To the memory of "La chata", a militia woman 
of the J.S.U. fallen during the cathedral siege 
of Sigüenza, in October 1936,


and Francisco Gonzalo, alias "El carterillo", 
socialist and president of the Casa del Pueblo 
of Sigüenza, murdered by the fascists on the
eve of the Civil War

















The three Valiente brothers,
all three at the same time
died on the same day 
born for glory.


The three Valiente brothers 
went out to make war
armed with your last name
more than a warrior spear


Fernán Silva Valdés.







CHAPTER I


April 1931
My name is Andrés Lafuente. Before the war I was a pastor and seminarian, then a village priest. Since then I have only lived for the memory of two thrilling kisses: one of life and the other of death. Also of a happy spring and the joyful song of a nightingale in the cool of the Castilian night. Out of laziness, respect or disconsolation I had not thought of writing this story until today, when I am only waiting for the inevitable embrace of death. This is the story of two children of the countryside, tender shoots of a republican spring and broken branches of a fascist autumn.
What I am going to narrate in this book I still feel alive as if it had happened yesterday, and, overcoming the pain of its memory, I do not want it to go with me to the grave. If I have any strength left, I want to tell the story of the Valiente brothers: Juan, Damián, Benjamín and Inés, the latter the strongest and most perfumed flower that the miserable Castilian wasteland has produced. A broken flower when the bees drink from it; when spring gives way to summer and the new swallows flap their tender wings; when the morning breeze soon turns into scorching heat; that is to say, in the best of its life.
My memories go back to the first days of April 1931, when "with the first leaves of the poplars and the last blossoms of the almond trees", as our immortal Antonio Machado sang, Inés was walking as usual up the road to the village while I was trying to take care of a couple of dozen stubborn sheep and a goat that was impossible to tame. She would come playing with her writing notebook, scribbling over every available space, and tossing it into the air as if it were a kite, picking it up again as if it were tame. As she reached my side she laughed, perhaps at my illiterate adolescent stubbornness, while looking at me provocatively, rehearsing those womanly arts that come naturally to all adolescent girls without anyone teaching them. As she approached it seemed as if the wind was stirring more strongly, the rough rockroses seemed to bloom, as if they were honeysuckles, and the song of the monotonous cicadas seemed to be goldfinches or nightingales.
When I was near she blushed, or made me see her blush, because Inés was never ashamed of me, which made me lose my temper, as if she were twenty years older than me and knew everything there was to know about life, while I, a brat of fifteen, almost sixteen, hardly knew where children came from, because I had seen sheep give birth, not without some embarrassment, for I was repulsed by the placenta and the viscosity of the newborn lamb.
Nearby, on the bank, at a certain height from where I was standing, Inés was fixing her rough dress, stretching here and there, adjusting her shoulder pads and adjusting her apron, as if she were preparing for a performance:
-Hey, Andrés, don't look at me so much or you'll wear me out!
He said this knowing that I was looking at her out of the corner of my eye, when apparently I was watching several lambs that were coming up the hillside in search of fresh grass, but I didn't even see them.
-Can't you see that the goat is getting out of hand?
It was true, that damned goat, that not all creatures must be God's, was always going to the mountain and there was nothing to do. For the little quart of milk it gave us a day, the work of keeping it with the sheep did not compensate, but my father insisted on having it, more for nostalgia than for usefulness. Since my poor mother died, we had that wayward and unruly goat as if it were her soul that was still in the world, and that only she respected. She bought it herself at the livestock market in Sigüenza, in the autumn of '27, because she wanted me not to lack milk, even if it was goat's milk. "If you want to be a good man, and you will be, even if I have to beat you to a pulp, you have to drink a lot of goat's milk". He said it as if that milk was the bishop's ointment of confirmation.
-You're a dumb shepherd, who doesn't even know how to keep an old goat steady! -Inés scolded me.
But I knew that since my mother died, she had affection for me, but not only out of feminine compassion, but for other reasons that I don't want to mention yet. But she enjoyed martyring me as if she thought she had an obligation to do so. It was as if he wanted to replace my late mother and made it his mission to wake me up and make me a "good" man by scolding and reprimanding me, just as my poor mother had said. He would stop, put the notebook in his large apron pocket, and reprimand me again.
-Can't you see that the goat is going to the mountain?
I whistled at her, shouted at her, threw a pebble at her and tried uselessly to make her return to the herd, because I did not want to go out in search of her and get away from Inés. She was my only joy in the world and I waited for that moment, when I came back from school, as one waits for the sun after a cold frosty night. All around me was silence and grief. My father never smiled again after my mother's death; my aunts seemed to wait for the moment to enter our dreary, cold house to drive away from their countenances any show of joy, and seemed to think themselves under obligation to pity me at every instant. "Poor child of mine, without a mother to look after him, how is he ever to become a man of any use!". I was for everyone the "poor little Andresito", the child without a mother, almost an orphan, because my father already looked like a corpse. The other children of the village, cruel and merciless like all children, showed me everything that only a mother can do, such as their well-mended shirts and pants, the succulent snacks, and they smiled mischievously at me when their mothers called them to pick them up at nightfall. "Why, I'm leaving because my mother is calling me. Of course, since you don't have one, you can stay as long as you want. What luck!". 
His cruelty was as immense as his ignorance.
-I'm fed up with that goat, so fed up that one day... well, I don't know what I'll do with it!
-Don't even think about it, Andrés! That goat was bought by your mother and you have to respect it!
Like everyone else, at the mention of my mother, Inés also thought she was obliged to sympathize with me, but she barely let a moment of melancholy show and immediately her face would shine again, her cheeks would light up and her lips would smile again, as if she were trying to keep away any sad thought in someone who seemed to have been born to advertise joy. Besides, I felt my mother's death with the naturalness of a priest who gives the last rites to a dying person, because I think that he who loves life also loves death, just as he who lends himself to be a martyr can become an executioner.
I would do what she expected me to do: round up the herd, curtail the damn goat's revolutionary aspirations, and once everything was in order, I would go back and sit next to her, like a child waiting for a kiss from his mother for good behavior. But she followed her methodical system of provoking my dignity.
-I would never marry such a foolish shepherd; I won't even marry a shepherd, so snap out of it!
-Don't talk nonsense, Inés, let's talk about marriages!
-When I grow up I'll be like those summer ladies from Sigüenza. I'll wear pretty organdy dresses, with a good neckline to make the boys rage. Because I'm not going to marry just anyone, that's why I go to school, I don't earn enough money for the soles of my shoes!
At the mention of school her expression would become solemn, her gaze would be lost somewhere in the valley, she would remain for a few moments in the most absolute silence, rare for her, as if she understood that only with the four scribbles that began to emerge from her lined notebook could her dignity as a person live up to her dreams. Then she would become even more aggressive, she would take her worn notebook out of her apron pocket, she would have it on any page showing me rows of repeated sentences, more or less adjusted to the lines, and almost arrogantly she would reproach me:
-How can an ignorant shepherd who doesn't even know how to make an o with a canute understand how important it is to go to school? A young lady needs to know how to read and write, because..." and she stopped suddenly, as if she knew that those letters scribbled in a charity notebook were not enough to make a young lady out of her. However, those signs frightened me, because, in fact, I had not had the opportunity to learn to read and write, and she seemed to me to be an important person with a future. I had the feeling that they held meanings that were denied to me because of my ignorance. Maybe they told stories, talked about life, about nature, about everything that was necessary to know in order to understand all the mysteries of the world. Just contemplating those signs that hid their true meaning from me made me anxious, for whatever reason! I have already said enough nonsense!
She almost always ended her reflections in that disconcerting way, but almost immediately recovered her joviality. It was as if she had returned from an imaginary journey through her future, after having strolled along the boulevard in her desired dresses, provoked the boys by her brazen cleavage, and yet had not found the satisfaction she had hoped for. So she would return to the village; to the dusty school road; to the banks of the reed-covered stream where the frogs croaked; to the distant sound of the church bell, the shearing of the sheep and the whistling of the larks among the crops. As if, in reality, that dream of hers as a young lady of the city was not really hers, but had been instilled in her by those poorly written scribbles in her rickety notebook.
Suddenly Inés became maternal again, she lost her young marriageable attractiveness, and reproached me harshly:
-Why don't you go to school too?
-Me to school? And who does all the work in my house!
-What will become of you being an illiterate? Can't you see that a man has no provenance unless he knows how to read and write and the four rules?
-If you have land and sheep, why do you need to know about accounts?
-But what if you lose them; what if a bad year comes or the sheep get sick and die? What will you do then?
-I won't be short of work as long as I have two arms.
-As a laborer in the fields and die of misery?
-Whatever, woman!
Indignant at my stubbornness, she would get up angrily and rub her worn notebook across my face, as if she were trying to get the letters into my head by hitting me with them.
-If you don't learn to read and write, I won't want you as a husband, even if you asked me on your knees, just so you know!
She believed that this was the best way to stimulate my unconsciousness and my small-town stubbornness, because for Inés life was all about living happily until the inevitable day when she would have to get married. Then life would cease to be a game and become something serious; a kind of natural mission that every woman is obliged to fulfill, such as taking care of a husband, running a house and raising children. Therefore, everything she did before this momentous task was nothing more than an unimportant game, which she had to make the best of.
-I'm not good at making letters like that! -I defended myself, but I knew in my heart that it wasn't like that, in fact, I thought I understood them even without knowing what they meant.
-You're not fit to be a shepherd either, and I don't want you to be a shepherd! I want you to be someone important, because I will only marry someone who is important, like those gentlemen who come by car from Madrid to spend the summer in Sigüenza.
-But what silly ideas are you getting into your head? What's wrong with the village, eh? Besides, where do you get these ideas from, being a brat who hasn't even been in school for half a year? What do you think, that by knowing how to read and write and the four rules you can aspire to all this nonsense of ladies and gentlemen vacationers? Come on, come down from the fig tree, Inés, things are not as you dream them! We're just two peasants like all peasants are. You'll be like your mother, you'll be married to one of the villagers, you'll tend sheep, weed the chives, dig the beans, fatten a pig for the slaughter of St. Martin, reap and thresh the corn every summer, and God willing you'll have even four or five children and you can raise them in good health to take care of you in your old age. Why all this nonsense of ladies and gentlemen? For that you'd better not go to school!
It was as if I had slapped her. Pressing her lips together violently, she stood up angrily, crucified me with her gaze, which if it had been a sword would have been thrust into my heart, and, turning on her heels, told me all that I undoubtedly deserved and still for her good nature she held her tongue:
-You see, you're just an illiterate fool who doesn't know anything about life! Just so you know, in school they don't just teach us to read and write and the four rules, but to be people... Well, I don't want to say it's bad to be a peasant, but you have to aspire to be something more than illiterate, starving and miserable people. You think this is good because you don't know anything else. Why? What can you learn from life if all day long you are in the bush, or herding the mule in the field or digging in the garden? Do you think that everything stops here? That we poor people don't have the right to eat something finer than rancid bacon, or sausages and black pudding? It's not that I don't like them, but there are other things: cakes, sweets, and things to drink other than water and wine. Don't you think we have the right to wear other things than these patched rags? Look at your pants, they're more patched than the roof of my house! What do you think the stores are full of pretty things for? For decoration, eh, you fool? And how are we going to buy those things if we only see the money when there's a christening and they give us a four-buck Christmas bonus!
I kept silent because I didn't really understand what he wanted to tell me. For me, life was fine as it was. I liked the intense smell of thyme, lavender, rosemary, sage or marjoram, even the acidity of the broom flower; I breathed with satisfaction that clean mountain air; I enjoyed watching the hares scampering through the fields or the procession of pigeons behind the mother; I liked to imitate the song of the frightened cuckoo, with its image silhouetted in the distance on the top of the oaks. I was happy to see the sun set at twilight, when the clouds lit up vermilion, as if they were on fire. All that had for me the solemnity of the divine and I would not know how to live without it.
Suddenly Inés began to cry, and I knew it because two thick tears flowed from her big green eyes, sliding down her blushing cheeks.
-And now, what's wrong with you?
-I don't know, I just feel like crying, that's all!
-Wow, just like that!
-Yes, just like that! We women cry just because, just like that!
-Well, what nonsense! -She always spoke of herself as a woman, even though she was not yet fourteen years old.
-I cry because something, I don't know what it is, is pressing on my chest, and if I don't cry I'll burst!
-But does it have to have an explanation?
Of course there is an explanation! Does it seem little explanation to you that we are poor, living here in this half-ruined village, abandoned by God, without a bad light bulb in the town square, lighting us with candles? Does it seem little explanation to you that your mother was taken by the flu, which the doctors already know how to cure with four pills?
-Let my mother rest in peace, and if she is gone, God knows why!
-What God is this God of yours who cannot distinguish between what is just and what is not? God forgive me if He exists, but there is no justice in the world, and He must know why, but I don't!
-Do not blaspheme, Agnes, for God will punish you with some evil!
-Leave me alone! No, not if you're going to be a priest, and if not the time!
-And she stormed away, angrily putting her notebook in her apron, until she got lost behind the hermitage of the humilladero, without even turning around to see the stupid face she had left me with.
That was a premonition, because Inés knew more about my character than I did. I felt it as a curse from heaven and not as a blessing. To be a priest was to turn away from her, to renounce her, when somehow we lived with the naïve conviction that we were made for each other, but that it was just a matter of letting time settle our differences. This would happen as soon as I stopped being a teenager to become a man, but I didn't know when or how I would know that I already was. I was only sure that I wasn't yet. Yet she had long since been a woman, thought like a woman and behaved like a woman. She even cried like a woman!
That new discussion did not cool our friendship and I would even say our mutual affection, which could already be love. On the contrary, on my return from the field I found her sitting at the fountain, with a pitcher that had been overflowing for quite some time, because she was undoubtedly waiting for me. I passed by her confused, fearful that, after our discussion, she would never speak to me again, and I gave a severe blow with a stick to a poor sheep that had stopped to nibble on a weed that grew next to the basin, just where she was sitting. The animal, frightened, jumped up on its hind legs, and was on the point of crashing against the stone of the fountain had she not stopped it.
-You want to kill the poor animal? You're a beast, Andrés! -Inés scolded me.
I said nothing, but I was sorry. I grabbed the poor sheep by the shearing collar and tried to calm it down, as if to apologize for my bad behavior, but the animal wanted nothing more than to get rid of me. Agnes picked up the pitcher, carried it on her hip and walked beside me in silence.
-I don't want you to be a priest... Priests are not real men; they don't know anything about life because they don't get married." Suddenly he stopped, shifted the heavy pitcher on his other hip, and laughing he shouted at me: "But if you become a priest, I'll become a nun!
I, once again, was confused and bewildered, because something inside me told me that I could never enjoy the love of that girl, who, however, already saw herself as a woman.
Election environment
It was one week before the 1931 municipal elections and the town had become a circus. Strangers we had never seen before appeared on foot, on horseback. They even arrived in some automobiles labeled with large white acronyms, corresponding to the political parties they represented, and they were hardly able to go up the hillside, especially because with the morning dew the road became slippery. Signs with political slogans, painted with little skill and even with some misspellings, also appeared on all the walls, especially on the plastered one of the gable. "Campesino, remember your harvests, may they not be again for the lord. Vote your candidate of the PSOE, the party of the peasants". But in our town the elections did not seem to have more importance than to ratify the mayor, Don Mariano. He was the only landowner in the village, with more than five hundred head of cattle and the best piece of valley for cereals, as well as other wastelands, but good for wild boar and roe deer, where people from Madrid, Aragon and Catalonia hunted. The preserve was well guarded from poachers with a pair of sworn guards, father and son, who did not ask questions before shooting at those who roamed the area. Don Mariano had been appointed by hand during the dictatorship of Primero de Rivera. The opposing candidate was Genaro Martínez, nicknamed "Tejero", because he worked as a journeyman in the village roof, a miserable ramshackle industry owned by someone from Guadalajara that almost nobody knew who he was and that we had only seen once in the village, for the roe deer hunting season, for festivities or on the occasion of some local solemnity. There was still another candidate from a Republican party, but he withdrew at the last minute to favor the Socialist. Not that the town was important, but for the parties of the coalition of leftists and republicans all the mayors or councilmen they could get were important. On the other hand, the conservatives seemed to consider the elections won, because they hardly moved.
The tavern comments were passionate and everyone in town seemed to know about politics without even being able to read the names of the leaders who appeared in the newspapers, supporting their party candidates with their articles. "This is that Gil Robles. I think he is a really educated person and, besides, he is the most prepared, because he is from a good cradle, not like us", commented some and others. "Well, all politicians are the same. Now they remember us so that we will vote for them, but I am astengo or whatever they say. I don't like either one or the other; the one because he's too fat and the other because he's too stupid. Na, I don't vote and it's over!". "Well, I will vote, lest because of reluctance the Reds win the mayor's office, because with the Socialists this town would be a whorehouse". "I'm telling you that it's all right! In the end there will be all the votes they want, even the dead will be resurrected for the elections. I do the same with the ballot as I do with the songs when I shit in the field". "Don't be a brute, these elections are serious; things are already quite heated since Morocco, and this Admiral Aznar is not even fit to rule in a nun's convent. That without a firm hand and someone with a good cradle to command and temper this country would go crazy in two days". "Take it, Romanones is no longer hunting as much in these lands as when Primo de Rivera was around, and they must all be with their necks that do not reach their shirts".
In the evening, groups of young people on horseback came from Guadalajara, Madrid and even Zaragoza. Sometimes to announce a rally in Sigüenza, other times they themselves, accompanied by their candidate, improvised one in the town square, which almost always ended in heated discussions, if not with blows.
The socialists, the most active, read some of Lenin's proclamations and then commented on them, ostensibly lowering his pretensions and without mentioning private property.
-The product of labor cannot be given to the capitalist, but must be justly distributed among all workers.
To which a peasant would respond by waving his cane in the air.
-We don't know about capitalism or productism here, we are all honest people and no one is going to take from us what we have earned with the sweat of our brow, especially not that Leni, or whatever his name is!
-But don't you understand? -We are all equal because we have all been born by a woman, so we all have the right to a dignified life without hardship. The latifundist property and the bad exploitation of the lands are the cause of the misery of the Spanish countryside. A modern agrarian policy is needed. We need to carry out an in-depth agrarian reform, to better distribute the fruits of the peasants' labor and to make their work more profitable.
But the peasant insisted, still wielding his club menacingly:
-Everyone has what he deserves, because there are lazy and there are workers, we people are like swallows, there are smart and there are dumb. The smart ones are good that they have properties and the fools are not worth more than to be pawns. What the fuck is this about all of us being equal?
To which some other farmer replied:
-Look who's talking about listezas, you have inherited everything you have; and to work, what is said to work, you don't get tired, no, your peons do it, you have them half dead from hunger and misery. We all know here what you pay them....
A brawl was inevitable.
-And who has given you a candle at this funeral, you starving man? Heir and with honor, and I won't let anyone tell me that we're all the same. The first one who crosses my sowing ground will try this one, which some people here already know how it stings their kidneys!
Finally there was a chaotic clamor in which everyone expressed their opinions out loud: "There can be no justice without a strong hand!". "The human being is beyond repair! "Without a revolution as God commands there can be neither solidarity nor justice!".
Don Mariano delivered a compromise speech to please the Sigüenza party, but because of his poor oratorial skills, it was a resounding failure and almost a mockery, compensated by the acrimony of his co-religionists:
-I don't like to go around preaching, to be mayor it's enough to have good judgment and common sense. I don't know anything about politics, nor do I care, because the less politics the better for a town like this one, and as long as I am mayor we will have peace of mind, which is the most important thing. As long as I am mayor we will have peace of mind, which is the most important thing; what good is the progress of the city if it comes to us poisoned by evil and corruption. What matters is tranquility and good health, of which we have to carretones and of that here we do not lack.
But his co-religionists from Sigüenza were not satisfied with the simplicity of those small-town arguments, and they made their ill-intentioned attacks on the socialist candidate.
-The socialists and communists want to take away your land, burn the church and declare free love, so that everyone can sleep with your wives. Is that what you want your children to learn?
Despite the provocation, the replies were humorous.
-Go on and go back to your village, Marquis, we don't want any masters here!
-This is also my town, because this is Spain, and Spain is the most sacred thing! The Reds are sent by Moscow, and if they win the elections, the Russians will be in charge here, not the Spaniards!
But the peasants were as suspicious of conservative politicians as they were of socialists.
-Russia is too far away for them to come and send us! For four bushels of wheat that we gather every year, half a dozen lambs and a few horses that are falling down from old age, I don't think they would bother to come from so far away to govern us.
-What about the universal values, the homeland, religion, God, and all that is sacred in our land, are we going to allow these Reds to desecrate them?
-No insults, you fool, that's what lessons are for! For me the only sacred thing is a well-cured ham and red wine from Aragon, and I don't think we'd be short of that, even if the Russians came!
The laughter was unanimous, and the conservatives finally understood that their doomsday arguments were impressing no one.
For me the whole election was just an opportunity to get out of my routine. Never had the town been so lively, nor had so many strangers arrived. The tavern was always crowded with people, where nothing else was being discussed but politics. My countrymen seemed to have recovered their enthusiasm for the future. It was stimulating to see people in the tavern talking about social issues, such as work, education, the right to express themselves freely, to criticize politicians or the monarchy. The educated would read the political pasquines between glasses of wine, while the illiterate would nibble on their badly rolled cigars in their haste not to lose detail of what was being read. From time to time, if they didn't understand something, they scratched their hair, momentarily pushing aside the cap that showed their whitish bald patches.
-The twelfth of April will be the spring of Spain, because the workers will vote en masse for the Republic," read the enlightened peasant. The vote of the workers will put an end to the historic sufferings that the working class of this country has endured due to the oppression of the oligarchy formed by the military, debased nobles and unscrupulous financiers, which will give way to an honest government, of the people for the people. A new democratic government, honest and committed to the welfare of the people and not only in defense of the privileges of a few".
Inés' brothers, Juan, Damián and Benjamín Valiente, were the most attentive and did not hesitate to interrupt the reading if they did not understand something. They seemed eager for knowledge and visibly suffered from their ignorance.
-What does pri... pri... mean?
-Privileges? Well, what does it mean, that a few people keep everything that should be shared among all?
-Go on, go on, I get it!
-In this historic electoral consultation, the worker can have no doubts when voting, because the coalition of the left and the Republicans is the only one that defends his interests...".
And so it was late at night. The lamp ran out of oil and the innkeeper complained that they talked a lot, but drank little, and that it was enough of meetings in his tavern; that politics could only bring misfortune to the people, especially to the poor. At the end, as if awakening from a dream, they stretched their legs, put on their berets and slowly left the tavern, without ceasing to comment on what they had heard. Outside, only the glow of the dim tavern lamp illuminated the poorly paved alley. The cats, who remained huddled at the door of the tavern waiting for a scrape of herring sardine, nimbly jumped over the walls and engaged in territorial fights. Some rooster crowed prematurely the dawn of the new day and from some window came the monotonous cry of some hungry or aching creature.
-I have made up my mind," commented the eldest of the Valiente brothers, "I will vote for "Tejero".
-I don't trust the Socialists, who were with Primo de Rivera! said the medium-sized man.
-But it's different now, that's why it was....
-I would vote for a candidate who was an anarchist or a communist.
There is no room for half measures here, it's all or nothing!
-I would also vote for the anarchists," added Benjamín Valiente, "but better the "Tejero" than Don Mariano's donkey. Although for what can be arranged here I don't think it matters who wins. As Damián says, what is needed is a good revolution to change everything from the root!
-Do you think that revolution is a game or what? That is a very serious thing and can bring a lot of suffering to the people! - replied the eldest of the brothers.
-All worthwhile things cost money and are born with suffering!
-Let's stop with the revolutions and vote for "Tejero", because the socialists are better than these monarchist chieftains!
I, who had been sitting in a corner of the tavern, discreetly followed the Valiente brothers in the hope that Inés would be awake, waiting for her brothers, and I could chat with her for a while before going to sleep. But it was not so.
When I got home my father remained awake but, as always, motionless and seated on his stool in front of the stove, stoking the embers over and over again with the same monotonous movement, as if he were under a spell. He did not even move or speak to me when I entered. But I was used to his silence, so I went to the cupboard to get a piece of bread, and sat down beside him, nibbling at the crumb, while following his monotonous movements with the poker. We stayed like that for a long time until I dared to ask him:
-Father, are you all right? -but he didn't answer me. I knew he wouldn't answer me, but I encouraged myself to keep talking about anything in the hope that he would be interested. The people in town are in an uproar about the elections. I heard that the Valiente brothers are going to vote for "Tejero", but the Benjamín says he would vote for the anarchists. If I were old enough I don't even know who I would vote for, because the socialists seem to me to be extreme... they are not what this country needs... I think.... -I don't know if he was listening to me because his face remained unchanged and his interest was still focused on the embers of the stove, but I continued with my monologue because I assumed that he might be interested. The Valiente brothers seem like good people to me, I don't know why they should vote for the anarchists. They say that if the left wins there will be a revolution. But what does this revolution mean? I don't think it's right to burn churches and kill priests and nuns, as I think they did in Russia.
When I said that I would burn churches and murder priests and nuns, my father reacted, gave a blow with the poker that raised a cloud of incandescent embers illuminating the room, and said a laconic phrase:
-A godless people, that's what the Russians are!
He said nothing more. I withdrew, trying to imagine what he might be thinking after his laconic sentence. Was he imagining all the Russians burning in the embers of the stove? As soon as I leaned back on my bunk I fell asleep, and my last thought, as every night, was for Inés.
On the eve of the elections the mayor installed a loudspeaker on the balcony of the Town Hall, connected to a car radio brought by members of his own party from Sigüenza. The contraption sounded little but enough to radiate the speeches of Gil Robles and the Count of Romanones himself in a shrill, metallic tone of voice. A group of peasants milled around the contraption and approved with methodical affirmative head gestures the reasons why they should vote for the Conservatives.
I went early to the fields with the sheep. The elections did not matter to me, although they made me uneasy, because I had seen new looks of hatred in my fellow countrymen, and I was suspicious of each other because of political ideas, and that could not be a good thing. From the camp I could hear the distant murmur of the excited candidates, but I was unable to understand just a few sentences.
Since it was Saturday, Inés would not go to school and would not pass by the Sigüenza road. Most likely she would go to church for the ten o'clock mass, so don Gregorio would not take long to appear on the path. At that time he seemed to me to be a kind and patient priest, but he was soon feared by the whole town. He exercised his useless apostolate with a certain resignation and conformism. He was not what you would call a village priest, a hunter, a good eater and even a generous drinker, but a man of restraint and almost monastic habits. He was not from the region but Valencian. He had been in Italy and met the Pope, and for some reason that he never revealed to me, he ended up being chaplain of a convent in Sigüenza and parish priest of our village, which he reached on foot, either in the harsh winter or in the oppressive summer. Luckily for him, we were in spring, and the fields were generous and hospitable, and walking along their fragrant paths was no longer a suffering but a pleasure for the senses, and Don Gregorio knew how to enjoy them wisely.
-Good morning, Andresito, tomorrow I want you at twelve o'clock mass!
-Tomorrow there will be no mass, Don Gregorio," I answered him without knowing very well why I was saying it, but I was sure it had something to do with the "revolution" that the municipal elections meant.
-You're right, Andrés, I had almost forgotten..." -and he remained silent, contemplating my sheep, which, as if they felt affection for the priest, looked at him with candid eyes. After a few reflective moments he continued, changing his initial joviality for a certain disconsolation, "Tomorrow serious things are going to happen in this town!... Yes, you are right, most probably there will be no twelve o'clock mass.
I knew the reason for his dismay, because I had the same feeling, and that is why I had told him about the mass. After a while, when the priest looked around the valley as if he were saying goodbye to it, he continued, changing his tone completely and recovering his usual sobriety and temperance:
-But God will still exist tomorrow, and the day after, and after we have all died and left this world!
-Man, Don Gregorio, God has always existed! -I answered, just to please him, but without really knowing what I was talking about. Don Gregorio took the opportunity to test the consistency of my faith.
-What do you know about it! Let's see, Andrés, why has God always existed?
-Man, Don Gregorio, I am not very smart for explanations, but I feel it this way..." I answered stammering. Don Gregorio gave me a penetrating look, as if he was trying to read inside my mind things that even I was not able to see.
-You would make a good priest, because faith is not reasoned, but felt... but I will tell you in two words why God exists. The world is like a tree and some of us are the fruit and some of us are the leaves. The leaves serve no other purpose than to sustain the world so that it can bear fruit. But the fruits are coveted by the birds and they have to sacrifice themselves to fulfill their mission. Do you understand? Now comes the second part: the fruits do not know about reality other than what they see during their short life on the tree, that is, they do not know the winter of the tree. That is the other life, do you understand?
I nodded mechanically but had no idea what he was talking about, although I confess that that brief talk would mark my whole subsequent existence, for it demonstrated to me with shattering simplicity that reality is nothing more than pure appearance. But Don Gregorio, aware of my inability to understand the metaphor of the tree, summarized his thoughts as briefly as possible.
-Do you think that your poor mother no longer exists because she is dead? Think about what I have told you about the tree and you will see that it must continue to exist in the other life; the one that cannot see the fruit. It is there and will be waiting for you the day God will take you to the next life. Do you understand?
-Of course, Don Gregorio!
-No, you don't understand, but it's all the same, you'll understand someday," he gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder, clenched his devotional book, let out a deep sigh and continued his ascent towards the village, while he kept muttering, "Only those of us who have faith can understand that!
Naturally, I was plunged into a deep uneasiness, because if Don Gregorio had said that my mother still existed, perhaps she was still out there, like a soul in pain, wandering the mountains, contemplating me and trying to talk to me without my being able to hear her. Instinctively I turned around several times, looking in all directions, in case she appeared. Suggested by this idea, I even thought I saw some pebbles moving, or as if the brambles were shaking more than usual, when there was hardly any wind. I was on the point of calling her and asking if she was around and I could not see her, but fortunately I recovered from the suggestion and told myself that that idea must mean something else that Don Gregorio did not want to make clear to me because of my ignorance. "Unfortunately," I thought more calmly, "the dead are well and truly dead and their bones are in the cemetery. If there is anything left of them, it must not be in this world, and if there is another world, how can I know if it is another world?" That was the first time I used my mind with some logical sense, which was to mark my later education and my fondness for philosophy
Municipal elections

On Sunday, April 12 of that year, the day dawned cool and damp. The first April rains had been slow in coming, but now that they had finally arrived to bless the fields, they did not seem ready to leave. The ground in the Plaza Mayor was waterlogged and the slippery. Some starving dogs were wandering around, soaked to the bone, easy to see on both sides. Seven o'clock had just struck on the rickety clock of the Town Hall and people were already moving through the narrow streets. For me it was an ordinary day and I would have to take the sheep to the mountain, but because it was Sunday I did not get up early like a normal day.
My father, thank God, respected Sunday, and as if my mother were alive, he would go to twelve o'clock mass after shaving. In his own way he dressed for Sunday, with his well-worn wedding suit, the new cummerbund and a white camisole with a false collar but no collar, which he wore only for the hours between mass, the glass of wine he drank at the tavern with a herring sardine or two, and on rare occasions he entertained himself by chatting with one of our aunts about the only thing he seemed to have a topic of conversation for, the weather and the harvests. We were barely able to sow and harvest a couple of bushels of grain on some land near the river, which would have yielded much more if we had more arms to employ. Thanks to my aunts and their husbands, we were able to harvest the crop, thresh the grain and save some fodder for the cattle. Only in this last year I was able to hold the plow steady, because my father was already unable to do so. One part of the harvest was for my aunts, for their help, the other for us, so at least we did not lack bread, and if there was any left, we sold it to the wholesalers of Sigüenza.
The vegetable garden was my father's exclusive work. He worked it in silence, but it was as if he was talking to the lettuce and cauliflowers. Bent like the branch of a willow tree, he almost touched the plants with his head. He dug and dug, even if he didn't have to. He pampered the tomato seedlings as if they were his own children. He would artfully root the beans, making real watermarks. There were no weeds in the garden other than those that produced something edible and no bugs other than the harmless ones. The potato beetle he removed one by one and killed them carefully and conscientiously, crushing them thoroughly so that no trace of them remained, lest they reproduce again. We had a lush vineyard of black grapes, juicy and sweet, but the birds were of the same opinion, and they pecked at them until they left the clusters in the grape pits. When the grapes began to ripen, my father would spend hours sitting on a poyato, shooing the birds away by pulling a rope tied to the vineyard, which waved colored rags and scared away the blackbirds and jackdaws, nature's greatest thieves. Our austere vegetable diet was completed with an old pear tree, which every other year gave abundant pears, which did not ripen until well into autumn, and two plum trees that regularly and abundantly gave their plum fruit every year, enough for the whole family, and we still sold some baskets in the market of Sigüenza, as well as grapes, if the birds respected them. As I said, that Sunday at that early hour of the morning there was no peasant who was not already awake, shaved and dressed in the best of his meager wardrobe and ready to go to vote.
The brother and sister Valiente were rolling cigarettes sitting on the porch of their house and talking animatedly among themselves. They seemed to live that day as if the whole country was watching their vows. The father, a taciturn and bad-tempered man, was not with them and it was likely that he was not going to vote. He was a weak, weak-willed man, fond of gambling and drinking. It seems as if nature rejoiced in giving weak parents to strong children; perverse children to virtuous parents; or lazy children to industrious parents. The fact was that the Valiente brothers had to get out of the way every other day of the brawls and fights in which the father was involved because of alcohol and gambling.
Had it not been for the mother's ability to hide deeds and the few things of value they owned, she would have already gambled away the land and even the house with the cattle.
The mother of the Valiente brothers was a small and insignificant woman, who did not make one think that from her womb would have been born those three offspring, strong men with mettle, and Inés, a girl, not very corpulent, rather small, but who at only fourteen years of age already had the body of a mature woman, dark, curly and abundant hair, rosy and healthy cheeks, somewhat speckled with freckles, which seemed to disappear with age. No doubt that nature holds its mysteries that are difficult to unravel.
I was not a kid but it could not be said that I had completely stopped playing, so when the occasion arose I joined other kids a little younger than me to do some mischief. That day the kids, attracted by the incessant electoral chatter, interspersed with party songs and other more well-known and popular ones, had also gotten up early and swirled around the car of the monarchist party, from where all that racket came out, amplified by the loudspeaker hanging from the balcony of the City Hall.
About eight o'clock a group of men arrived in town, some of them well dressed, on the back of a mule carrying a glass box that was to be the ballot box for the elections and the ballot packets. At the door of the Town Hall several people from the town were waiting, who had been elected as commissioners of the polling station, and when the mules arrived they looked at the ballot box as if trying to understand how it worked, but they did not dare to touch it. They asked if it had its seal and the men told them that everything was legal, that they had nothing to worry about. In another saddlebag they brought packets of neatly packed ballots. The villagers also asked if there would be enough for everyone, to which the men again insisted that everything was legal and that there would be enough for everyone.
They unloaded all the electoral material without those present losing detail of any of the movements, as if they were suspicious of the newcomers. The children disturbed the operations, pushing and shoving each other, asking for Christmas bonuses, as if it were a baptism. One of the men, perhaps to get them off his back, threw some coins at them, which was undoubtedly a serious mistake, because magically even more children appeared in the square when word spread that these men had come to distribute money among the people and that this was what the elections were all about.
At five to nine o'clock, of the almost three hundred voters in the village, at least twenty had already formed an improvised line outside the door, without crowds for the moment. They passed the cigarette flask to each other, taking turns, as the cigarette was consumed, it belonged to one or the other, and always returned through the same hands to its original owner, while each one took out his cigarette paper from his own booklet, while commenting on his opinion about the elections. "I don't even remember the last time we voted, it was around the year 22 or 23, I think. "The joy didn't last long! Let's see how the party turns out this time". "Here repeats Don Mariano, who didn't even need elections to know it. But, you never know. If the Republicans come out, we will be left without a king". "I think it will be a disgrace". "It doesn't matter whether they are one or the other, there will always be misery in the countryside".
They were comments without disagreement, as if they really did not care about the outcome of the elections. Only a few seemed really interested in one or the other winning, but they did not show great determination when it came to defending their positions. The Castilian peasants had really lost interest in politics, or perhaps they had never had any.
When nine o'clock chimed on the City Hall clock, the official time for the elections to begin, there was a general murmur in the improvised queue. Voters were spitting out cigarettes as if it were forbidden to smoke and vote at the same time, but the bailiff did not open the City Hall door and people began to get impatient. "Let's see those in there, it's time, we're not going to have a vote before we start!". Thanks like that, accompanied by laughter, helped to calm the mood. Fifteen minutes later the door was still closed and through one of the windows the bailiff had to explain. "Let's see if you think that holding an election is a piece of cake, that there is preparation involved. A little peace, there is a disagreement of criteria and we cannot open until there is an agreement! Indeed, it seems that there were disputes about the electoral list. Some commissaries had verified that their neighbors, supposedly registered, did not appear on it, but the truth is that many had not even bothered to register in the electoral roll and could not vote.
So the flask came out of the sting again and passed from one hand to another, while the improvised queue grew larger and overflowed along the main street towards the threshing floor. As was natural, the kids kept bothering with their requests for aguinaldo, but, apart from that clueless stranger, no one thought that this was a party to throw dogs or candy.
At about half past nine o'clock the doors of the Town Hall were finally thrown open and the voting began. The first to vote was greeted with all kinds of bows from the commissioners, as if that first vote was really the one that counted, so it must have been for the candidate of his own party. The little kids, myself among them, slipped into the Town Hall, as if we thought that was where the invitation was. It was no use the sheriff threatening us with his cane, because we continued to bother the voters. If I followed them, even though I was no longer a kid, it was mainly out of curiosity to see an election "from the inside", because it seemed to me something important and transcendental that I could not fail to contemplate.
The commissaries read aloud the names, introduced the ballot and corroborated that so-and-so had voted, closing it again with a large brown envelope. There were dead people who were denounced and many surnames were misspelled and did not coincide with the personal identification card, which prevented them from voting, unless there was unanimity and it was a well-known person in town. Voting was not easy, and more than once the sheriff had to intervene threatening some of the disgruntled with arrest for contempt of court, because the lists were really a mess. But finally, at the stroke of midday, he ended the canvass. The sheriff chased the youngsters away with a stick and closed the door of the Town Hall so that the recount could begin.
Don Gregorio did not start it at twelve o'clock as usual, but delayed it until the elections were over. He had instructed the most clever altar boy to be informed of the result as soon as any rumor spread. He was interested in knowing what the topic should be and even the tone of the sermon, lest he say something inconvenient depending on which candidate was the winner. He was sure that Don Mariano, of the Monarchist Union, would repeat, because he knew his parishioners well. In the tavern they all seemed to be of the left, but when it came down to it, they were not of one or the other, but of the custom. That is to say, he knew that they would vote for the continuity of what they already knew.
Since they did not have the right to vote in those elections, practically all the women were already on the benches on the left. On the right only a few men, the early risers and abstainers, were already in the church, but the vast majority had moved to the tavern to await the results, which would not take long to be known.
I also went to the tavern, more out of curiosity than because I was really interested in who was going to be the new mayor. The Valiente brothers seemed worried, as if they already knew beforehand that the result would not be the one they wanted. After half past twelve, the altar boy in charge of bringing Don Gregorio news about the results, approached the tavern earlier, and from the door, shouted to the parishioners:
-180 votes against 110. Don Mariano has won!
And he hurried to the church to inform don Gregorio so that the mass could begin.
In the tavern there was not too much agitation about the results, because most of them were already expecting them. Only the Valiente brothers seemed really upset.
The peasant who had confronted the communists raised his club, and gesturing with a solemn air, invited the parishioners to a round on his account.
-So that those reds can see that in the towns we don't want stories of collectism or other nonsense! The one who had to win has won, because it is common sense. Come on, Juliano, give a free round to those present, because the occasion is well worth the expense!
The Valiente brothers refused the invitation, and left the tavern, but the rest accepted it, and even toasted to the health of the new mayor.
Mass began at almost one o'clock but the church was already packed, as was usual on a Sunday. The men passed from the tavern to the church, and as they entered, somewhat euphoric from the effects of the wine, they were santigating themselves with real scribbles in the air. The women glared at them, reproaching them for their tardiness and their lack of respect for arriving at mass in such a manner. I entered with the men, but without losing my composure and with due respect for the place. Inés, who was in the first pew, gave me a pleased look, as if to imply that she was proud of my behavior, so different from the rest of the men. Then she turned to the altar and knelt down at the sound of the altar boy's bell announcing the beginning of mass.
Don Gregorio's sermon was one of circumstances, but he could not hide his satisfaction, which was already evident at the beginning with his usual "Dearest brothers", as if they were more loved that day than the previous one.
When the commotion broke out, it was at the exit of mass. Don Mariano, already confirmed as the winner, appeared with his party colleagues at the doors of the church, and beaming with satisfaction, shook the hands of his countrymen, thanking them for their confidence.
-Tonight, if the weather is good, there will be a verbena in the square to celebrate the event. Everyone is invited, there will be wine and cakes for those who want to join us.
The weather was good; wine flowed in abundance and the trays of aniseed cakes were quickly exhausted. The two musicians of the village, Jacinto and Tomasón, who used to liven up all the festivities with a dulzaina and a tamboril, played several Castilian jotas that enlivened the improvised party and made the calloused feet of the old women fly, as if they were twenty years old again. Only the Valiente brothers, who nevertheless also approached the square, remained resigned and pensive, and did not seem to enjoy the party. Inés, out of solidarity with her brothers, did not dare to dance either, but her feet moved on the cobblestones to the rhythm of the dulzaina, as if she had no control over them and was trying uselessly to hold them back.
While the whole town was celebrating the triumph of custom, in Spain the most transcendental political change of our history was already taking place, and we, unhappy, without knowing it, because the car of the monarchist party, which thanks to its radio apparatus would have been the only way of knowing it, had returned to Sigüenza after the elections were over.
Proclamation of the II Republic

