A Forbidden Love

by Kerry Postle

  Chapter 47

  Maria barely slept that night. She went over what she’d seen and heard in the car the day before. And in her fitful dreams she saw Manu and his gang of divine executioners meting out punishment with godlike wrath upon the guilty. She would support them in their mission.

  She dressed in darkness and crept down the stairs. She had to be careful. After her grandmother’s death she wasn’t the only person at home unable to sleep peacefully.

  She opened the door, closing it after her with the lightest of touches. There, at the end of the street, she could see Manu. He switched the blue painted headlamps on and off to signal her over.

  They drove slowly towards their meeting place. Maria’s heart thumped violently in her chest. Unsure, excited, giddy, she wanted revenge – although against who, she had no idea. Nor did she care. She could smell blood as her own coursed wildly through her veins, rushing and whirling round her head in torrents.

  Manu pulled over. They had arrived. He and Maria got out of the car. He knocked on the door.

  The sound shattered the silence. Maria winced. It was as if he had thrown a shell into the middle of the road. She waited for every resident in every apartment to come to their windows. They did not. Instead she saw a shadow at an upstairs window followed by the sound of movement from within. Someone was opening the door. It was Sandoval. So he was the great man. Maria had only ever seen him once before and that was talking to Federica.

  He looked up and down the street then beckoned Manu and Maria in and up the staircase to the apartment on the first floor.

  Manu greeted him like a hero.

  ‘Window,’ Sandoval instructed her while he whispered his plans in Manu’s ear. Her eyes remained peeled on the street outside. Her ears pricked to the slightest sign of life. If any spy was on to them Maria would spot them.

  Sandoval. She didn’t like him but she didn’t have to. It was sufficient that he had been wrongly imprisoned by the man they’d come to punish today. This had happened to too many good men before the war, like her grandfather’s good friend, Santiago Carrillo, Councillor for Public Order. It occurred to her that Sandoval and Carrillo did not seem very similar but she told herself to stop being judgemental.

  Instead, she observed the remaining gang members as they arrived one by one. A few walked boldly, swaggering as they made their way down the street, pushing their chests out, looking from side to side before nodding with self-appreciation. If they could have, they would have hammered on every door and demanded to be seen. But most skulked, eyes to the ground, praying to be invisible.

  A strange assortment of people, Maria thought to herself. Instinctively she didn’t trust them. From the way they looked at her when they entered the apartment it was clear that the feeling was mutual.

  Each of the men lit up. They inhaled deeply, each exhalation an impressive cloud of smoke that filled the room. Red ash tips glimmered in the gloomy space. They slapped each other’s backs.

  Sandoval called them to order. ‘We need to clean up this city. Purge it of its rot.’ Maria felt uncomfortable. She’d heard these words before. Images of Captain Garcia presented themselves to her unbidden. She pushed them aside and listened to what their leader had to say.

  ‘The accused has family living in the Nationalist occupied areas, he has spread propaganda, he has religious icons in his home, he chose not to go to Portugal when he had the chance. I ask you why did he not go, comrades? What serpentine subterfuges did he have in mind? I’ll tell you what. Members of his family infiltrated people’s parties, he kept good, honest workers in servitude, he held onto the master-slave model of behaviour between the classes. I tell you he is an elite, an oppressor … and a fascist.’

  Ripples of excitement swept and swirled around the room.

  ‘What more evidence do you need of a man’s guilt?’ Manu said to her. Maria nodded in approval. Sandoval had restored her resolve. ‘At last,’ she said to herself, ‘revenge. Today a fascist will be punished. And I will be part of it.’

  Sandoval beckoned his band of avenging brothers to him for one last time, leaving Maria as lookout by the window once more. Though she could not make out what he was saying, his deep, gravelly voice left scratches on her conscience. He signalled that he’d finished with a laugh more wicked than joyful. The sound sent a shiver down her spine and as she shuddered Sandoval shot her a look so ugly that it reached into her heart, placed its fleshy palm around it, squeezed it, then released it.

  She ran after Manu to the car, her legs heavy, her heart confused from being man-handled. But she couldn’t turn back now.

