrast to her apathy. She remembered the recent summer like a princess’s dream. To be again living in a household with fixed hours and a controlling mother was almost unbearable. As were the prolonged periods away from Santiago. Meanwhile, her sister Teresa lived in a world of her own. Montse often looked up to her. The little sister had a life of her own. She seemed the older of the two. Teresa was better at putting up with their father’s demands, their mother’s reproaches, and the stifling control they both exerted on their daughters. Yet Montse found it impossible to get on with her sister. At times she saw her as a child; at others she thought Teresa too advanced for her years. In reality she was afraid to find out what her sister would think of her if she knew what she was secretly experiencing.

  The longer she spent away from Santiago, the harder it was to get him off her mind. Now they only saw each other on Saturday afternoons and Sundays. Montse had to be back home by ten, and Santiago had nothing to do except be with her. When he told her that by the end of the year he had to be in Zaragoza to start his military service, she tried to look indifferent, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. But at home she counted down the days with anxiety. Things couldn’t get any worse, surely. There, Montse was wrong.

  The worst happened on an already unpleasant Autumn afternoon. As she had done so often, she was accompanying her mother on a visit to her aunt’s house. This was an unavoidable obligation. Nothing bored Montse so much as spending two hours sitting at a small round table while her mother and aunts discussed trivial matters and told colourless anecdotes about people who were already dead or whom she didn’t even know. But on that afternoon something broke the routine. Whilst walking past a café, Montse, with a coquettish gesture, looked at herself in the window to tidy her hair. She froze. Santiago was sitting at a table near the door, smoking casually, with a blonde beside him who was laughing as if he’d told her something truly hilarious. Montse only saw them for two or three seconds, but she was sure it was Santiago. Her heart jumped. She held her mother’s arm tightly and matched her step. She blushed, and her cheeks burned. She feared her mother might notice something was amiss. Although she didn’t want to look back, the image had lodged itself in her head. A number of ideas rushed through her mind. Without further thought, she excused herself and told her mother to carry on to her aunt’s without her. She’d forgotten something at home. Her mother went on her way grumbling to herself.

  Montse was not in control of her actions. She made sure it really was Santiago and then positioned herself across the street, her eyes fixed on the door of the café. She was shaking. A couple of times she pictured herself as if from the outside and found what she was doing ridiculous. She started to cross the street, but held back at the last moment. For the first time in her life she didn’t mind not having an excuse to justify her behaviour in front of her mother. Time moved incredibly slowly.

  Santiago San Román exited the café with the blonde. She couldn’t have been over nineteen or twenty, but her clothes made her look older. Even from afar, Montse could tell she wasn’t a natural blonde. Santiago spoke to her as if they were old friends. He made her laugh all the time, which further annoyed Montse. She followed them from a distance, across the road. Perhaps what Montse really wanted was for Santiago to see her there, but he only had eyes for the blonde. Montse had hers fixed on them to see if they held hands or if he passed his arm round her shoulder. But they did nothing suspicious. They simply strolled to the nearest bus stop and stood there for ten minutes, the girl laughing all that time. How come Santiago was suddenly so funny? More than once, Montse felt the impulse to walk away, or even approach them, but something stopped her. Eventually the bus appeared, and the girl let everyone else on first. At that moment Montse saw them hold hands. Or, rather, it was a tentative, nervous holding of hands, until the girl threw her arms round his neck and pulled him close to her. They kissed. Santiago wasn’t simply kissing her goodbye, and he certainly didn’t pull back. They untangled when the bus was about to pull out. Santiago remained fixed to the spot, looking at the girl, who was trying to find a seat on the bus. And there he stayed, looking into the distance, even after the vehicle had disappeared from view.

  The following Saturday Montse did not turn up for their usual rendezvous. When Santiago rang her, pretending to be a friend from university, she didn’t answer the call. She took three days to come to the phone and, when she did, it was only to say:

  ‘Look, Santi, I don’t want to hear from you ever again. You understand? Ever. Pretend I’m dead.’ Then she hung up. Santiago didn’t get an explanation for another three days, when he approached Montse in the street. She was carrying some books, and had just enough time to catch the bus. But he stopped her. He was angry, but on seeing Montse’s face he went pale.

  ‘Will you tell me what’s wrong with you?’ His voice wobbled. Montse changed course and walked on. He followed, trying to get a word out of her, but she gave him no chance. Eventually, fed up with his insistence, she stopped.

  ‘Listen, I don’t know what your game is, but you’re not going to mess me around like this.’

  ‘First I’d have to know what you’re talking about. If you don’t explain yourself…’

  ‘Explain myself? You’re the one that owes me an explanation. For a start, who’s that peroxide blonde you were kissing at the bus stop the other day?’ Montse stared at him until he grew very serious and red in the face. Yet Santiago did not retreat.

  ‘If you’re jealous, there’s no reason for it. She’s no one important.’ She turned red with anger.

  ‘And me, am I someone important?’

  ‘Of course, the most important person in my life.’

  ‘Well, you’ve just
lost that person. Go and cry on that fake blonde’s shoulder.’ Whereupon she strode off, with him trying to catch up.

  ‘Listen, sweetheart, that blonde, she’s no one. There’s no reason to be jealous. Didn’t you have any boyfriends before me?’

  ‘Yes, lots,’ she lied. ‘So what?’

  ‘Then you’ll understand: that’s all she is, an ex from way back.’

  ‘Well, and do you go around kissing your old girlfriends?’

  ‘I don’t. But we met by chance, we had a coffee…’

  ‘Did she pay for it?’ Santiago was struck dumb. Montse had hit where it hurt. He stayed behind. Montse eventually stopped walking, turned, and blurted out: ‘I’m pregnant. That’s right, pregnant. Don’t ask me if I’m certain or I’ll tell you to f… Now you know. I don’t ever want to hear from you, see you or have news of you again. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.’ Santiago’s face crumbled, and he remained glued to the pavement, without taking his eyes off Montse as she walked away. At that moment he realised that people had stopped to watch them as if they were a street act.

  ***

  Doctor Cambra was no longer impressed with fancy restaurants and male gallantry. Sophistication bored her, although she felt at ease with it. She let Pere Fenoll choose the restaurant, the wine and the table. There was something touching about him, though other things grated with her. In fact, she was not sure how the balance stood between what she liked and what she didn’t. She knew that in her forties she was still beautiful, perfectly able to seduce a man, but felt terribly lazy when it came to using her charms. Besides, Pere was not very good at the game. He talked about work, his specialism, problems in the health service. And whenever Montse got him off the subject, he would grow pensive, as if taking a spoon to his mouth were a difficult procedure he couldn’t quite grasp. Still, he was an attractive man, with good taste and impeccable manners. Montse liked him as much as she found him exasperating. She began teasing him, being seductive in small doses, at moments when Pere seemed at his most receptive.