For our people the election party was over. Genaro, the "Tejero", socialist candidate, returned with his 110 votes in his pocket to his work in the tile factory, a label he did not deserve because he only employed Genaro himself and three other laborers who carried the red clay with mules for the tiles and the loads of oak wood for the oven. But its imposing chimney made it look like a real factory, because it was even taller than the church tower.
The day dawned cloudy, but early in the morning we could see that the squall was on its way to Aragon and would clear well into the morning. I, as usual, took the cattle to the mountain, but until after ten o'clock in the morning I had them on the bank next to the road, to the chagrin of the sheep who had the meadow so nibbled that they could find nothing but roots. As soon as Inés passed towards the school, and threw me her well-intentioned bids and some other grace of her own, I would lead the cattle up the hill, down the other slope to a spring they call the Rebolledo, where there was always fresh grass. At noon, after the customary recitation of the Angelus, a Hail Mary mumbled rather than prayed, it was my custom to sit down in a little field that the shepherds had prepared for this purpose, under the shade of a wild walnut tree that grows at the foot of the spring that leads to the fountain. There, far from the embarrassment of my bad disposition for music, I played for the sheep some ditties learned from the dulzaina player at the village festivals, with a crude flute made by myself from a thick elder branch, following the explanations given to me by the dulza player himself. I don't know if it sounded in tune or out of tune, and if the sheep appreciated the sound or not, but they didn't seem to dislike it, because they were all swirling around under the oak tree, tight to each other as only sheep know how to do, and they didn't even bleat while my concert lasted. Only Chispa, my shepherd dog, howled from time to time with more intonation than myself. And so I spent the mornings until lunchtime. Then a good drink of fresh water from the stream and a short nap, half asleep, and back to the hill, to be like a nail at six o'clock on the roadside, to see Inés on her way back from school.
That day I was sitting on the bank when I saw the letter carrier come up, sweaty and excited, taking large, uneven strides and stumbling, as if he were drunk, but apparently what happened was that the bag was heavier than usual and made him lose his balance. When he reached my side, he took off his cap, wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve, left the heavy backpack on the ground for a while and when his breath returned, he said to me as if I knew what the comment was about:
-We are going to have a Republic!
I didn't know what he was talking about, so out of politeness I answered him with the first thing that came to my mind:
-I think it's clearing.
-You are such an ass, Andresito! I'm referring to yesterday's elections; we Republicans won them and the monarchy is going to end... that is, if there's not a mess and all hell breaks loose!
-What mess?
-Man, you will see; as Admiral Aznar has said to the journalists: that the country cannot go to sleep monarchist and wake up republican, just like that. Let's see what the Provisional Government does, and if the King agrees to the results and gives himself Villadiego's, which here, in view of the results, is already too much!
I still didn't understand, but the letter carrier seemed to need an interlocutor to express his opinions out loud. But I didn't want to sound ignorant, so I replied with the first thing that came to mind.
-Man, the king is the one who commands the most, how can he be extra?
-Oh, what a country of ignoramuses! Who rules, Andresito, is the sovereignty of the people, and this is expressed at the ballot box, do you understand, you fool?
It hurt me to be treated as ignorant, but I deserved it and that was the only way to learn. So I replied with the humility of the ignorant but willing.
-What do I know about these things if I don't go to school!
-But that's why we won these elections, so you can go to school and learn what you need to know about life and democracy! Well, I'll leave you Andresito, today I have an extra delivery -he loaded his heavy wallet again, adjusted his cap, patted me on the back as all those who treated me did, and smacking his lips, he walked away looking at me with a certain condescension-. The one who is going to get a good soponcio is Don Mariano!
-he said as he walked away.
On the way he met Inés, who was on her way down to the school. It seems that he must have told her the same song and that Inés must not have been aware of the situation either, because the letter carrier made gestures of resignation, as he had done with me, raising his only available arm to the sky, as if crying out to God for justice.
When Inés arrived where I was waiting for her, she looked at me suspiciously and absently, as if the news from the letter carrier had affected her. She was silent for a while, drawing things on the floor with the toe of her sandal, and finally she said to me:
-My brothers will be happy, because yesterday they were more miserable than if their horse had died.
I was afraid of putting my foot in my mouth again, and with Inés I didn't want to seem like an uninterested country bumpkin, so I kept quiet as if nodding, waiting for her to continue the conversation.
-You don't say anything? You don't care if one or the other wins?
-I just don't know who the one is and who the other is!
-I answered spontaneously, because that was how I felt. For me they are all the same and say the same things. If you listen to Don Mariano, he fixes everything; if you listen to "Tejero", the same thing. Let's see, what's the difference? You explain it to me, you seem to know everything.
-Look son, I have other things better to do than teach a yokel about politics, so goodbye and good riddance, I'm late for school.
What happened was that she didn't have the answer either, even though she would have to listen to the conversations of the brothers, always engaged in politics, but without them really knowing what they were talking about. It was tavern talk, summed up in four basic concepts: exploitation, injustice, bossism and workers' struggle. What each of them really meant was not important, because all four were summed up in one: Revolution! Everything was fixed by revolution!
-I didn't mean to insult you, don't get angry! -said a conciliatory Inés. To tell you the truth, I'm fed up with politics, which only serves to break up families and set people against each other. If I were in charge, there would be no politics, just bread for all and all the evils of the world would be over....
He walked away to the rhythm of improvised dance steps, tossing his worn notebook in the air, which if he continued with that hustle and bustle would not arrive with leaves at the end of the course. I went back to the hill to make my usual route; I played the flute for the sheep, but at dusk I changed my plan, and instead of returning to the road, I went around the village to lock up the sheep a little earlier and pass by the tavern, in case the results of the elections were already known there and I could find out something and not live in that ignorance.
What was happening in the tavern was a real revolution. The "Tejero" had gathered half the people there, and was haranguing them about the situation created in the country after the triumph of the leftists:
-We must go to the City Hall and proclaim the Republic, because the people have expressed themselves at the polls and no longer want the king and his clique! In Madrid the people have taken to the streets and everywhere you can see the Republican flag. Here I have one, it is too late for it to be seen on the balcony of the City Hall!
The defeated socialist candidate waved a Republican flag that still showed the marks of the folds of having been packed for a long time. When I saw it waving in the tavern, I shuddered, I don't know if it was because of the impression of the purple of one of its stripes or because I sensed that the flag really meant "Revolution".
There was no unanimity, and the majority considered it more prudent to wait until the following day to see what would happen and if the provisional government headed by Alcalá Zamora would definitively take power and the king would go into exile, as was the most insistent rumor.
Apparently, also at that time, Don Mariano, the winning mayor of the Monarchist Union, was meeting with members of his own party in the City Hall, because he would undoubtedly have to know what to expect if the Republic was finally proclaimed in Madrid.
-Here is a railroad comrade," continued the "Tejero", "who comes from Zaragoza, where today, or tomorrow at the latest, the Republic will be proclaimed, and the same has been done in San Sebastian and in other cities and towns. It is the masses who have to proclaim the Republic, so that it is already a fact and all we have to do is sign it.
-But what if the Army comes out? It wouldn't be the first time....
-There are no more military coups here; now politics is in charge, the people are already mature!
-What if Don Mariano objects?
-He can't go against the sovereign will of the people!
-But he won fair and square, we can't kick him out!
-No need, he will also have to swear the oath of the Republic. Well, less chitchat and go to the Town Hall, to proclaim the Republic in the name of the sovereign people!
Followed by the "Tejero" and his republican flag, almost half a hundred people, with the inevitable little kids shouting, the group walked the scarce fifty meters between the tavern and the Town Hall. As if the whole town had had the same idea, the square was already full to overflowing with people, probably no one from the town was not there. At the sight of the "Tejero" group appearing with the Republican flag, a murmur arose that turned almost into a shouting match. "Where are you going so fast, "Tejero", don't give us your bullshit!". "Put away that flag, "Tejero", it has brought this country nothing but misfortune," said others. "It's always the same people making tinder, it would be better if they left town," protested some old women. In general the people were not in favor of proclaiming the Republic, but the "Tejero" was determined to do so, perhaps to make up for the electoral failure. The group made their way through, forming a tight circle of people around them. The "Tejero" climbed on the davit of a carriage and waving the Republican flag, shouted as much as possible:
-Long live the Republic! Long live Republican Spain! Long live Republican Castile! Down with the monarchy!
But only his group responded with a compromised "viva!" and without much enthusiasm, perhaps fearful of the reactions of the townspeople. Then the balcony of the Town Hall opened and Don Mariano appeared, haggard and sweaty, more because of his fatness than because of the premature suffocation of that sunset, swept by southern winds, as a foretaste of the coming summer.
-Countrymen, countrymen! -I shout, waving the palms of my hands up and down, asking for silence, "Nothing is proclaimed here that is not legal and as God commands! If there is a Republic, so be it, and abide by the sovereign will, but when it arrives, let us not eat the hare before we catch it! -Here I am the authority here by the grace of God and the ballot boxes, and there is no other Republic than the one signed and initialed by the Government of Madrid, so each one to his house and all with God, that the meeting is over!
But the "Tejero" was determined to proclaim the Republic and with the agility of a cat, he climbed the balcony, jumped inside, removed the monarchist flag from the mast and tied the republican flag as best he could, while the frightened mayor, halfway between the balcony and his office, was unable to react, increasingly sweaty and congested with nervousness. Then the Valiente brothers accompanied the "Tejero", and in unison they returned to shout "vivas" to the Republic, and whether because of their enthusiasm or because the fact seemed already consummated, this time an almost general clamor of "vivas" was heard, so that the people changed their opinion in just a few minutes and became, in its great majority, republican. Thus the Republic was proclaimed in my town.
The events following the elections were a real cataclysm for our town. On April 14 people did not move from the tavern, and those who could not fit inside, brought chairs and stools to sit in the street and wait for news between a glass of wine, black olives from Aragon and herring sardines from the Bay of Biscay. The "Tejero" had acquired a galena radio and followed the news from the official Radio, sticking an earphone to his ear and asking for silence, while one of the Valiente brothers took care of the long antenna, spliced to a copper wire, which hung from the balcony of the upper floor of the premises.
By midday we already knew that the Provisional Government was asking for the King's departure from Spain before the sun went down and Romanones was negotiating the conditions for exile. So the Republic was a fact and had already been proclaimed in almost all the provincial capitals and in thousands of towns like ours. Don Mariano, the mayor elected at the wrong time, remained in the Town Hall with his people and rumor had it that he was going to resign if they finally forced the king into exile, because he was a convinced monarchist and was not willing to continue as mayor in a country without a king to rule it, which was like a house without a father to govern it.
-It has been decided, the king is going into exile! -said the "Tejero" asking the crowd for silence, and pressing his earphone to his ear.
-Who said so? -answered a distrustful peasant.
-Who is going to say it: the legitimate Government of the Republic, Don Niceto!
My countrymen did not approve of the king's departure, and even less so under those conditions. So I shook my head in disapproval. "No matter how bad the king may be, it is not a matter of throwing him out of the country as if he were a dog! What is the man's fault for having bad ministers! Can't we have all the Republic we want, but with a king?"
-The Civil Guard has honored the new Government in Madrid! -the "Tejero" continued to report. It can be seen that it is with the people and with legitimacy, as it should be! The one who is giving him what he has to give is Minister Maura, he has told the guardsmen: "Gentlemen, I pass to the Government of the Republic!", and the guardsmen have squared up and presented arms. And the fact is that Madrid is a clamor in favor of the Republic, everyone is in the streets. The one who radiated says that there is no room for a pin from Cibeles to Puerta del Sol. "It is no longer for the king, but what about that family? -What about those children? What are they to blame for the things of politics? Let the bad ministers go and the king stay, who doesn't seem to me to be such a bad person. Once I saw him as "Tejero" is now and he didn't seem to me to be a bad person, a little touchy and with little temper to command a country like this, so angry and rebellious, but not a bad person at all".
It was already eight o'clock and the parishioners did not leave the tavern. Inés passed by on the arm of her two great aunts, veiled, so I deduced that they were going to church. Don Gregorio had organized vespers to pray a rosary and pray for the life of the royal family in those critical moments. Many monarchists, like himself, feared that an assassination would take place, with all those angry masses in the streets, and he could only think of interceding before God to prevent it. The same must have been done in thousands of churches all over the country. I do not believe that Inés went to church out of devotion or in favor of the deposed king of Spain, but rather to avoid staying at home on such an important day. In the tavern, in the church or in the Town Hall square, the whole town was in the street doing something to disguise their restlessness and nervousness. He greeted his brothers, who were taking care of the antenna, and as expected he launched his usual barb at me:
-Pachasco, weren't you also in the tavern!
I, also as usual, did not take it for granted, because I knew he meant it in no bad faith, it was just a way of saying "hello" or "how are you", but in his own scathing way.
Suddenly the "Tejero" ordered everyone to shut up, waving his arm and shouting silence.
-Everybody be quiet, Alcalá Zamora is asking for a minute's silence in memory of the martyrs of the Republic, Galán and García Hernández!
The peasants, out of respect for the dead, rather than out of homage to the young officers, took off their berets and with an expression of circumstance remained silent, without even moving their mouths to finish eating the herrings. Someone took a watch out of his vest pocket and checked the time. Inés joined in the tribute and the great aunts crossed themselves as if they were watching a funeral, not knowing why the people were so quiet. After a minute, the murmurs returned.
Although nobody knew it until the following day, at that time the King of Spain was leaving Spain on his way to exile through the back door of the Palace of the East, on his way to Cartagena, where he would embark for Rome on the cruise ship "Prince of Asturias", thus ending the reign of the Bourbons in Spain, until the reinstatement of the monarchy in 1976.
At the end of the night it was already clear that the Second Republic was a fact in Spain and the latest news from the galena radio only confirmed that the transition had been made without violence in all of Spain, so people gradually left the tavern, gathering their stools and retiring to their respective homes, more relaxed and calm. Around ten o'clock at night, Inés returned with her aunts from the church, convinced that it had been her prayers that had prevented a bloodbath, because God had heard the clamor and had interceded for Spain, a country for which she felt, according to Don Gregorio, a special weakness, for being the most Catholic in Christendom, outside of Rome and the Vatican, of course. And I think that perhaps it was so.
On my way home I saw don Gregorio leaving the church, who, in spite of the hour, was preparing to return to Sigüenza on foot, taking the path along the river, which is narrower but shortens the way somewhat. I do not know why, but at that moment I felt a great admiration for that priest, faithful to his convictions and who did not shirk his responsibilities, whether or not they were painful or risky.
-Good evening, Don Gregorio," I said, approaching him almost running, because he had already taken a brisk pace for his return. Don't you have a horse?
-Good evening, Andresito, it's a yard full of horses!
-What do you think of the news?
-Bad, Andresito, very bad!... but God knows why he did it.... If He wants it that way, there must be a reason! And may God forgive me for being so clear, but I have seen it as if in a revelation!
-Man, Don Gregorio!
-May God forgive me, and don't go around saying that I made this comment to you, I couldn't help it, I can see it coming, because I know this town well, Andresito! Days will come when you yourself will be involved in this violence that is coming upon us..." He blessed me, turned around and started on his way back without saying another word.
I was petrified. I felt cold in my bones, even though it was not a cool night. My hair had stood on end and I remained mute and frightened there, at the door of the church, for a long time, not knowing how to take those prophetic confessions. As if waking up from a bad dream, I managed to recover myself, took a deep breath, shook my head as if I wanted to shake it off, and told myself that Don Gregorio had exaggerated like a priestly thing, but that the news was nothing to be alarmed about.
The night became clear, with the moon already in the crescent, so I could see the silhouette of the priest walking away along the river path, as if it were that of a ghost fading into the darkness.
When he disappeared, I continued on my way home, but I felt as if that encounter had made me four or five years older, and from that very night the innocence of my late childhood had vanished. For some reason, I let myself be infected by those dire forebodings and ended up feeling the weight of that terrible premonition.



































CHAPTER TWO
The return of the swallows

The month of April passed with more than one shock, but in the village, busy with the tasks of the spring, people did not worry about politics anymore. On the 16th half of the town went down to the train stop, because we had been told that on the five o'clock train from Barcelona half of the provisional government, which had gone into exile in Paris after the dictatorship, was coming. I think they were Indalecio Prieto, Marcelino Domingo, Martínez Barrio and Martínez de Aragón, whom fate would bring back to our land during the Civil War. They were, therefore, outstanding people who had suffered persecution for their republican ideas and deserved public recognition. So, armed with tricolor flags, made of paper glued to reeds, we went in procession down the path of the Henares River on an almost summery and shining afternoon. We sang sanjuaneras because it was the only thing we knew how to sing in unison and nobody knew anything about republican songs. The truth is that half of the procession was made up of ragged kids, for whom there was no other occupation than throwing stones at the dogs and helping, when necessary, in the fields. At five o'clock the train did not appear. It was six o'clock and the train still did not appear at the curve of the tunnel leading to Torralba. What happened was that so many tributes were paid to them along the way that the engineer was forced more than once to stop the train so as not to run over the personnel. Somewhat disconsolate and disappointed, with the mitigation of the broken or detached flags, we were already determined to return to town when the locomotive whistled as usual as it passed through the road crossing at the exit of the tunnel. The little kids were in an uproar and the "Tejero" had to work hard to keep the scoundrels stuck to the railings at the end of the platform.
-In order and close to the railings, because the train does not stop and you can be absorbed by the slipstream! When the train appears, wave your flags well and, all together, shout "Long live the Republic", let it be heard even in Madrid!
The train passed by and the children shouted their "Long live the Republic", but they must not even have been aware of our presence, because it passed quickly leaving a trail of steam and charcoal, which more than one child had to spit out in order not to choke. The train was carrying two large Republican flags on the locomotive that were waving violently and were already somewhat frayed. The children were somewhat confused and disappointed, as they had expected some gift from such important people, but they were compensated by the always imposing sight of a steam train, adorned, moreover, with tricolor flags.
-Everyone back to work, we have already fulfilled our duty as good citizens! -Tejero" lectured them, with his permanent political sense of existence.
But the month of April brought new and important news to our town. As he had promised, Don Manuel resigned as mayor for refusing to swear allegiance to the new Republic, and this went to the opposition candidate, at the head of a management commission, until, once the new Constitution was promulgated, new municipal elections were held again. So by the end of the month the "Tejero" was already "Don Genaro Martínez", and the people stopped calling him "Tejero" because it seemed that he was lowering the importance and solemnity that a mayor should have, even if he was from a miserable town of six hundred inhabitants. On the day of the swearing in, the new mayor gave a speech to the more than one hundred townspeople who filled the assembly hall of the Town Hall that gave us an idea of what the new spirit of the young Republic was like.
-Bread and culture! The first thing is education: not a single illiterate person in this town; not a child without a school, not a sick person without a doctor, not an old person without care, and whoever is not in favor of it will be reprimanded and shamed by his own countrymen. Because the town belongs to no one, but to everyone, and we are all responsible for what happens in the town.
So much good judgment in a simple potter's official surprised both friends and strangers. Even the monarchists nodded and congratulated themselves for such good intentions. "That's what Don Mariano lacked, the will to take care of the young and old, who can't be chasing hares or doing mischief all day long". "Genaro is not starting off badly, but let's see where he will get the money for so many wonders! "I don't think the socialists are as bad as the communists. Let's see if in the end all that the priest has put into our heads about these reds and atheists is a lie".
On the first of May the "Tejero" called the villagers to a "Fiesta del Trabajo", where there would be speeches and dancing. There were not many salaried workers in the village, only about twenty laborers, members of large families who could not work on their own land and did whatever they could do, which was not much and they were not very skilled at anything. But the "Tejero" had a deep sense of history and did not want to let that solemn date pass without complementing it properly. In addition, it was planned to lay the "first stone" of the works of the new "Casa del Pueblo". In fact, it was a matter of rehabilitating, with new whitewash, windows, doors and a good coat of paint on the facade, an old house abandoned after the death of its last owner and without known heirs, so it was expropriated for public use. The monarchists protested and threatened to denounce the case before the Guadalajara courts, but out of laziness or disinterest they soon forgot about it and let the remodeling work continue. The tavern keeper also protested, because he had been told that in the Casa del Pueblo they were going to give a glass of wine for five cents, when he was selling it for ten, and that, in addition, they would serve fruit-flavored sodas, so that the kids would not get hooked on wine at such an early age. But the blood did not reach the river either.
On the first floor was planned a social center, with a small stage as a stage, where it was planned to offer theater sessions, like those offered in the other Casa del Pueblo de Sigüenza, and if the budget came, occasionally bring a cinematograph, but they had the problem of electricity. However, it was also in the pipeline, laying a line from the "Salto Pepita", a small power plant on the banks of the Henares, even to illuminate the town square, the Town Hall and the brand new Casa del Pueblo, and if the priest agreed to give his blessing to the new house, also for the church.
On the second floor, there would be a school for adults, a doctor's office once a week, and a small room for a social worker, who would come from time to time to give advice on pensions, land disputes with the State or landowners, and to inform them of the new rights, minimum wage, payment for mowing days, etc., but without forgetting to read them their obligations as well.
But the most surprising thing was that Inés, barely illiterate a few months before, took charge of the school, where she was supposed to teach herself to read and write to anyone who wanted to. The truth is that she had progressed a lot since she started going to school, and above all her good mood and disposition was the best lure for other girls of the same age to come to her afternoon classes. I found myself in the humiliating dilemma of deciding whether to attend her classes, knowing that she would show no mercy for my ignorance and treat me even worse than she usually did, and in the presence of others. But I could not let that opportunity pass and, on the other hand, that unexpected teaching position also meant for Inés a radical change in her character. She became more slow, patient and even maternal. She talked to the village children as a schoolteacher does, arguing almost caressingly about the need for education and the futility of going around all day picking nests and stoning dogs.
To help with homework a professional teacher would come from Sigüenza once a week, check the calligraphy notebooks, suggest exercises and check the accounts, as well as bring packets of calligraphy notebooks, multiplication tables and some large print books for the first readings.
They set up chains in the square, some tables covered with red and blue tablecloths, two jars of considerable size, one with wine from Aragon, but somewhat diluted with fresh water from the public fountain, so as not to cause problems, and another with a syrup of sarsaparilla, sweet and cloying, for women and children, because since the arrival of the socialists it was frowned upon to give wine to children, and less so in public.
At noon the official acts began, consisting of the reading of a brief speech by the secretary of the Town Hall, since the "Tejero" was not a very good speaker, apart from his skill for the "vivas", illustrating to the people about the historical origin of the "Primero de Mayo". But before he concluded the young men were already asking the dulzainero to start the party.
"What a way to waste time! -commented the secretary with the "Tejero", carefully folding the paper with the review, for which he had taken great trouble copying it by hand from an encyclopedia in the municipal library of Sigüenza- "Where the heads are made to wear the beret don't come to them with monsergas of history!"
The party was animated and they danced jotas and fandangos, some with more skill, others with less, for not being very popular in the region; they drank the watered wine that was destined for the occasion, and the kids, as always, doing all the mischief and mischief that came to their fertile imagination. Perhaps it was at that party that I realized that my childhood was more than over, for at no time did it occur to me to join them in their mischief; on the contrary, for the first time I censured their perversions, and even felt like slapping one of them.
As there was no custom of such a novel festivity, and there would not even be a procession, the townspeople left as soon as the wine and the sarsaparilla were finished, and even the musicians became distressed, because the rockets and the cucañas, something indispensable in any true celebration, were missing. The new mayor, presiding with dignity over the watery verbena, commented with the secretary.
"It's a matter of time, they will get used to the custom". To which the secretary replied, "It's just that political festivities are not real festivities, and even less so without a saint or procession!" Of course, Don Gregorio did not show up in town, which avoided the consequent protocol friction.
But on Monday the 11th we received alarming news from Madrid, where masses of uncontrolled people, apparently in favor of the new Republic, had burned the Carmelites of Ferraz, and several convents of the city, from Chamartín to Cuatro Caminos, and not satisfied, they had also set fire to several churches. Fortunately there had been no casualties among the religious, but the news fell on the people like a real bucket of cold water and meant the end of the good disposition of the people for the "Pretty Girl", as it was common to call the new Republic, because the fears that it would bring violence, especially for the Church and its members, seemed to be confirmed. I remembered my conservation with Don Gregorio and my hair stood on end, and once again the fear penetrated my bones.
At night comments were heard in the tavern that further aggravated the tense atmosphere that had been created. "Let's see if these town reds get the idea of burning the town church too and we'll have to bring out the Somatén shotguns again!"
The next day's news was no better, quite the contrary. Someone brought a copy of "El Debate", which blamed the Republic itself and its provisional Government directly for the burnings, and proclaimed the need to reinstate the monarchy to ensure peace and order in the country again. "El Tejero" brought several newspapers of "El Socialista", with its own version of the facts, in which it was said that everything had been a provocation of the monarchists, who did not admit the new regime, and that it was not necessary to exaggerate with the number of burned convents, but whether by morbidity or with intentionality, those of the tavern did not pay the minimum attention to it and believed the version of the conservative newspaper.
The next day things went even worse, and it was in half of Spain where churches and convents were burned, especially in the south, where the first serious clashes with the Civil Guard took place, and if they intervened there were always dead or wounded, who were not there to lecture, but to shoot those who were out of control.
In all those days Don Gregorio did not appear in the village and I feared that on Sunday there could be some serious trouble in the church, because the atmosphere against the new Republic was already very heated and Don Gregorio did not mince his words, so I feared that his sermon would inflame tempers even more and end the relative harmony that still reigned in the village.
Sunday arrived and the church was crowded, both from one side and the other, because everyone wanted to know what Don Gregorio would say in the sermon so that they would not be caught unawares afterwards. But thank God Don Gregorio, whether out of fear or conviction, did not say a word about what had happened, and limited himself to reminding us that the month of May was the month of the Virgin Mary, and that we should venerate her as we should, attending the Saturday evening rosaries, as well as decorating the image of the Virgin as was customary. The one of the town was nicknamed "of the river", because according to the tradition it appeared floating in the Henares when the plague was ravaging the town, but nobody knows for sure in what year it was. The Lady just appeared in the river and miraculously ended all the ills of the town. At least that is what the legend of the "Virgin of the river" tells. In addition to this image, we had a San Antonio, obscured by the smoke of the candles, which did not fit one more on the pedestal so much that the girls of the village asked him; a San Cristobal with a somewhat chipped child, because he fell in a procession when a calf escaped from the running of the bulls, which gored those carrying the saint, and a rather old Christ, almost Romanesque, of poor workmanship but impressive for its dramatism and the streams of blood that fell down his face from the crown of thorns.
At the exit of the mass the "Tejero", who as mayor and by protocol believed he was obliged to occupy the first pews of the church, so that his attendance to mass would be well visible, seemed satisfied and relieved. This priest has more common sense than that Cardinal Segura, however much primate of Toledo he may be," he commented to the eldest of the Valiente brothers, "If the religious class were all of this liberal disposition the people would not have an aversion for the church, there are countries where the clergy is even republican and harmony and concord reigns".
But the slogan of the "Ecclesiastical Bulletin" for the Sunday sermon was to incite Catholics to take action and move to elect Catholic candidates to the new constituent Cortes, but Don Gregorio must have considered that such a slogan was meaningless in our town. There can be no other reason to explain his silence.
Fortunately, the rest of the month went by without any more problems and I was able to return to my usual routine, such as waiting for Inés by the roadside, morning and evening, playing my elder flute under the oak tree to my sheep, between the howl and howl of my patient dog and the valido of some sheep, which had already caught the tone and were not out of tune.
So, one afternoon in mid-May, when the work on the Casa del Pueblo was nearing completion, I saw Inés coming down the road more calm and thoughtful than usual. She was not only carrying her notebook, but a thick book that must have been where she learned other things besides reading and writing, and where the figures of two children were reading, but as if instead of studying they were playing.
-It's an encyclopedia! Do you know what an encyclopedia is? - he said, shoving the book almost in my face. I shook my head, embarrassed as usual. An encyclopedia is a book for learning everything, not just reading and writing. Do you understand?
She didn't wait for my answer and sat down on a clump of overgrown grass, because she seemed tired from the walk, and remained pensive as was usual for her, losing her gaze in some distant point of the already flowery valley of the Henares.
Do you think, Andrés, that I will know how to do it; that I will know how to be a teacher when I am nothing more than a half-illiterate yokel?
I was surprised by the question, because it was the first time he had ever asked my opinion on anything, since he always made me the least of it and didn't seem to expect me to know anything he cared about. So I was glad to have the opportunity to show myself as I really felt, responsible and with good judgment.
-What do I know, you know better than anyone else, but if you've offered, you'll have your reasons!
-The only reason is that it makes me angry that people are illiterate, like you, when it's so nice to know how to read and write and do the four rules; and it gives so much encouragement that you seem to be born again to life!
-Well, that's enough for you.
-But what do I know about teaching?
-If you don't know it, you will learn it, for there is nothing like necessity to learn things early and well.
-You talk as if you were the master, which you surely would be, and better than me, if you weren't so stubborn!
-The reproach had to come out in the daytime! You know I have my reasons.
-Now you don't have them anymore, because there you have a school to learn what you need, and forget about me being the teacher, I will treat everyone who comes here the same way.
It was inevitable that the subject would come up, so I had to make the decision now, because Inés was not in the mood to give her any more setbacks. More out of affection and respect for her than anything else, I committed myself to attend her literacy classes. But not without grumbling.
-To shut you up once and for all, I'll let you teach me to read and write, but without jokes and mockery, because I'm already unfortunate enough to be illiterate for you to still....
Inés didn't let me finish, she turned to me with a wide, radiant smile of victorious satisfaction, and gave me a resounding, triumphant kiss on the cheek that left a mark on my face.
-That's the way I like it, Andrés, that you aspire to be a useful man! Put garlic in your hand, I'm going to make it red as a ruler! - and he walked away with renewed impetus, taking long strides, at the same time waving his arm in farewell to me. I, still shaken by the soft impression of her lips on my cheek, imitated her as if stunned. Fate had done its work: it would be in the Casa del Pueblo of the Spanish Socialist Workers' Party that I would begin my ecclesiastical career. Ironies of fate!
The next morning I was awakened by the gurgling of the swallows that every year nested under the eaves of the patio of our house. I was surprised because it was the first time I had heard them since last summer, so I deduced that they had returned from their long hibernation God knows where. I got up and carefully so as not to scare them away, I opened my bedroom window and sure enough, there they were again, but I couldn't tell if it was the same pair of adults as every year or last year's offspring. I don't know why, but my heart was gladdened by that monotonous chirping, as if those elegant birds were bringing the harmony of life itself where they nested. I thought that if the swallows returned to the village it must be because it was still blessed by God and nothing bad could happen to us. If not, the first to know would be the swallows themselves, and they would nest elsewhere.
The People's House

The month of June arrived and relative harmony reigned in the town. It even seemed that people had regained their traditional good humor and mood, because it was not uncommon to hear coming from the fields or the nearby orchards the chanting of some gañán exercising for the festivities of San Juan with his routine songs, the most spicy and ill-intentioned. The swallows in the courtyard were already cuddling and the female did not stop improving the nest while the male woke us up at dawn with his sonorous routine trills, almost with chorus and refrain. The women also sang on their way to the river or to the fountain and the girls tried on their grandmothers' skirts, their stockings and the black nets to hold their bows, but always wearing a daisy in sharp contrast with the black of their hair, or a coarse poppy. Instead of walking they seemed to dance, and if it were not for the weight of the pitchers or the baskets of washing clothes, surely they would not walk, but dance.
What was happening was that San Juan was approaching and who more or less had already had her eye on some local boy, lit half a dozen candles to San Antonio and prayed a few dozen Hail Marys, altered to convenience, asking for a boyfriend for that year to the Virgin Mary herself, that because the church was so scarce of saints, also served for that function. Religion in my town was not only devotion, but something as alive and real as if the saints were members of the family itself; those who were in contact with God and knew how to perform those miracles.
Inés was no exception, but she had changed so much since her new responsibility that she seemed to be above those naivety and looked at life with a different air, knowing that the saints did not make the miracles, but the culture, so it was no longer so frequent to see her appear at church, except on Sundays, to accompany her mother and her great aunts, and because no one in the village could fail to attend Sunday mass without suffering the consequent murmurings and the silent censure of the people. As if going to mass was not only a religious precept, but a social obligation proper to honest people of good manners, as most of the villagers boasted of being.
The literacy classes began in the middle of the month and my initial fears about my inability to read quickly vanished. The rapid progress was undoubtedly due to the naturalness, patience and good work of Inés, who, having been illiterate herself only a few months before, was in a position to understand those of us who gathered in that freshly whitewashed classroom, with its map of Spain, its U.G.T. poster, a young married couple and their offspring, exultant with vitality, working at their work. It had a young couple and their offspring, exulting with vitality, working the harvest almost in ecstasy with nature, a brand new blackboard, a small shelf with calligraphy notebooks, multiplication tables and the four reading books that were patiently waiting for us to distinguish the letters from each other and to be able to read them in one sitting. There were no benches as in a normal school, but a large rectangular table in the center of the room and two wooden benches on either side, crudely crafted, where we sat almost on top of each other.
Inés did not make exceptions with me or with anyone else, and she knew her own limitations well, so when a student, mostly girls and even mature women, but barely half a dozen boys my age, including Inés' younger brother, who was also illiterate, seemed to be stuck in a rut, she would look for some funny metaphor to ease the tension and embarrassment:
-This is like boys, they give respect until you get to know them, then you laugh at how silly you were - and the routine began, simple for her but devilish and complicated for us: "La eme with the a, ma; la eme with the e, me; la eme with the i, mi", etcetera.
It was funny to see us there, boys and girls of the age to hang around the tavern and in love quarrels, like little children reading the primary school textbook, with more attention and anxiety to know than if we were really children. And it was solemn to see a simple peasant girl, almost illiterate like us, instructing her own countrymen, playmates and candidates for boyfriends, with the utmost naturalness and without anyone daring to disrespect her, not even for the sake of being funny. And the fact is that culture dignified us, so much so that we learned more than what we were taught, because there are things that are in oneself and only a good environment is necessary to stimulate them. So that those girls in just a few weeks had ceased to be naive peasants, unable to take part in a conversation, to dare to give their opinion on almost anything, as if their minds had been freed from invisible chains that held them prisoners.
To stimulate her understanding, Agnes would read some news from the
"She asked us to comment on them and express our opinion. That initiative had come from herself, convinced that reading and writing was not enough, but that one learns to read above all to be able to understand.
-The prices of agricultural products have increased by 6 percent so far this year, and if the drought persists, they could reach 10 percent, so it is foreseeable that the price of bread will rise between 5 and 10 cents."
-What is this "percent"...? -asked some girl, raising her arm in a disciplinary way, without anyone having told her that this was the right thing to do to intervene.
-To tell you the truth, I'm not really aware of it either," answered Inés, without showing the slightest embarrassment, since she assumed that she was not smarter than those present. It must be that wheat is going up, because if he says that bread will go up ten cents it's because wheat will be worth more, I say.
The Benjamín nodded his head in agreement with his sister's explanations, because he knew the answer because he had heard it commented in the tavern between his brothers and the "Tejero", precisely referring to that same news. And that was the beauty of those classes, that there was no teacher, but that each one taught the others the little or much he knew.
-It means," explained Benjamin, standing up ceremoniously and swallowing some saliva so as not to choke, "that out of 100 parts we take six or whatever the percent is and increase it to the price it had. In other words, if the wheat was worth a hundred pesetas a quintal, it would now be worth 106 pesetas, and if it were 10 percent, it would be worth 110 pesetas, and so on, depending on the percent.
Satisfied with his explanation, he sat down again with the air of an economics professor, while the rest of us tried to get a complete idea of the explanation. Thus we learned not only to read and write, but to understand what we read or were read to us, and we realized that together we all knew many more things than we had supposed, each one in his own field and with his own understanding. Inés was nothing but the magic wand that stimulated our intelligence. At other times she would read us some poem by Antonio Machado, with such good intonation and cadence that more than once we were moved to tears, especially those inspired by his beloved wife, Leonor, who was taken away by tuberculosis when she was almost a child.