  It was still early – 5.30, possibly a bit later – as they drove through the empty streets, the car headlights off, in silence. Maria told herself she should be excited, jubilant that criminals would be made to pay. She should feel proud. But as the car pulled up outside a familiar apartment block in the grand district of Madrid that she knew so well she felt uneasy. Two more cars pulled up behind.

  Knock, knock, knock. Sandoval rapped on the door with his rough bruised fists. The heavy sound disturbed the quiet morning air and must have awoken everybody in the street, but no one came to their windows to see what was happening. Perhaps because they knew. The clear clip-clip-clip of footsteps moved their way across the hard marble floor of the designated apartment. The person on the other side stopped. The pause engulfed Maria – she tasted his fear as she attempted to swallow her own. She’d been here before.

  A servant opened the door. His eyes peered into the half-light to make out the faces of the unexpected visitors. His look of fearful resignation melted away at the sight of her. He beamed at her, his face for a moment full of hope, trust. It pulled at the paper concealing the cracks. It tore easily. She asked herself why she was here. What she was doing.

  She knew him.

  It was Ramon Figuera, the servant who had refused to stop serving the Jimenez family. Maria had heard the story from her grandfather. Ramon’s wife had died in childbirth when having her third son and from that moment on the Jimenez’s had treated his children as their own, paying for their education and helping them establish careers. One was a scientist while the other two had set up in business together. All three boys – Jorge, Tomas and Enrico – now lived in Suarezna. They’d asked their father to join them there. But he couldn’t leave the Jimenez family, not after all they’d done for him.

  ‘We’ve come to do a routine search,’ Sandoval said, pushing past Ramon. The others, Maria included, followed behind him. Members of the group marvelled at the size of the room, gasped at the beauty of the mouldings and the highly polished parquet floor, felt giddy at the heights of the ceiling, looked with awe at the magnificent, sturdy door frames. It was clear that each one of them admired the proportions and elegance of this abode. Yet they nodded in envious agreement as Sandoval stood in the middle of the room and rolled out his arm as if unveiling the room and drawing it to the attention of his men for the first time. ‘Such unnecessary spaciousness. Papers,’ Sandoval barked at Ramon. The servant looked at Maria, an expression of concern for her safety in his eyes. She looked away.

  ‘This is not your apartment?’ Sandoval asked, knowing full well that it belonged to Seňor Alonso Jimenez, one of the witnesses who had testified against him for theft before the start of the Civil War. Some people said Sandoval was a common criminal and yes, he had done things deemed illegal in the past. But he could always justify his so-called crimes to himself. Shame the courts hadn’t seen things the same way.

  He’d been working through those who’d got him imprisoned and this morning it was Jimenez’s turn. Sandoval had planned a quick, efficient mission, with as few obstacles as possible. Jimenez’s son was, thankfully, not here. Ramon, unfortunately, was. That he was here out of loyalty irritated Sandoval beyond reason. He was prepared to sacrifice himself. Well, so be it, thought Sandoval. Your choice.

  ‘The Seňor is trustworthy, I can assure you,’ Ramon replied to Sandoval’s question.
>
  ‘Seňor? Seňor did you say? There are no Seňors here, comrade,’ Sandoval boomed, using the word comrade like a knife. Ramon breathed deeply. He knew who Sandoval was, understood how dangerous he could be, but he also had the measure of the man. As Sandoval cast his covetous eye around the precious objects around the room, Ramon knew that he liked what he saw. Once a thief, always a thief. He prayed the man’s greed would distract him.

  Sandoval strode into the living room. He picked up ornaments, went through drawers, didn’t close them. Sandoval found a watch, inspected it closely – for a moment, Ramon imagined he might put it into his pocket. His watch-filled hand waivered as it hung down by his side as if not sure what to do with the valuable item in his grasp. This might only be a robbery after all, Ramon dared to believe.

  But then Sandoval placed the watch very deliberately back where he had found it.

  He pulled down on both lapels of his jacket and with his back to Ramon, Sandoval called back sharply, ‘Now get him up, comrade.’

  The manservant’s chest tightened but he didn’t move. ‘Now,’ Sandoval ordered.