"Poplars of love that yesterday you had of nightingales your branches full of nightingales, poplars that tomorrow you will be lilies in the wind perfumed in spring!


Poplars of love, near the water that runs and passes, and dreams,
poplars on the banks of the Douro with me you go, my heart carries you."

After each reading we were so deeply impressed that we could not explain why, because poetry was so new to us that none of us could understand its magic, and why such simple words touched our feelings so deeply. We had all seen poplars on the river bank, and a thousand times seen the lilies bloom in spring, but until we had heard Machado's poems we had not realized how different they were from how we had seen them in the ordinary. So Inés also brought us the love of poetry almost without intending to.
I never later attended a school with better pedagogy than that improvised classroom in the Casa del Pueblo, nor did I ever learn more about myself than in those happy months when an angel passed through our place and left all of us young people the grace of understanding and intelligence without hardly making an effort or keeping anything in our memory. But that was, in fact, the true spirit of the Second Spanish Republic!
San Juan was approaching and its magic left the blush on the cheeks, the freshness on the banks of the henares and the harmonious song of the goldfinch among the branches of the old poplars of the river, as Machado sang it. The swallows had already laid their eggs, and the storks in the tower of the church were working hard, making their long beaks clatter more insistently, as if urging life to do its work well before the next winter. The wheat fields were already swaying like a green sea of gentle waves in the parched Castilian countryside and the bees were buzzing in the rosemary bushes. The classes were progressing, but the approach of the summer equinox festivities altered the discipline and more thought was given to dances and costumes than to letters, rhymes or beads.
With no little shame for us, the girls talked more about love affairs than about consonants or vowels, verbs or predicates.
-Well, I tell you that when I came to the Casa del Pueblo he looked at me from top to bottom, as if measuring me from top to bottom, and the parts that are not mentioned out of shame!
-Who, that brute Nemesio? Don't listen to him, woman, he's so shameless with all of us! He thinks he's just a figurine in a catalog!
-Well, he's got a good plant!
-But he's kicking like a donkey!
-Yeah! -the girl protested. Let's see if now it's going to turn out that all the young men in the village are just idiots and the only smart ones are us. We'll have to marry someone! What good is so much culture if no one loves us?
It was a very sensible observation and, at the same time, a real drama with a difficult solution. In fact, the more they learned, the farther away they were from their own people and their own people. Sometimes I came to think, especially in the tragic events of 39, if it would not have been better to have left all those cheerful girls in their naive ignorance, because the relations between them and the rest of the boys became more tense and even some friction arose, provoked by the jealous boys, humiliated in their manhood by the girls.
-Don't study so much that you get a face like a beaten donkey! - they censured them.
-And don't you learn the letters, lest your head widen and your beret won't fit!
They reproached each other with a certain feeling of bitterness, seeing how distant they were from each other and how their modest knowledge opened a huge gulf between them. Sometimes the arguments even reached the point of rudeness and provoked the poor girls to tears.
-Why do you want me to be enlightened, if what you should be interested in is that I have a good dick, and not so many letters or so much bullshit!
In spite of everything, they did not stop attending the classes, but Inés was already beginning to spread by word of mouth as a revolutionary agitator, who was making the girls who attended her classes surly and responsive. They thought she was supposed to lecture them with political ideas instead of teaching them to read and write. The wickedness of the people was responsible for increasing the rumors and comments until, as was to be feared, on the eve of San Juan Inés appeared in a copla, which inevitably would be sung in the village for the festivities:

"Uncle Valiente's daughter has become a teacher, because Uncle Lafuente's son turns her on".

When her students, not without violence, whispered in her ear this song they had heard the night before, Inés gave me a confused look, as if she felt it more for me than for herself, shrugged her shoulders and simply commented to the girls, more in a hurry than herself, that "these things happen in every town around San Juan, but they are soon forgotten". So she took it with resignation and fortitude, which showed how far away she was from the town and her own people. But what was really happening was that Inés was so sure that we were made for each other that she didn't care that our supposed relationship was already on everyone's lips. As for the girls, among themselves they commented on the boys' bad intentions, but I think they also assumed that Inés and I had a more intimate relationship than the formality of our treatment during classes would lead one to suppose. Those who were really indignant were the Valiente brothers, who threatened to strip the author and the first one who sang it in their presence. But when a defamatory copla arises in a town, one never knows who the author or authors are. It is as if it were a pact of silence: someone sings it for the first time and says that he has heard it somewhere and so the matter remains, without ever knowing who the author is. Sometimes it is a joint work: several young men in the tavern propose to defame someone and each one contributes an idea, some rhyme what others suggest, sharpen the biting of the criticism, until, finally, the copla is finished and nobody knows who has created it. In reality, the author is the whole town, because of its complicity and morbid taste for this type of evil.
In the Casa del Pueblo, in addition to the classes for the illiterate, other events with a more political and social character began to be held, such as meetings of peasants to inform them about the convenience of joining the agrarian union of the U.G.T. The drought that we suffered considerably reduced the production of grain, and the prices per quintal had not moved since the times of Primo de Rivera, whose purchase was monopolized by two merchants and usurious moneylenders of Sigüenza. Precisely the usury in mortgage loans, to compensate for crop losses, was leaving a continuous trickle of small landowners who became tenants of their own land, which ended up in the hands of usurers or banks. In this usury, more or less legal, also participated an "Agricultural Fund" of the Church, created to "invest" the substantial funds accumulated by the chapter and the bishopric, as a result of the many lands and estates that they accumulated, either by wills or assignments by their deceased parishioners, or donated to be cared for in their asylum of Sigüenza, the only one in the whole region. In this way, half of the farmland of the town and almost all of the wasteland no longer belonged to the people of the town, but to the four or five usurers of Sigüenza, among whom were front men of the Count of Romanones himself, and of the banks and agricultural banks, and there were more and more peasants who had no choice but to work as tenants the land that had been for centuries the property of the family. For this reason, the meetings of the new agrarian union of the U.G.T. in the Casa del Pueblo were more and more crowded and provoked the misgivings of the landowners, who already saw the socialists of the people making strikes, like those that were already taking place in half Andalusia, when not the "social revolution", which proclaimed in Seville and without the slightest qualm the anarcho-syndicalist doctor Pedro Vallina and the hero of the aviation, Ramón Franco.
The most crowded was to report on the first emergency laws of the Republic, which directly affected this situation, since the eviction of peasants who were tenant farmers was temporarily prohibited. But, above all, what caused the greatest commotion was the prohibition of the new provisional Government to employ peons in agricultural work outside while there were unemployed in the town itself; the new minimum wage of 5.50 pesetas, and 11 pesetas per day of harvesting, when it was normal for local employers to pay between 2 and 3 pesetas per day and 8 or 9 for a full day of harvesting. Because of all this, uneasiness was already spreading among the bosses. Where the new law fell silent worst was in the "Social Circle" of the Casino of Sigüenza, true headquarters of the four bosses who still exercised their activity with despotism, as in the best days of the dictatorship, among whose members was Don Mariano, the former mayor of the town. Don Mariano's comments to Don Gregorio, on leaving mass, left no doubt about how tense the situation was.
-And forgive me, Father, for the expression, but I have already arranged for the harvesting crews and I am not going to take these bums and pimps of the town, who are only good for making a fuss and getting involved in politics. I'd rather set fire to the harvest than drop my pants in front of this rabble of socialists -finally, and with half a voice, as if trying not to be heard by the priest, he threatened in a veiled way-. What we have to do is to set fire to the Casa del Pueblo, with all of them inside, and all evils will be over.
-No violence, Don Mariano, no violence, because things are already tangled up enough for us to tangle them up even more.
-Forgive me, Don Gregorio, but I tell you that this will end like the Rosary of the Dawn!
-God help us, and deliver us from evil, amen. 
Don Gregorio concluded, without being too severe about the exalted opinions of the former mayor. But it seemed as if the most loving saint in the calendar brought a truce and harmony to the tensions that were accumulating in the town, and already on the eve of the feast day, both friends and opponents got down to work to decorate the streets, the arches and the fountains with arches formed by fresh poplar branches intertwined, June roses, of as many colors as the rainbow, small roses of Jericho, honeysuckles, rosemary, basil and asparagus flowers, and some pots of red and rough geraniums. The girls were already dressed up and were singing the not less joyful and festive "copla sanjuanera":

"The mornings of San Juan when you jaleabas,
With your little white shoes and your stocking."

They were arches welcoming the productive summer; tributes to the sun that ripens the harvests; songs to the culmination of nature. Porticos for the passion and sensuality of the magical night of San Juan, adorned with fire and exultant with youthful optimism and virile strength, and overwhelmed by the drama of life to which the inevitable feeling of love leads. So we all gave a truce to pessimism and got ready to enjoy the most pagan religious feast of the Spanish ecclesiastical calendar and the whole world, I guess. Inés gave us a little farewell speech, encouraging us for the party:
-So, duties and obligations are over, now let's dance like a top until the wine and brandy run out! And you, Andrés, I want to see you cleaner and neater than a San Luís, with clean underpants and without patches, you'll have to keep some for the festivities. And to you, may San Antonio distribute luck, and if you are so stubborn, may a good young man with healthy intentions come to you, because you can't learn about that here and each one has to know it for herself. And if they leave thistles on the balcony, don't let them be fooled, for they are just jokes of scorned boys, and the more thistles they leave you, the more they love you.
That was undoubtedly a brief but superb speech that set the mood for the party. Inés had reached such a degree of self-confidence that, in spite of her age, anyone would have said that she had even a couple of degrees in literature and some in science without using them for an eventuality.
At noon the festivities began with a mass without a sermon, almost a mass of commitment, because there could be no saint without a response. In the square the arch of the Town Hall had been erected, which was crowned by a tricolor flag and an illustration of a Republican matron, with her Frisian cap, her generous and abundant breasts, as well as her full hips, which scandalized the old women, but did not displease the young men, judging by their jocular comments: "If the Republic were such a female, it would not lack suitors", or "With that pair of..., you know what I mean! you know what I mean, there would be no shortage of food for the people".
The dulzaina, possibly the smallest and most outrageous musical instrument in the world, began to sing the first Castilian jotas, accompanied by the joyful beating of the tambourine, and for the occasion the new mayor had brought an accordionist from Guadalajara, so that the orchestra was complete and with various styles. Thus, the accordionist played fashionable pieces and the occasional pasodoble, while the dulzainero, as he had done every year for as long as I could remember, continued with his local repertoire, consisting of a dozen or so jotas, which were no less cheerful and popular for being so well known. I was not a bad dancer, although somewhat shy, but Inés, as it could not be otherwise, since there was nothing she did not do with conscience and temperament, was a consummate dancer. It was the same for her to dance a dance of the bunch or a well-coordinated one; the same with the cane as with the handkerchief; she moved gracefully in couples as well as in a circle or in groups. When we got together because the steps required it, she held my hand tightly, gave me a generous smile and passed like a gust of warm and sensual wind, perfumed with the scent of basil and thyme.
Tired and satisfied with so much sensuality, we ended up prostrate, rather than sitting, on the stone poyato of the fountain, refreshing our foreheads with fresh water from the pipe, which was like a saint's hand, because it gave us back the desire to live and without hardly any rest, we returned again to the dance.
-Life should always be like a St. John's dance! - commented Inés, splashing the water on her burning cheeks- And after the party, go to sleep and never wake up again, so that the joy of the party would last forever....
I didn't like the comment, but I agreed that it was a waste that there were days when there were no parties. Inés was cheerful and sad at the same time; jovial and pensive; absent and provocative. Suddenly, she stared into my eyes, so intensely that I seemed to be attached by two chains to hers.
-You love me, don't you, Andrés? I mean, with the affection of a man and not just a friend? he asked me out of the blue, without letting me take a breath to prepare myself for even a half-reasoned answer.
I did not know what to answer because the question was too direct for my slow brain, overwhelmed by the heat and the effects of the brandy, to be able to come up with the most convenient answer. I really did not know if I loved her in the sense she meant it or if it was really nothing more than a childish affection, of games and rechufas, as it had been until that very day. But then, all of a sudden, to answer her if I was in love with her, there was not even the possibility that I could conceive it, at least not give her an answer. I sat wearily on the edge of the pylon, I made an attempt to answer something I didn't know what it might be, but she interrupted me when she saw my growing pregnancy.
-Shut up, don't say anything, don't spoil my party! Come on, let's go to the ball again, the tongues are talking about us enough to see us so close together, and looking like lovebirds in love!
She got up and left me with a "Of course, woman!" in her mouth, which might not have been to her liking, because it sounded like a commitment. But Inés asked me that question the day her intuition told her that the time had come to ask it. However, she realized in time that it was not the right time, but that the magical night of San Juan was precisely for those things, in the village and in the whole world. But then the question had to be asked by me and not by her. The party continued, but I was already absent, because my mind was no longer in the village, but in some hidden place of my feelings. I also realized that the time had come to ask myself if I was really in love with Inés. It was one of those questions that age you; that wipe out the remnants of your childhood, that urge you to tidy up your emotions and alarming new passions. In just a few hours I had to recognize what was in me as a man, newly released, with all its parts including the most disturbing and disturbing, such as sex. If the answer was yes and if his answer did not contradict me, it was like an internal tearing; a passage from the childish fog to the adult abyss.
It was to open the door of desire with the possibility that it could be satisfied, because requited love had no limits or barriers; it was to lose oneself in a new world full of dangers, mysteries of nature with a taste of blood; with tears, screams and pains that sometimes ended in death. Maybe I was exaggerating, but my body trembled from head to toe every time I thought I heard from Inés' lips, "Yes, I love you too!", because I didn't know what would come next.
That was no longer a game, nor did it belong to the known world, but to the unknown and, frankly, I have to admit that that night, so sweet and bitter at the same time, I was terrified of what might happen. Inés noticed my nervousness because more than once I stepped on her toes during the dance, and I ended up where I shouldn't have on more than one turn of the jacks, in which I had never made the slightest mistake. But far from disturbing her, she seemed to understand the cause of my disturbance and was secretly pleased. She gave me looks full of mystery and questioning, as if she were asking me how my feelings were doing: whether I was ready or needed some more time.
At nightfall, the alguacil lit the official bonfire, the one in the center of the Plaza del Ayuntamiento, and the kids made a hell of a racket, throwing firecrackers, which when they exploded jumped up and got between the girls' skirts, burning more than one of them in their petticoats. Inés retreated frightened to one end of the square, which by the hour was beginning to be in darkness. I accompanied her and we did not go up to a balcony to see the flames of the bonfire and the crackling of the firecrackers as if under a spell. Golden tongues lit up her cheeks at intervals, but she looked not at the bonfire but at me, as if asking me if I already had the answer. She must have understood that she did, for she proposed something puzzling:
-Come on, Andrés, let's go to the river, it's a hot flash!
A moonlight bath
He could hardly follow her and stumbled over everything that crossed his path. And yet the night was clear and the moon, in its waning quarter, shone with its fading light leaving a soft silver patina on the wheat fields, and making the small leaves of the oaks glitter like beads on a necklace. The ever-distant cuckoo would launch its monotonous song from somewhere in the thicket of the poplar groves and the nightingales competed in their trills from one side of the Henares riverbank to the other, claiming their reign and provoking the attention of the quiet females. At the bottom of the valley were visible the crests of the hills, which overlooked lush pine forests, where the taciturn wild boar and the skittish roe deer lived at ease.
-Run, Andrés, don't let them see us together on the way to the river, that's all we need!
I didn't answer because I was paying attention to the ups and downs of the road, but Inés took me by the hand and practically dragged me down the path until we reached a small meadow bordering the river. We still went down a narrow path, open between leafy grasses and reeds, which Inés must have known perfectly well or else we would have fallen face first into the river. We crossed a poplar grove, scaring away some owls and other birds that were dozing in it, and we had still to negotiate a thick flowering bramble, until, at last, we came to a small bend in the river, where there was a pool of still water, bordered by a small meadow, surrounded by tall poplar trees, which left in the middle a circle where, as if it were the dome of a church, the starry sky appeared in all its solemnity and grandeur. Inés dropped down, hot and sweaty, on the grass, put her arms behind her neck, and staring at the sky, she exclaimed.
-Blessed be God, who made the stars of heaven!
The observation almost shocked me because of its unexpectedness in Agnes, who did not seem to be exactly a great devotee, but the sight of that little piece of heaven, as if it had been embroidered by some supernatural hands with millions of sequins, some sparkling, really made me believe that God must necessarily exist, and would not be far away from that breathtaking place.
I sat down next to her, letting myself be seduced by that vision and the mysterious surroundings of the place, and I confess that I was afraid of the impenetrable shadows that opened up behind the brambles and poplar groves, for I have never been very brave in the dark. On the contrary, Agnes seemed unconcerned and confident of the stillness and solitude of the place.
-Hey, Andrés, say something and don't keep quiet as if you had no spirit! -She shook my hand and turned to me with a start, "But you're shivering! Are you cold or what?
-No, Inés, but I'm nervous... because...
-You're afraid of me! -she interrupted me.
-No, how can that be? But I don't know if we're doing the right thing!
-And what are we doing? Is it a bad thing to run around the countryside and look at the stars?
Suddenly I realized how ridiculous my behavior was and again the tear of age and the voice of nature that demands its due and denies the past and innocence; the short pants, the maternal caresses, the condescension of the family, the simple gifts of the Three Kings, the sweets and treats, the vapor of that reverie that suddenly reveals and manifests itself in the most ignored part of the body, the most censured and admonished. And I realized that this must be a clear sign that I had become a man. Suddenly I lost my fear of the dark, I lay down next to Inés and contemplated her for the first time as what she really was, a woman. Without knowing how or why, and without the slightest experience, I kissed her on the lips. Inés understood what was happening to me and did nothing, but this time it was not I who was trembling but she. I had recovered, as if by magic, my self-confidence and the conviction that I was undoubtedly in love with her, but, above all, that I wanted her as a woman and urgently.
A few anguished moments passed while my lips could not separate from hers. Ines remained silent with her eyes closed, as if my kiss paralyzed her will and she could not move. But, suddenly, she reacted, opened her eyes as if she woke up from a long and magical dream, and was the enchanted princess from the tale of sleeping beauty. She gently but decisively broke free from my embrace and, after contemplating me for a few moments with a complacent gesture, as if she had achieved her great triumph she had been waiting for since childhood, she felt once again Inés Valiente, but the woman and not the girl.
-Let's take a bath, there's no one who can stand this hot flush!
I thought the idea was fun but foolish, because we couldn't just jump into the water.
Inés did not wait for my answer and began the complicated task of stripping off her festive clothes.
-Don't be crazy, Inés, someone might see us! You're not going to stand naked in the middle of the field?
-Do you think there are two more nutcases like the two of us in the whole town? Hey, don't be ashamed and undress, aren't you going to take a bath with your clothes on? -I was no longer ashamed to undress in front of Inés, but I was a little shy about showing my excitement. If you're in a hurry for me to see you naked, you can imagine that living with three older brothers I know very well what men are like. Go on, and stop being embarrassed, what we need is a bath in very cool water so we don't commit any nonsense!
I took the hint and undressed in front of her, showing my arousal without shame, which, on the other hand, the darkness of the night conveniently concealed.
I slipped in the mud on the shore and fell face first into the water, which provoked a loud laugh from Inés, which she repressed by hastily covering her mouth with her hand. The water was freezing cold, but it was almost soothing. After the first impression my body adjusted to the coolness and, as expected, it had its effect on my excitement. Concentrating on my misadventures I had not paid attention to the naked body of Inés, who with more caution and tact slipped into the calm waters, until she sat on the sandy bottom and covered her up to her shoulders. We splashed around for a few moments like two children in a basin and didn't seem to realize that we were in the middle of the countryside, naked and in love, putting to the test all our ability to get through that first difficult test of our newfound maturity.
-Now I should answer your question about the fountain," I said, sitting down on the sandy bottom of the river.
-Shut up, fool, for kisses speak louder than words!
Well, what else do you want to say that you haven't already told me? It is enough for me, but if it pleases you, then tell me what you feel, it will not be superfluous.
-No, the truth is that it's hard for me to tell you, not because I don't feel it, but precisely because I feel it, but it's something so new that...
-Say what? -I was interrupted by Inés, who was already starting to get impatient with my shortness and nervousness.
I blurted out what I had to say without thinking very hard about how I was saying it.
-That's it, that... I love you; I love you, woman!
-What a brave way to propose to a girl: shivering with cold and stammering! Come on, stop it, we've had enough excitement for tonight, and let's go back to town, because the procuresses must be missing us already!
From that moment on my relations with Inés began to have a certain air of familiarity. I helped to dry her and she did the same with me and we even exchanged several furtive kisses, but we both knew that it had to end that way. Suddenly Inés asked me:
-So, Andrés, are we already engaged?
-Of course, woman!
He said no more, and we resolutely set out to return to town.
The glow of the bonfire in the square was still glowing when we were able to enter the village without being seen, each of us in a different place so that no one would suspect our relations, which was naive, because we were both already on everyone's lips.
As I entered an alley, I saw a group of young men approaching Inés' house and shouting, and in a drunken voice, they began to sing the song with the clear intention that it would be heard by everyone who lived in the alley. I could not help my indignation. Furious and unaware of my limitations, I turned to them and shouted, as if I thought I could intimidate them:
-Let's see who dares to sing that copla in my presence! The boys were surprised and seemed a little shocked, but under the effects of alcohol, which undoubtedly did not allow them to coordinate their emotions, the biggest of them all continued singing, or rather, babbling the couplet.
Then I rushed at him, waved my fist as if it were a scythe and wanted to slice his neck, but before my fist reached its target I felt a hard blow on my nose, a glare and I fell to the ground half stunned, losing consciousness for a few moments. I only heard, as if in a dream, the brat who had hit me mumble a few sentences and walk away.
-He must be such a jerk, the guy!
-Come on, leave him alone, he'll have someone to cure him of the blow," commented the others when they saw Inés arrive, alarmed by my pitiful state.
When I regained full consciousness I had my head held by the arms of Inés, who had watched the scene but didn't even have time to warn me, thrown as I was against the big guy. I wiped the blood that gushed abundantly from my sore nose, and with an expression between mocking and compassionate, she commented:
-Poor Andrés, you've been marked on your first night of courtship.













CHAPTER THREE
Republican enviroment
The needs of the Spaniards were many and the resources of the Republic were diminished, to which we had to add the differences of criteria in such a varied provisional Government, since there were progressive ministers with good ideas, such as Fernando de los Ríos or Marcelino Domingo, who in half a year had more than twenty thousand schools built all over Spain, together with other professionals of politics, such as the chameleon-like Alejandro Lerroux; or intellectuals and good republicans, but with little sense of the perversity of politics, such as Manuel Azaña, and opportunists such as Miguel Maura, not to mention the unpredictable Largo Caballero, who took charge of the Labor portfolio, the one that issued the most decrees in the shortest time, together with that of Public Instruction.
The most pressing issue for the new government was the problem of land distribution. In a country where more than half of the population was still living, or rather it should be said that it was still living poorly, on the fruits of the land, it is understandable that the agrarian reform was the most pressing issue. But it was not an easy matter to solve, because the problem was unequal and, above all, more pressing in the south than in the rest of Spain. As I have already said, in our town, everyone had his piece of dry land, scarce but sufficient to provide bread and still had some left over to sell, and his piece of orchard, next to the Henares riverbank, good for beans and chickpeas, but not very favorable for tomatoes, being part of the shady area. Many did not even have titles to prove it, and their legality was ratified by custom. That was, precisely, one of the problems to carry out the reform, and that each family, by inheritance, had their lands scattered throughout the region, which meant a real headache to draw up a new cadastre.
The unions, anarchists, communists and socialists, gave the Government a truce, as long as they saw that they had the will and were willing. But even so, land occupations and attempts at subversion were inevitable in Andalusia, where the majority of the colonists and seasonal workers were convinced that what had to be done was an authentic social revolution, without expecting anything from a Government which, in their opinion, was as bourgeois as those of the deposed monarchy.
As if the pressing tasks of the new Government were not enough, there was the Catalan problem. Since the San Sebastian meeting to prepare the Popular Front and bring back the Republic, it had already been agreed to grant autonomy to Catalonia as soon as the Republic was proclaimed. For their part, the Basques, after the failure of Guernica in April, met in Estella to approve their statute, but their Catholic tradition and their attachment to local customs and privileges, created a lot of confusion about the powers they should have and their relationship with the Spanish State. What happened was that the Government backed down and it seemed inappropriate to grant autonomy statutes before having a new Constitution that would make its competences clear.
We had not yet digested the municipal elections that gave the republican political turn, when we were again involved in other elections, this time to elect constituent Courts, because the country needed a new republican Constitution, to be held a few days after the feast of San Juan, in which I was discalibrated and humiliated, but satisfied with my decision and courage to defend the honor of Inés, now that she was my girlfriend, although we did not make it official.
The difference with the previous elections was that this time the policy came to the pulpit. Caught almost by surprise in the municipal elections, in which the result was a foregone conclusion, with the re-election of Don Mariano, this time the Casino de Sigüenza made their presence felt in the town with more means and speeches. The first posters appeared with images of the candidates for the Cortes, among whom I did not recognize any of them, except the Count of Romanones himself, with a lively expression and a small, somewhat bald face, whose electoral fiefdom was those hardy Castilian lands, up to beyond Guadalajara, or what is the region of the Alcarria.
Don Gregorio was not silent this time, and in his Sunday sermon, in the presence of more than one prominent merchant and landowner of Sigüenza who had interests in the town, he warned of the dangers we were running if a new defeat of what he considered to be the "candidates of Christianity" was consummated. It is good that there are elections," he preached to us; "it is good that the people express themselves at the ballot box, but we must not go to the extreme of condemning ourselves by denying God and our traditions. Democracy cannot go that far! -He stressed this last point without disguising his animosity towards it. We Catholics, who are all Spaniards since the Apostle St. James evangelized us, have to support those who defend good customs, order and coexistence, because for some time now we are already seeing what this Republic is bringing". Nothing more needed to be said for most of my countrymen to know what to expect.
At the exit of the church, a group of well-dressed young men, usually sons of the landowners present and their most faithful peons, authentic mercenaries and vermin, armed with a loudspeaker connected to a car, papered with pamphlets of the politicians of their conservative candidacies, addressed the unsuspecting peasants in a more threatening than electoral tone:
-People of this town, if you want to have peace and not get into unnecessary controversies, vote for the right! If they go around telling you that the left will bring progress and all that nonsense, learn well the lesson of what they did in Madrid, which they will do no less in this town! Long live Christ the King! Long live Spain!
The "Tejero", visibly outraged, tried to moderate his language, but as soon as he approached the group he was greeted with a shove that nearly sent him to the ground.
-No pushing and better manners, this is not your town!
To which the youths replied aggressively:
-Shut up, you fool! We'll get you and your people!
The "Tejero" seemed confused, because he could not get into a fight with those young men at the door of the church, in the middle of the whole town. He seemed to ask the Valiente brothers, who had watched the scene with indignation, what to do in those circumstances. Juan, the eldest of the brothers, understood that he had to avoid such provocations.
-Let them go, Genaro, they only come to provoke us because they already know that they are losing them too!
Somewhat run down and mumbling a few insults to let off steam, the "Tejero" followed the sensible advice of the Valiente brothers, and walked away from the group, in the direction of the town.
That was the first time I understood the reasons for the fears of Don Gregorio, who was doing precisely nothing to avoid what he himself had advocated, but on the contrary, with those sermons he was only stirring up trouble and beginning to create the first serious disputes in the town over politics.
The youths launched still new and veiled threats, until Don Gregorio himself, leaving the church, begged them to shut up and return to Sigüenza, that they had already done their "work", as he had done his. The young people, reluctantly, picked up the loudspeaker, the pamphlets, put it all in the car and commenting among themselves, they again made it clear what their intentions were. "Here we don't vote for the communists or for that socialist trash, we are already here for pimps!". And they started the car making the rear wheels skid, which raised a great dust and frightened the poor kids who were admiring the brand new car.
What happened next, on the eve of the elections, was disconcerting. Politics was becoming an excuse to exacerbate personal differences. If one of my fellow countrymen showed interest in the left, his personal enemies, for whatever reason, whether it was a land dispute, a fence separating the houses and they could not agree on where the boundary was, a pig that escaped and entered someone else's corral, or for any trifle, he would join a conservative party, just to be contrary and not have to agree on something. Thus, two political camps were formed, which in reality had no relation whatsoever with the very parties they supported. Nevertheless, there was a natural tendency for small landowners to align themselves with the conservatives and tenant farmers with the progressives, but this was not always necessarily the case. Sometimes, even, ambiguity was resorted to while waiting for the result, in order to be with those who won and to avoid reprisals, which in view of the events, could become even violent.
Our people, who for centuries had lived in relative harmony, if we disregard the pettiness of rural life, were divided into two irreconcilable and increasingly bitter factions, incited by one or the other, as if what was really at stake was not the political sign of the new Spanish Constitution, but the fate of each house and each family, and therefore of the whole of Christendom, of which my countrymen believed themselves to be its defenders against the whole world.
In spite of the fact that in Spain the left wing won again, in the town the conservatives won by a comfortable margin, but we learned that there were a dozen radicals, half a dozen republicans and one liberal, who must have been the secretary, because there could not be another person in the town who voted for that candidacy, the rest were from the party of Romanones, who won his seat thanks to the votes of the peasants of Alcarria.
-And now, let's see what Constitution these politicians make! If they do not protect the rights of the worker, it will not last longer than the previous ones, but if it is too liberal it will be even less doubtful -commented Juan Valiente in the tavern to the group of socialists who had gathered there after the election-. In this country we leave Malaga and enter Malagón; we have no middle ground. We are like the weather, which may not take in a year that gives it to pour for weeks.
I went back to my sheep, but I no longer felt the slightest attachment to that work, so much so that my father, always absent and silent, as if he were already living in the other world, reprimanded me more than once because the animals came from the fields hungrier than they had ever left, and they did not stop bleating all night long. What happened was that I would go out to the field loaded with reading, from the books that were in the Casa del Pueblo and others that Inés brought me from the public library of Sigüenza. I would sit under an oak tree, a leafy walnut tree or in the coolness of the poplar groves and I would become enraptured in reading, without paying attention to the poor animals, which were more cared for by the good judgment of my dog, who seemed to take charge of the situation and became more judicious than usual. I remember that I learned by heart a good number of Samaniego's fables, because most of them were metaphors related to peasant life, and I understood their moral perfectly. As far as I was concerned, the one that stuck with me best was "The swain and the sheep", of which I remember the last two lines of its moral:
"How often results from a deception against the deceiver the greatest harm!"
I also tried to read "Los amantes de Teruel", a book recommended to me by Inés herself, perhaps because of the romantic title, but I was unable to read it straight through because it was in verse, let alone retain the strange name of its author in my memory.
As for our courtship, things at Inés's house were not such as to be happy. The father seemed more and more dazed by drink, in such a degree of alcoholism that a glass of wine was enough to make him come home stumbling. My house was not far from Inés', and at night, when the old man went to bed, most of the time helped by his children because he was unable to do it by himself, I would hear his drunken screams, incongruous and blasphemous, without cause or reason.
-I shit on the blessed ciborium and all the saints, and let the priest come if he wants to excommunicate me, I'll shit on him too if he wants to! -they shouted without rhyme or reason.
His poor wife, whose resigned suffering was already visible in the deep wrinkles of her face, tried uselessly to calm him down, because in reality there was no reason for those oaths, he simply said them to unburden himself of some loss at cards, or because the tavern keeper had reproached him for his bad behavior.
-I'm in charge here, and I shit on the Virgin, and that goes for the priest again, to see if he has what it takes and excommunicates me!"
If he had taken it out on Don Gregorio, it was because more than once he had reproached him for entering the church drunk and falling asleep, snoring at the solemn moment of the consecration. Perhaps for that reason, every time he got drunk and felt like blaspheming, it was inevitable that he would lie to the saints, to the Virgin, and that he would end up challenging the priest to excommunicate him.
Inés was suffering in silence from the progressive deterioration of her father's character, so it was not the right time to make our courtship official. As if that were not enough, harmony did not reign in my house either, and my father was constantly complaining about ailments that I am sure he did not suffer from. Sometimes it was rheumatism, sometimes it was his stomach. The nights were a constant sleepless night, because he got up every hour urgently to go to the toilet, sick and there was nothing that could contain his diarrhea or his bladder. My life was beginning to be a real torment, and it did not seem that things could not get better, but would certainly get worse, so I became really worried and thought about looking for a radical solution, and the sooner the better.
Reapers arrive
I don't know if it was the tasks of the imminent harvest, because the drought and the heat wave we were suffering had brought forward the cereal harvest, so life in the town returned to a certain normality. Those who had more land and could not do the harvest themselves, had to face the U.G.T. when it came to hiring the harvesting crews and adjusting them according to the new conditions decreed by the Government. But, in reality, the measure did not affect the village, because the few available reapers helped their relatives or neighbors and only the owners who were not from the village, and who owned the larger farms, had this problem. One Saturday, days before the opening of the new constituent Cortes, I accompanied the Valiente brothers to the market in Sigüenza, because they needed to replenish some labor tools for the imminent harvest.
When we reached the alameda, we could already feel the atmosphere created in the village by the numerous reaping crews coming mainly from Extremadura and Andalusia, lying in the shade of the leafy and centenary elm trees, without separating from their mowing tools, which on the other hand was all they had. These were summarized in a pair of sickles, with the tip protected with a cork, a knapsack where they were supposed to keep the sharpening stone, and whatever they needed for their personal hygiene, a bottle of aniseed, but with water from the spout of the public fountains, protected by a braided esparto grass cover and a cord to hang it from the shoulder; a thick cloth blanket, probably from Zamora, a coarse woven apron and the necessary straw hat, with some ribbon or ornament that was all the ostentation they could make of themselves. There were those of advanced age, with their skin tanned and wrinkled like prickly pears and burned by hundreds of jordans in the torrid sun of the Castilian fields, and adolescents, almost children, who could barely carry the harvesting equipment, who accompanied their parents. They stayed together, leaning on park benches or on the sidewalks of the main streets, attentive to the people, closing deals, adjusting prices and days, bushels or bushels, depending on the measure used or the region where the reapers came from; agreeing on accommodation, food or wine. On occasion, numerous groups would form around a local trade unionist, usually from the U.G.T. of the countryside, who would lecture the reapers on the new laws and their rights: "Not one real less than 11 pesetas, because if you give in, you will harm your comrades. The law is for everyone and it must be filled out equally, employers and workers."
But the harvesters, worried about finding a contract as soon as possible, doing their work and continuing north, where the wheat ripened later, were wary of this good advice: "And if they don't want to pay that wage, what do we do, go to the union and ask them to pay us what we've lost? I'm fine with the new laws, but in my land they are passed by the crotch, and here I don't think it's any less, because he who has the land is he who has the law!". "That was before, now, with the Republic, nobody is above the law."
The peasants left the circle fearful that the bosses might discriminate against them if they saw them there and, finally, the union members found themselves surrounded by idle children, who gawked at them without knowing what they were talking about.
-Go back to school, you're not doing anything here!
-Without today there is no school, you clueless!
The market was crowded and the harness and saddlery stalls spilled down the street to the exit of the city, towards the road to Madrid and the Prado de San Pedro, where the cattle market was located. Numerous peasants came from there, many of them carrying some newly acquired horses or their own, with saddlebags full of everything they were acquiring from the other end of the motley local market. To the suffocating heat of that July day was added the suffocation of the boilers with boiling oil, where churros and fritters were fried, which are rightly nicknamed "wind fritters", because they seemed to inflate instead of frying them. We bought two new sickles, shiny and greased, a strap for the youngest of the brothers and a cone of fritters, to kill hunger until we returned to the village. Some charlatan sold fountain pens that he deftly tested in a notebook full of scribbles, while with a Catalan accent, he offered his merchandise with a long verbiage that was difficult to follow:
Gold-tipped picks, the best manufactured in Europe. They do not braid, nor blunt, nor stain, nor dry. For gift or homework; for school or profession. The best birthday present; for the boy and the girl. Don't miss this opportunity, there won't be another one. And it is not worth what you think. Three pesetas? In the stores they are worth five, and in the capitals they are not bought for less than seven pesetas. But I'm here to throw the house down the drain, and I'll sell them for whatever they want to give me. Let's see, the gentleman with the beret: how much do you want to give for this precious gold-dot pen? Two pesetas? Yours, and for the same price I'll give you this blotter with the image of the Virgin of Montserrat, the most miraculous in the whole world... without making less of the local virgin! -And he kissed the blotter with devotion, thanking the Virgin of Montserrat for the sale, while he handed the pen to the buyer and quickly picked up the two pesetas, in case the peasant regretted it.
I bought for Agnes a medal of the Virgin, with costume jewelry ornaments, from a mature shopkeeper of agitated aspect, smeared with oils and paints to the point of disfiguring her worn face, who asked me who I wanted it for. I could not help answering her proudly as if it were a privilege:
-For my girlfriend, who do you want it to be for?
The gypsy woman looked me straight in the eye, held the medal as if she didn't want to sell it to me, and with some embarrassment said:
-Why don't you buy her a bracelet, I have fine, cheap ones, and the girls are happier than medals.
I was puzzled by the suggestion, especially by the mysteriousness of his gaze and his expression, almost anguished, as if he were selling me a poisoned potion with the medal.
-What's wrong with the medal?
-Not bad, but a bracelet is more appropriate for the bride.
-I'll keep the medal, and that's all there is to it.
The old woman gave it to me, but with a disturbing answer:
-But remember that I have warned you, and don't give it to him without having it blessed by the priest of your town!
The Valiente brothers called me from the other side of the street and I could not ask the gypsy for clarification of such a mysterious warning. Unfortunately, I would already know for myself! Two days later, on July 14, I went back down to Sigüenza, to see off the mayor and an "official" commission, who went down to Madrid so as not to miss the solemn opening of the new constituent Cortes.
Mowing time
The harvest began and the atmosphere would have been almost festive had it not been for the tragic events of Seville, which began on July 18, and which brought back to the town the unrest and the uncouth and distrustful atmosphere. "Thank God we don't have C.N.T. people here, it seems that they don't like order and want nothing more than to cause trouble," commented the peasants in the fields during the harvest. "If shooting and mischief don't fix things, then let them do it. If they don't agree, then let them say so, but in order and without making a fuss". "It is because of that anarchist doctor, Vallina or whatever his name is, who is going to get us to kill each other with the revolution. Haven't we already had enough revolution with the Republic? The deputies have only just begun and they are already asking for gold and silver! "This country is not yet ready for republics! Nor will it be until every family has its sustenance assured; its loaf of bread and its slaughter, and for that the main thing is order, as Don Gregorio expresses, with more arguments and eloquence than mine".
The truth was that things did not start well for the new Republic, not only because of the deaths, both of workers and civil guards, which there were a good number, but also because of the inability of the Government to control the situation, which was getting out of hand. There were already those who spoke of "civil war", and even the Army had to intervene, causing even more unnecessary deaths.
Our field was ready for mowing, but as every year the work would be done by my uncles, with the ineffective help of my deteriorated father. I had not learned to mow. For some reason my father was not interested in my learning it; it was enough for him that I took the sheep out to the field and did the four house chores with little skill and skill.
Those who did begin the work were the Valiente brothers, helped by Inés, who, dressed for the circumstances and wearing a large straw hat, gathered the armfuls of corn and loaded them onto the cart, pulled by an old and stubborn mule, which was driven by her father, sober but notoriously clumsy, to take them to the nearby threshing floor. From time to time, leaning on his hip, he would carry a jug of overheated water to the brothers to cool them off, because that month of July was extremely hot and dry.
To be close to it, he took the cattle to graze on the stubble left by the Valiente brothers after the harvest. Although there was little that the animals could take advantage of, they always found some tender thistle or a thicket of fresh grass.
-Why aren't you out mowing, Andrés? -Inés asked me, surprised.
-I don't know, my father doesn't want me to do that work; he has his reasons.
-It could be that you are not yet good enough for the sickle.
-That may be so, but if I put it on I'd do as well as anyone else.
One morning the young men from the Casino of Sigüenza appeared in the village again, who, idle and with nothing better to do, went around their parents' lands to see how the work was going and if the crews were complying with what had been agreed. They would drive along the roads between the fields, raising a great deal of dust, blowing their horns and attracting the attention of the farmers. When they reached the Valiente brothers, they stopped the car, got out and from the edge of the path began to comment on the events of Seville, almost shouting with the clear intention of provoking the brothers again.
-We don't have anarchists here, because the first one who shows up gets his ribs slapped with a belt! And the socialists, be careful, because we have them under surveillance. Inés was frightened and begged the brothers not to respond to the provocation.
-Be calm, sister, we know what they are coming for. When they get tired of braying, they'll go away with a fresh wind, to bother others, who have nothing better to do all summer.
But the young men did not give up their provocation and took a bottle of cognac out of the car, passed it from one to the other and, provocative, offered with gestures a drink to the father of the Valiente, because they already knew his fondness for drinking. The father seemed to be trembling, and was undecided, rubbing his sweaty hands on his underpants, exchanging meaningful glances with his sons, but fortunately he was sober enough to avoid provocation. For a moment I thought there was going to be a fight, because the brothers stopped mowing and remained tense and uneasy, pending the father's decision. When they saw that he refused the invitation and went back to the mowing chores, taking the cart to other piles of hay, they relaxed and threw the sickle again, but with such fury and indignation that the strokes fell with twice as much hay as usual.
The young men shrugged their shoulders, laughing among themselves and passing the bottle back and forth, and tired of the futility of their provocations, they got back in the car and continued on their way to their own farmland. I breathed a sigh of relief, because if there had been a fight I would have had no choice but to intervene to help the Valiente brothers, but I knew that those young men usually carried guns and a fight could end in death. Besides, if it came to blows, the Valiente brothers would not be willing to contemplate either. Perhaps that is why both did not go beyond provocations, but avoided fights.
-We should report these provocations to the Guardia Civi or one day we'll have a serious upset and they'll blame it on us," commented the youngest of the brothers uneasily.
-And who said that what they do is a crime? Everyone can say whatever they want, we could do the same. This is already a free country, that's why we won the elections!
-But what about the threats, what about the slippers? Are we not men to have to put up with the whims of these gentlemen?
-Let it go, Benjamin," Damian cut him off, "do you think the Civil Guard is here to defend three starving people? Leave them in their barracks, the day they leave there will be dead people in this town!
-Something will have to be done, otherwise these chicks will climb up our noses and make our lives impossible..." commented the eldest almost in a half-voice.
-What we should do is like in Seville, a good revolution and put an end once and for all to these señoritingos and their bad arts, which are the gangrene of the people! We have to extirpate the evil at its roots or it will not be cured! -the youngest commented angrily.
-And back to your revolutionary ideas, Benjamin! Don't we already have enough provocations for you to come back to them with those? They only needed to hear you say that you are with the anarchists so that we would have them here every day, but armed with guns! Go on, shut up and hold on, things will change when they least expect it!
I confess that I felt impotent and indignant, because I did not understand how people of such good judgment and honesty had to endure such mockery and threats. That is why, while herding the sheep, I kept thinking that if the events in Seville did not calm down and discontent spread, it would not be many months before we were also forced to stand up to so much arrogance in our land and we would also be involved in violence.
Inés' birthday
Inés turned 15 beautiful springs precisely on August 15, coinciding with the Virgin, so I bought her the medal, but I had not yet had it blessed, as the gypsy woman recommended. What happened was that I did not see in Don Gregorio the right disposition and disposition for that important work. He did not seem to me to be an honest priest, but rather partisan and even ill-intentioned. In my opinion, he did not look well for the people of the town, but was clearly on the side of the lords of Sigüenza. That is why I waited for another opportunity, in case I met another priest who was more sympathetic to me.
It did not happen, so I had to give him the medal even without having been blessed. It occurred to me that we could go down to the festivities of Sigüenza, which coincide with the Virgin and her patron saint, San Roque, where surely we would not lack the opportunity. But the Valiente brothers thought it convenient, as things were, not to go down to Sigüenza and avoid possible provocations.
So we arranged to meet again at the river pool, but in broad daylight, to bathe and spend the afternoon there, together with other boys and girls from the village, so as not to arouse suspicion.
We went down a few boys and girls, but once in the pool, most of them decided to go to Sigüenza, to enjoy their festivities and, finally, the two of us were left alone, as on the first night, with the surprise of the other boys and girls who interpreted it as expected.
-If I were you, Inés, I wouldn't trust Andrés, who looks like a priest but eats you with his eyes! 
-No, woman, it's better than bread! It's just that my brothers have forbidden me to go down to Sigüenza, in case there is trouble with the gentlemen of the Casino, who have taken it out on us.
Inés was disconsolate and sad, because it was the first year she missed the festivities of Sigüenza, which, being those of August, were loud and with much waste of fireworks, festivals, music in the alameda with the municipal band in the pavilion, bicycle races, sack races, cucañas in greased sticks with a ham for the winner, and without missing the processions of San Roque, especially the most crowded of all, called "Procession of the Rosary of the Lanterns", which left at dusk from the cathedral between songs and prayers, and with great solemnity toured the streets of the city, which seemed to fall silent to hear the litany of the rosary that was prayed along the way. To put a good end and leave the children breathless, there were the fireworks of the last night, with fire castles in the alameda. When they were lit, the entire alameda was enveloped in a cloud of dust and smoke from the rockets, with an intense and overwhelming smell of gunpowder, while rivers of white fire gushed from the rotating spouts of the castles, ending with a series of thunderous booms that made the ground shake and provoked the screaming of the scoundrels. When the fires died down, the people seemed to catch their breath and applauded enthusiastically.
Not a pin could fit in the alameda during that big week of popular festivities, and the girls, adorned with garlands and all kinds of headdresses, walked up and down the central promenade, provocative and cheerful, as if they were giving themselves license to do little mischief, but that they would confess without fail after the festivities. 
They were family reunion parties, and a good opportunity to show the people the latest advances in stalls along the wide avenue. In a small square, at the end of the promenade, the largest local merchant and distributor in our region of the first American automobiles that arrived in Spain, exhibited on a wooden platform a brand new car for the most fortunate of the town, no more than half a dozen, including the notary and the apothecary, and that he could hardly keep out of the reach of the mischief of the children.
I tried to comfort Inés as best I could:
-Another year, Inés, this situation won't last forever! - and I took out my little medal, wrapped in onion paper, handing it to her in exchange for a kiss of thanks. She gave it to me without waiting to open the little package, but when she saw the contents she was a bit puzzled.
-For me? -she asked, surprised, "But I'm not very devoted to anything, to be devoted to Our Lady!
The gypsy was right and the gift was not very successful. But Inés did not want to hurt my feelings and hung it on her without too much enthusiasm. Besides, it was obvious that it was a two-real costume jewel and, to top it off, unblessed.
We were not in the mood for love affairs, and we lay down in the meadow, parched by the torrid heat of that summer. When the sun went down, we started back to the village, meditative and tired.
-I'm afraid, Andrés! I'm afraid that something will happen to my brothers. Those gentlemen from Sigüenza don't have good intentions and I'm afraid this will end in some misfortune," Inés suddenly confessed to me, holding my hand tightly.
-Don't be pessimistic, your brothers and sisters have already made up their minds and will know what they have to do.
-I hope that this virgin that you have given me will hear you, that she will listen to you as much as I do. 

better it pays more attention to you than to me! -he said, pressing the modest image against his chest with his free hand.
I was not the right person to console her, because deep inside I had the same feeling, and the facts soon proved me right.


























CHAPTER FOUR
A cursed autumn
That October it seemed as if all the demons of the world had decided to celebrate their coven in our town, because so many events were unleashed in such a short time that the whole town was shocked and I think it did not recover until after the civil war.
Perhaps the trigger for the events was the tense atmosphere that was already being experienced throughout Spain. Conspiracies of all kinds were weighing down the fragile Republic. The monarchists, deeply irritated by the agrarian reform project, which had not even begun to be discussed in the Cortes, were shamelessly conspiring on the other side of the borders, in the seaside resort of Biarritz, which, due to France's condescension towards reactionary ideas at that time and its little appreciation for the young Spanish Republic, was allowed to be their sanctuary. There, a certain General Ponte, well related to other high anti-Republican military men, such as Generals Cavalcanti and Sanjurjo, was planning a military coup for the first months of 1932. With the reactionary military men were the Basque bankers and industrialists, such as the Oriol and Urquijo families, as well as others who dealt in everything that was profitable, such as the Majorcan millionaire, Juan March. The main families of the nobility, such as the Duke of Medinaceli, the largest landowner in the country, together with other "greats of Spain", such as the Dukes of Peñaranda, of Vistahermosa or of Almeria, also came to this city with the excuse of the casino and the elegant spas, together with other "greats of Spain", such as the Dukes of Peñaranda, of Vistahermosa or of Alba, the Marquises of La Romana, of Comillas and so many others who were determined not to allow the dreaded Agrarian Reform to go ahead, and they could think of no other way than to overthrow by force what the people had brought about through the ballot boxes.
It was already clear that the country, infected with violence and airs of insurrection, was divided into three irreconcilable camps: on the left the extremists of the C.N.T. and the F.A.I., on the right the defeated monarchists, united to the great fortunes of the country, and in the center, with less and less power to control the situation, a class of Spaniards who called themselves "republicans" and who, to tell the truth, were nothing but city people, modest civil servants, employees of a certain category and the majority of teachers; that is, people with good ideas but with little capacity to face the situation and for direct action, and even less to control those who did have it.
The radical leftists, anarchists and most of the communists, had already decided since the events of Seville, the strategy of revolutionary strikes, to force a radical change in the country to facilitate the three pending reforms, such as agrarian, religious and military, and there was no day that somewhere in the country did not declare one. There were two or three days of scuffles in the streets or in the factories, which resulted in the death of three or four workers and the occasional civil guard, but it was not uncommon for innocent people, such as women and children, to die violent deaths, which heated up the revolutionary atmosphere even more; another general strike, and back to square one.
In Catalonia the revolutionary strikes ended with the seizure of a town hall and the declaration of libertarian communism throughout the population, which brought chaos and confusion, but they did not last more than 12 or 24 hours, with the same disastrous results as always.
In this general atmosphere, the tension among the townspeople was inevitable, even though there were no serious reasons for confrontation, but it only made personal quarrels fester, as if harmony and good coexistence were no longer possible, and everyone had to be at odds with his neighbor, for whatever reason.
What most disturbed the population, already ignorant and suspicious of everything, were the activities of the Casa del Pueblo, increasingly political in nature, where a union cell of the U.G.T. of the countryside was consolidated, and there was no union leader who passed through Sigüenza who did not come to town and give a small speech to his acolytes. Juan Valiente had been elected president of the Casa del Pueblo and secretary general of the local agricultural cell of the U.G.T. There was talk of preparing a general strike in the countryside to force the Government to carry out the controversial Agrarian Reform, from which some substantial improvements were expected for the people themselves, since it had been demonstrated that the income of the peasants, working from sunrise to sunset, did not exceed two pesetas a day, was not more than two pesetas a day, largely due to the smallholdings and the technical deficiencies of the peasants, who worked the land with the same means as their great-great-grandparents, in addition to the abuses of the middlemen who bought their meager harvests.
But the evils that befell the town that autumn did not have much to do with politics, but with the rivalry that was being created between the Valiente family and a rich merchant from Seguntino, Mr. Román Beltrán, owner of one of the largest hunting estates in the region, which occupied three municipalities, including ours. But, above all, and this was the main cause, because of the personal bitterness of his son with the three Valiente brothers, who was simply called "Romanín" by his family and friends.
He was a spoiled young man, a late bloomer in a large family, but only of females, four in all, ranging in age from eighteen to twenty-something. Therefore, this Romanín had not yet turned seventeen, but that did not prevent him from enjoying everything he wanted, such as the automobile with which he went on his local raids, intimidating one and all, and rampaging through the town at the time that suited him.
A rainy and unpleasant September ended. Humid winds loaded with electricity came from the south and unloaded storm rain almost daily. The roads were muddy and the river was muddy and swollen. The leaves of the poplar trees and old elms were already yellowing, some of whose branches were broken by the violent gusts of wind. But this did not prevent the start of the wild boar season in the preserve owned by Don Román.
One afternoon Benjamín Valiente asked me to help him haul fodder to one of his sheepfolds, bordering Don Román's hunting ground. We rigged up the cart with the old and responsive mule, loaded it with fodder, and set off in the midst of a real blizzard, so much so that even the mule was reluctant. When we were getting close to the sheepfold, we saw on the road, where it became impracticable and the hunting ground began, four luxurious automobiles, some of them sheltered under a leafy walnut tree, and guarded by their drivers, whom we managed to see through the misty windows. They greeted us by engagement, for there is no worse enemy of the poor than a servant or a lackey of rich people, and we supposed that they were hunters, who, in spite of the bad weather, were already hunting wild boar. We trudged on our way and finally arrived at the sheepfold, where we could hear the restless bleating of the sheep. In spite of the wind, the rain did not come, and the temperature was not bad. We began our task of carrying the fodder and I threw the bales to Benjamin, who, with an iron pitchfork, placed them on the mangers or piled them in a loft where the sheep could not reach them. We spent a long time like this until there was no more fodder left in the wagon. It was still early, we could hear the happy song of the partridge among the bushes and the cawing of the crows, flying in groups over the oaks. I sat down to rest on the wagon's davit, while Benjamin finished placing all the fodder. And that's when tragedy struck.
An unfortunate accident
Suddenly we heard a gunshot that sounded almost as if the hunter was behind us, in the vicinity of the calving ground. We panicked, fearful that the hunters were not aware of our presence and that we might be wounded by a fortuitous shot.
-Get inside, Andrés," Benjamín suggested to me, "lest the hunters shoot you and we get into trouble, because when they go after wild boar they don't look where they're shooting!
I was frightened and followed his advice, but I was startled to hear a rustling of dry leaves, as if some beast had passed near the house, no doubt fleeing from the hunters. When I heard no more noises I paid no more attention to it and was happy for the animal, because it had managed to escape from its pursuers. I went into the calving pen and finished helping the Benjamin in his task of arranging the rest of the fodder. The wooden gate of the door was banging against the walls because of the wind, but we did not realize that one of those blows had not come from the wind, but from Don Román's son, who, armed with a hunting shotgun and panting from running, had entered suddenly and knocked on the door violently, as if he expected to find something he was looking for behind the door. When he saw us, his face was demudorized, he was as if paralyzed, standing with his usual arrogance in the middle of the door, not knowing what to say or how to react.
Benjamin was also startled and blushed violently, wielding the threatening pitchfork with which he had just placed the fodder. After a few tense moments, the Romanín shouted at him in an intemperate tone:
-Where is the bug?
-What bug? -replied the Benjamin, wielding the pitchfork more decisively.
-The one who has been hiding here, and who is carrying a shotgun blast, so he must be dead by now!
-No bug has entered here, and if it had, here it stays, this is not your property, so you're already leaving the way you came!
-Let's not start with the cockiness, tell me where he's gone, I'll finish him off and take him away, he comes from our preserve!
-I said that no animal has entered here except the sheep, and that you are already bothering them, so, plough and go to your hunting ground! -replied Benjamin, already with a threatening tone.
The Romanin was not used to being treated that way and seemed unwilling to be treated that way for the first time.
-You don't seem to have noticed that I have a shotgun and I'm light on my trigger, especially when it comes to starving people like you. Do as I tell you and you'll come out of this all right. Where's the bug, and I won't say it again!
The tension between the two young men grew and I didn't have the guts to intervene, my voice barely came out of my throat, tied in a knot by the tension of the moment. The Romanín wielded the shotgun threateningly and the Benjamín raised the pitchfork with the same attitude.
-You don't have the guts to pull the trigger! -I know you're looking for an excuse to make us miserable! But I warn you, if you shoot me, let it be a deadly shot, because with what's left of my breath I'll skewer you like a bundle, and you'll stay with me!
The Romanin was startled by the Benjamin's resolution, which showed that he was not as brave as he used to boast, always in a group and well armed with thugs and lackeys. He swallowed saliva, and made a gesture as if to reply, but such was his fear that he could not articulate a word. Then he stepped back without looking back, watching the movements of the Benjamin, who was threatening him with the gallows, so badly that he stepped on an old sickle, which became entangled in his feet and fell backwards, sticking him in the buttock, for the point had turned upwards when he stepped on it by the wooden handle. He let out a terrible cry of pain, dropped the shotgun and turned over the wound like an animal that had been shot, without ceasing to shriek in pain. Benjamin and I didn't know what to do, because we quickly understood how delicate the situation was, since no one would believe us if we told the story that it had been an accident.
-What do we do, Benjamin? -I asked in anguish.
-What do I know! He deserves it for being a bully, but we'll take her out!
He remained motionless and thoughtful for a few moments, then threw down the pitchfork he was still holding and, taking me by the arm, dragged me out of the nursery.
-Let's run and warn the drivers to take him away as soon as possible to be treated anywhere, and then we'll see!
We ran down the trail until we reached the cars without seeing any hunters, as apparently they did not hear the cries of pain of the Romanín because he must have moved away from the group chasing the wild boar. When we reached the cars, we shouted to them from the road itself:
-Hey, you, go herd your little master on this road, he's had an accident! But hurry, it could be serious!
Alarmed, the drivers started to run in the direction we had indicated and we did the same, but in the opposite direction, towards the village.
-Let's not waste time, because if they wake up, the car will take him quickly to the hospital in Sigüenza. You go to my house in search of my brothers, and I will wait for you hidden in the big rock, the one next to the mill. Tell them what has happened and let them tell me what I should do.
I ran as fast as I could and when I arrived in town I found out that Juan and Damián were meeting at the Casa del Pueblo with a group of U.G.T. members. The older brother punched the table and exclaimed almost inwardly:
-It had to happen; it was a law that it had to happen!
The companions did not dare to ask anything about what had happened and remained silent, because the eldest of the brothers was trying not to lose his temper, to reflect coldly and look for a solution to such a delicate problem. Nobody will believe him and they will put him in jail, if they don't beat him to death first! He has to leave town immediately, until we see what happens!
I told him where he was hiding and we hurried to his house. He picked up a backpack where he hastily put everything he saw edible, a wineskin, bundled everything with a thick blanket and without time to tie it properly, we ran to the mill. Leaving the village along the river path we saw one of the cars, apparently carrying the son of Don Roman, pass quickly along the road to Sigüenza, but they must not have alerted the hunters or did not know where they were, because we did not see any more movement of people or cars.
-I'm going with him, Juan! -I'm not going to leave him alone in those mountains running away from the Guardia Civil, he's very tender and won't know how to fend for himself!
-What are we going to do about it! -This is our family's misfortune, and we won't get away with it. The fewer of us there are left in the village, the less they will have to take revenge! Go away from the region; to Barcelona, where you won't lack work. Do not walk on the road but through the mountain. Don't go through the tunnel, they may catch you there. Watch out for the couple from Torralba, and when you get to Arcos, go around the town, where there is a large detachment of guards and they will already be warned. Walk at night and be wary of everyone, these are not the times to trust anyone. Once in Aragon, you can take a short bus, but no mail or fast ones, take the ones that go to Calatayud and Zaragoza, but better to travel by bus, which is more unnoticed -he handed him a small leather bag, worn and shiny from rubbing, and warned them again-: "Here, this is all the money that was in the house. We'll sell something to get by with, and beware of pickpockets and people who come to you with gifts and bargains, lest they swindle you out of what little you have!
When we arrived at the mill we did not see Benjamin at the expected place, which alarmed us, fearing the worst, as we saw two other cars pass quickly along the road to Sigüenza, without stopping for the moment in the village, so we deduced that the father was more concerned about his son's health than about revenge, what time would he have for that!
-Benjamin, Benjamin, it's us! the brothers called to him in a half-voice, fearful that someone was wandering around the mill and might discover them.
After a few anxious moments we heard a hissing sound coming from under the small bridge that crosses the mill canal, and the voice of the youngest of the brothers:
-I'm here, under the bridge!
-Come out without fear, Benjamin, there is no one here and you must hurry to escape from the village!
Frightened, tired and with his pants soaked, because he had had to get into the water, Benjamin appeared from among the brambles that bordered the canal.
-I'm sorry, Juan, but it wasn't my fault! He went into the barn with the shotgun and....
-I already know everything, but don't expect them to believe you. They'll say that you pricked him and there's no one who can get you out of jail. You will go with Damián, to Barcelona, until everything is cleared up, if it is cleared up, which I don't think it will be.
-And mother; what did mother say?
-She doesn't know yet, because she was with her father and Agnes in the garden picking beans! I'll tell her, and may it be God's will, because between one and the other we'll kill her to her heart's content!
Benjamin lowered his head in shame, as if he was to blame for what had happened, but the older man encouraged him with a strong pat on the shoulder:
-Don't regret anything, Benjamin, it's not your fault! This was already foreseen, and mother will understand, for she seems to have been born for nothing but suffering, as all of us poor people are born! But this is going to end, and soon, we can't stand humiliation and mockery for nothing, but we have to organize and fight with common sense.... Go on, go to Barcelona and show what you are worth! Do not underestimate the work they send you, you start small but with perseverance you can achieve a lot. Don't write until two or three months have passed, around Christmas time; so that mother can have some joy, which I am sure you will do well, because honest and hard-working people are wanted everywhere, and even more so in that good Catalan land... Let's go, go now and stop lamenting!
The three brothers looked at each other without another word, threw their blankets and backpacks over their shoulders and, after a few moments, set off in the direction of the bridge.
-Not that way; through the bush!
Suddenly, the Benjamin retraced his steps and hugged his older brother, and if it wasn't because he couldn't see his face he would have said he was crying. The older brother patted him on the back and could hardly hold back his tears. Finally, they separated and the two brothers set off along the side of the oak groves, each carrying part of the few belongings we had been able to collect from the house. Before separating, Juan took off his jacket and put it on his younger brother's shoulders. I did the same, and gave my coat to Damián.
-Tonight it will get cooler..." I told him so that he would accept it.
-Thank you, Andrés! .... Oh, and take good care of Inés. And if you love each other... I wouldn't mind if we were brothers-in-law!
I smiled at the witticism and nodded, somewhat embarrassed because I didn't know that the brothers were aware of our courtship.
They walked away with a more determined step and soon hid behind the oak trees. Juan watched them walk in silence, raising his arm a couple of times and gesturing for them to slow down. Afterwards, always in silence, we started our return to the village and Juan exchanged a meaningful look with me, as if he was apologizing for not speaking to me, but the emotion and sadness made him mute.
Fortunately the afternoon cleared, and in the twilight some rays of sunlight filtered through the dense clouds, illuminating the crests of the hills. When we returned to the village, as expected, there was already a couple of the Guardia Civil stationed at the door of the Valiente's house, and another was on its way to the Casa del Pueblo. The windows of the houses were ajar and the old women were scanning the street, without daring to be very visible. The whole town already knew what had happened, that Don Román's son was presumed dead, and word was spreading that the murderer would not be spared the garrotte.
Interrogation
Juan had the idea, in order to throw the guards off the scent, to go around the village and, protected by the darkness of that evening hour, to enter each of us from a different place, opposite to where the brothers had fled. I should go down the northern slope, as if I had just penned my own cattle, and he would go up the river path, as if coming from the orchards. As we approached, we saw several women rushing down the trail, waving their arms and shouting in anguish:
-Maria, Maria, the civilians are calling at your house!
Go and see what has happened!
Juan wanted to go ahead and warn the mother, but we barely had time, because the poor woman dropped everything she had in her hands and ran in panic towards the village.
-Poor woman, without ever having done wrong to anyone, and she has to suffer so much misery! -Juan commented indignantly.
Run, Andrés, and don't let yourself be seen in town! Go home and wait there to see what happens. They'll take me to the Sigüenza barracks, but hopefully they won't even question you.
I, incomprehensibly, dared to encourage him, when I was so frightened that if it had not been for his advice, I would not have known what to do in such a delicate situation:
-Courage, Juan, you'll see how everything will become clear and your brothers will be back in a week or two," I told him without much conviction.
He went up the path as planned, after picking up the hoe and the sack of beans that his mother had left behind in her hasty departure. I watched as he crossed the square, and without the slightest nervousness, with the tranquility of someone who is unaware of what had happened, he headed for home. I went down the street that leads to the Town Hall as planned and followed his steps at some distance, especially to find out what they would do with him. At the door of the Casa del Pueblo a group of peasants from the union had gathered, closely watched by two numbers of the Guardia Civil, who, wrapped in their capes, had their muskets resting on the ground, ready to have them in firing position in anticipation of any altercation. Upon seeing Juan Valiente appear, the union members approached him and warned him of the presence of the guards.
-I have already seen them. No provocations! If they take me to the barracks, you keep quiet, they'll let me go because they have nothing on me.
-But they'll beat you to a pulp, Juan! What if we declare a strike?
-But, what strike or what the hell? I told you to stay quiet! If I don't come back tonight, let the Sigüenza people know. But as I said, no provocations!
Before he could finish the couple approached the group and without much ado, pushing their way in, they asked him:
-Let's see, are you Benjamin Valiente?
-That's my little brother, I'm Juan Valiente.
-Come on ahead and join us!
-Am I in jail?
-You are under arrest!
-Me? What have I done, if I may ask?
-You know better than we do! And I warn you, don't be smart and don't be cocky, it's not the oven for buns!
-May I ask why I am being detained?
-I told you to go ahead without complaining, because we're the ones asking questions here!
The guard pushed him, hitting him in the buttocks with the butt of the musket. For a moment I was afraid that there would be carnage, because the union members, who were watching the interrogation, were about to attack the guard, but Juan made an energetic gesture and they calmed down.
-Be it, but with manners, I have not offended anyone or done anything wrong, as far as I know!
The guard did not answer and accompanied the older brother to the door of his house. There he met with the other couple, among whom there must have been a non-commissioned officer:
-Is this Benjamin Valiente?
-No, my sergeant, it's the brother, Juan Valiente!
-Where is the other brother, a Benjamin?
-I have not questioned him yet, my sergeant.
-You, where is your brother?
-What has he done? -asked Juan in turn, playing his role of ignoring what had happened.
-Where's your brother? And I'm not going to ask you again, because if he escapes justice, you'll get a few years for being an accessory after the fact!
-I don't know what he has done and I don't know where he is, but if I knew I wouldn't report him either, because I know my rights!
-Let's go to the barracks with him, we're not getting anything clean here! Let's clear out, everyone go home, nothing's going on here!
-My sergeant, there is another one missing, a certain Andrés Lafuente, a shepherd who accompanied the brother.
When I heard my name mentioned, my legs trembled and I thought I would fall down because I felt so lazy, but I don't know why, seeing the eldest of the Valiente being treated that way and enduring the humiliations with such dignity, I was infected by his courage and I felt solidarity, so I took courage, ready to share with him whatever could happen to him.
-I am Andrés Lafuente! What do you want from me? -I stepped forward with such determination that I was about to fall on the sergeant himself.
-Where is his little brother? -and I point to Juan with disdain.
I realized that if I lied it would make my situation worse, but I could not denounce the brothers either, so I quickly found an acceptable answer, crossing a meaningful look with Juan, who by his expression of alarm was afraid that I was going to denounce them, and I told them with such aplomb that they believed it:
-I don't know what happened after the accident, because I ran away scared, and I've been hiding in my nursery, up there, from where I just came down when I saw the commotion.
-We'll see if he's telling the truth or not!
I did not see Inés in the commotion, so I deduced that she was consoling her mother, who did not appear during that brief interrogation. I felt sorry for her, because this was going to completely change her life, already full of difficulties, and now she would have to face this new misfortune. I felt proud of myself and worthy of her affection, because I was in solidarity with her brothers and ready for "martyrdom", since there was no doubt that we would not get out of it without a beating, something that was almost a habit and from which, so far, no one who had gone through the same thing for whatever reason had escaped.
-Thank you, Andrés! -whispered the eldest of the brothers slyly to me. Someday I hope to be able to return this favor.... And I hope they don't hit you too hard, you're still too tender for beatings!
Almost pushing and shoving, because it was getting dark and the guards must have been in a hurry to resolve the matter, they took us to Sigüenza. Juan was handcuffed but they left my hands free, perhaps because of my gesture of volunteering. We were not taken to the barracks but to the local jail. As we entered the town, surrounded by the numbers of the Guardia Civil, the few people walking along the poorly lit streets seemed to enjoy the spectacle, and instead of moving away, they swarmed around us, almost blocking our way. Especially in what they call the Travesañas, or the old part of the city, where the poorest and most ragged people live. Undoubtedly they were well acquainted with the prison quarters, which were located in a small porticoed square, in the place where the markets were once held and where the City Hall itself was located when the city was still walled. The rooms were sordid, dark and moldy, with uneven ceilings and rough coffered ceilings. In the doorway stood guard a number that squared itself militarily as the sergeant passed by. Only one light bulb illuminated the square, whose black and dirty lampshade was swinging back and forth threatening to come off. Another bulb, from which hung a strip of fly swatter, sticky and blackened by the many insects already attached to it, hung in the center of the doorway, which gave off a strong smell of bleach or etching, in addition to the characteristic odor of old houses. As they entered the wide doorway, the commander appeared through a side door, because all the numbers stopped and the sergeant stepped forward, squaring himself, crossing his forearm at chest level:
-Aye, aye, Captain, we bring these two detainees in for questioning!
-Are you the Valiente brothers? -asked the captain.
-One, yes, sir, the other is a shepherd who was in the calving shed at the time of the attack.
I wanted to protest, but Juan gave me a sly nudge and I remained silent.
-Let them be booked, while I warn Don Roman!
They pushed us into a new room, even more gloomy than the previous one and no less dark, where an elderly man, hunched over, with a somber face and weather-beaten from his many tours of duty in the open, was seated on the other side of a table. He was uncovered, and showed a whitish, dandruffy bald head. Seeing us enter, he stood up and asked his companion, while the latter uncuffed Juan:
-Are these the ones who pricked the Beltran's boy?
-The older brother and the shepherd who accompanied him. Go and sign them in, the captain is coming.
He sat down again wearily, as if he was tired of his work, which he had to repeat constantly. After writing our names and address on a piece of cardboard, he put it on the table, put a black ink pad on it, and made us leave our fingerprints in the boxes marked for that purpose. He then checked for a few moments to see if they had been well printed, and as he seemed to be satisfied, he placed them on an old iron clipboard, at the same time ordering us to sit down and remain silent, waiting for the officer on duty to come.
-That young man is a bit of a skull, but that's no reason to prick him with a sickle, as he seems to be serious and half bleeding to death," commented the number, but I don't know whether in our favor or against us. The remark alarmed us, but Juan seemed to be satisfied that he had advised his brother to flee the village, because if the boy died the consequences would be even more serious for the Benjamín.
It was an anxious few minutes that we remained seated on that bench, leaning on the dirty whitewash of the wall, until we heard the sound of voices on the other side of the door leading to the street. Apparently the Romanín's father had just arrived and was talking, almost shouting, with the officer:
-They've already arrested that fiend!
-No sir, we have not caught the aggressor, but we have arrested a brother who will know where he is hiding!
Suddenly the door opened violently and Don Román appeared, red with anger, followed by the captain, as if he himself were going to carry out the interrogation. The officer pointed to Juan and Don Ramón stood in front of him and shouted:
-You bastard, where has your brother been hiding!
The officer was startled by Don Román's aggressive tone and tried to calm him down. Juan stared at him, with such restrained anger that the old provocateur was taken aback.
-Don Román, we'll interrogate him, and don't worry, he'll tell us everything he knows," commented the officer with a certain pacifying tone. Go on, Fermín, call the corporal, he knows how to handle these interrogations, and take him out of here so we don't have an altercation.
The old guard got up with the same tired gesture, handed the chips to the officer, and took the Juan out of the room, but I was left there, sitting there, terrified, as if it was nothing to do with me, which confused me.
-How is the boy? -asked the officer to the excited don Román.
-Bad, he has lost a lot of blood because the puncture has touched an artery, and, to make matters worse, the gallows couldn't be more poisoned, so we'll see if we can cure the infection and save his leg!
The officer looked confused and embarrassed, not knowing what to reply.
He coughed nervously and dared to suggest:
-The thing is... Don Román, the gallows have no trace of blood on them....
Don Roman turned to the officer as if he had suffered an electric shock, and with tense calm and feigned cordiality, he replied:
-Tomás, son, before you, your father was commander of this barracks and always served this city with loyalty. You are no worse than him and you are appreciated, and you still have many promotions.... You do not know these people as I know them, as I am always dealing with them. That... murderer must have had the cold blood to clean the gallows well before fleeing, leaving my son there to bleed to death. Besides, are you going to believe the word of a ragged man more than mine? -The guard coughed uneasily, understanding the hint, but he could not reply because Don Ramón continued with his veiled warnings. You handle the case as I order you to, or we'll give these people an exemplary punishment or in four days they'll be storming and setting fire to our houses.
-But, Don Román," the guard dared to remarked again, "the thing is that this one is from the U.G.T. union, and if we make a mistake we might provoke a revolution in the city, things are in the heat of the moment.
-That's precisely why, Tomás, now is the time to stand firm and not let them get away with any more outrages!
Suddenly he turned to me, looked at me puzzled, as if he had not seen me before, and asked the officer:
-What is Uncle Lafuente's son doing here?
-It seems that he was in the delivery room; and that is what I am trying to tell him, that he also swears it was an accident....
-I'll take care of this one, I'm in land deals with his father, and if we have a trial, he'll say what he has to say. Send him home and don't book him, he can't have done anything wrong.
-Whatever you order, Don Román!
To my relief, I was released and my file was torn up. As for Juan Valiente, as expected he was brutally beaten, but he did not give his brother away. Around midnight, a lawyer from the U.G.T. went to the prison asking for the application of "Habeas Corpus" for the detainee, and as they had no charges against him, somewhat bruised and above all humiliated, he was able to leave the prison. A group of socialist and U.G.T. militants were waiting for him in the square, and if they had not released him, they were ready to storm the premises. But, this time, the blood did not reach the river. 







