  Maria’s eyes darted to the ornate crucifix still on the wall by the door. She’d remembered how Antonio had told her about it, how he’d begged his father to remove it but that his father had said no. His mother had been a very devout woman. His father too was a believer. Faith isn’t something you can switch off overnight, he’d said to his son. I’m not prepared to live a lie. Of course I support the Republic. That’s why I’m still here in Madrid. But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to deny all that was good in my life. Nearly everyone I know had some sort of faith not too long ago. A fact they’ve all conveniently forgotten.

  Maria looked over at the doorway. He was there. Seňor Alonso, a shirt ill-buttoned for being done in haste, with black trousers over pyjamas. He combed his fingers through his hair as he entered the room, cards and papers clutched in his other hand. He looked at Sandoval carefully. Recognition followed by fear swept one after the other across his face. But soon he regained his composure. It made no difference. Sandoval was here to carry out what he’d wanted to do ever since he’d been released from prison at the start of the war, avenge himself on those who’d put him away in the first place.

  ‘Search the place,’ Sandoval ordered Manu, as he held out his hand for the documents.

  ‘You will see that they are all in order,’ Seňor Alonso said, his voice not as assured as his words.

  ‘You can buy anything these days, when you’re rich,’ Sandoval said to his gang, casting the papers aside. ‘And corrupt.’ He went and stood next to the crucifix and laughed. The rest of the band laughed with him. All apart from Maria.

  ‘I think it’s time we took Seňor for a little walk,’ Sandoval said, his voice cruel, his words barbed.

  Maria’s heart started to beat faster than ever. She wanted to stop what was going to happen but she did not know how. Ramon embraced Seňor Alonso, a gesture of loyalty and love.

  ‘Fawning moron,’ snorted Sandoval as he pushed Ramon aside with one hand, thrusting a pistol into Seňor Alonso’s back with the other while nudging him out through the main door.

  ‘He’s a good man. An innocent man,’ Ramon called out, as Sandoval’s troupe followed their leader out. Manu looked down at the elderly man – he reminded him of a skinny version of his mother and it touched his heart. Why, he wondered to himself, did the oppressed stay so loyal to the men who oppressed them?

  ‘How can he say such a thing?’ Manu whispered in Maria’s ear, irritated by the elderly servant’s words. ‘Because it’s true,’ came the barely audible reply.

  What was happening? Maria had wanted to be a part of this so badly. How could she have got things so wrong? Shame was working its way up her body with its slimy touch. She wanted to cry for Luis. How he would hate her if he knew what she was doing. So would Paloma. So would her grandmother. ‘You’re stronger than you know and one day you will prove it.’ Luis’ words came back to her and pushed shame’s blood-soaked cloak from off her shoulders. Well, Maria told herself, this was the day to prove it. Before it was too late.

  ‘Wait! I’ve left my purse inside!’ Maria patted her pockets in a show of looking for it. Not there, she raised her hands as if to say ‘See’. ‘I won’t be a minute’. With a rapid turn she disappeared back inside the building. One long minute later she got back and climbed into the car. ‘Looks like you’ve seen a ghost,’ Sandoval quipped at her as he lit up a cigarette. Clouds of smoke billowed around the accused like incense. Maria panted like a thirsty pet, the huff, huff, huff making her more conscious than ever of the mounting tension in the car. The violin string was pulled taut. It might snap at any second.

  Sandoval gave the order to drive on.

  Chapter 48

  Manu was at the wheel. He drove through the dead quiet streets of Madrid, heavy with silence. No one dared speak in the car. Only Sandoval.

  ‘I told you I’d pay you back! Didn’t think it would be so soon,’ he said, his voice dark, his words darker. Seňor Alonso said nothing. His reserve riled his persecutor. ‘Think you’re better than us, don’t you?’ Again, the polite, old man, with his buttons done up the wrong way, said nothing. Sandoval placed the point of his pistol up against his captive’s forehead. ‘I can do it here. I can do it now, you know.’ Maria tried to steady her breath. Choose your battles wisely, she reminded herself, wait for the right moment. You’re stronger than you know.