CHAPTER FIVE

An unexpected visit
What happened after the unfortunate accident took me so much by surprise that it took me a few days to react and get a clear idea of my new situation.
The night of the arrest I returned to my village, late at night, with the group of peasants of the U.G.T. One of the comrades came to pick us up with a somewhat rickety buggy, which was used to take people down to the market in Sigüenza. It was pulled by a sturdy horse with thick ankles, uncommon in the area and must have been of some Asturian or Galician breed. It was a docile animal with a firm and uniform gait, capable of dragging the cart up the road with a dozen people and their purchases as if nothing had happened. In a manner of speaking, it was the "cab" of the village and if it was not very comfortable, in situations like that, when we were all worn out for one reason or another, it was a relief to be able to travel in it. I was so tired that as soon as I sat down and could lean on one of my companions, I felt drowsy, but I could still hear some of the conversations between the peasants and the eldest of the Valiente.
-Every day that passes things are getting worse. In the province of Toledo lands are already being occupied and General Sanjurjo himself has taken charge of the repression, killing five and leaving I don't know how many wounded. We have declared a general strike in the province of Salamanca, because in Palacios Rubios two more have fallen in a peaceful demonstration. These fascists do not stop provoking the workers, as if they wanted a big one to break out?
That was the last I heard until we reached the village.
My father was awake, and, as always, glued to the stove, like a soul already in purgatory, and he was stoking the fire again and again, which was a sign that he was thinking of telling me something, but given his character it would take him some time to say it. Finally, without taking his eyes off the fire, he asked me:
-Where have you been all day?
-Haven't you heard about Don Roman's boy's accident?
-And what did you have to do there? -he asked again, but in a sour and intemperate tone.
-I was helping the Benjamin, like other times.
There was a deadly silence. He struck the embers of the hearth again violently, raising a dusting of ashes and burning embers.
-Go to sleep, you're leaving town tomorrow!
-But, Father, what do you mean I'm leaving town?
-No more nagging, and off to bed, you say!
I did as he ordered and retired to my room, while I continued to stoke the embers of the stove. I had no idea of the meaning of those words. My father could not force me to leave the village, nor did we have any immediate family outside the village or anywhere I could go. I stretched out on my bunk, opened the window and watched the moonlight shine through the faint clouds, lightened by the humidity, as they rushed past, pushed by the wind. I was so distressed and confused that I did not know what I should focus my attention on; whether on my misfortune or on that of Inés, who by that time would be receiving Juan, who would update him on the situation of his two escaped brothers. I realized that no matter how many evils awaited me, they were not as many as those awaiting her, which made me not worry about my fate. In spite of the distressing situation, the weariness of the day's emotions overcame me and I fell sound asleep when our rooster could already be heard in the barnyard, and the cheerful morning song of the blackbirds in the fig tree. One can only think of a
"How little did I know how closely my future was related to that resigned expression!
The next morning I was awakened by the sound of voices in the great room of the house, and if I was startled it was because it was unusual for anyone to visit us, and even less so at that time of the morning. Half asleep and still resentful from the previous day's agitation, I tried to sit up and get an idea of what might be going on and who that unexpected visitor might be. I was still dressed, just as I had arrived the night before, because I was so married and dazed that I didn't even feel like undressing. My shirt stuck to my body and my eyes felt as if they were full of dirt, and the first thing I did was to go down to the patio through the back door and put my head all the way into a bucket of cold water that I brought up from the well. Already more alert, I approached the window that overlooked the big room and, to my surprise, I saw there, still standing with his overcoat on, the town's parish priest, Don Gregorio, who was talking or rather monologuing with my father, because the latter hardly answered and just nodded his head. He was not wearing his beret, something unusual for him, perhaps out of respect for the priest, and because of his deep bald head he looked even older than I thought he was. There was a brief silence and finally my father called me, thinking I was still in my room.
-Get up, Andrés, Don Gregorio is here and he has to talk to you!
I cleaned myself up as best I could and appeared through the corral door leading to the great hall, which surprised those present.
-What were you doing in the corral? Come on, sit down, Don Gregorio has to talk to you!
I needed to eat something solid, because my stomach was empty and my guts were already twisting, but the authoritarian tone with which he ordered me to sit down left no doubt of the urgency of the case. Don Gregorio didn't seem to know where to begin, and he stirred as he usually did in the pulpit before beginning his sermon. He took two strides up and down the room, turned, and, at last, said to me without addressing me directly, but to my father, who was as attentive as I was to his words:
-It's God's will that you go for a cure, as I told you one day in the field!
I was startled because I began to understand that some plot was being hatched to decide on my future, and everything suggested that they were plotting to put me in the seminary of Sigüenza. My intuition was right.
-I'm putting you in the seminary, so you can become a good man and not go around with agitators! -My father corroborated without giving the priest time to continue with his explanations and clarify why, all of a sudden, I had been chosen by God for the priesthood.
-Look, Andrés, if you hang around with those friends, you'll end up getting into some trouble yourself! God, who sees all things, and the Holy Spirit, who knows all things, have enlightened your father's understanding and decided that what suits you best is an ecclesiastical career, you're still young enough for it, and, from what I've been told, you're already a good reader and know the four rules, so we've got a lot to gain.
I wanted to reply and defend myself, flatly refusing his demands, but my father's intransigence prevented me from doing so.
-It's all settled, so don't complain, and you'll do as you're told, because you're not young enough to fend for yourself!
Even knowing that it would provoke his anger, for my father would not accept anyone contradicting him, I responded almost indignantly:
-That's for me to decide, Father! You don't become a priest just like that, just like that, I say!
As expected, my father's expression became congested with anger, he made a gesture as if he wanted to slap me for my lack of respect, but Don Gregorio intervened in time.
-Look, son, you have no choice, your father has sold the land and the cattle to Don Román, the merchant of Sigüenza... He has done it for your own good, so that you will not lack anything at the seminary. These are the designs of God and, as a good son and Christian, you have the duty and obligation to respect and accept the will of your father.
I was bewildered, disarmed and deeply distressed. What made me most indignant was my own father's lack of confidence in not consulting me about these sales. It was obvious that I had no way out, since at sixteen years of age and without my own property, I would have to get by working as a laborer, but given my age and my little experience, I would always be the last to be hired. For a moment I thought about running away, going in search of the Valiente brothers and going to Barcelona myself, but they would already be far away and I would not know how to find them. It was obvious that I alone, without means and without having left, as they say, my village in my entire life, could not undertake such an adventure. Before I came out of my anguished thoughts, Don Gregorio once again informed me of my destiny.
-Faith is something that is acquired with time, study and devotion. We have all gone through this situation and have overcome it with the help of God and the Holy Spirit. Then you will be glad to have been "chosen" for such a noble task as saving souls and forgiving sins.
Suddenly, without thinking about it or pondering the consequences, I almost shouted at the priest:
-And who saves mine! I don't want to be a priest; I'll be whatever I have to be, but a priest, never!
My father got up with such unaccustomed energy that he overturned the table, knocking over two glasses, which shattered, and a plate with some slices of chorizo.
-I'm going to the Seminary, and that's all there is to it! -And when you cross that door, don't come back to this house any more, for I disown a son who doesn't even respect God himself!
Don Gregorio intervened again, trying to calm my father, whose excitement was already causing him to choke and we feared he might have an attack.
-Don't argue with your father's will and go up to your room, and I'll calm him down as best I can!
I did what the priest told me to do, because my father was really about to suffocate from suffocation and I didn't want to feel responsible if something serious happened to him. It was obvious that I was trapped and there was no point in refusing fate. Running away was pointless and obeying was like being led straight to the slaughterhouse. As I climbed the stairs I tried to get an idea of what awaited me, but I could only see myself, dressed as a seminarian, rolling up my sleeves, running around behind a soccer ball, just as I had seen them on some occasion, but nothing made me think about the real significance of that decision and its relation to the Church and its functions.
I didn't know what to pick up or what I would need, because, in reality, I had nothing more than what I was wearing and for the seminar I would no longer need my Sunday clothes. Then the image of Agnes came to my mind, as if it were a slap in the face. I sat disconsolate on the bed and, for the first time in my life, I cried like a child, not so much anguished about ending our courtship, but because I would have to break my promise and it would be terrible news for the poor girl, already troubled enough by the circumstances. Still sobbing, I felt Don Gregorio put his hand on my shoulder and tried to console me:
-All of us who serve God have gone through this, Andrés! -said the priest who had managed to calm my father down and reach a less radical agreement. Accept the facts, God will know why He wants it this way. Maybe He expects great things from you, because the ecclesiastical career has many possibilities. Who's to say you won't become a cardinal! Come on, stop crying like a little boy, you're already a good boy, entering the seminary for these times is the best thing a boy like you can do, how bad times are for country jobs and even less so for a shepherd! I have agreed with your father that I will come for you on Sunday, after vespers. Things can't be done so hastily. So you'll have time to talk to each other and settle things, because you don't want to start your career by confronting your father.
-What will become of him? -I asked in turn, almost resigned.
-If he is not good enough, he will come to the asylum with the little nuns, who will take good care of him there; but if he is good enough, he will stay at home.
I understood that there was no point in raising any more objections about my lack of a religious vocation. My father had decided to take me away from the Valiente brothers and this was the best way he could think of to do it. There was no other reason. But his decision was also influenced by Don Román himself as well as by Don Gregorio. Between all of them they were determined to make me a priest, when in the country a real anticlerical fury was unleashed. It was not, of course, a very wise or opportune decision.
When we went down to the living room, my father seemed calm, busy picking up the remains of the glasses and the broken plate and seemed oblivious to our presence.
-Well, Cipriano, the boy seems to be convinced that there can be no unpleasantness, that there can be no mischief or violence in the house of a future priest," my father seemed satisfied, but he didn't reply and continued with his cleaning work. As I said, Cipriano, and with God, I have other obligations to fulfill. On Sunday the boy will be ready and that's it. And don't be upset, and I'm not just saying that for the boy, who will fulfill his obligation, but for you, because you still have to see the young man be ordained a priest!
I listened to that conversation totally stunned, as if they were not talking about me, but I was not willing to have any more altercations with my old father, so I assumed the situation with docility and made it clear, nodding mechanically, that I agreed with what the priest said. When I left the house, Don Gregorio still exchanged a meaningful look with my father, as if he was not sure that peace would reign after he left, so he thought it necessary to admonish me again, just to ease his conscience:
-Come on, be good, Andresito, you'll see how you'll end up liking the seminary!
I didn't want to be alone with my father and came up with the only excuse to leave the house with his permission.
-I'm going to the cemetery; to mother's grave!
He did not answer, but gave me to understand that he approved.
I left the house almost like a furtive and when I found myself in the street, I felt with relief the freshness of the morning, because my forehead was burning and I felt as if I had been transposed by all those emotions and setbacks. I reacted and set off on the road to the cemetery, following the path up the hillside as fast as I could, because I was terrified at the thought of meeting Agnes and having to explain myself to her in the pitiful state I was in. I needed time to get used to the idea of my new situation and the best thing to do was to leave the village, go uphill, and not stop until I ran out of strength. I arrived at the cemetery when a fine autumn drizzle was beginning to fall, wetting the musty stones of the wall, thick with wild brambles, tough elderberry bushes, with a bitter smell, and a poplar determined to grow against the wall, forcing the ashlars to make room for it, tilting them until the tallest ones fell by dint of tenacity and patience. The door creaked, covered with rust and bushes, and I made my way through the other tombs, opened without much order or a determined plan, until I could reach the niche where my mother lay, because we could not pay for an above-ground tomb for her. I did not know what to do or how to address her, for it is not easy to know how to speak to the dead, but I thought of something to comfort her, in case, as Don Gregorio suggested to me one day, she was still there, in spirit, but she could hear me:
-Maybe you are happy that I am a priest.... -I said somewhat embarrassed. Then I reflected for a few moments before continuing, and I think that was the first time that I assumed my destiny with true resignation and even with purpose. Because if you were alive, maybe you would prefer me to marry to give you some grandchildren, but being already dead, what do you care about grandchildren! Maybe now I'll do you more good by becoming a priest....
That simple reflection made a lot of sense to me and comforted me. It was as if my poor mother, from her niche, had given me her blessing and encouraged me to pursue an ecclesiastical career, because when I left the cemetery I felt different, calmer and comforted. So much so that instead of continuing with my plan to go up the hill, I returned to the village ready to meet with Inés and tell her the news as soon as possible, lest she should hear it from other people, because in the village the news spread so fast that others knew it before the interested parties themselves.
The farewell
The town was still in turmoil because of the events of the previous day and when people saw me passing by, they were surprised that I was not in jail or in the dungeon. In spite of their curiosity, which modified them, they did not dare to ask me the reason and they limited themselves to greet me with more expressiveness and asperity than usual:
-With God, Andresito, I'm glad to see you well!
They would greet me trying to get something out of me without daring to ask, but I did not reply and just returned the greeting, aware of leaving them angry for not continuing the conversation.
I didn't know whether to go directly to Inés' house or to go first to the Casa del Pueblo, to find out from her older brother how things were going at home. I opted for this second alternative, but the place was closed. I went down the river path to see if she was by the orchards, but she wasn't there either. Not even other members of his family were there, as was usual at that time when there were still vegetables and legumes to be picked. Undecided, I continued to the river, went down the path that leads to the bend and when I got there I heard some girls singing, who were probably washing clothes in that part of the river. I thought that perhaps Inés might also be in the group and I walked through the brambles to the meadow that brought back such painful memories of that occasion. When they saw me, the group of girls washing clothes were startled, as if I were an apparition, because they were as surprised as the rest of the town to see me free after they had taken me to Sigüenza. But Inés was not in the group.
-Don't be afraid, I'm not a ghost!
-But, Andrés, weren't you imprisoned in Sigüenza because of Don Román's son?
-I was, but I'm not anymore, or don't you see? What a witty question! And Ines, isn't she with you?
-There she is, hanging out clothes, she'll be happy to see you free, because she was wilting as if she were about to die. But, son, between you and her brothers, what a lot of trouble poor Inés is going through!
I felt the blood rush to my head and my legs trembled until they almost buckled, because I did not expect to meet her so suddenly and in that place, but Inés appeared carrying an empty basket on her hip. When she saw me, she dropped the basket and out of modesty towards the other girls who were watching the scene, I didn't know how to react, but I think she would have hugged me if we had been alone.
-Andrés, thank heaven I see you!
-Well, here I am, I was released at the same time as your brother, but they didn't even touch me!
-I knew it, but not seeing you... what do I know, I've come to think so many bad things... We can't have any more misfortunes together! Come, let's go somewhere else, but don't tell me anything about what happened, I've had enough at home... I'm so happy to see you well and free!
How could I, in those circumstances, tell Inés the reason why she was free? How could I add more pain to the pain she was already suffering? And if I didn't, how could I give her false hope and wait for her to assume it from others, which is what I feared most? There was no other choice but to end that painful situation as soon as possible and let it be what God wanted it to be! I was not to blame for what was happening, God knew that I loved that girl and I would never have accepted to give her up to serve Him. I felt cruel and merciless, because I thought that no human being with noble and good feelings would be able to break the word of commitment given to a woman, but something told me that I had to do it and the sooner the better.
-Inés, wait, don't get your hopes up!..." she was petrified and looked at me as if I were a little dog being beaten, and yet she still had a fondness for the one who beat her, and waited for me to explain, as if her life depended on it. It's not easy what I have to tell you!... God knows well, and he must know better than anyone else, that it is not my wish... but it cannot go on....
-Why, Andrés? -he dared to ask, almost on the verge of tears.
-Well, because... damn it, because they're putting me in the priesthood!
Inés put her hands to her mouth with a gesture of astonishment. She remained motionless for a few moments, staring at me as if I had turned into a demon, because instead of doing it with the tenderness of a few moments ago, now she did it with contained rage, which grew until, suddenly, she tore off the medal I had given her for her birthday and threw it in my face. I did not feel the pain of the small metal hitting against my forehead, but the unexpectedly hateful phrase he directed at me as he did so:
-Take your virgin and marry her!
She turned angrily, picked up the laundry basket and walked over to the group of astonished girls who had watched the whole scene holding their breath.
-When a man breaks his word to a woman he is not a man and it is not worth thinking about him anymore, because there are plenty of young men in town, and with manliness, not like him! He should have already foreseen it when he gave me the medal, as he knows I don't believe in that kind of nonsense!
The girls, overwhelmed and frightened, didn't dare to refuse. I was deeply ashamed, but most of all bewildered by Agnes' violent reaction. I had hoped that we could have had a conversation and I would have explained to her that I would remain in the seminary as long as necessary until I could free myself from my father's tutelage. Then I would leave him to marry her, if that was what I wished, but she did not give me the opportunity. Deeply grieved, I picked up the medal from the floor, contemplated it for a few moments wondering why I did not choose the bracelet, as the gypsy suggested, but I could not find the answer. Convinced that it was not worth explaining and that she would not even listen to me, I left Inés with the other girls and returned to the village, with the painful feeling that I had lost everything that tied me to that place. From that moment on they could do with me as they saw fit, I had no interest in life and no will.
The following Sunday, as planned, I had my things in an old cardboard suitcase, secured with an esparto rope, and I was waiting at the door of the house for the arrival of Don Gregorio, with whom I would enter the seminary of Sigüenza that same day. He felt nothing special, neither sorrow nor joy. I followed with my eyes the groups of crows fluttering over the tops of the tall poplars on the banks of the Henares River, until they landed on their already bare branches. Then I remembered those verses by Machado that Inés had read to us in the Casa del Pueblo, and as I reviewed them in my mind I realized that an uncontrolled tear was running down my cheek. Then the priest arrived, I rubbed the furtive tear with the back of my jacket sleeve, carried the suitcase over my shoulder and set out on the road to what would be my new destination. Behind me was the only happy time of my life and, for that reason, I have told it as it was, because what came after was nothing but unbridled hatred, violence and fratricidal death.
The income
I don't think that during the whole journey Don Gregorio and I did not exchange more than two or three words, and all of them about the weather or the state of the countryside. I had to stop from time to time to change the heavy suitcase on my shoulder, but the priest did not slow down. The reality was that, far from my father's presence, it was clear what his interest in me had been. It was as if he had been given an assignment with which he was not very satisfied, and he was in a hurry to get rid of me and consider his mission accomplished. The truth was that my admission to the seminary was the result of an economic transaction, since Don Román had been after our land, which bordered his own, and to convince my father they could think of no better solution than to include me in the deal. They arranged everything so that part of the proceeds of the sale would go to the bishopric, for my expenses, and the other to the asylum, where my poor father would soon be admitted. So everything was foreseen beforehand, and I am not saying that Don Gregorio did not take some commission in this transaction, because, judging by his sudden disinterest in me, he did not exactly see me as a candidate for beatification.
The truth was that in rural Spain we were legions of seminarians of convenience, who arrived at the seminaries after some of these shameful transactions, which did not help to improve the reputation of lustful and greedy for goods that weighed on the Catholic Church of that time in our country.
We arrived in Sigüenza when the alameda was already almost deserted, and because it was Sunday, the usual verbena had not been over for long, with dance music animated by the municipal orchestra. Only a few young men, somewhat tipsy and vociferous, went around singing badly intoned couplets and with such foul language that the priest urged me to hurry my pace, because that was not the best example for a candidate for chastity.
When we arrived at the big door of the seminary we found it closed. Don Gregorio gave a couple of knocks, fearing no doubt that because of the hour they could not take care of me and I would have to return to town without being able to formalize my admission. He smacked his lips and fidgeted nervously as he looked in the direction of the upper windows, where there was no longer any glimmer of electric light, since the seminarians had no doubt already gone to their dormitories. At last we heard the lock of the door creak, a sharp knock as if the door jamb was jammed, and the doorman opened it for us; an elderly man, covered with a shabby, disheveled-looking smock, with thick shell glasses repaired with glue on one of the sideburns. He wore a black beret, pulled down to his ears, making his general appearance truly grotesque.
-Come in, Don Gregorio, I was already falling asleep thinking you wouldn't come! Is this Uncle Lafuente's waiter?
-The same one! No, I'm not going in, it's already late, so go on, settle him today anyway, tomorrow we'll see what's going to be done with him!
-Come in, boy, you heard Don Gregorio! -and he moved away, leaving the door free, which he occupied completely with his enormous corpulence. I entered the hallway that was completely dark when the doorman closed, with a resounding slam, the door swing. That slamming door felt as if they had just laid the slab of my grave, because only that darkness was missing to make the image almost real.
-Wait for me to turn it on, I won't turn on the light because I already know it by heart!
We entered a long corridor, with large windows overlooking a courtyard, of which we could only see a streetlight at the other end, on the wall of another building and the glow of another, which must have been located on the wall of the corridor. In spite of the gloom I could see that it was a simple earthen esplanade, with the occasional stone bench, which surely served as a playground for the seminarians.
-I said to him, "Get out of here, boy, you heard the priest; tonight you'll make yourself comfortable in my room because we're not going to bother anyone, at this hour everyone's all tucked up.
We entered what must have been his modest dwelling, whose decoration was limited to a small table with a table stretched against one of the windows overlooking the street, covered with a rubber mat, two chairs with cushions deformed by use, a crude crucifix but of considerable size, some unframed religious prints and a wooden and bulrush couch, on which rested two embroidered cushions, one with the Sacred Heart and the other with the Dove of the Trinity.
-Sit here, I'll get you a blanket! Are you hungry, boy?
I shook my head, because the only thing I wanted was to get rid of the heavy suitcase and lie down on that couch, which by its size I wondered where I would put my legs. The porter went out in search of the blanket and I curled up as best I could on such a meager bed, reluctant to rest my head on such a sacred pillow, so I exchanged it for that of the Holy Spirit. When the porter returned he did nothing but cover me with the blanket, but I was no longer aware of it, for I had fallen asleep.




























CHAPTER SIX
The "Article 26"
I only had to enter the seminar and the controversial "Article 26" of the new Spanish Constitution was approved. It was such a coincidence that it seemed as if I had been responsible for it. In fact, on October 12, 1931, in the early hours of the morning, that is, at night and with malice aforethought, the Constituent Courts voted to suppress the budget of the clergy, the expulsion of orders that did not abide by the jurisdiction of the State, religious education and other provisions, such as the removal of crucifixes from public schools, which marked the beginning of hostilities between the Church and the Republic. At that time I was not yet out of my initial shock, and I let myself go with the docility of a lamb. My first days in the seminary passed without my noticing it, because I was subjected to an almost military discipline, which forced me to go from one place to another without having time to assimilate what I was ordered. Everything was strict rules, unquestionable schedules, obligatory precepts and almost continuous prayers. We prayed before breakfast, for the Angelus, before lunch, they read us passages from the New Testament during lunch, vespers and before bedtime, when we did not have a rosary, novena or spiritual exercises. They gave me my seminarian trousseau and kept my clothes, including those I wore for the feast of St. John, which reminded me that a few months earlier I had been a boy in love and in love, full of healthy ardor and zest for life, with no other concern than playing my flute to the sheep and waiting for the moment to prove my manhood, creating a family, which would not be very different from how mine had been. When I looked at myself in the mirror, mourning up to my ankles and with that red sash around my waist, I realized that they had taken my manhood and, at the same time, my dignity. Undoubtedly that image reflected in the mirror had nothing to do with me, as if religion were precisely that, what is on the other side of the mirror, something unreal, from a spectral and inhuman world. Perhaps Inés was right and the priests were not real men, I could feel it for myself when I saw in the mirror that denial of the very image of life, as was the dismal habit of a seminarian.
Only the nonchalance of my new companions, some of whom became great friends, distracted me from my bitter thoughts.
-Na, Andrés, you'll be out of that mood in a week! We all enter just as scared, it seems that they do it on purpose to take away the mood, but then you get used to the atmosphere and it's not so bad... The only bad thing is the binge of prayers, but you get used to that too, that in the end you repeat them without even realizing that you are praying. I think of my girlfriend while I pray the rosary, so you see if you get used to the prayers!
-But, do you have a girlfriend?
-Of course, but in the village! We keep it a secret, for when he gets out of this "reformatory".
I smiled at the occurrence, but I did not want to confide my amorous misadventures to him, because the memory was still bleeding, and besides, it was something already concluded. Finally I could see that most of the inmates were convinced that they would not be ordained priests, but would leave the seminary as soon as circumstances permitted. So conversations about girlfriends, girls or even sexual adventures with prostitutes alternated with comments on Latin, theology or ancient philosophy, which formed the syllabus of the first year of studies.
It was precisely the initial studies that managed to make me forget my worries and the nostalgia of the people, even in some particularly intense moments, I came to forget about Agnes herself, because when I was in front of the first Latin text I understood that that strange language, wrongly called dead, contained more wonders and intellectual pleasures than the timorous religious teachers wanted us to see. The same thing would happen to me when my turn came to ancient Greek, thanks to which I would be able to read Homer and Aristotle in their own language.
But to return to the situation created after the approval of the controversial "Article 26", when on the morning of October 13 the news reached the seminary, word immediately spread that the bishopric would find it necessary to close it and send the seminarians back to their homes. I was alarmed because I could not return to the village empty-handed again, with no land to till and no cattle to care for, and my relations with my elderly father had reached such a point of acrimony that it would be painful for me to share my life with him again.
For the first time I wished that the Church would get its way and repeal that controversial article, which would at least allow me to take refuge in that house until I could fend for myself. For that reason, without realizing the significance of my opinions, I dared to censure the Cortes, and to align myself with the official and belligerent position of the Catholic Church itself.
What happened was that after a few days, and realizing the importance of all that I could learn there and how idle my life would have been in the village, I think I came to the conclusion that the change was positive, and that, after all, I was still young enough to allow myself to spend a few years in training, and later decide on what I was most interested in doing with my life. On the other hand, I soon became accustomed to order and discipline, for I was myself an orderly person of good habits. The food was not bad, although not very varied; the dormitories were neat, as well as the rest of the dependencies and our personal hygiene was one of their major concerns, among young men that we bathed half a dozen times a year, in the river and for the good weather, the rest of the year we splashed in the jars and sinks of the houses, poorly conditioned, rubbing our ears with esparto scouring pads and soda soaps, which tore your skin to pieces. So, on the whole, the change was positive and it was natural for me to defend it.
But the article not only altered the life of the seminary but that of the whole country, because the morning after its approval, Alcalá Zamora and Maura presented their resignation, in protest for what they considered an aggression against the Catholic Church, which was quite serious coming from liberal and republican people. In the evening we had a new president, Azaña, capable of convincing the Chamber with his devastating speeches, but hated by most of the conservative groups and especially by the Army and the Church itself, since he himself had been the one to present the final draft of the controversial law. Some deputies, such as the agrarian, Basque and Navarre deputies, did not vote for it, because they resigned from their seats and were absent during the vote.
I did not know all this during my stay in the seminary, but later, because there we had no other means of information than the "Hoja Parroquial", published by the bishopric, which, as was to be expected, attacked the Cortes head-on, describing them as anticlerical and atheistic, assuring that Christianity would disappear from Spain in only a decade if the aggressions against the Church were to continue. In these circumstances, Spanish society would disintegrate, lacking morals and principles, and chaos and vandalism would ensue. He described Azaña as "Robespierre" and Prieto as "Marat", and feared that "Article 26" would be interpreted as an explicit authorization to strip the Church of its patrimony, to plunder it and turn its churches and convents into brothels, the only thing that would remain in the country after its radical secularization and the eradication of religion by decree law, as must have happened in Russia.
One evening, after praying the rosary, we were all gathered in the seminary chapel because the bishop himself wanted to address a few words to us, updating us on the situation of the seminary. The three hundred or so boys who crowded the church were quietly commenting on what we planned to do if we were forced to return home, but in general there was a certain discouragement, since it is always difficult to change habits and customs, especially to return to the routine of the countryside and its miserable living conditions.
At last the bishop appeared in person through the door of the sacristy, he sanctified himself as he crossed the main altar, and went with a determined step to the pulpit. It was the first time I had seen the bishop of the diocese of Sigüenza in person, because before I only knew him from the photos published in the "Hoja Parroquial". He was a man of medium height, with a round face and rosy cheeks and common features. He had a bulging abdomen, disproportionate for his complexion, and, although still agile, he had a rough and unsteady gait. He was not, therefore, the image expected of a prelate of such an important rank in the Church, but, without offending anyone, he seemed to me more like a simple shopkeeper than a bishop.
-Dear seminarians," he began his homily, "today is a sad day for the Catholic Church and for the whole country, because a constitutional article has just been approved that condemns the Church to its disappearance, by denying it the necessary means to carry out its evangelical and pastoral work," the speech lasted about an hour and at the end we did not know very well what he was talking about. He reviewed the historical persecutions of the Church founded by St. Peter, from the Christian communities in the Roman catacombs to the martyrs of the Russian Orthodox Church, which, although different from ours, was still Christian. At the end he made reference to what was really troubling us. -If God does not help it, the bishopric will be forced to cut many of the seminary's expenses! We can only hope for the generosity of your parents and other devoted donors and that their contributions will increase, so that we can continue this work of formation that is so necessary at this crucial time.
For the first time there was talk of "salvation crusades", or "campaigns" to collect more than usual, and this in spite of the fact that the nuns of the time were the best Treasury officials in the country, to continue maintaining the numerous local clergy, the cloistered convents, the religious orders, which would lose their schools, the cathedral chapter, with its nearly twenty canons, in addition to the costly bishopric, since the bishop alone charged the not inconsiderable sum of 25.000 pesetas a year, when a rural priest was paid no more than 1,500, a budget that increased with other royalties and perks, in addition to the gifts of food and hunting products. Even so, I sided with the Church, because, as I have already said, the work of the seminary seemed to me commendable and it was not fair to deprive it of the means to continue it.
The invitation
I don't know if it was because my comments in favor of the Church reached Don Gregorio's ears or because it was already planned, but a few days after I entered the seminary the parish priest of my town came to visit me and told me that they would make an exception for me, because I had to attend an invitation at the house of Don Román's family to have dinner with them on the night of the deceased.
-It is for you to accompany us in the prayers for our deceased, so that you can get practice for the priesthood. I don't know why," he added, still with a scornful expression, which could be interpreted as jealousy, "but these good people have taken a liking to you when they don't even know you.
I did not reply, not only because I did not know the reason either, but because it was part of our education not to reply to our superiors and to accept whatever they sent us. So I limited myself to asking at what time I should be ready and how I should present myself to them.
-I will come to pick you up after the rosary. And as for introductions, I will make them, you just do what you are told to do. And at the table, eat without anxiety and whatever you are served. It is not superfluous for me to warn you that Don Román has four girls, one of whom is a bit of a giddy girl, and I wouldn't be surprised if she provokes you with one of her witticisms. Remember who you are and why you are in the seminary and don't give any reason to gossip, pretend you don't listen and be at peace. As for the boy, he is out of danger and at home, thank God, and do not want to talk about it anymore, let justice take care of the case. The same thing I say to you, if he provoked you, you shut up and don't complain, if you know what this saying means. The boy is a bit of a moron, but he will become more formal with time and responsibilities, which in that family he should not be lacking.
I listened attentively to each of his advice, trying to memorize it in the same order in which he gave it to me and to retain it in my memory so as not to make any mistakes. I spent the week without being able to get my commitment of all the Saints out of my mind, because I was sure that I would feel uncomfortable and violent in the house of Don Román, considered by the Valiente brothers, and by many other people of the town, as a real usurer, who had enriched himself by using tricks like the ones he did with me. But, at the same time, I felt that that invitation meant that I had ceased to be a giddy youngster with no other future than shepherding, to become, overnight, a person who deserved special treatment and who was invited to the table of one of the biggest landowners in town. Although I knew that vanity was a sin, I did not feel bad, and when I saw myself again in the mirror, I no longer saw a poor seminarian, but a member of the Church, with responsibilities and a certain future. In this tense wait, events in the country continued their course of degradation and confrontation. Not only did we have a Republic headed by a politician considered anticlerical, as was Don Manuel Azaña, but also groups of sympathizers of the Italian and German Fascists, of which not a single day passed without them being mentioned in the newspapers, also went into action, ready to prevent the new Constitution from going forward. These demonstrations took place in the Salamanca town of Ledesma, of such Catholic tradition and Spanish roots, where conservative politicians, such as Gil Robles or Ramiro Ledesma, led the first public demonstrations of more or less fascist and anti-democratic content.
The day arrived and Don Gregorio came looking for me as planned. The first signs of the impending winter were already visible and a dry and sometimes violent wind was blowing through the unprotected street of the seminary, whose unexpected gusts made the dry leaves rise, carrying them from one place to another as if they were possessed by some passing madness.
The house of the Beltranes was in the Renaissance Plaza Mayor, and occupied one of its entire porticoed facades. The first floor was presided over by a family coat of arms, but that did not correspond to the current family, which was not noble, but to the previous owner, those who had it built, who undoubtedly belonged to the family of Cardinal Mendoza, and a large panelled door, topped by an arch of sandstone ashlars, of which only a small swing opened, and several windows, protected with large grilles of sturdy wrought iron. The second floor consisted of a continuous balcony, with the same style as the windows, and the upper part was formed by a whitewashed attic with mortar, supported by a framework of old oak beams blackened by the years, but strong and solid as if they had just been placed.
We knocked on the knocker of the door and moments later a girl appeared on the upper balcony, who, judging by the commotion she made to warn of our presence, was the one against whom, not without reason, I had been warned.
-Mother, Mother, the priest and the seminarian are here! -she shouted to those inside the house. We heard a hissing sound and someone grabbed her by the arm and forced her back into the house. The door was opened for us by the same young man whom Benjamin and I had called to come and pick up the Romanín after the accident. He exchanged a scolding glance with me, no doubt hurt in his self-esteem by my unexpected presence, and simply invited us to go upstairs, while he disappeared through a side door, to what must have been his home.
As soon as we began the ascent, a crowd of people, composed of the mother and her daughters, received us in the midst of an uproar that the mother was trying to organize. The woman bent down to kiss the hand of the priest, who, somewhat embarrassed, allowed it, although his rank was not for that treatment.
-Thank God they've already come, Don Gregorio, there's no one to control these girls, as if they weren't already tired of seeing you!... Ah, you must be Andresito, Mr. Lafuente's son! -he said, turning to me and trying to make his daughters keep their composure until the introductions were made, "How is your father, boy? I call you boy because you are very young, but with those habits I don't know if I should call you "father", you already look like a priest!
Don Gregorio answered for me, because I really didn't know anything about him, but from what the priest told me, because he hadn't bothered to visit me and I didn't feel like going around town.
-He's fine; a bit stunted and withdrawn, as his character is, but in good health! The poor fellow hasn't been able to get up since the death of his wife! -he remarked to the woman, trying not to let me hear this last comment.
-Poor boy! -said the woman in her turn, "To lose his mother while he was still a child!
He ushered us into a large room, from whose balconies the splendid baroque façade on the north side of the cathedral could be seen, and hurried to introduce me to the daughters, the youngest of whom, without any demureness, took me by the arm to lead me into the room.
-Let the boy go, Rosarito! For God's sake, daughter, can't you see he's a seminarian! This daughter has come out with little understanding! - she commented to Don Gregorio.
When I was able to look at her more closely I had the impression that the girl had some strange features, with those full lips and slanted eyes. Perhaps because of this she was the most cheerful of the group and the one who showed the least complex about the rank of the guests. The other daughters seemed to lack the ability to speak, but they went back and forth, one after the other, as their mother ordered them, but without taking their eyes off me until they almost made me blush. I don't think it was because they found me attractive, but because it was the first time they had seen a seminarian so close, and perhaps they didn't believe that I was a normal boy and were burning with the desire to touch me in order to get out of their doubts and to calm their curiosity.
-Come, girls, I'll introduce you to the boy.
At last they had their chance and one by one I shook their hands, which they offered me warmly, as if they feared I would break them from the shake, and I barely managed to shake their fingers.
We finished the introductions and the girls seemed to have satisfied their curiosity and stopped showing interest in me. They left the living room in the direction of the kitchen, according to their mother's timely orders:
-Come on, girls, set the table, it's time to serve dinner! -he said, clapping his hands in the air as if that was the order to leave.
When the daughters, always in line, left the room, Don Román himself appeared through a large glass door. He was dressed in a severe black suit, buttoned up to the neck, where the immaculate white of the starched collar stood out, surrounded by a black ribbon, which looked more like a mourning ribbon. He was a neat-looking man, with a round face and an enigmatic and somewhat erratic expression, unable to keep his eyes still on a fixed point, but seemed to be always looking for something in the corners of the room.
-Come on, Don Gregorio, we'll be better off in the library while the women set the table," he looked surprised and confused when he saw me, because he didn't even remember my name. And you too, boy... now I can't remember your name!
-Andrés, his name is Andrés, like his grandfather! -Don Gregorio said in anticipation.
-Oh, yes, Andrés, where would my head be! Come, come, those girls are a whirlwind!
Before leaving the room I wondered where the son who had not yet appeared might be. I was afraid of running into him, but I hoped that the accident would not come up, as we had agreed, because I would not be able to lie and I would have no choice but to retell my version of events. Before I could finish this thought I found him practically flat on his face. He was in the library, standing, leaning on a cane, holding a glass in his free hand. Father understood the situation and hastened to set the record straight.
-Oh, Romanín, you know Uncle Lafuente's son; I don't want to hear a word about the incident at the farrowing house, which is water under the bridge! Besides, he's already a different person, you can tell by the way he looks and his habits.
The son looked at me without hiding a gesture of contempt, because no doubt for him I was still the son of a poor peasant that circumstances had brought him incomprehensibly to his home, and nodded his head, immediately raising his glass to his lips, as if the introductions were over.
-A cognac, Don Gregorio? And you, boy, are you already made to cognac or do you prefer a sweet sherry? -I didn't want any, but I opted for the cognac, because it would be the first time I had the chance to try it. Don't be in a hurry, a priest has to drink, but in moderation, you can't have mass with Lanjarón water! Isn't that right, Don Gregorio?
He himself laughed at the joke; he poured me a glass and when I felt it on my palate I would have liked to spit it out, but it was too late, so I swallowed it without being able to avoid a gesture of displeasure. The Romanin, who noticed the scene, gave me a wicked smile, which came to say that, cassock or no cassock, I was still a poor shepherd with no experience of life, and even less of those pleasures reserved for people like him.
We were still some time in the library, a room that had no more light than that which entered through the large glass door that led to the living room. It was a splendid library, some of whose volumes were probably incunabula and of extraordinary value. I approached one of the display cases and could see on the parchment-covered spine a volume of St. Augustine's "Confessions", but most of them did not have the title printed on the spine, which gave an idea of their age. I did not know how to distract my attention, avoiding any conversation with Don Roman's son, who on the other hand also shunned me. I sat down in one of the large reading chairs and pretended to read an out-of-date "Hoja Parroquial", the only reading available outside the display cases. Don Gregorio and Don Roman were talking animatedly and when the topic turned to the political situation of the country, Romanin joined them.
-Have you read the editorial of "Acción Española", Don Gregorio? -He asked the priest, showing him a copy, "Spain is an oak half suffocated by ivy. The ivy is so leafy and the oak so wrinkled and shrunken that at times it seems that the being of Spain is in the creeper..." What an apt comparison! We are surrounded by weeds and if we do not get rid of them, the oak, that is to say Spain, will choke and dry up! They start by attacking the Army, then the Church and now, with the new banking reform, they also want to go after capital! But they do not know with whom they are confronting, because we will not tolerate that some opportunist politicians, most of them half illiterate, pretend to give us lessons on how to govern a country and how business should be done.
Don Gregorio did not seem interested in the subject, but the Romanín, with his usual defiant and threatening tone, interrupted the father to give his opinion as well.
-Weeds are nipped in the bud when they start to sprout, and all evils are over!
-If it were that easy, it would have been done by now! They have shaken hands and taken each other's arms. They have been conspiring against the unity of Spain and against the Church since the fall of Primo de Rivera, without anyone stopping them, until they reached the municipal elections. Now even the most foolish believe themselves to be professors, and not a day goes by without them creating a commotion, a strike and illegal occupations of lands and entire farmhouses. No, the arrangement has to be done with care and planning, and once and for all, that not even a root of that "ivy" that says "Acción Española" is left.
I had the feeling that don Ramón was trying to hide something, because of the enigmatic and elusive tone of his last words, as if he already knew about the events of August '32. The conversation had to end because the youngest daughter burst into the library to warn us that dinner was already served. She took the father and the priest by the arm and almost pushed them into the dining room. I only heard the father's resigned comment, already accustomed to the spontaneous reactions of the younger daughter: "Oh, this Rosarito, this Rosarito, father, what a fault we must have committed!
Christmas in the village
I would still go to other dinners at the Beltranes' house, and I confess that the last one it was I who wished I had been invited, because in that house I once again felt the pleasant sensation of being part of a family, especially because of the warm welcome and the details of all kinds that Doña Virtudes, as Don Román's wife was called, had for me. The poor woman must not have been very happy with her lot, having given birth to four females and a fractious and quarrelsome son, so she must have seen in me the son she would have really wished to have. But what culminated her sometimes somewhat cloying affection was the fact that I had chosen a religious vocation, so that, had I really been her son, it would have been as if God himself had blessed her. Her religiosity was deep and natural, as if it ran in her blood, after generations of blessed people like herself. But her faith was not fanatical, but historical; it emerged from the depths of her being. Her house was not the home of a blessed one, because joviality and informality reigned, food and drink were eaten and drunk in abundance, and, if necessary, she herself would burst out with some traditional song, learned in her youth, especially when she had finished her second or third glass of wine. This explained in a certain way her large family, because she must have been a woman of a cheerful and jovial temperament, as they say vulgarly, somewhat "light-hearted", in contrast to Don Román, who undoubtedly confirms the popular saying that love must be blind, because the latter did assume religion with militancy and aggressiveness, confusing God with the Spanish State, or rather, with its defunct empire, and, above all, as if he were its protector and favorite, as unfortunately had been customary throughout the history of our country, even before the Catholic Monarchs.
On December 9 we finally had a republican Constitution, with a provocative first article of almost Marxist inspiration: "Spain is a democratic republic of workers, of all kinds, which is organized under a regime of freedom and justice". An article proposed by the idealist Marcelino Domingo, which prospered in spite of the opposition of the liberals and republicans. Of course, the most radical right-wingers, who had not been involved in its drafting and approval, understood it as a first step to establish a Marxist regime in Spain, similar to that which had prospered in Russia.
On the 11th, Don Niceto Alcalá Zamora returned to occupy the office of Head of State, as if no one really wanted it, since all the political groups in the country were already thinking about the general elections and wanted to have their hands free to carry out their own power strategies, which in essence meant attacking the young and fragile Republic in one way or another.
There was no party at the seminary but there was in Sigüenza, without overflowing enthusiasm, because the city was mostly conservative. But the few in favor of the new Constitution were in charge of making enough noise so that the sound of the brass bands and fireworks reached our obligatory retreat. Apparently there was an altercation between the musicians of the municipal band, because the director refused to open the dance with the hymn of Riego, and finally had to intervene the mayor himself, a right-wing Republican, and Solomon Solomon Solomon Solomon resolve the confrontation, so that those who disagreed would pretend to play but refrain from doing so, so as not to create a bad atmosphere among the population and that the dance began in peace and harmony.
The Christmas holidays were approaching and we woke up with heavy frost. The seminary was a refrigerator and the seminarians wore thick coats and scarves, even inside the classrooms, where there was usually a small wood stove that barely warmed the desk of the father who taught the corresponding subject and the first benches of the class, the rest of us had no choice but to wrap up to our dark circles and warm our cold fingers with our breath before trying to write, because we would do nothing more than incomprehensible scribbles.
In spite of the discomfort, I was not looking forward to the vacations and having to return to the village. I had become so accustomed to the routine of the seminary and the eventual family dinners at the Beltranes' house that I had forgotten about Inés, but I wanted to know what had happened to her two brothers, of whom I had had no news since their hasty flight from the village.
We had the usual sermons of the bishop, reserved only for solemn occasions, farewells or receptions, on the mysteries and joys of Christmas, reminding us of the humble class where Jesus was born, similar to ours and from which he never renounced. For a few hours there was a chaotic hustle and bustle of seminarians carrying suitcases and bulky trunks back and forth, exchanging greetings, farewell hugs, immediate projects, longed-for home-cooked meals and the occasional mention of secret girlfriends, and finally there was an eerie silence as the last of the boys left the huge building. I stood for a few moments in the wide corridor, gazing through one of the large windows at the playground and remembering that this was my first glimpse of the priestly world that fate had thrust upon me. When I saw myself at the door, the same one I had crossed, full of restlessness and deeply demoralized three months before, it seemed incredible to me that so little time had passed, for I felt so changed that it was as if three long years had actually passed.
-Andrés, Andrés; come on, I'll take you to town!
It was Juan Valiente who called me from the street, at the bottom of the great steps leading to the seminary. He had come to pick me up with his sturdy mule because he knew from my father that that was the day the vacations began. Suddenly I felt that the presence of the eldest of the Valientes took me back to the past, and I did not know whether to be happy or sad, but nostalgia was stronger and not only was I happy, but I began to take an interest in the fate of my own people.
-How are Damián and Benjamín? Did they get to Barcelona safely? Do they already have jobs? And Inés? She won't even remember me anymore! -I told him without realizing that when I asked him about her, I felt as if I had suddenly returned to the meadow, the night of San Juan, and all that time had not passed and we were not even angry, but as if it had been a bad dream, from which, suddenly, I woke up and everything started all over again from that very moment.
-Go on, throw the suitcase in the saddlebag, we'll have time to talk about everything on the way!
But it was Juan Valiente who started the conversation, asking me about my new situation, while we were sorting out carts and other horses that were carrying the young seminarians to take them to their respective places of origin. Not a single one of them was rich enough to be waited for in a private car, only horses and carts, but a good part of them took the special buses that traveled through the towns of the Sierra de Atienza and Ayllon, the area of Molina de Aragon and the banks of the Henares, up to Guadalajara itself.
-What can I say, Juan, one gets used to everything, and compared to what I did in the village, the change hasn't been so bad!
-You'll know Latin by now! -he said in a joking tone.
-Man, not so much, but I already know some of the declensions!
-It is good to know, even if it is Latin, Andrés, that our national misfortune has no other cause than ignorance.
We left the village and began our ascent along the river road. The tall, old poplars were bare and it seemed impossible that new leaves could sprout from those broken, rough, blackened branches in the spring. Only the strong reeds covered the banks. The fields were barren, covered with a fine frost in the shady areas, which practically never disappeared during the winter. The inevitable crows accompanied us on the way, as well as some hardy sparrows, the only birds capable of spending the long winters with us, the others, storks, swallows or swifts, wintered in warmer and more pleasant lands than those.
-Stop for a moment, Juan, I want to change my clothes. I don't want the townspeople to see me dressed as a seminarian..." but Juan guessed the real reason.
-Don't expect to see her, Andrés, she is still angry with you. Women don't easily forgive such affronts... Give her time and I'm sure you'll at least be good friends again, but now is not the time, she's still hurt as if she'd been struck by lightning and lost her soul. It is not easy to live with her, that everything irritates her and she does not even take care of the classes at the Casa del Pueblo.
-It's my fault, Juan! I was a coward not to stand up to my father!
-Look, Andrés, you know I'm not a Catholic at all, but I don't think it was a bad decision. You are good for your studies and you have to take advantage of every opportunity, you'll have time to decide whether or not you want to continue as a priest. And as for her, she is young and very stubborn, bad combination! But she will wait for you to make up your mind, and she won't have another boyfriend until then. That's something typical of our family, loyalty. Listen to me, Andrés, I know Inés well, and don't mind her slights and humiliations, she won't miss an opportunity to do them to you!
That advice puzzled me, because I myself was not sure that in the end I would not decide to become a priest. A few months ago, everyone saw me as a candidate for the priesthood, and now that I was in the process of becoming one, I saw myself as a layman. Everything was so confusing that I changed the subject and became interested in his younger brothers.
-They are not on the right track, Andrés! The only thing I know about them is from a railwayman in the union, and I think they are in Manresa, a fairly large town not far from Barcelona. The worst thing is that they are with the anarchists and will end up getting into some serious trouble. I would almost prefer that they return to the town, face the law, and the case be closed, even if they have to spend a few months in jail, than that they hang around with those people of the F.A.I., of whom nothing good is said. But we do not know where to write to them because they do not have a fixed address, but go about as farmhands from one place to another. In short, Andrés, Don Román's son has stuck his sickle in our midwife's nursery at the wrong time!
The only novelty I could appreciate in the town was that several electric street lamps were shining, scattered along the four main alleys, and the "Tejero" had had a new clock installed in the Town Hall, which, not only chimed but also rang a small carillon with a short melody by Mózart. It was a real extravagance, but the whole country was filled with these oddities, fruit of its imaginative but disconcerting national idiosyncrasy.
I dreaded the encounter with my father, even though he should have no reason to, since he had finally done his will. We arrived at my house when it was already dark and I saw no light in the window that overlooked the great room, but I was not surprised, because my father did not light the candle until dinner time, and in the meantime he had enough with the glow of the embers of the fire, whose contemplation was his only entertainment.
I went in without knocking because the door was ajar, I instinctively looked towards the stove but although it was lit I did not see my father sitting on his stool, which alarmed me, as if I suddenly had a feeling that something out of the ordinary was going on. I set the suitcase on the floor and called out to him, as I almost groped my way towards the stairs leading to the bedrooms, when I tripped over something soft and bulky that almost made me fall. Horrified I could see that it was my father's body, lying on the floor, as if he had fallen down the stairs. As I hit him I heard a faint whimper, which brought me back my breath, for it was evident that he was not dead, as I first feared.
-Father, Father, what happened to you? Are you all right?
He couldn't answer me because the pain had him congested. I noticed that he was holding his hand to his hip and I realized that maybe he had fractured it. If so, the best thing to do was not to move it and call a doctor as soon as possible. I groped for the candle, lit it and asked him again.
-Father, where does it hurt? What has happened to you?
He looked at me with a terrified expression and, making a great effort, was finally able to articulate some words.
-Go and get a doctor, I've broken a bone!
In fact, the day I returned from the seminary my poor father fractured his hip and that was the beginning of his decline. We took him that same night in a carriage to the hospital and he was admitted. But he would never return to his home in the village, and when he was discharged, we admitted him to the asylum of the Sisters of Charity in Sigüenza. What I did not know was that I had already paid for all this, and that was my inheritance!
That night, when I was finally able to return home, in the wee hours of the morning, I felt for the first time the loneliness in which I found myself and I saw no other refuge and protection than that offered me by the Church. Chilled to the bone, wrapped in as many blankets as I could find in the dreary house, I felt the need to find even a little faith to comfort me and give some meaning to my miserable existence. Suddenly I realized that I was praying, but not as I used to do in the seminary, but as if I were talking to someone, who must have been listening in some corner of the dark room. Then I realized that God had entered my life, but as He usually does in most cases: when there is no one left but Him in whom to trust and seek some comfort and refuge.
Midnight Mass
As Juan Valiente told me, Inés refused to meet me and did not even leave her house during the first days of my return. I had hoped that when she learned of my father's fall she would take pity on me and decide to forgive me, but that was not the case. I didn't know what to kill time on and the days were too cold and unpleasant to go out to the countryside, which would have been my desire, so I spent most of the time reading my devotional book, learning almost all the psalms by heart. I didn't even dare to enter the Casa del Pueblo, to avoid running into Agnes. From time to time I used to go to the only place that was already familiar to me, such as the church, where at least I was sure that she would not be there.
On Christmas Eve we agreed with Don Gregorio that I myself would help him at the Midnight Mass, more out of commitment than desire, because it was like making my official presentation in town, dressed in habits and exercising what it seemed would end up being my vocation. The worst thing was that it would be inevitable that I would meet Agnes again, because, no matter how devout I was, no one in town had ever failed to attend the Midnight Mass, since not doing so was like starting the new year with bad omens.
Christmas was not only a religious feast, but the only occasion in which my countrymen made an effort to maintain good relations among themselves, exchanging homemade sweets and participating massively in the modest but noisy Christmas rondalla, to which they gave whatever they could, until the donkey that carried the gifts in its saddlebags was full. They were usually bottles of cheap anisette, homemade brandy, some cognac, given by the former mayor Don Mariano, who also made peace on such important dates, pieces of sausage from the last slaughter, anise butter, homemade muffins and a packet of Ideales, with its corresponding booklets of rolling, which used to give them the tobacconist of the village.
As for the rondalla, what stood out was the pounding sound of the zambombas, made of sheepskin, tied to light wooden barrels, and the strident and monotonous crystalline sound of the aniseed bottles, when raked with the handle of a fork or a spoon. In addition, there were the two musicians of the village, with the dulzaina and the tambourine, and the usual accordionist in all the big festivities, who also accompanied the rondalla at Christmas time. In general the sound was monotonous but harmonious, and it really brought an air of Christmas, peace and harmony to the village. From time to time the rondalla would stop in front of a neighbor's house, and if they received the aguinaldo they would improvise a carol, always complimentary or picaresque but without malice, which raised the laughter of those present. Finally, the rondalla finished its tour in the tavern, where they drank and ate what they had collected and shared among themselves what was left over. But the party was also for the kids, who did not stop asking for aguinaldos house by house, singing the same carol over and over again, accompanied by some ramshackle zambomba and two or three bottles of anise, if they could find them. In each house they never failed to present them with a bun, a piece of guirlache or a cupcake.
Christmas Eve arrived and I hurried to prepare the church for such an important celebration. I agreed with Don Gregorio the ritual of the whole ceremony and we decided that I would be the one to kiss the baby Jesus, an almost life-size image, lying in a straw basket, arranged in strands of cotton, which seemed to be in the clouds. The worst thing was the intense cold in the church, but we already knew from experience that once it was full, the human warmth itself warmed the atmosphere somewhat.
At a quarter to twelve I went up to the bell tower to ring the only bell in the church. There was still some rumor of the rondalla coming from the tavern, and the bursting of some rockets that lit up the sky when they exploded. When the bell rang, an owl flew out of the wood of the coffered ceiling, making such a shrill screech that I almost lost my balance and was hit by the clapper of the bell, but fortunately the thing did not go beyond a scare. The bell rang with the solemnity and strange power of summoning that these simple instruments have, filling the atmosphere with its sound, flooding the town and the nearby fields. If it weren't for the fact that I don't know what the sound of the stars must be like, I would say that it must be the same as that of a village church bell on Christmas Eve, because it really sounded like celestial music.
Five minutes before twelve o'clock practically the whole town was already in the church. The women, dressed in black or white veils, according to their age or condition, generally occupied the pews closest to the altar while the men filled the aisles, uncovered but keeping their berets in the pocket of their tabards, for the exit of the church, because at that hour the lightning would fall and the frost would form. All the available candelabras were lit and, for the first time, we had three lamps, placed along the nave, with electric light bulbs, so I deduced that Don Gregorio had finally agreed to bless the new Casa del Pueblo, a condition of the "Tejero" to bring light to the Church.
I had discussed with don Gregorio whether it was convenient to put a bench for the "authorities", because the parish priest refused to accept any other authority than that of the Church itself, much less that of a socialist mayor. Finally I convinced him that this was the norm in the cathedral of Sigüenza, and we should not be less or more papist than the Pope. We placed the bench, which was solemnly occupied by the "Tejero", the secretary, the bailiff, and as there were really no other authorities we agreed that it was also occupied by the notables and officials with their respective families, as the former mayor Don Mariano, the letter carrier, the head of the municipal scale and a railwayman who served as "Chief of station" in the halt. As the "Tejero" was a bachelor, he invited his official girlfriend, a maid who served in a house in Sigüenza and that night he was barely allowed free to attend the Midnight Mass in his town. This was not the case of the other notables, married and with children, as was the case of Don Mariano, who had a brood of three young boys and two girls, one still in her mother's arms.
I was busy helping to dress Don Gregorio, but when the occasion permitted, I peeked out of the sacristy door to see if I recognized Inés and the Valiente family, but among the crowd and the dim light from the bulbs, I could only see the veils and the bald spots, but I did not recognize any of the family. I almost wished they would not attend the mass, but, on the other hand, such a wish was contrary to my new principles, so I resigned myself to the fact that, if Agnes finally came, she would end up seeing in me a real priest and that there would no longer be any trace of our past affection, not to say love, which in those circumstances I found somewhat violent.
At twelve o'clock sharp I rang the bell and we made our solemn entrance at the main altar, but as it was a mass of the ancient rite, we had to remain with our backs to the people, so I could not finally know if Agnes would have attended the mass or not. On the other hand, already concentrated on the ritual, I completely forgot about her and gave myself to my work, so that everything would take place with the solemnity and religiosity that the most important Eucharist of the whole year required.
It was a long ceremony, officiated with true parsimony and solemnity by Don Gregorio, who seemed like a real cardinal. The homily was conciliatory, focusing on the argument of most of those I heard during those days, which was the humble condition of our Lord, confirming that the disinherited and poor of the earth were - for I was certainly already among them - the most blessed and beloved of God. We had decided that communion would be given at the same time as the infant Jesus was kissed. After the consecration we began the ritual and Don Gregorio gave communion while I offered the child to kiss. An endless queue formed, headed by the socialist mayor himself, who undoubtedly wanted to make it clear that politeness did not take away the courageous, and one could be a leftist and a Catholic at the same time. The family of the former mayor followed the "Tejero" and his girlfriend, followed by the rest of the authorities and notables. The communion took place with the usual monotony, the recollection and even nervousness of the blessed women, who seemed as if they were afraid of biting God himself if they touched the host with their teeth, an advantage of the older ones, who barely had any pieces of their teeth left.
As I went about my work, cleaning the little hands of the image of the Infant Jesus over and over again after each kiss, I hardly noticed the Valiente family appear in the line. It was headed by the father, sober and with a taciturn expression, as if he were suffering from abstinence, followed by his poor wife, more and more shrunken and with a clumsy gait; behind him was Juan Valiente, followed by a woman I did not recognize, but I deduced that she was his girlfriend, and, finally, there was Inés, wearing a white lace veil that covered her black hair, shorter than the one I had known her as. The impression made me lose my pulse and the boy staggered, so that the one who at that moment was trying to kiss him had to hold him himself, throwing me a reproachful glance, but I could not take mine away from Agnes, who, however, kept hers fixed on some point of the tiled floor. Her expression was stern and even angry, as if she had been forced to come to mass, and she seemed ready to fulfill the ritual without even looking at me. My nervousness increased and the anguish of that violent encounter tightened my chest. The child weighed on me as if he were flesh and blood. I looked at him as if questioning him about Inés' attitude towards me, but he just kissed the child and went on his way. Inés took communion without abandoning her stern and absent expression, she bowed her head as usual out of respect for the sacrament and it seemed that she would reach me without looking up, which produced in me a deep sadness and disconsolation. I could not believe that Agnes could be so spiteful. Suddenly, before bending down to kiss the child, she looked up and our gazes met as if they had merged into one. I thought I saw in her expression a certain tenderness and a grimace of a smile, but after that magical moment in which we stared at each other, she abruptly changed her expression, returned to the same sullen and absent tone, kissed the child Jesus and followed her brother to the bench occupied by the family. I followed her with my eyes as if I could not help it, but my work demanded my attention and I had to concentrate again on what I was doing. When my confused mind had a chance to wonder what had happened, I had no clear answer, but a faint glimmer of hope told me that perhaps the Juan was right, and that the Inés was still fond of me. It was no more than I expected of her under the circumstances. The mass ended and the Valiente family left the church without saying goodbye to me.
When I finished placing the parish priest's vestments and the objects of the ritual, I said goodbye to Don Gregorio and, wrapped up to my ears, I also left the church. I don't know why, but instead of going directly to my house, I took the road to the cemetery. As it was dark and moonless, when I arrived at the door I did not dare to go inside. From outside, as if I was convinced that my mother was accompanying me, I said to her in a loud voice and with a familiar air:
-You see, Mother, how time goes by! Almost without my knowing it, I'm already a seminarian, and as they say, in no time at all you'll see me saying Midnight Mass in the village church.
Comforted by the double pleasant impression: that of Agnes and that of that conversation with my late mother, I went home with the feeling of having attended the most moving and solemn Eucharist of all those I had experienced, even those I would celebrate by myself in the future.
I spent Christmas alone in my house, comforted only by my psalm book. Juan Valiente brought me something to eat and some sweets and excused himself for not inviting me to his house, but his Christmas was no merrier than mine, for they knew nothing of the younger brothers and lived always on edge, pending the news coming from Barcelona of uprisings and takeovers of villages by the anarchists of the F.A.I. and the C.N.T.
On the last day of the year there was a new confrontation between peasants and the Civil Guard, whose discredit and hatred was growing among the poorest peasants and workers, constant victims of their indiscriminate and violent repressions. This time it was in the small Extremaduran town of Castilblanco. The peasants were on strike there and the usual altercations must have taken place, the truth is that four civil guards, surrounded and unarmed by the strikers, were lynched. Reprisals were not long in coming, and on the same Epiphany day, in Arnedo, a town in La Rioja, the Civil Guard opened fire on a workers' demonstration, killing six people, including four women, as well as leaving some thirty wounded. It was because of all this alarming news that Juan Valiente feared, and rightly so, for his younger brothers, since most of these strikes were organized and promoted by anarchist unions.
I had hoped that before my return to the seminary I would meet again with Inés, and once and for all we could clarify our situation, so that I could return with a clear conscience, knowing that she had forgiven me, but it was not so. Several times I went down to the bend of the river, from the banks of which crystalline ice crystals were rising, the grass of the meadow was frozen and parched and the trees were stark and numb in their winter lethargy. Nothing reminded me of that summer equinox night which, in fact, I no longer even wished to remember.
The day of my return arrived, a misty and icy Monday in January, covered by the morning frost. I wanted to take advantage of the trip made every Monday by the cart of the village woodcutter, who transported oak logs to Sigüenza, which forced me to get up earlier than I would have liked on a morning like that.
About nine o'clock I heard the carriage bells as it stopped at the door of my house. I loaded up with the suitcase, locked up the house, threw it on the bundles of firewood, and sat in the back, on the free edge of the platform. The wagon driver started up with a crack of the whip, the wagon creaked, and lurching back and forth, we started on the road to Sigüenza. As soon as we passed the hermitage of Humilladero, the morning mist engulfed the whole town, and it would not have been said that there were living souls there, had it not been for the crowing of a lazy rooster or the shearing of sheep, which must already be walking on the hill. The march was slow and the movement cadenced, and I was engrossed in contemplating the fascinating spectacle of that cold January morning, when my heart skipped a beat when I saw Agnes almost running down the road, waving her arm so that I could see her.
-Andres, Andres, wait, I have something for you! -I jumped out of the carriage, which didn't stop, and ran towards her without thinking about anything, because the emotion of that appearance had shocked me. Here, Andrés, some homemade scones for you to eat at the seminar. I made them myself and they must still be hot!
He handed me a package that was indeed still warm. I smiled happily but was unable to speak, because I didn't know what to say. She was as confused as I was, but she also looked happy and relieved. We stood in the middle of the road, surrounded by that spectral morning mist, freezing cold but with our hearts burning with happiness. It was not worth giving her explanations, and that after having waited so long for that opportunity to do so; I could not promise her anything because, at least for the moment, I was a seminarian and it made no sense to talk about love to a girl, even though she might be in love. We had to leave it to fate to give us the answer. I was satisfied with her forgiveness and, apparently, so was she.
-Go on, get out of here, Andrés, the woodcutter's cart won't stop!
It still took me a few seconds to react, but when I finally did, I kissed her on the forehead and hurried back to the carriage, which had already gone a long way without me. When I reached it, I jumped back onto the platform and could see Inés, almost out of the mist, standing on the road, slowly waving her arm in farewell to me. Then her dear figure vanished into the mist, but my heart was on fire with happiness and I could not get her out of my mind until I reached the door of the seminary itself....





