  The band stopped at a checkpoint. There was a lot of saluting, and ‘Hello, comrade’ ricocheted back and forth. Papers were presented, another salute given. A finger pointed at Seňor Alonso. ‘Taking him to Casa de Campo,’ came Sandoval’s reply. A chill ran through Maria. The comrade nodded knowingly. They were allowed to pass.

  At the checkpoint, benches had been dragged out of the university buildings and used as barriers. Manu drove around them and on through parkland full of vast oak trees. ‘Pull over here,’ Sandoval ordered. Maria looked out at a wall that was riddled with bullets and stained the colour of death. It had once housed the Philosophy Department.

  When Maria had rushed back into Seňor Alonso’s apartment she’d found herself genuflecting at the image of Mary, asking that she would keep and protect the innocent. She hoped now that the Virgin had heard her prayers. Casa de Campo. Maria was only too aware of what those three little words meant. Death by firing squad.

  She’d thought this was a noble cause. Instead she saw that it was a grubby, petty, personal vendetta. Sandoval. Seňora Gonzalez … Had Maria learnt nothing from the past?

  She pushed her fingernails into her palms as she hoped Ramon had trusted her enough to do what she’d asked him to do – go to her grandfather’s house, tell him what had happened. He would know who to call on, how to act, what to do.

  She prayed Ramon had made it.

  As Maria waited to get out of the car her heart was in her mouth. Manu got out first, Sandoval second. He leant in the back of the car and dragged Seňor Alonso out, pulling on the back of his terror-drenched shirt collar.

  ‘The trial won’t take long,’ Sandoval shouted back at his group. He pushed Seňor Alonso against a wall, standing back as if to observe his prey. He then held up a light and shone it in the poor man’s eyes. Blinded by the glare, Seňor Alonso squinted ahead but could no longer make out anyone or anything. Not Manu and his expression of disdain, nor Maria and her look of surprise and horror – but Seňor Alonso knew she was there. He prayed that the girl would not believe he was guilty.

  Sandoval reeled off his supposed offences once more for the fun of it. Obtaining false papers, possessing religious icons, oppressing the workers and … spying for the enemy. ‘What do you have to say?’ he asked the man he was so going to enjoy killing. The surge of pleasure that he felt to know that this man who had testified against him was truly afraid was unexpected. Who knew what untold joy he would experience when he got to put the gun up against his head and pull the trigger? His exciteme
nt was animal as he anticipated the taste of blood.

  Maria looked towards the horizon. The sun was starting to burst forth, its orange light aglow across the sky. If she got away safely she would never get involved with the gang again. If Seňor Alonso escaped unhurt she would only ever do good. Oh, please let her grandfather come. Please, please, she pleaded. Oh please don’t let Seňor Alonso die a martyr’s death. She dug her fingernails into her palms still more.

  ‘Where’s the evidence against me?’ Seňor Alonso asked. Manu was shocked, Sandoval irritated. Maria in awe.

  Sandoval held up a burnt out lantern. ‘What’s this?’ Seňor Alonso asked.

  ‘Used to send signals to the enemy,’ Sandoval pronounced. The old man laughed with disbelief.

  ‘I almost, almost, pity you Sandoval,’ he said. ‘Why, every family in the city owns a lantern. You can do better than this.’ Maria could hear the low growl coming from somewhere deep within Sandoval’s body. It was getting bigger, louder. She looked around. Dawn was breaking and the sunlight was showing up all the cracks in the ground. There were haphazard piles of rubbish everywhere. She heard Sandoval cock the lever of the gun. In that moment thoughts of Luis came to her once more. How he’d saved her, how he’d loved her, loved her far more than she deserved. If she did nothing else in her pointless life she would do something to be worthy of him now. It was time to act. She stepped forward.

  ‘Stop.’

  Sandoval arched an eyebrow.

  ‘I said stop,’ she said. ‘Now.’

  A car had driven stealthily along the trenches. It pulled up behind them. No one noticed. All they heard was Sandoval as his low growl erupted into a volcanic laugh. ‘You have some cojones, I’ll say that for you. But put them away before I cut them off,’ and with that he took aim at his victim once more. ‘Keep the bitch under control,’ he snapped at Manu.