CHAPTER SEVEN
The bishop's new page boy
My state of mind was so favorable that I progressed spectacularly in my studies, especially in Latin language and history of philosophy, which we already began to study the pre-Socratics, but not so much in dogmatic theology.
I dared to comment on Parmenides, and, from time to time, I would interject into my conversation long Latin paragraphs, which annoyed my companions, who were already beginning to consider me as a recommendation of the bishop himself, because of my frequent absences from the dining room during the invitations to the house of the Beltranes.
My relations with this family became so familiar that they even reserved my chair and my tablecloth for me. Doña Virtudes even made plans for my future ordination, and suggested the church and the date where I should celebrate it.
-We will ask the bishop to allow you to celebrate your first mass in the cathedral, but in the main altar, not in St. Peter's, and if possible for the Virgin of August, which is when more people go to mass. You have to wear a purple chasuble, which gives more religiosity and solemnity. The altar boys should be seminarians, lest they make a mistake and spoil the Mass. I hope to be the first to take communion from your own hands, it will be so exciting! Ah, but if I start to cry, don't worry, it will be from nervousness!
I laughed at the poor woman's witticisms, for whom life boiled down to serving her husband and God, without being quite sure what the priority should be, for she had a sense of marriage as sacred as if she felt the voice of God himself in every command of her authoritarian husband. As for the girls, fortunately they were a few years older than me, so they never saw me as a candidate for a boyfriend. I think they considered me their mother's plaything, thanks to which I now had a new occupation and something else to think about and be less preoccupied with them and their secret run around town. They must have had some young men in love, but they would not be to their father's liking, because officially none of them had boyfriends, which filled the poor mother with worry. Even, not without some embarrassment, on some occasion she had dared to talk about it with me:
-I know, Andresito, that these things are not to be discussed with a seminarian, but I don't know what we're going to do with the girls, because there are no young men of their lineage in town for us to marry them off, and the summers we've gone to San Sebastián, they don't take the opportunity to cast their eyes on a boy. I don't know what will become of them, but I keep praying that God will know what He has in store for them! The truth is that the girls lacked any charm, not because they were ugly, but because they were badly brought up, and, although this should not be the comment of a seminarian, they were all unattractive with their figure, almost flat and with wiry flesh. Only the face, aquiline but fine and elegant, an astonishing replica of the mother's, saved them from total disaster.
Unfortunately, that usual joy in Doña Virtudes changed radically in our usual retreats in the library, while the table was being set, where Don Román seemed to be a real conspirator, since he did not talk about anything other than "doing something" to put an end to all the disorder and atmosphere of revolution that was going on in the country.
-It is not enough to deport those agitators to the Canary Islands," I commented to Don Gregorio, "they should have shot them, because it will not take them long to return and continue with their provocations, especially those two half-illiterate animals, who do not deserve a better name; that Durruti and that Ascaso, who would be more appropriately called "escaso" because of his limited understanding. What do two starving emigrants have to do provoking those who have given them bread and work? Do you see, Don Gregorio, how true is the saying that "out of charity comes the plague"? But those Catalans also have it coming to them, for being greedy and pessimistic, and now they also intend to break up Spain!
When the conversation reached these levels of exaltation and aggressiveness, it seemed as if it was the signal for the son to state with a forceful phrase what the father, for whatever reason, did not dare to pronounce.
-Here there is no other solution than a good blow of force, without regard or contemplation, because you can see where weaknesses lead to!
Don Gregorio stirred uncomfortably, not because he did not share those opinions, but perhaps because of my presence, for he was not sure what my point of view really was in all those conflicts.
I pretended to read the "Hoja Parroquial", but in reality I did not lose any detail of those conversations, because I wanted to keep abreast of the latest events, especially those taking place in Catalonia, where the two Valiente brothers were. There the anarchists of the C.N.T.-F.A.I. had carried out a series of revolutionary strikes in the mining basins of the Alto Llobregat, declaring libertarian communism in many towns, which had to be put down by the Army itself and groups of the former Somatén. Azaña then said that it was a conspiracy directed from abroad, without referring to the new Soviet Russia, but which he was undoubtedly thinking of. Later it was the workers of the Zamora-La Coruña railroad, who when the works were suspended went on strike, and again the Civil Guard left its trail of dead and wounded. But this time, and, although the "Hoja Parroquial" silenced him, it was a priest who denounced in the same Cortes the cruelty of the repression: "In the streets of Orense," he told the deputies, "the Civil Guard fired on the people. And they did it again and again, seven people fell bloody; and the blind fury with which the repression took place gives the idea that among these people there was a woman and a child". But such events were already so frequent that it seemed as if the country had got used to the idea and the commotion hardly lasted a couple of days, only to be forgotten after the tragic event. However, the tension grew as the celebrations of the first anniversary of the proclamation of the Republic approached, since the country was divided by the results, especially the anarchists and the conservatives. The former because the agrarian reform law had not yet been passed, and the latter because they were determined that it should never be passed.
Despite being declared a national holiday, we seminarians were not allowed any kind of celebration, but classes were suspended and we spent most of the day playing soccer, praying or sneaking a few hands at cards in the dormitories. From my window I saw several times a dreary charanga pass by, followed by the usual little kids, annoying the musicians with their inevitable shenanigans, but few adults. Anyway, the day dawned rainy and unpleasant, which contributed to the lackluster party. In the evening some rockets were heard and later I learned that there was a fight in the popular dance that had been organized in the alameda, because, once again, of Riego's hymn, in which, as usual, the son of the Beltranes and his clique of peons, or better said, of thugs, were involved. After the accident, Romanín had a slight limp, whether psychological or real, but this limp increased his fury against anyone who demonstrated in favor of the Republic, democracy or the left in general. He came to create a certain psychosis of terror among the unionists of the Casa del Pueblo of Sigüenza, and he was even more hateful to the Valiente family. He continued to treat me with suspicion and did not miss any opportunity to humiliate me or remind me of my peasant origin. What irritated him most was his mother's excessive affection for me, whether out of jealousy or for whatever reason. On one occasion she could not help but put things in their place and warn me about the risks I was running in that house:
-You're not a person of order just for being a priest, that's in your blood and you have to suck it, so don't go thinking you're already one of us. We'll see when the time comes which side you're on and if you're as pious as my mother thinks you are!
The warning was clear and did not require further clarification, because the Romanin never believed in my transfiguration and considered me a real wolf in sheep's clothing, that is, a "red" disguised as a seminarian.
The first of May arrived and with the excuse of visiting my father in the nursing home I was able to take the day off, and, after the visit, spend the rest of the day in town. The "Tejero" took advantage of the occasion to inaugurate the first public school in the history of our town. The teacher of the new school made a long and detailed speech, enumerating the advantages of education, but the peasants, who mostly used their children for farm work, were not very convinced.
-Tell me, miss, what good are letters to the young men if here we have nothing more than land to sow and sheep to look after! In the capital maybe that's all right, but here, in the countryside, nothing at all; and I say this with all due respect and education!
The teacher, upset but without losing her composure, tried to find convincing arguments, but the truth was that she did not seem to be prepared for this type of objections, and she replied with the first thing that came to her mind:
-Even for sowing and grazing, culture is necessary; knowledge does not take up space and is always useful! -But the peasants did not seem convinced and the teacher ended her talk by recalling some national glories that had emerged from towns like this one. Great national glories, such as Don Gregorio Marañón, were also sons of a town like this one!
-Who is this gentleman, miss; is he a bullfighter or a stagehand?
-They replied in a jocular tone, tired of speeches and asking for the dance and the party to begin.
As the U.G.T. had the slogan of turning the day into a family celebration and avoiding political manifestations, this year the "Tejero" did not make any speeches. The party was like the previous year's; with the same musicians; the same mantecados and even the same watered wine. Once again, since there was no procession, the people of the town did not really enjoy the celebration, and they left early. The same did not happen in the capital, and in other cities of Spain, where the day ended with serious disturbances of public order. But this time it was noted that they were repressed by the new Republican body of the Assault Guard, because the Madrid riot, very numerous, was dissolved in the Puerta del Sol without casualties. The same did not happen in Seville, where the Army intervened, something which was beginning to be frequent, and two workers were killed.
Almost without realizing it, the first exams arrived, but they did not worry me at all, because my level already exceeded by far the level proposed by the program of the first year of the diaconate, especially in languages, both Spanish and Latin, because it seemed as if instead of studying to be a priest I was studying to be a writer, and I was not bad at writing, too bad that most of them were not free, but on religious themes, such as passages from the Bible or the lives of saints. But what really happened was that, as the saying goes, "in the land of the blind, the one-eyed are kings", because the average level of the seminarians was so low, and they progressed so slowly in their studies, that the demands of the questionnaires were considerably lowered. So I passed the exams with a majority of A's, except in subjects such as "Dogmatic Theology" and "Old Testament", more because I disagreed than because I did not know the subjects.
-If I didn't know better, I'd say you cheated on your exams! - Don Gregorio commented to me when he had the results. Then he looked at me with his usual suspicion, made a strange gesture, as if he was having trouble with what he was going to tell me next, and continued, "Go on, get ready, the bishop himself wants to talk to you! I was speechless and bewildered because I was waiting for an explanation of this unexpected interest in me from the bishop, whom I only knew from having kissed his ring several times, as is customary, when we met at the seminary or in the chapel. Don Gregorio understood and, mumbling more than speaking, he gave it to me:
-He's looking for a page boy for next year and, for whatever reason, he's noticed you! Surely the hand of Don Román or Doña Virtudes is in this!
I followed the parish priest up to the episcopal palace, which was connected to the seminary. We went up to the second floor, going around the arcaded cloister, of baroque style, as were most of the religious buildings in the city, except the cathedral and the churches, which were even Romanesque, and we stopped in front of a large leaded door with decorative glass, representing images of two saints, perhaps the evangelists St. John and St. Paul. Don Gregorio knocked lightly on the glass and we were immediately opened by the bishop's mistress, an elderly woman with a white bonnet covering her already gray hair and dressed to her ankles in a religious habit, fastened with a purple sackcloth, topped with two tassels, from which hung a pearly rosary.
-Come in, Don Gregorio, the bishop is already waiting for you.
But the bishop came out to meet us and he himself invited us to accompany him to his office. It was a large coffered room, from whose walls hung numerous paintings of religious themes, mostly biblical scenes and martyrdoms of saints. A large cut crystal chandelier hung from the center of the coffered ceiling and two thick purple velvet curtains protected the immense room from the light of day, giving the whole room the aspect of seclusion expected of a prelate's place of work.
-So you are Andrés Lafuente? -asked the bishop, as he offered me his ring for me to kiss. I kissed it and nodded my head. Don Gregorio handed him my notebook, glanced through it quickly and, placing his hand on my man, recommended me, "If you keep on like this, I wouldn't be surprised if you become a cardinal! When you come back from vacation you will be my new page boy. Now go with God, pray a lot so that your faith may be strengthened, and try not to forget that you have been chosen by God for the priesthood and avoid all temptations to sin!
He gave me his blessing and ended that brief interview, in which I was appointed to a position that was not influenced by my good grades, but by the timely recommendation of the kindly Doña Virtudes, who, it seems, was no longer content to see me ordained a priest, but in the Roman Curia; such must have been her secret ambition.
The "Sanjurjada".
My return to the village was full of confused feelings, not only because I would have to learn to live with the presence of Inés as good friends and avoid all weakness, but because there was nothing in it that required my presence or in which I could occupy myself. Thus, I found myself alone in my old house, not even having the comfort of the company once kept me by the barnyard animals. We did not know the whereabouts of the cat, an old, territorial male, not much given to new domiciles, perhaps already dead or devoured by some vermin. As for my dog, she was taken care of by the Juan, but she never went out to the mountains again with the sheep, since the Valiente family, after the escape of the younger brothers, had sold their entire flock because they had no one to take care of them. When the same day of my arrival I went to visit the family, the poor animal came out to meet me and recognized me as soon as she saw me, and by her joyful barking she seemed to ask me to take her out again to the mountain, because she longed for her sheep and who knows if she also missed the out-of-tune sound of my flute! Inés, warned by the dog's barking, also came out to greet me, but once again we did not know what our behavior should be, and this time I did not even dare to kiss her on the forehead and just shook her hand, but even without showing too much enthusiasm. It was as if I unconsciously remembered the bishop's last words to avoid all temptation, and that was the most dangerous of all.
-You don't have a good color, Andrés, doesn't the sun shine on you at the seminary? -he said, making an effort to appear normal and hide his feelings, because I deduced from his hesitant look, between sad and excited, that he was happy to see me again. Well, don't worry, you'll get it again!
We remained silent for a few moments, undecided, not knowing what to talk about. Then I had the idea of offering to help them with the work of that year's harvest. After all, there was something to occupy my time, besides the fact that it would be a good exercise after the inactivity of the seminary.
-May I help you with the mowing work?
-You? But what do you know about mowing?
-I'll learn it, it's about time I did!
-Talk to Juan, and whatever he decides. The truth is that we're short of arms, because my younger brothers and sisters don't plan to come back to town. God knows what they're up to! Thanks to Juan's botched jobs, otherwise even I'd have to go into the service or we'd starve in this house.
In fact, Juan Valiente had to work as an occasional bricklayer, and was in charge of some of the "public" works carried out by the new socialist town council, such as the construction of the new school, the new paving of the main square and some of the most important streets, as well as the first works to bring drinking water to the town, with the construction of a water tank on the hillside next to the cemetery. Thus, he was not short of work, which encouraged him to make plans for his future.
-How many years will it take you to become a priest? -Juan asked me one day with a certain air of mystery.
-Seven, although maybe it could be six, it depends....
-That's a long time; we can't wait that long!
-What mystery is this, Juan? Why do you want me to become a priest?
-I'm thinking of getting married, Andrés, and who better than you to bless us?
July came and the Henares valley became a golden sea of ripe and heavy ears of corn, which waved harmoniously pushed by a suffocating and dry breeze, which caused the premature withering of the few pastures that remained in the mountains, and got into the throat, causing a dryness that was only relieved by the water that continued to flow fresh and clear from the fountains of the shady slopes, topped in troughs for the thirsty cattle. Everything was already agreed upon and I had made my first practice with the sickle, and after a few missteps and blunders, I became a good mower, but I could not last more than two or three bundles of corn without resting and drinking a good gulp of water. Inés would not let me out of her sight for a moment, as if she lived in constant attention to my needs and was only there to satisfy them.
We were already fully engaged in the work of harvesting when one morning we saw Romanín's car driving up the dusty road, who was already well known throughout the region, which he never ceased to provoke for one reason or another. I was alarmed, because Juan Valiente was no longer able to bear any more provocations after what his brothers had done. The car stopped in front of where we were mowing, Romanín got out, followed by two of his peons, and addressing me, he shouted:
-Hey, little priest, have you already exchanged the devotional book for the sickle? Now all you need is the hammer!
I stopped mowing, I asked the Juan not to intervene because I would know how to get rid of him and avoid his provocations. When he was almost at my side, and before I could say anything, he commented again in a sarcastic and contemptuous tone:
-In the end, it's going to be true the little song they sing over there!
I understood the allusion and the blood rushed to my head, but I made a superhuman effort to keep calm and not throw myself on him and knock him down with a punch. Slowly, and measuring my words well, I answered him:
-You can say whatever you like about me, which I don't mind coming from you, but don't even lie to her, or else, God forbid..." And without making my threats concrete, I raised my sickle so that she would better understand the meaning of my warning.
-Calm down, little priest, I come in peace!... It was only a joke!....
-Well, no kidding with her!
-I just came to tell you that my mother wants you to come home for Rosarito's birthday, the poor thing has grown more fond of you than the cat. Of course, I'm not surprised at her!
-When is the birthday? -I asked him more serenely.
-August ninth.
-Tell him I'll be there, if that's his wish, but don't send for me, I'll come down on my own feet.
Without losing his cynical smile, he got back into the car and handed me a neatly wrapped and tied package, along with a bottle of the wine we used to drink at his house.
-Take it from her, she must think you're starving, and she must be right.
I accepted the package so as not to snub the poor woman, who surely would have done it with good will, and the Romanín gave the order to his driver to start, driving away without, fortunately, having to regret that new encounter.
As we had agreed, on the ninth of August, I cleaned myself up as best I could and dressed in my seminarian habit, since Doña Virtudes could not bear to see me in secular clothes. The morning was cool and it was a pleasure to walk in the mountains. The dog, who lived in my house during my stay in the village, accompanied me for a long time, until, with gestures that confused the poor animal, I forced her to return to the village, which she did reluctantly and with resignation. I arrived at the Beltranes' house around midday, when the sun was already beating down and I could feel the burden of the habit, which made me sweat from every pore of my body, and it was not very suitable for that time of the year.
The Plaza Mayor was overflowing with people and horses of all kinds, and gave off a heavy stench of overheated manure that was almost unbearable. I entered the doorway of the house, grateful for that peculiarity of old houses, which, like fountains, keep cool in summer. Rosarito was the first to welcome me, and without a word she put her arms around my neck and hugged me, because that unhappy creature had really taken a liking to me. Then appeared Doña Virtudes, who, as usual, gave me her usual string of compliments, this time complemented by my good looks, with a face tanned by the past few days of mowing in the open air. Finally, the daughters greeted me, but without much enthusiasm. As expected, there was also the inevitable Don Gregorio, conversing with Don Román and the son, who upon seeing me enter the large dining room, interrupted what seemed to be a passionate conversation, because Don Román was making energetic gestures with his arms,
-Ah, here's Andresito! Come on, come with the men and let the women do their chores. Sherry, as usual? I accepted the drink because it had really become a habit, since I never could with cognac, and wine, which was to my taste, was reserved only for meals.
I noticed that in my presence they did not continue the interrupted conversation, but were trying to string together a new topic of conversation.
-What, how are things in town? -Don Román asked me just to break the silence. So I limited myself to a compromise answer.
-They walk quietly, as usual...
Fortunately we were interrupted by Doña Virtudes, who suggested that I refresh myself before the meal, because with those hot days I should be grateful for it.
We ate and drank in abundance, more than tolerated by my stomach, made to frugality, but the liquor of the desserts helped the digestion, while Rosarito awkwardly blew out the eighteen candles of the cake, but by her childish appearance she seemed even younger than me.
After the heavy and long meal, Doña Virtudes organized the house so that we all had a bed where we could take a nap, and she put me in the library. In a few minutes there was an almost sepulchral silence in the whole house, only the voices of the crowd in the square, and the braying of some donkey could be heard, but also there the people, settled on bundles or blankets, in the shade of the arcades, were trying to take a nap. Finally one could only hear the buzzing of some blowflies that had slipped through the balconies, where the beehives floated, white and light, pushed by the breeze that came from the street, mixed with the inevitable stench of manure.
In the midst of that almost magical summer silence, the phone rang again and again without anyone seeming willing to pick it up. After a while I heard the voice of Don Román, who, half asleep, was answering the call. He picked up the phone and listened for a long time and finally had a brief but strange conversation with his interlocutor:
-When? Are you sure, Fermín? And what do we do?... Yes, I have one, from the Somatén... But are you serious? Well, well... one day or another it had to happen, the sooner the better!... And if they are not with us?... I hope so too! I'm sure about the commander, but I don't know about the others... but they'll do what they're told!... Well, I know, call me as soon as it's confirmed!... Yes, at the agreed place! May God protect us, Fermín!... Up with Spain!
He hung up the phone and I heard him let out a long sigh, as if trying to relieve himself from the momentary tension, undoubtedly produced by that mysterious call. Little did I know that he had just been warned that a military coup against the Republic was being prepared for that very night!
In the afternoon, Doña Virtudes asked me to join them in praying the rosary, and I noticed in her expression as if she was expecting a special miracle from that routine rosary. No doubt she had been warned by her husband of the imminent military coup and wished to concentrate all her devotion in praying to God for the success of the outlandish enterprise. I could not refuse and she even suggested that, after the rosary, we all go to the cathedral, because she wanted to light some candles to several saints of her devotion, according to her, so that they would protect poor Rosarito on the occasion of her birthday. Since after such a varied religious program it was already quite late, Doña Virtudes insisted that I should not return to the town and that I should sleep at her house that night. What she really wanted to avoid was that the uprising in the town would catch me, because as surely her husband had already given her up for defeated, I would be safer in the house of a notable, in cahoots with the uprising. I was unable to refuse the entreaties of this good woman, so I agreed and a room was prepared for me in the attic, a place usually reserved for non-family guests.
Twelve o'clock struck on the cathedral clock and the telephone rang again on the first floor, but this time I was unable to hear the conversation, which was brief. I sensed that something out of the ordinary was going on in the house, but I could not for the life of me imagine that I would spend the night in the home of a conspirator against the Republic. I heard two o'clock in the morning and there was still light in the rooms downstairs. As everything was silent, I could hear the murmur of a radio, but it was only playing music, perhaps listener's requests, usual at that late hour of the morning. I was almost asleep, even though I was trying hard to stay awake, because it was obvious that something serious and out of the ordinary was happening, when the phone rang again and I heard the hurried step of Don Román, who stumbled over several pieces of furniture before picking it up, and I could only hear a fragment of his conversation: "We've screwed up, haven't we, Fermín? Just a few moments later a shouting noise came from the square, where a large number of people were gathering, shouting slogans such as "Long live the Republic!" or "Death to the fascists!". Frightened, I got up hurriedly, dressed and groped my way down to the living room, where Don Román and his son were sitting in the dark, on the opposite side of the balcony, wielding two pistols with signs of anxiety and nervousness.
-Where are you going now? Get away from the balcony or there may be a disaster! -they almost shouted at me.
-But what happened? -I asked in bewilderment.
-I told you to go back to where you were! -Don Román ordered me authoritatively, out of his mind, making angry gestures with the hand that held his pistol. The best thing is that you leave this house, and as soon as possible, we don't want any more trouble than we already have!
I don't know why, but I had the inspiration to follow his advice. I rushed down the stairs, and when I reached the door the Beltranes' chauffeur stopped me almost violently.
-Where are you going, you wretch; this door won't open! If you want to hide, go out into the courtyard and jump over the wall, you're too young to do that. But you'd better not go out on the street with those habits! The priest will be ignorant!
I still didn't know what was going on, but I accepted his advice. However, instead of jumping over the wall, I hid behind some bushes that were in total darkness waiting for events to happen. It was an agonizing few minutes, I heard the hysterical crying of Don Roman's daughters and the complaints of the poor woman:
"I already knew that politics would one day bring us misfortune, Román!".
The shouting continued to increase in the square and I heard them knocking on the door of the Beltranes' house, while accusations were shouted such as: "This is one of them, set fire to the house!", but someone immediately tried to calm things down: "We'd better take him into custody, and make an example of him, so that all the facades of the town are taken away!
In the midst of that confused shouting I heard the gallop of several horses resounding against the cobblestones, several detonations and the shrill voice of someone who must have been the commander of the Civil Guard shouting to those gathered: "Clear out, clear out or we will open fire! And the violent replies: "Whose side are you on, the people's or the fascists'? To which the shrill and intemperate voice replied: "We are on the side of order, so, clear out, I said! Everybody go home, nothing has happened here and no one has revolted!
Fortunately for the family, the civil guards managed to intimidate the angry demonstrators and they reluctantly withdrew, although they were still shouting in favor of the Republic and against the military coup plotters and fascists until they completely cleared the square. When I realized that calm had returned I came out of my hiding place, but I did not know what to do, because I still did not know what had happened. I got the driver to open the door for me and as quickly as I could I went back to town.
I arrived almost out of breath and to my surprise there was also a commotion there, especially around the Casa del Pueblo. Somewhat fearful because of my seminarian habit, I dared to enter the place, hoping that Juan would be there and explain to me once and for all what all the commotion was about.
When they saw me enter, they looked at me with some suspicion, but my firm decision and courage to present myself at the Casa del Pueblo on such a tense night, calmed the mood. Finally Juan brought me up to date and I could not get over my astonishment.
-The military are staging a coup d'état, but in Madrid it seems they have failed! They have been stopped by the storm troopers, and Azaña himself was waiting for them at the Ministry of War. It's that bastard general Cavalcanti again! But it seems that there are many more in the plot. The radio says that there are already dead and that a general has been arrested. The worst is expected in Seville, where Sanjurjo, who is the one who has promoted the coup, is headed. Another one who should have been retired from the Army long ago! If he takes over the city, other generals will rise up and the Republic will be finished!
We spent the night glued to the radio, not knowing what to do or how to react. At dawn we heard that General Sanjurjo had managed to raise the entire garrison of Seville and was on his way to the Tablada airport to raise it as well and to count on the aviation that was stationed there. An hour later they said they had failed because the soldiers and mechanics stood up to them and forced them to return to the Seville barracks. Late in the morning we began to calm down, because the radio reported that Azaña himself had dispatched Alcalá Zamora, who was on vacation in La Granja, to inform him that the coup had failed and that General Sanjurjo was surrounded and neutralized.
-This time the Republic is saved, but if these soldiers are not given an exemplary punishment, the next time we will not be so lucky!
-Juan commented, when we were exhausted but relaxed and even happy, we retired to our homes.
That was, no doubt, a warning that ended with hardly any bloodshed, but it was clear that with each passing day the Republic was accumulating more enemies, both on the one side and on the other, which it seemed it intended for everyone, but no one reciprocated!








































CHAPTER EIGHT
Agrarian Reform
After the serious events of August, my relations with the Beltrán family underwent an abrupt change and created a real problem of conscience for me, since it seemed that I was the only witness who could accuse Don Román of being part of the conspiracy. I spent several anguished days debating between my sense of justice and charity, because deep down I appreciated Doña Virtudes, whom I did not believe was responsible for her husband's extremist political positions. I also thought of poor Rosarito, undoubtedly the most innocent, and of the girls who, although badly brought up, did not deserve to pay for their father's intolerance and despotism. No doubt I would have denounced him if I had not had to pay the consequences more than father and son, who deserved an exemplary punishment, but in the end my feeling of charity was stronger and I decided not to denounce them.
Perhaps because of this, and contrary to what I expected, they went to great lengths with me, undoubtedly thinking that I was one of theirs, and not a week went by that I did not receive some gift, in money or food. Naturally, I politely refused them and managed to get them to stop bribing me, which they interpreted as a proof of personal integrity, already characteristic of a candidate for sainthood. However, I completely suspended dinners and other family gatherings and limited myself to those that were unavoidable, such as some masses that Doña Virtudes had ordered to give thanks for having come out of the frustrated uprising without major consequences for her family.
In September I resumed my ecclesiastical training with the new responsibility of being the bishop's page, which in reality was more like an errand boy, because in the main the tasks of responsibility were done between his mistress and his secretary. So, in addition to my seminary duties, I now had the job of errand boy at the bishop's palace, which was not an advantage for me, because my relationship with the prelate was never one of trust, but he treated me as a true subordinate.
My return to the seminary coincided with the approval of the new Statute for Catalonia, an aspiration that the Catalans saw as the culmination of centuries of centralist intolerance and which made Campanys, who would become president of the first Catalan Cortes, exclaim a heartfelt "Long live our Spain! Naturally, the granting of this autonomy -the Basque autonomy would not progress due to the differences between the people of Alava, Navarre and the rest of its provinces-, did not sit well with the conservatives, most of whom had changed their political objectives after the failure of the coup. They were now ceasing to be monarchists to be simply "Catholics and imperialists", a mixture between the two great historical traditions of the Spanish, which they considered as the two very essences of Spanishness; that is to say, fundamentalist Catholicism and the ancestral and defunct Spanish imperialism.
But the most notable event was undoubtedly the approval of the controversial and belated agrarian reform law. In my opinion, it was evident that the law had been passed with last minute haste, due above all to the warning of the frustrated military coup, but it turned out to be an instrument that was too bureaucratic and difficult to implement. Not to say that in the essential, that is, the credits necessary for the new settlements depended on the will of a dozen families, an oligarchy difficult to remove from power, formed by nobles such as the Dukes of Alba and Infantado, the Marquises of Urquijo and Aledo, or the Garriga, Martínez Campos, etc., who controlled the board of directors of the new "Banco Agrario Nacional" (National Agrarian Bank). It was a law that did not take into account the imperious reality of the people, especially in Andalusia and Extremadura, who were already practically camped at the gates of the large estates, without being in a position to initiate the complex procedures to obtain the desired land. But it also did not take into account the situation of the smallholdings, moreover fragmented into several plots separated from each other, which occurred in our land, so that each farmer had to travel miles to go from one piece of land to another to be able to harvest the minimum necessary for their survival. Finally, there was the ineffectiveness of the very body created for this purpose, such as the "Institute of Agrarian Reform", which, like all State businesses, was still in the hands of officials of the old regime, who had not yet been purged or renewed, and, to top it off, they were usually in charge of compromise positions, the result of agreements between political formations and not on their own merits.
I believe that the peasants concerned soon understood this reality and no longer expected anything that was not the fruit of their own initiative. In this way the C.N.T., totally influenced by the F.A.I., would decide to take action and terminate any collaboration with the Republic so that their aspirations could be fulfilled, and from September 15 itself would begin what they called as a "revolutionary gymnastics" necessary to carry out the total revolution; that is, they passed to direct action, occupying lands, villages and entire towns, where they immediately proclaimed "libertarian communism". An ambiguous political conception without a definite orthodoxy, which consisted essentially in taking possession of everything, lands, houses and cattle, not to say also of people, and practicing an assembly politics, which discussed in heated and long debates each of the concurrent aspects, from the distribution of land to tolerance for free love, an impracticable idea in real life but which always emerged as the first of the revolutionary initiatives, and whose majority decisions were almost religiously obeyed, because it was the very essence of the system.
In our region the reform had hardly any resonance or practical effect, since the farmland, as I have said, was divided into smallholdings and the landowners were the owners, especially of large hunting grounds, where there was no possibility of sowing cereals and they were hardly valid for grazing. They were only good for bees, due to the abundance of thyme, lavender or rosemary.
Since my presence had already been tolerated among the people who used to go to the Casa del Pueblo, I did not miss the opportunity to listen to the comments and opinions of the peasants themselves, for something told me that a priest should be interested not only in matters pertaining to religion, but also to society in general. That is why, before returning to the seminary, I attended as many meetings as possible to discuss the law.
-More than an agrarian reform, it seems to be a "soured" reform, because, instead of satisfying those who should be satisfied, it has upset them. And it doesn't suit us, because what we lack here is not land, but machinery and better prices for grain, and if it continues to fall, we won't even have bread to put in our mouths.
Juan Valiente commented to the people who gathered at the Casa del Pueblo to explain this new law.
-The law is made, the trap is made! -commented others. Tell me, if you are not a lawyer, how to understand all that bureaucratic jargon in order to comply with the law. Here there is no choice but to go ahead and do it the hard way, then let the politicians manage and make the law that best fits the consummated.
-You go with that story to the Civil Guard! They seem to have the sport of shooting peasants and workers, because there is not a day that goes by that one is not killed or wounded.
That was the feeling of those affected. But, to tell the truth, there were very few in the village who were really interested in the subject, and the meetings were always attended by the same group of people, generally unemployed laborers and young people, but no heads of families, fearful that their presence in that place could bring them problems or reprisals from those who bought their meager harvest, They granted them usurious credits to solve their emergencies, to acquire new livestock or to cover losses due to plagues or epidemics, frequent at that time in the unhealthy environment of the peasantry, where summer diarrheas killed more children than tuberculosis.
As if the discontent among the peasantry were not already serious, the problem of the Asturias coal mines arose, because the imports of English coal had caused a drastic reduction in prices and it was not possible to sell all the production, which served as an excuse for the owners to lay off hundreds of miners. Finally, the U.G.T., which was the majority in the mining basins, began to prepare its first major revolutionary general strike, mobilizing almost thirty thousand miners.
In this tense atmosphere, coexistence became rarefied to the point of suffocation. Nobody trusted anybody anymore and they were afraid to give their opinion on the events, since it was already evident that the coup plotters would try again and nobody was sure that the next time the Government would be able to avoid it. But, in addition, among the people, perhaps influenced by the exaggeration and deformation of the events carried out by the anarchists, the general opinion was every day more and more in favor of putting an end to all these outrages with an "iron fist", that is to say, they were more and more in favor of a military solution or, at least, of the return of a dictatorship or regime which was already beginning to become popular among the more conservative peasant circles, such as that of a "Spanish-style fascism", more or less theorized by radical people, such as the young lawyer Onésimo Redondo from Valladolid, who formed the ideology of his new "Junta Castellana de Actuación Hispánica", a long name to sum it up in the new Spanish fascism. The movement had its means of expression in "La Gaceta Literaria", a masthead for such an unliterary magazine, in addition to other more or less fascist groups, such as the "Legionarios" of Albiñana, and other pamphletary publications, such as that of Ramiro de Ledesma Ramos, "La conquista del Estado" (The Conquest of the State), creator, at the same time, of another small group prone to extolling the militarist policies of Hitler in Germany and Mussolini in Italy, such as the "Juntas de Ofensiva Nacional Sindicalista" (National Syndicalist Offensive Committees). All of them represented the simplistic ideology of a Catholic and imperialist Spain, without going into too much detail, because they considered these two ideas as the essence of Spanishness, lost with the Republic due to the liberal ideas that Freemasonry had brought to Spain. They no longer even saw the Bourbons as sufficiently Spanish to support a possible reinstatement. For these movements, only an undisputed "boss" with absolute powers, supported by a great political force that was unequivocally nationalist, could bring back unity and spiritual integrity to the country, as had happened in Germany and Italy. The bad thing was that all of them saw themselves as that "boss"; all except the one who finally took over the leadership of the movement, the eldest son of the former dictator Primo de Rivera, José Antonio.
The attack on the Casa del Pueblo
At least the failure of the "Sanjurjada" lowered the spirits of don Román, his son and his clique, who, however, became much more spiteful and vindictive, and did not miss the slightest opportunity to avenge the affront as best they knew how, with new and more scandalous usury businesses and dismissing without compensation or explanation any of their employees who showed the slightest inclination towards leftist or simply republican ideas. This was the case of the two sworn guards that Don Román had in the village preserve, a certain Dionisio and his eldest son, father of a large family, as were most of the peasants, who supplemented the pittance of his salary with the occasional rabbit, partridge or quail that he hunted on the sly in the same preserve he was guarding.
The conflict arose because Dionisio, who was one of the first to sign up for Inés' literacy classes, was not able to find the poachers who, with snares and traps, had already caught more than one wild boar, mostly wild boars, with little experience in traps and deception.
Don Román, enraged, fired the poor man and his son, who did not know how to do anything but walk all day in the bush. They went to the Casa del Pueblo to find out if they had any rights, and the lawyer who advised them filed a lawsuit for wrongful dismissal. The trial was won by Dionisio, who received a considerable indemnity, because Don Román refused to reinstate him. This was what marked the beginning of a real war against the Casa del Pueblo and, in particular, against Juan Valiente, who at that time was still its president.
The first serious event occurred on All Saints' Eve. This year I refused the Beltranes' invitation because I wanted to spend the day with my people and go to the town cemetery, as I had managed to convince my father to buy a new tombstone for my mother's niche, since the one that was there was barely legible and the portrait had been attacked by humidity and it was a shame to see it.
As I could not carry the heavy tombstone by myself, I went in search of Juan Valiente, so that he could help me carry it. He was not at home, because that night they had scheduled a meeting at the Casa del Pueblo to discuss the possible claim for misappropriation of some lands bought with trickery and usury by Don Román himself. He must have heard about the meeting and planned a way to avoid it, without stopping to foresee the consequences.
-He's not at home, he's at a meeting at the Casa del Pueblo," Inés warned me, with whom I had managed to maintain a friendly relationship without acrimony but without giving him false hopes.
-What do you know about your brothers? -I asked her in turn. She made a gesture of contrariness that showed clearly that they were not happy with what was happening.
-What do I know! The last we heard from a railroad friend is that they are involved in politics and quite committed. You'll see that any day now they will bring us bad news!
-Come on, woman, they're not two little kids; they'll know how to take care of themselves!
-God hear you, Andrés, he will pay more attention to you than to us, who, as things stand, can already be said to be atheists, because there can be no God if he lets these things happen!
-Come on, Inés, God is not to blame for our sins!
-You're already talking like a priest, Andrés! You can tell they're educating you in that seminary in Sigüenza!
-I am going to be a priest, if God does not prevent it, of course.
-Go on, go on; go to your God, Andrew, you'll still find John available to help you with the tombstone.
Our encounters almost always ended in the same way: me incomprehensibly defending a God in whom I still did not really believe and her denying a God that she kept mentioning and evoking for any desire or thought. Undoubtedly it was one of the greatest paradoxes of our strange relationships. Deep down Agnes was more devout than I was myself, but I did not come to understand her devotion until many years later, when it was too late.
I arrived at the Casa del Pueblo when the meeting had not yet started and Juan was reviewing some documents that the lawyer had given him. I explained to him the reason for my visit and in anticipation that the meeting might drag on, he agreed to accompany me before the meeting began. When we left, we met the first farmers interested in the subject. Juan asked them to go upstairs because he would be back in a few minutes to start the meeting.
We carried the heavy tombstone, which the stonemasons had left at the door of my house, and we set out on the road to the cemetery. Night was falling and the few street lamps that illuminated the narrow streets of the town were lit. There was still a pale pinkish glow on the horizon and we felt the whistle of the afternoon mail train, which was due to leave the Torralba tunnel at that moment. In a few minutes we would see it appear down the valley, but given the hour we would only see the glow of the illuminated windows in the stubble fields and the column of steam until it was blown away by the wind and the coolness of the night.
We were already at the cemetery gate, when we saw an automobile arrive along the river road, almost at the same time that the mail train appeared at the other end of the valley.
-Who could it be at this hour? -commented Juan, unable to avoid a sudden gesture of concern, as if instinct told him that the people who came in that car did not have good intentions.
Given the darkness and the reflection of the lanterns we could not tell if it was a known car, but no other car than that of Don Román appeared in the village, because Don Mariano's car did not usually leave the village except on market days in Sigüenza. We left the tombstone on the ground and remained silent following the rapid movement of the car. It entered at high speed through the Plaza Mayor, headed down the street of the Casa de Pueblo, gave a sharp braking when it arrived at the door, two people got out hastily and we saw how they lit something in their hands and threw it out of the window of the upper floor of the house. We heard a dry sound and immediately a large flame burst out of the window. The assailants had already re-entered the car and hurriedly fled towards Sigüenza.
-Good God, these bastards have set fire to the Casa del Pueblo! -exclaimed the terrified Juan. I instinctively crossed myself and before I could react I saw Juan running down the path. I followed him with the same haste, tripping over everything that crossed my path, so that I fell several times, but I got back on my feet without feeling the scratches and wounds I had gotten on my arms and knees from the falls.
When we arrived, all those who had been inside the house at the time of the attack had already left, but one of them, a certain Germán, had a blackened arm and his shirt stuck to the scorched flesh, and he was holding it with great gestures of pain.
-Who was it, Germán? Did you see them? -asked Juan to one or the other.
-We don't know, they caught us by surprise!
-How is your arm? -he asked Germán.
-It's not much, but it hurts like my skin is being ripped off by strips!
-Are there more injured?
-I don't think so, only I was upstairs, near the window, the others were still downstairs, waiting for you to arrive.
Thank God, or whoever, that we had no more misfortunes! The people of the village, alarmed by the shouting, soon came and we organized a chain with buckets from the fountain in the square. An hour later the fire had been put out, but all the documents, the archives, the school material and, in general, it could be said that there was nothing usable left inside the house. The most regrettable thing was that the people of the town, instead of being sorry, I think they were happy, because I heard some comments like this: "Let's see if this compromise is finally over, because this place has brought the town nothing but scares and troubles!
The next day the townspeople who went to the cemetery would first pass by the Casa del Pueblo, carrying their modest bouquets of flowers, mostly from the countryside, such as lavender, honeysuckle or rhododendrons, along with bunches of fragrant good grass and a few carnations bought in Sigüenza. They contemplated the scorched facade of the Casa del Pueblo and the old women sanctified themselves, as if it had been struck by a lightning bolt sent by God himself. What was really happening was that they were contemplating the first blow of the political violence that, from that very day, would be unleashed in the town. Around noon, when Don Gregorio was about to enter the church to prepare for mass, in which, as usual, I used to help him, I saw the Romanín's car drive up the road. He arrived at the esplanade of the church and with parsimony, adjusting his gloves with his usual cockiness, he approached us and asked Don Gregorio, without even disguising his sarcasm:
-It smells scorched in the village! Has something burned, Don Gregorio?
That was the first violent retaliatory attack, not only against the Casa del Pueblo, but also, given the magnitude of the misfortune that could have occurred, against the life of anyone who entered it. In reality, that attack was directed against Juan Valiente himself, who from now on would not be left in peace for a single moment.
"Casas Viejas"
After the attack, life in the village was a constant shock. Both sides were planning their respective revenge and each one attacked what they believed would most outrage the other. I learned from the Juan that there were those in town who proposed setting fire to the church, an initiative that fortunately was unanimously rejected. Others suggested doing the same with the Casino of Sigüenza, but it was clear that such an attack could not be done with the impunity with which the one in the village had been done. The consequent complaint was filed and the judge and two numbers of the Civil Guard came to investigate what happened.
-Who saw what happened? -asked the corporal to the few who had gathered at the scene of the attack.
-I saw it! -answered Juan, knowing that his statements would not be valid as evidence, since we did not recognize either the car or the assailants.
The corporal, who was the same one who interrogated him in the case of the accident involving Don Roman's son, made a gesture of annoyance, as if he was upset that someone might actually have some evidence that could lead to the assailants, and especially him.
-Let's see, who did it? -he asked annoyed.
-To tell you the truth, I don't know; it was dark and it all happened so fast!
Undoubtedly satisfied with the response, the corporal rebuked him:
-Don't go around raising perjuries or you'll meet justice again!
-I have already said that I saw them but I did not recognize them, but someone must have seen them, your obligation is to investigate the case..." but the guard did not let him conclude.
-Did anyone here see who it was?
Everyone lowered their heads and remained silent. After a few moments the guard again turned angrily to Juan and warned him again.
-In view of the present, I am of the opinion that you have done it yourselves to look for arguments against other good people, which would not be the first time that something like this has happened since we have had the Republic... So, without slandering or accusing anyone, because if we find out what I think has happened here, this time you will not get out of jail so easily.
Juan made a superhuman effort not to retort, because unfortunately he knew the choleric character of that civil guard. He bit his lip until it bled, spat the blood on the floor and retreated humiliated in the direction of his house.
Still the corporal again warned those present:
-Whoever knows something had better be sure before accusing anyone, because perjury is a crime punishable by jail. The people withdrew without daring to raise their heads and look the guard in the face. I understood that I was in the same case as Juan and could not do anything to clarify what had happened, but I still dared to suggest something to the corporal, who was already putting his musket on his shoulder and was about to leave:
-This place has only one enemy and it is not difficult to know who he is... why don't you interrogate him too?
The guard became surprised, especially when he saw that I was a seminarian who, moreover, was known in Sigüenza as a friend of the Beltrán family. He gave me a dark look, and pulling me away from the people, he suggested to me without hesitation:
-Look, kid, don't get involved in this, because, as the saying goes, "you don't know the half of it. Just go back to the seminary and don't go out so much, so that you don't get into some mess you don't expect..." and he ordered the other guard to return to the barracks without waiting for my answer. I was convinced that the attack had been ordered by Don Román himself and that the guards knew perfectly well who it had been.
Two days after the event, and when I was leaving a language class, I saw Don Gregorio arrive with a worried expression, as if absorbed in some thought that disturbed him. When he saw me, it seemed as if I were an apparition from hell, because he was startled and grabbing me violently by the arm, he almost shouted at me:
-I was looking for you! What are you doing in your town, meddling where you're not wanted! Come with me, the bishop wants to talk to you, and it doesn't seem to be to congratulate you!
I was alarmed, because I immediately realized that my imprudent suggestion to the civil guard had reached the bishop's ears. So on the way I thought about how to defend myself and justify my veiled accusation against don Román.
We arrived at the office, which remained practically in semi-darkness, and Don Gregorio ordered me to sit down because the bishop would not be long in coming. He sat down in turn and did not seem to know what to do with his hands. Finally he found a rosary with which to occupy them and calm his nervousness. I was uneasy but not afraid. I didn't mind giving up being the bishop's page and I doubted that they would dare to expel me from the seminary, although I had no reason to be so sure.
After a few moments, the prelate appeared through the large glass door and ordered Don Gregorio to leave us alone. He obeyed without complaint and, without ceasing to bow, disappeared as if he were a soul in pain.
The prelate sat down with a certain parsimony in his huge red velvet upholstered armchair, put on his cassock and even seemed to shake off a few specks of dust that must have been on it. He glanced at me a couple of times to get an idea of whether I was nervous or uneasy and as he saw me calm and even defiant, he went straight to the point of the matter without beating around the bush.
-Don Roman is a good Catholic and his wife is almost a saint, so you have no right to believe that this family could have bad intentions against anyone. What happened in your town is a mystery that one day justice will clear up and, thank God, there are no fatalities. As you are a good boy and too young to understand these things, I know that you must be sorry for your imprudent comment to the corporal of the Guardia Civil. But to settle the matter it is best that I hear you in confession, that you should never again see these good people in mortal sin, as you must be at this moment.
Without being able to help it, I had the feeling that the bishop was trying to get details out of me about what had happened and everything I might know about the plans for revenge against Don Roman himself. He practically forced me to confess. Naturally I did not say a word that could compromise the Juan or the people of the Casa del Pueblo, and, to throw me off the scent, I accused myself of some intimate obscenity that drove the bishop himself out of his mind. Displeased, he gave me absolution and hardly imposed penance on me, because he knew perfectly well that I had concealed from him what he wanted to know.
After this event, contrary to what I expected, I continued to be his page, I don't know if it was to keep me under control or because I expected that sooner or later I would be his confidant. But the truth is that from the first day he had seemed to me a person unworthy of the important position he assumed, and not only because of the banality of his speeches and sermons, but also because of the Havana cigars he smoked, accompanied by glasses of cognac, not to mention the succulent meals prepared by his mistress, which explained the abnormality of his complexion and his disproportionate abdomen. He seemed to me, in short, a vulgar and intriguing person. It was not in vain that he had come to occupy the diocese of Sigüenza through the influence of a certain noble family in the neighborhood of Madrid, where he had officiated as a simple parish priest just a few years before.
We had barely begun the new year, when news arrived again from the convulsed Catalonia confirming that the C.N.T., now practically in the hands of the F.A.I., by expelling the moderates they called "Trentistas", had begun its hostilities against the Republic, but attacking the Generalitat, which with its new statute accepted the Republican legality and became its defender. On January 8, several bombs exploded in the police headquarters in Barcelona and there were altercations and a new attempt to revolt the barracks. But the attempt, far-fetched and without a plan of action, failed after sustaining some street fights, in which shots were exchanged and several libertarians were killed and wounded. But the altercations spread throughout Catalonia. In Lérida several libertarians were killed when they tried to storm a barracks. Even so, in several localities they managed to seize the town halls and declare "libertarian communism", burning property deeds and police files, but, finally, they were reduced by numerous contingents of the Civil Guard and Assault.
That new Catalan revolutionary explosion spread throughout half of Spain and general strikes were declared in Zaragoza, Murcia and Granada, and in countless Andalusian and Levantine localities. After three hard days of street fighting and bloody confrontations, the rebels were finally reduced by the forceful action of the Civil Guard and Assault, with severe orders from the Government to suppress the uprising at any cost. On January 12, Azaña could already communicate to the country that the anarchist uprising had been completely crushed. But there remained the small town of Casas Viejas, a miserable little village surrounded by one of the estates of the Dukes of Medina Sidonia, which resisted. A family and a couple of neighbors made a stronghold there. More civil and assault guards arrived, armed with machine guns, but the besieged were determined to die rather than surrender. Perhaps because of the words of a poet, whose name I regret not to remember now, who wrote that "he who has known hope cannot give it up". A certain Captain Rojas, of the Assault Guard, arrived and at dawn the next day he lost his temper and decided to set fire to the house with the family inside, who were burned to death. But the officer, spiteful and with murderous instincts, was not satisfied with that murder, but had all the neighbors who were leaving their houses machine-gunned with the intention of giving themselves up.
When the circumstances of that massacre became known, the news went around the world and Azaña himself would be mortally wounded, because only after a commission was created to clarify the facts, the head of the Government himself would find out what had happened. Unfortunately, Azaña then made some statements that put an end to his image as a man of order and peacemaker. He commented that "what had to happen has happened", thus justifying the massacre and its criminal circumstances:
The fugitive brothers
Not a single day of that turbulent year 1933 passed without some mournful event in some part of the country, or without some initiative of the Government, which instead of pacifying, helped to inflame tempers even more.
I was never again invited to the Beltranes' house, although the kind-hearted Doña Virtudes kept sending me packages with some food, a pair of socks, a scarf or some gloves, so that I could better withstand the rigors of winter, since she was aware of the situation we were living in at the seminary. One morning I was handed a note that I assumed would also be from the good lady, but to my surprise and even alarm it was signed Inés Valiente. I opened it so nervously that I tore the note into two pieces, just as I had done with the envelope. The note told me that her two younger brothers were being held in the model prison of Barcelona, because they had been arrested after their participation in the events of January 8, and she asked me if I could intercede with someone influential who could do something for them, if not free them, at least that they would receive humane treatment, because the political prisoners were being treated extremely harshly and even cases of torture were proven.
At that time I was not in a position to ask for favors of that kind, but I could not refuse to try either. The first thing I had to do was to show my humility and repentance, and make it clear that I was unequivocally on Don Román's side. I wrote a note to Doña Virtudes to receive me at her house, since I knew that only she could intercede with her husband so that he, in turn, would use his influence. I did not expect positive results and it could even happen the opposite of what I expected, that is, that my interest in the Valiente brothers would make me even more suspicious of sharing their cause.
He finally agreed to receive me, but we agreed to meet at the cathedral, at the time of the rosary, on the day the bishop himself presided.
-Oh, Andresito, how things have changed at home since Sanjurjo! My poor husband has gone through his own, and there wasn't a day that went by that he wasn't threatened with death! It seems as if the devil himself had taken over the country and we were already at the gates of hell itself! Oh, my prayers are of little use, Andresito, and those of so many good and devout people as we are here! But what's the matter with you; what's the reason for so much urgency? -he finally asked me, once his lamentations were over, which, on the other hand, was his way of starting any conversation.
-I have a great favor to ask of you, and don't be surprised because it's a delicate matter, so do what is in your power and what your conscience dictates! You see, Doña Virtudes, you are a mother and you will understand?
-To the point, Andresito, you've got me on tenterhooks!
-It's about the Valiente brothers!....
-God save us from them, for my husband speaks nothing but ill of them all, especially of that Juan Valiente, who keeps intriguing against us and is already costing us a lot of pesetas!
-It's not because of him, Mrs. Virtudes, but because of the mother! You see, the thing is that the two minors, who fled when your son's accident happened... Because you know as well as I do that it was an unfortunate accident, that even the Civil Guard confirmed that the wound was not from the gallows, but from the sickle that your son stepped on! Well, as I was saying, it turns out that they are imprisoned in the model prison of Barcelona and the poor woman is in such a state when she hears the news, that she has no lack of troubles to increase them now with this other one... -as I was explaining the case to her, the good woman went from anger to compassion, and when I mentioned the suffering of the mother, she seemed to soften completely and was almost about to cry, as if it was her own son who was in jail-. I only ask, and I am sure God will thank you, that you intercede with your husband to see if you can do something so that these boys are treated with dignity, I am not saying that they should be set free....
-Oh, Andresito, you ask the impossible of me, but I will see what I can do... Poor woman! What fault is it of hers to give birth to such ungrateful children, for I know that cross well, and I bear it with resignation, as our Lord bore it until his death! -answered the good woman, ending the interview. She covered herself with her veil and took the opportunity to confess to Don Gregorio, who was occupying one of the confessionals in the cathedral that afternoon.
I did, therefore, everything in my power and so I communicated it to Inés, who in another note thanked me for my efforts and hoped to have the opportunity to do it personally during Holy Week, if I went up to the village for the religious celebrations.
But Don Román did not miss this opportunity to take revenge on the Valiente family. With usurious instincts and without the slightest scruples, he saw that this was a unique opportunity to get hold of the Valiente's lands, which, as I have already said on another occasion, bordered on his preserve and he coveted them. What I did not expect was that my management would be the cause of new misfortunes for the Valiente family, just the opposite of what I had wished for.
Don Román called me two days after my interview with his wife through Don Gregorio and, because of the quick response I got, I assumed that the good Doña Virtudes had succeeded in interceding with her husband, which filled me with joy. I had already made plans to escape to town on a run and communicate whatever it was to Inés herself, so I hurried to get to the appointment early enough so that I could be back at the seminary for the recitation of the rosary. The bishop was always aware of my outings, but made no objection if they were to the Beltranes' house.
Doña Virtudes received me, but by the expression on her face, rather than being happy to see me, she seemed to be embarrassed, as if she were ashamed of something. My enthusiasm cooled abruptly, for I feared that my efforts had been completely useless.
-Come in, come in, Andresito, my husband wants to talk to you about the Valiente affair.
The woman said no more, made me sit down on one of the chairs in the great hall and brought me a glass of sherry and some mantecados as if she was trying to bribe me.
After a few tense moments, in which she remained silent, sitting, in her turn, on another chair at the other end of the room, with her hands on her lap, unable to make a single movement, with the room almost in darkness due to the hour of dusk, father and son appeared, took seats on chairs on either side of mine, as if they were trying to prevent me from a possible escape.
-So those boys are in jail! -exclaimed Don Román in a tone that showed his satisfaction with the news, "And you want me to get them out!
I tried to protest, making it clear that I only wanted them to be treated with dignity, but he stopped me with an energetic hand gesture, "Look, maybe I can do something for them and we can even set them free, I have some acquaintances in the Barcelona police headquarters!
Puzzled, I waited for him to be more explicit about how he would get them released. This time it was the son, who continued in place of the father.
-Here we are not grudging, let bygones be bygones, but such a great favor cannot come free! -And he let the father continue, as it seemed they had already rehearsed it.
-Tell Juan Valiente that we could get the brothers out of jail if he agrees to sell me the land that borders my preserve. Either way I will end up with them, so this is not a bad opportunity to close this deal.
I was disconcerted and felt responsible for having provided that new opportunity for usurious business taking advantage of the misfortunes of others, as he had done with me, but, on the other hand, I was not the one to defend the interests of the Valiente family, since the freedom and even the lives of the younger brothers were at stake. So I only dared to answer with an "All right, I'll do it!", and I left the house with great bitterness, because I feared that the Valiente would end up giving in, so that I would be the only one responsible for this new abuse of Don Román with the people of the town.
I had not planned to present myself to Agnes with such bad news, quite the contrary, but the sooner the Valiente family knew the answer, the sooner they would be in a position to make a decision and help the two imprisoned brothers. Almost stammering, because I was ashamed to tell him such blackmail, I told him what Don Román's offer was, but Juan did not answer immediately, because he was trying to contain his anger in front of me, since I was not, after all, responsible. After a few moments he must have reflected on the situation that had been created and gave me a disconcerting answer:
-We have no choice but to do their will! We will need money to go to Barcelona and bring the boys whatever they may need, and for the sake of those devil's lands we will not let them rot in jail or be beaten to a pulp! After all, we have little to gain from the countryside. We would have been hungry in our house a long time ago, if it weren't for the "Tejero" who sends me.
The deal for the sale was closed at half the market price and Don Román got more land in our town. Juan Valiente and his mother traveled to Barcelona, encouraged by the hope that Don Román's management would succeed in freeing his two sons. But, to their surprise and Juan Valiente's indignation, the two had already been released, since the trial was held and they did not find enough incriminating evidence to convict them. Two days later the two younger brothers returned to the village, because at least Don Román had withdrawn the complaint that still hung over the youngest of them, more than a year after the accident.
When I learned the circumstances of the brothers' return I felt so ashamed and guilty that I was determined not to go for Easter, as I had planned, but, on the other hand, I wanted to see Benjamin again, with whom I had always had an almost fraternal friendship.
The occasion presented itself unexpectedly, because in April partial elections were held in those towns where a management commission was in charge, as a consequence of the elections of the 31st and the unexpected proclamation of the Republic, and one of them was ours. 

















CHAPTER NINE

The new municipal elections
A few days before the beginning of Holy Week, the repetition of the municipal elections took place in my town. To everyone's surprise, Don Mariano again presented his candidacy for mayor, because in these years he had changed his thinking and political ideology; he was no longer a monarchist, but was running with the support of a new political force that had emerged from the Acción Nacional, the small monarchist parties, the ultra-conservative agrarian parties, and a conservative Valencian group that was called with the ambiguous name of "Confederación Española de Derechas Autónomas", known by all as CEDA (Spanish Confederation of Autonomous Rightists). The truth was that it was the first conservative political coalition that emerged after the disaster of 1931, with the clear intention of bringing together all those who, for whatever reason, opposed radicals, socialists, anarchists or republicans. It was, therefore, a good place for all those who feared the possibility of a socialist revolution similar to the one that took place in Russia, or, given the exalted Spanish temperament, even more radical. Its undisputed leader was Gil Robles, a real "bête noire" of national politics. A lawyer from Salamanca, born in the bosom of agrarian Catholicism, he was well prepared to deal with all and sundry, his own and strangers, to withstand attacks, frictions and confrontations and to come out of them all with flying colors, just as Lerroux himself had done in the past, but the latter was more attached to republican ideas, which were already in frank decadence.
Don Mariano began his particular election campaign in the tavern, where no parishioner entered without being invited to a glass of wine or brandy. Sure of his victory, he allowed himself to squander a few pesetas in "propaganda", which he would later recover in municipal business, in partnership with the bosses of the Casino of Sigüenza. On the other hand, his "electoral promises" were clear, direct and he did not mince words, as he was not aware of his illegality, as if that were the natural thing to do in local politics. "Don't make a mistake when you go to vote, Gracián, your problem with the boundaries can be easily fixed when I return to the mayor's office! -he would say to one and all, remembering each case or pending litigation.
When I return to the mayor's office you'll be out of irrigation problems, Julian!"
This time the Church participated actively in the elections, because, at the request of don Mariano, who was already a member of the new Catholic Action, an organization that acted as a bridge between the Church and the CEDA, a mass was celebrated which could well be described as an "electoral mass", where don Gregorio did not have the slightest modesty to recommend the vote for don Mariano. The support of the Church to the conservative coalition was justified because the new law of Orders and Congregations was hanging over the Church itself, like a sword of Damocles, and the clergy in general was really indignant with the Government. I offered to help him, more to be close to the events in my town than to support him in his intentions. It was of no use for the "Tejero" to try to remember all the novelties he had brought to the town, for most of them were a complete failure. The school languished for lack of budget and students, and they had to change teachers three times, because they lost the enthusiasm of the early days as soon as they were faced with reality, with the cold and, above all, with the perversity and aggressiveness of the children themselves, more than one of whom had to be treated in the hospital of Sigüenza for receiving a stone. The electric light could hardly be used for a few hours during the night and two flashes of lightning were enough to cut off the supply. As for the Town Hall clock, there was no way to keep it on time and the carillon stopped working almost a week after it was installed, to the relief of the townspeople, who did not understand that music, which they described as "dull".
The worst thing was that the newly arrived brothers came loaded with revolutionary and libertarian theories, and wanted to convince the people of the social advantages of declaring "libertarian communism". The older brother, who as a member of the U.G.T. was against those ideas, soon had his first confrontation with them, warning them not to go around alarming the people with their absurd ideas.
-If you go around with these... ideas that nobody understands and that the only thing they do is to confuse those who want to vote for the left, then we will have a failure, and a resounding one!
But the younger brothers did not follow such reasoning; on the contrary, they were convinced that their message would resonate with the people and that the right wing would be easily defeated.
What has a peasant who has nothing to lose but a crust of bread to put in his mouth and a bad mattress to rest his toil-worn body? As Marx said, we proletarians have nothing to lose but our chains, but a world to gain!
-They have indoctrinated you well in Catalonia! But here that doesn't work, they would kill someone for defending that crust of bread and that mattress! So let "Tejero" and me, and the U.G.T., run these elections, and don't stick your noses in too, we have it bad enough, even for this time, if we have new general elections you can do what you please.
But the brothers did not follow the advice, and at the end of Mass, where everyone came to see the attitude of the Church, they improvised a rally, which was harshly contested.
-Paisanos, paisanos! -shouted the Benjamín from an improvised box in the poyato attached to the façade of the church- "Paisanos, wait a moment, listen to what we have to tell you, and don't let yourselves be carried away by habit and always vote for the same people without thinking of the consequences! You know who we are and what they have done to our family. First they accused me, knowing I was innocent, forcing me to leave town, and then they stole our property with dirty tricks. They will do the same to all of you when you least expect it! We have to make a common front; a revolution to change this situation; we have to become strong and defend our right to live with dignity from the fruits of our labor, and that, in this country, dominated for centuries by chieftains, the clergy and four unscrupulous, paid vermin, will never be possible without a revolution! -At the mention of the clergy, the first boos and threats were heard, but the impetus of the Benjamin prevailed and he was able to continue his improvised speech. They have told you that communism is the devil; that it is atheism, free love and all that nonsense, but communism is justice, equality and honesty; to each according to his ability and needs. In communism we are all brothers, just as Jesus Christ himself preached. That is the true religion and not this one! -I tell you now that the proletarian revolution will triumph all over the world and will also triumph in this town, therefore, let us avoid useless waste of time, and who knows if bloodshed, and let us declare right now libertarian communism. Long live the glorious revolution of the proletariat! -he finished shouting, energetically raising his left arm, with his fist clenched.
The people were somewhat shocked by the feeling that the Benjamín put into his inflammatory speech, but it was Don Mariano who was the first to react almost violently. He climbed into the poyato, not without difficulty because of the heaviness of his heavy body, and rebutted the little Valiente.
 -Are we going to tolerate that a child comes to tell us what is convenient for the people? Are we going to allow him to come to us with nonsense he has learned, after having committed a thousand misdeeds and having been sent to jail, where the innocent do not enter, and that he comes to poison the people by talking about revolutions and similar nonsense, which we all know how they end?
-Let's take away their words and let them never address the people again, we don't want people like them here!
The Valiente brothers tried to respond, but such was the booing that it was useless. Finally, they were pushed down from the improvised tribune and forcibly removed from the esplanade in front of the church, amid insults, blows and threats. Some even dared to call them names with bad manners:
-Leave town, and the whole family, we have always lived here in peace and harmony until you got involved in politics!
The spectacle was depressing and for some reason I thought I saw in those two poor boys Jesus Christ himself, booed by the Pharisees when he appeared before Pilate. John Courageous, who had watched the scene unable to know which side to take, that of his brothers or that of the people, joined them and, unable to avoid his anger, rebuked them:
-Now you've really screwed it up! There's no need for elections anymore because you've just appointed yourselves the new mayor! Go home, we'll talk about it tonight! You can't stay here a day longer or you'll end up setting fire to our house too, with mother and father inside!
Poor Agnes, who was terrified, fearing that her enraged countrymen would also take her with them, did not know what to do, but her love for her brothers was stronger than her instinct for self-preservation, and she almost pushed her way through the tumult surrounding her brothers, without ceasing to shout at them, armed with unexpected courage.
-Animals, rather than animals, leave in peace my brothers who have as much right as anyone else to live in this town, which is also your town!
But for her, too, there were warnings and threats.
-And you, you little dead fly, you little teacher, be careful too, and don't get involved in politics, lest some misfortune befall you!
It was therefore clear which side the whole town was on, and the four or five affiliated to the U.G.T. were not determined to stand up for the two Valiente brothers, nor did they share their revolutionary ideas.
Don Mariano and the new political force of the CEDA won handsomely, but not only in our town, but in most of the towns and cities where these by-elections were held. Azaña's government did not give it importance, since these were towns without great influence in general politics, dominated by the big cities, such as Madrid, Barcelona, or Bilbao. But Gil Robles came out of them as the undisputed leader of the Spanish right wing, especially of the Catholics, from the moderates to the extremists, so that from that moment on he would not only have the full support of the Church, but also of the former monarch himself, Alfonso XIII, with whom he had met and received his blessing and support. In spite of everything, and because deep down they all wanted a secular Spain, with a clear separation of the Church from the State, abolishing most of its historical privileges, as well as its almost monopoly in teaching, they let Azaña's government do the "dirty work" and bring out its controversial law of Orders and Congregations.
Thus, on May 17, after a long and hard debate, and with Alcalá Zamora himself against, the law that would affect Sigüenza so much was finally approved, since more than half of the children of school age attended religious schools, which would be closed without the State having alternatives to school all those children, whose parents, moreover, were not willing to receive a secular education, as was the public one. To tell the truth, given the scarcity of means, it was not a high quality education either. And this despite the enormous effort of the so-called "Pedagogical Missions", which renewed and vitalized public education under the intelligent leadership of the socialist Fernando de los Ríos, a "krausista" from the famous "Institución Libre de Enseñanza", who helped the complete pedagogical renovation of education in Spain. It was not for nothing that his Ministry was called "Public Instruction" instead of "Public Education", since this concept must have seemed too "dirigiste", while that of "Instruction" was more liberal and democratic. In addition, the law meant an almost mortal blow to the finances of the bishopric and the cathedral chapter.
But Alcalá Zamora was not willing to let Azaña have his way and took advantage of the first opportunity to provoke a new government crisis himself. The excuse was the sudden illness of his Minister of Finance, Jaime Carner, who would die months later. The president tried to form a government with other candidates, but finally he had to give up and call again his personal enemy, Mr. Manuel Azaña. Thus, on June 14 we had a new Government, but with hardly any changes. National politics was beginning to become a personal matter between half a dozen politicians, such as don Niceto, Azaña, the incombustible Lerroux, Gil Robles or Indalecio Prieto, not to mention that within the PSOE an internal struggle was already taking place between tendencies, such as those of Largo Caballero, increasingly radicalized, and Julián Besteiro and Indalecio Prieto himself, who were in favor of collaborating with Azaña's Government. So these quarrels did not leave much time to really deal with the pressing problems of the country.
As one fishes best in troubled waters, the businessmen took advantage of the opportunity to evade their capital, restrict credits and hinder as much as they could the work of the Government. The most widely circulated press, mostly in the hands of right-wing businessmen, some of them blatantly fascist, like the new weekly "Fascio", seemed determined to provoke the fall of the Radical-Socialist Government and blamed Largo Caballero and his labor measures, like the "Mixed Juries", the law of "Contracts", of "Labor Accidents" and other similar ones, as the cause of the growing economic crisis, when what was really happening was that we were beginning to feel the consequences of the economic crisis of 1929 in Spain as well. Young students sympathetic to the European fascist movement took advantage of the situation to carry out attacks, which in our town had already been anticipated with the burning of the Casa del Pueblo.
In this state of affairs came the exams, which, in spite of the hectic course, I solved in the same brilliant way as in the previous course. But the prospect of spending a summer in the village, alone in my old house, now almost in ruins, with nothing to do and nothing to occupy my time, filled me with anxiety. On the other hand, when the last day of class finally arrived and the bishop himself addressed us to recommend recollection, prayer and avoidance of temptations, as he did every year, he ended his sermon with a comment that only increased my uneasiness:
-Dear seminarians, this may be the last year that I give you my blessing, because with the new law on Orders and Congregations they are forcing us to close this holy house, home and university of all of you. Let us pray to God this summer that it will not happen! Go in peace, and God bless you! -he concluded, giving us his blessing.
The fall of Azaña
That was a summer full of novelties, which, as usual, only increased tensions instead of reducing them. The Valiente brothers decided to form a gang and spend the mowing season as day laborers throughout the region. Although I offered to accompany them, they declined my offer because the hardness of the work of a pieceworker was not easy to bear for those who lacked practice and adequate physical preparation. But the revolutionary character of Benjamin, who never missed an opportunity to try to stir up his companions, did not facilitate their recruitment and they had to leave the region, and go to Salamanca and Valladolid, where reapers were always needed. They only had to give their names to be told that the quota was already full, which led to the suspicion that Don Román had spread the word among the bosses that they were not to be hired.
By those paradoxes, or rather cruelties of fate, I found work in the same lands that belonged to the Valiente family, because Don Román, through the mediation of Don Gregorio, offered me the job of foreman, to control the harvesting crews. Up to that point he still had total confidence in me and was grateful for my profitable services as an intermediary. I got him to hire Inés as well, as a water carrier and to perform other tasks that would help the harvesters improve their working conditions, but the wage they offered her, two pesetas a day, made it clear that it was only a compromise. But at least I had Inés by my side for the whole summer, and the work was not hard for either of us. In spite of her family misfortunes, she had recovered her spirits, I don't know if it was because of her optimistic nature or because she felt happy in my presence, and from time to time she cheered up the monotony of the long days of harvesting with some cheerful Castilian jota, sometimes full of wit and wit, which made those present laugh:

"The priests and tavernkeepers, they have the same opinion; the more baptisms to do, the more pesetas to the drawer."

Her voice was not sweet or mellow, but strong and powerful, reaching all corners of the valley, but when the lyrics required it, she knew how to modulate the tone to make it mysterious, amorous or sardonic, depending on the intention of the couplet. There were other women in the group, who carried the bales of harvest, and who chanted the refrains and laughed with their loud laughter at the graces and mischievousness of Inés.

"Up, down,
I've seen my girlfriend's underwear. 
Above, below,
I've seen my girlfriend's garter."

So, in spite of the evils that threatened us on all sides, I think we had a happy and carefree summer.
For the Virgin of August I had to help at the mass celebrated by the bishop in the cathedral of Sigüenza, and Inés, accompanied by her mother, already full of infirmities and very aged by the events, came down with me in the buggy that had been sent to pick me up, so that they could also attend the solemn celebration.
-God has willed that you should not have to suffer our miseries, Andresito, your father did well to make you a priest! Look at my children, without land or cattle, made beggars of themselves, reapers out there, and God knows how many calamities they are going through! -the poor woman commented to me on the way. Inés did not seem to agree, judging by her gesture of resignation and dismay.
But what most stirred the people that summer was not because of politics but because of a threshing machine, the first they had seen on those lands, which Don Román had rented, now that his extensive farmland had increased production and made it profitable.
When we started the machine and the peasants saw the wheat come out clean and shelled, without a blade of straw, moments after the whole ear had entered the other end, they thought that it must be magic, and again and again they went up and down the contraption, trying to understand the mechanism without succeeding. Overwhelmed and aware that such an innovation could bring them no good, they commented among themselves with gestures of deep concern. "This can't do any good for the countryside! In a few days, all the arms will be left over and these machines will do everything for them! "These contraptions are good for people with a lot of land, but those of us who have four pieces will have no choice but to sell them or lease them, so that they can work them all at the same time!"
It was evident that their sixth sense made them clearly understand what their future would be, and they were already beginning to see themselves displaced by the machines, which condemned them to emigration.
The first day we used the threshing machine, Don Román himself was present, accompanied by his son and his inseparable bodyguards. Don Román, dressed as if he were going to a wedding and wearing a felt hat, more suitable for a funeral than for the countryside, was exultant and could not help but issue a historic challenge to the astonished peasants:
-This will change the country and not the politics, especially not those of the Socialists! What is needed here is rationalism, investment and a sense of economic profitability, and less talk and idleness!
But there was no shortage of realistic retorts.
-It may be good for you, but you can tell me how it benefits us poor people who have nothing to pay for these modernities!
-Well, if you have no capital, go work for those who have it, because in the long run you will get more profit by working in some factory than by working four pieces of land with bad art and scattered around.
-You may be right about that, but everyone feels attached to his town and doesn't want to leave!
-We have to be realistic and stop being sentimental! Those who are born poor cannot expect to live as masters, and those of us who have that advantage it is because God has willed it, because you don't choose your family while you are still in your mother's womb!
Unable to refute such arguments, the peasants returned to their artisanal work, saddened and aware that with that noisy machine the world they had known was falling apart without them having the slightest idea of how to avoid the catastrophe.
For its part, national politics continued its dynamic of personal confrontations and one or the other seemed determined to make a coup d'état and seize power. The socialists, especially Largo Caballero, were beginning to lose patience when they saw that their legislative proposals were blocked and torpedoed by the radicals of Lerroux. Lerroux saw his opportunity to become head of the Government had arrived, after years of intrigues, trickery and blackmail. Alcalá Zamora was not happy with the situation either and his personal enmity with Azaña grew more and more every day.
On September 12, tensions within the coalition Government led to a new crisis with the formation of a new Cabinet headed by Lerroux, which did not have the confidence of the Chamber, so there was no choice but to form a transitional Government, headed by the radical Martínez Barrios, dissolve the Cortes and call new general elections.
It could be said that this was Gil Robles' great opportunity, since only the right wing was relatively united in the new electoral call. There was no "Popular Front" this time, except the one formed in Bilbao with the candidacies of Prieto and Azaña and in Seville, where they presented the communist doctor Cayetano Bolívar, supported by the socialists, who were already beginning to radicalize towards more revolutionary positions. The anarchists, for their part, recommended abstention, because they were already completely disillusioned with any political alternative born of the ballot box, and they only believed in violent and revolutionary action. José Calvo Sotelo also entered the fray, and from Paris, where he was in exile, he sent an inflammatory recorded speech. To complete the picture, in October the fascist followers of José Antonio Primo de Rivera, founded the new party "Falange Española" in an act in the Comedia Theater of Madrid, thus completing the range of possibilities of the conservative feelings that could exist in the Spanish people.
But there was yet another determining factor, the influence of which is still debated today, such as the fact that for the first time the right to vote for women was granted. It seems that the majority of women, especially in rural areas, voted in total harmony with the slogans of the Church, in favor of the Catholics of the CEDA. It was the Catholic Action, the secular arm of the Church, which was in charge of campaigning in favor of the conservative options, and not always by peaceful means, but by resorting to coercion and political violence.
The electoral campaign was a fierce one and the pressures were extreme on both sides, so much so that the Minister of Justice himself, Botella Asensi, presented his resignation. Some political groups no longer had any qualms about appearing at the rallies armed with guns and other objects with clear aggressive intentions. The day before the voting, when I was in the village with the task of bringing the latest edition of the "Hoja Parroquial", Romanín and his thugs showed up with the intention of intimidating the few people in the village who were still planning to vote for the left. They made their spectacular and provocative entrance into the town square as had become customary, sounding the car horn. This time they had installed two large loudspeakers on the roof of the car, attached to a platform accessed by a small ladder attached to the rear of the vehicle. In a few moments there was the usual crowd of curious onlookers, presided over by the idle children, whom there was no way to keep at the school. Romanín got out of the car and I was surprised to see that all of them were wearing a blue shirt, from whose pocket hung a golden badge, with a bunch of arrows crossed by a yoke, emblem of the Catholic Monarchs, which had been chosen by the new Falangists. A military belt crossed his chest and, without the slightest hesitation, hanging from his belt, he carried a cartridge case that must have contained a firearm, one of those that were regulation in the Civil Guard and Assault. The whole was overwhelming and the peasants had a first moment of doubt, because they believed that the son of Don Roman had come to the village to arm some of his usual camorras.
-Don't be afraid, nothing is happening here! These are the new insignia of the Spanish Falange! -He pointed to the insignia, the cap and ended up on the belts, pointing to the mysterious cartridge case. And this other one is in case someone gets silly and looks for a fight!
He ascended the steps and stood with a grotesque and affected air, no doubt imitating the theatrical gestures of Mussolini himself, who was already popular in movie newsreels and in the country's graphic magazines, and shouted at the astonished peasants:
-In Spain the socialist experiments and the democratic liberalisms of Jews and Masons, which are sinking the economy and staining the name of our country all over the world, are over! The hour of truth has arrived; the hour to repeat the glorious deeds of our ancestors, who made Spain the greatest empire in the world! -He raised his arm with open palm forward and squared himself militarily, shouting again, "¡Arriba España; Una, Grande y Libre! ¡Viva Falange Española! The peasants, frightened but impressed by that grandiloquent language full of patriotic exaltation, were convinced, and some even applauded him. Nobody in the village knew who Hitler was, who would not come to power until the end of January, and of Mussolini they had only a vague and confused idea. Therefore, they did not think badly of the Spanishist speech of the son of Don Román and the boy was filled with satisfaction to see how easy his proselytizing work had been, which was carried in the same terms throughout the region without encountering hardly any opposition, but rather adhesion, to the extent that some young people enlisted in the new Spanish Falange and formed groups or squads, as they were called.
As was to be expected, on November 19, the Spaniards dealt a new mortal blow to the Republic, since the right wing, which included monarchists, fascists and anti-democrats, won 217 of the 472 seats in the Chamber of Deputies. The left, disunited and with the majority abstention of the anarchists, barely obtained 99 seats, the rest went to the radicals, moderate and liberal republicans and some nationalist parties, that is to say, belonging to the lukewarm political center.
When the results were known, there was a real explosion of joy in the seminary, and a solemn Mass of "thanksgiving" was celebrated, presided over by the bishop himself. The prelate was sure that most of the anticlerical legislation of the first Republican biennium would be repealed, once the new government took office.
But it was evident that those results would mark the beginning of a pre-war situation throughout Spain, since both extremes made their own reading of the results and went almost immediately into action. Some believed themselves authorized to establish a fascist regime in Spain similar to the Italian one, and the others felt legitimized to begin their desired social revolution. The struggle was started by the anarchists when 1933 had not even ended. 

































CHAPTER TEN

Another bitter farewell
After the triumph of the right wing, the situation of the Valiente brothers was a continuous shock. They could not go out quietly to the tavern without first making sure that no one was following them or waiting for them around a corner to attack them, since the impunity with which the Falangists of Seguntinos moved was total.
Led by Don Román's son, and counting among them his own thugs, they applied to the letter the label of "shock force" with which the movement had been baptized. Like the Italian "black shirts" or the German "brown shirts", they believed that the only way to establish order was to terrorize their political enemies with violent and spectacular actions, which would dissuade them from their intentions. It was evident that they had it in for the three Valiente brothers, but also for the communist or U.G.T. railwaymen who stopped at the Sigüenza railroad station, and for the people who gathered at the Casa del Pueblo of this city. The unionists, warned, began to keep weapons inside their meeting places, mostly hunting shotguns, and perhaps it was for this reason that the Falangists did not attack them, at least in the first moments. Therefore, it can be said that the Spanish Falange had declared war on its own against the anarchists and communists, and, given the bewilderment and confusion that reigned in the Civil Guard barracks, they did so with almost total impunity.
One afternoon I ran into Juan as we were leaving the seminary, on our way to our usual soccer game in a nearby meadow, and he said to me in anguish:
-You have to talk to Don Román, Andrés, or they will kill us all like dogs when we least expect it! If he doesn't control that son of his, one day there will be a massacre in the village and he may not come out of it well either. I'm sure that the father is not aware of his raids... Maybe if you tell him about the case. We don't want war or violence! Besides, Damian and Benjamin are going back to Barcelona, they have nothing to do here... I don't want them to, because I know they'll get into trouble again, but to tell you the truth, I'm beginning to think almost like them!
I would gladly leave too if it weren't for the fact that... -he lowered his head and seemed ashamed to continue with what he wanted to say-... These things happen, Andrés! I can't leave because I got my girlfriend pregnant and I have to get married... You know what I mean... But by civil ceremony, no Church or blessings, and forgive me for the lack of respect, but I've had it up to here with them!
I did not answer, because I was no one to judge whether it was right or wrong, but I understood that he was sorry and ashamed.
-If you behave like a man, Juan, the case is not so serious, although I am not the one to give you advice in such a case.
-Yes, I'm getting married, and for the moment we'll live in the house, with the parents and Inés, that's why I want you to talk to Don Román, so they won't do something crazy and burn down our house, because they're already going around with no sense and with all the bad faith in the world!
I understood the reason for his fears and proposed, once again, to act as an intermediary, but I was not sure that the father was so innocent of the son's violent activities. Only the bishop himself could mediate to dissuade the Romanin from harassing the Valiente's, so I set out to try this mediation first.
-Be calm, Juan, I'll talk to whoever I have to talk to so that they leave you alone, but I can't guarantee anything, because since the elections you have few friends left in town, and even fewer here in Sigüenza!
It was not easy to find the opportunity to discuss the case with the bishop, because he was always in meetings, touring other dioceses, as there was no doubt that the victory of the right wing had given him wings and the bishops were preparing their strategy to pressure the Government to restore what they had lost. Finally, one afternoon, well into the month of November, I went to his office to carry out an assignment before the cathedral chapter, which, by the way, did not maintain good relations with the bishopric due to matters of bonds and other financial assets that the bishopric claimed as its own when apparently they belonged to the chapter.
I wanted to be more reverent than usual and I kissed her ring twice and even worried about her health, which with the first cold weather had suffered somewhat.
-I'm a little constipated, but I'm not lacking in strength, thank God! Tell me, Andrés, are you after something, because it's not often you show such interest, I know you better than your own father, and you're not exactly noted for your flattery, but for your honesty, otherwise you wouldn't have been my page long ago!
There was no doubt that the bishop had attained such a high rank for a reason, and this must have been because of his acumen in reading people's thoughts, for he had no doubt already read mine.
-The thing is... Don Martin... well, you will excuse me if what I am going to ask you is abusing your confidence because, to tell the truth, it is something quite delicate..." -as he always did, he sat down placidly in his big velvet armchair, and repeated the obsessive gesture of wiping dust motes from his cassock, while he waited for me to decide to expose my request at once-. It's about the Valiente brothers, Don Martin..." -he didn't let me finish, which was unusual for him, and interrupted me without being able to avoid a reproachful tone.
-Those brave brothers again! What have they done this time?
Alarmed, I tried to calm him down and put the case as cautiously as possible.
-Nothing, sir, they haven't done anything!... Precisely because they haven't done anything and have no intention of doing anything. Besides, the two minors are leaving town again..." -the bishop seemed relieved by the unexpected news, but he urged me to finish- "It is, sir, that Don Román's son and others of his group are threatening them and the man is afraid that some misfortune might happen, like they might burn down their house... Like what happened at the Casa del Pueblo!
There was no doubt that the bishop understood the rest of my request, but he was not enthusiastic about the idea of intervening in such a case, so he evaded with a cynical and disconcerting answer, leaving the matter settled and with no possible appeal.
-You can't expect the Church to meddle in political matters!
Come on, Andrés, stop going around meddling in matters that don't concern you and go to what I sent you to do, it's getting late!
That answer put an end to any remaining sympathy or friendship I might have felt for him, and from then on I limited myself to saying good morning and good night, and more than kissing his ring, I spat it at him. However, he must have said something to Don Román, because the frequency of visits to the town by the Falangists decreased drastically. In reality, no one wanted to start a spiral of violence that, given the bitter positions, they did not know how it would end. In mid-November the first snow fell, just the day the Valiente brothers were leaving on the night mail for their new exile in Barcelona. Abusing my prerogatives, I managed to trick the doorman by pretending to have an urgent message for the bishop.
-These are not the hours for errands! -he protested without showing too much rigor.
-It's a matter of his health, I have to go get him some syrup!
-I'll give you some syrup if I find out you're lying to me!
The good man knew it was a pretext, but when in doubt it was better to face a scolding from the warden than, if it were true, from the bishop himself, so he reluctantly opened the door and let me out.
There is nothing more desolate than a winter night in a small Castilian town. The streets were deserted and silent. I could barely hear the sound of my own footsteps, muffled by the snow. The flakes, large and light, were visible next to the lampshades, descending with parsimony and solemnity. The snowfall was so dense that I could hardly see where I was walking. It was sinking down to my ankles, and as I was wearing shoes that were not very suitable for those circumstances, I began to feel an intense cold in my toes. I walked the distance between the seminary and the station in the midst of a real blizzard of snow, watching for the whistle of a locomotive, fearful that, after all the effort and the risk of being discovered, I would arrive late and the train would have already left. When I arrived at the station I was freezing cold and covered with snow up to my ears, but I forgot all about it when I found there, around the stove, Agnes and her three brothers. When the poor girl saw me, with her face covered with her scarf, she thought it was an apparition and was so surprised that she couldn't even react.
-Inés, woman, don't look like that, I'm not a ghost! She couldn't help smiling when she saw my pitiful appearance, frozen with cold, shaking the snow from my hair and my cassock.
-Come over here by the stove, you look like a plucked chicken! But how could you think of coming down on a night like this, with the snow falling? Soul of God, you must appreciate my brothers by now!
Damián and Benjamín made a place for me by the stove, patting me on the back to get me to react. Juan took out a small bottle and invited me to drink.
-Here, have a drink and you'll see how quickly you'll warm up!
I did not ask what it was and drank it as if it were a medicine, and, indeed, the liquor began by burning my throat and then warming my chest and, finally, I felt somewhat more comforted.
If the blizzard nights were sad and desolate, the waiting room of a village station was like a cemetery vigil. There was only a destitute beggar there, still young, who took advantage of the fact that the railroad station remained open all night, since after the mail from Barcelona would arrive the early morning express to Madrid, in addition to some freight trains that supplied water at the station and, sometimes, even changed locomotives. He was curled up wrapped in a dirty blanket, with which he was covered up to his head, leaning on a bundle that must have contained all his miserable belongings. He looked at us in silence, with distrust and suspicion, as he looks at an abandoned dog that has already been beaten.
-Again for Barcelona! -I was finally able to say, turning to Benjamin, with whom I had more confidence.
The brothers remained silent, sitting on their travel bundles, for they did not even have suitcases. They nodded their heads because it was evident that they did not know what else they could talk about. It was as if they were absent, ashamed of something, or, rather, defeated and humiliated. They must have felt outlawed and banished, when a few days before they had hoped that their people would defy history to bring about a glorious revolution that would restore their dignity and freedom, as well as bring them progress. This must have been the deep feeling of all Spanish communists and anarchists at that precise moment.
In the midst of a desolate silence, in which no one really knew what to say or what to talk about, we heard the distant whistle of the mail train coming in on the points. The stationmaster rang the arrival bell and even the beggar woke up and stirred inside the blanket, taking the opportunity to change his position and curl up again. Agnes was startled and a sudden sadness appeared on her face.
-Come on, the train is here! -he exclaimed, helping his brothers up.
I had never witnessed a farewell with fewer words, but that said more things. Everything was expressed in their looks, heartbreaking but serene; painful but full of an incomprehensible hope, the fruit of some glimmer of faith in the future, which on that gloomy night there was no justification whatsoever for having it. The imposing locomotive, black and greasy, like a gigantic cockroach, appeared out of the snow, wrapped in steam and mystery. Then came the creaking of the rickety carriages, through whose windows appeared sleepy faces, covered with shawls, caps or thick scarves. An old woman, almost frightening in appearance, asked me.
-What town is this, my boy?
-Sigüenza, ma'am! -I answered as I helped the Valiente brothers upstairs. The woman crossed herself and exclaimed in a contemptuous tone:
-Heaven forbid: people of priests and follies! -hastily closing the window.
No sooner had the brothers settled into one of the seats and appeared through the window than the locomotive's hurried whistle was heard again, the cars creaked again and, with parsimony, to the rhythmic beat of the locomotive's puffs, we saw how the brothers vanished into the blizzard without stopping waving their arms, but without saying a single word to each other. Such was the bitterness they carried inside them!
Inés, anguished and trying to hold back her tears, approached me, trembling, as if begging me to embrace her in silence to make the pain of this new family farewell more bearable. I hesitated for a few moments, but I could not rebuff her and wrapped my arms around her, holding her close to my chest. As I felt again the mysterious smell of her hair, the beating of her heart and the warmth of her body, I asked myself what I was doing, dressed as a seminarian, pretending to love and serve God, if I wanted nothing more than to love and serve that unhappy creature! After a few moments, when the pale light of the caboose disappeared in the blizzard, Agnes reacted and slowly freed herself from my embrace, looking at me almost ashamed, but without saying a word, and went to her brother, who had watched the scene in silence, knowing perfectly well what his sister's feelings towards me were. At last, relieved of anguish by a deep sigh, she said to her brother, already in a more decided tone:
-Come on, Juan, let's go to the village, the parents will be worried!
We said our goodbyes and I walked leisurely back to the seminary. The snow was still falling heavily, but I didn't even cover myself with my scarf. My heart was boiling as if it were the bowels of a volcano and I think the anger I felt against everything and everyone kept me warm.
When I arrived at the seminary, the old doorman was alarmed at my sorry state.
-Where is the bishop's syrup? -he asked me sarcastically, for he knew I had lied to him. But perhaps it was because of my desolate appearance that he took pity on me, allowing me, before returning to the dormitories, to enter his house and revive myself in the warmth of his stove.
The revolution of the Immaculate Conception
In the mid-morning of December 8, on the occasion of the celebrations of the Immaculate Conception, Don Gregorio and I set out again on the road to the town to celebrate mass and preside over the procession. When we were at the level crossing, where the road joined the Henares River, we were overtaken by a couple of the Guardia Civil, who, with a light step and musket on their shoulders, were also on their way to the town. Alarmed, Don Gregorio wanted to know the cause, but the guards did not want to clarify what their intentions were. We lightened our pace to walk alongside the guards and, by dint of insistence, Don Gregorio managed to get the reason for their visit out of them.
-We are going to arrest three or four of the U.G.T.!
-What have they done this time? In this town we don't win anymore for surprises!
-Nothing in particular, Father, it's a preventive thing!
The guards were still reluctant to openly declare the cause of the arrests, but Don Gregorio was not determined to remain in ignorance either, so he insisted.
-It doesn't seem logical to me that they would detain someone without a reason, they must have done something?
The guards, no doubt tired of his insistence and being a priest, interrupted him and finally revealed the mystery of his visit.
-It seems that today we will have trouble all over Spain, because the anarchists intend to revolt again, and they are not far from here, it seems that the strongest thing will be in Aragon. That's why we are going to arrest a few, lest they join in the revelry and we have an upset here as well.
I was about to ask for the names of those they intended to arrest, but I restrained myself because it was obvious that it would be Juan Valiente and the others affiliated with the Casa del Pueblo.
The events happened just as I had supposed. We had not yet begun mass when we saw Juan and four other peasants pass by, escorted by the couple, but not handcuffed. Apparently, they had offered no resistance, because, deep down, they did not agree with the uprising, and even their preventive detention would avoid any misunderstanding. Those who were gathered at the door of the church were startled and there were those who commented that this time they would surely be shot, without saying what crime they had committed to deserve such an extreme sentence.
Restless and unable to concentrate on the rites of the Eucharist, I wondered what had become of the Valiente brothers, and if they had joined this new revolutionary attempt. I would have liked to have been able to talk to Inés, but she did not show up at the church, which alarmed me, since the Immaculate was especially venerated among the women of the town. We finished mass almost hastily, as it was evident that Don Gregorio was also in a hurry to return to Sigüenza as soon as possible. He hastily undressed and urged me to put everything away as soon as possible so that we would be ready to return. We went out to the church square and were surprised to see most of the parishioners still there, murmuring among themselves, with coarse and somber expressions. Suddenly, in the middle of the crowd we heard someone shouting to those present:
-Everyone to the town square, quickly and without making a fuss! Let's go, everybody, because a comrade has something important to communicate.
When I heard the expression "comrade" my blood rushed to my head with shock, because I understood that those were a group of anarchists or communists who would be with those of the uprising. Don Gregorio turned pale and from the shock he had to sit down on the church pews. The people cleared the place as they had been ordered to do, and from among the last to leave appeared a young man armed with a hunting shotgun, dressed in a thick leather coat, with a sheep's wool collar, and with his chest crossed by a belt, full of hunting cartridges.
-You two, let's go to the square too!
Don Gregorio got up and with uneven and shaky steps walked ahead of the armed young man. I felt sorry for him and let him lean on my shoulder.
-God have mercy on us, Andrés," he murmured almost in my ear so that the young man who was guarding us would not hear us, "these people don't look favorably on the clergy! And you mustn't say anything that could compromise us! Do you understand me, Andrés?
I found his warning unworthy, but it was evident that fear had made him lose all dignity and respect for his own habits. On arriving at the Town Hall square practically the whole town was gathered there murmuring and unable to disguise their bewilderment and fear at the unexpectedness of what was happening. On the balcony there was a group of anarchists, all armed with hunting shotguns and one of them also with a revolver that he carried in a holster hanging from his thigh in the style of the cowboys in the movies that came from America. They were talking among themselves and seemed to be waiting for someone to arrive who would address the people already gathered in the square. We were led into the Town Hall. Don Gregorio could barely climb the steps leading to the mayor's office because he was choking. We had to stop halfway up the stairs because he was unable to take another step without leaning against the wall. One of the people at the top, who was watching the scene, shouted at us:
-What's wrong with the priest, are his sins weighing him down and he can't even handle his soul anymore?
I tried to defend him, but the anarchist came down and grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up almost on all fours. Once in the mayor's office, Don Gregorio seemed to recover his breath, which was so congested that I feared he was going to have an attack.
We were in the room that overlooked the balcony of the square, from where we could hear the murmur of the people. Sitting in the mayor's office was another of the rebels, who nervously rummaged through all the drawers without us knowing what he was looking for. After a few anxious moments another young man entered, with his holsters across his chest but without weapons, and addressing the one who seemed to be in charge of the group, he commented with an angry gesture:
-Nothing, Julián, there is not one official paper, not one land registry book, not one public deed, not even invoices. They have taken everything! These bastards were already waiting for us!
Julian gave a fist on the table, no doubt upset by the bad news, because it was clear that he intended to make a pyre with everything they could find that would identify the ownership of all the farms in the village. He got up and without a word went to the balcony. When he appeared, new murmurs were heard, but at an energetic gesture of his, there was a sepulchral silence.
-Who is the mayor of this town? -he asked in an authoritative tone, but no one answered. The silence was anguished and for a moment I feared that they would resort to more violent means to find out. Finally someone in the square shouted:
-He is not in town; he is in Sigüenza!
-Who's the secretary? And the same voice answered again:
-Go to the mayor, also in Sigüenza!
-So much the better, because it is no longer necessary here! -He remained silent for a few moments, as if seeking inspiration for what he intended to communicate to the people and, finally, he shouted to them with the true airs of a revolutionary leader:
-Comrades, in this town no one rules anymore; neither master nor lord; here we all rule and what is in the town belongs to all the people! Here we declare libertarian communism, as is being done at this moment in all of Spain, and a provisional revolutionary committee will be created to solve the emergencies until the revolution has triumphed! Whoever does not agree will be considered a traitor to the cause of the social revolution of the working people, which is that of justice, fraternity and progress! Long live the proletarian revolution!
But not a single viva was heard to be chanted, but the rumors grew, until again the same voice as before dared to ask:
-And what will you do now?
-It will be seen! -We have to follow the orders of the Zaragoza revolutionary committee! Whatever they decide, will be done!
-And who is in charge of this committee, if I may ask? -the same voice asked again.
-Among other good comrades, Cipriano Mera himself, who is already well known for his revolutionary line!
Don Gregorio exchanged a pathetic glance with me, as if to imply that we were lost, in the hands of those fanatics and fanatics.
The leader of the anarchists re-entered and, addressing Don Gregorio, rebuked him bitterly:
-You are going to pay for this! -referring perhaps to the failure to find the documents that he had planned to burn in the same square, in order to start the revolution in the town. Don Gregorio did not answer, but instinctively crossed himself, which made the anarchist even more indignant.
The truth was that they seemed confused and disoriented. They had taken the town, and now that they had it in their possession I did not really know what to do. Without a doubt it was a crazy and absurd action and without a concrete plan. He had arrived in two cars from Calatayud, where they were resisting the Guardia Civil, with the intention of raising as many villages as they could find in their path, leaving in them people they trusted and returning again to Calatayud. But they found that their preparations for the uprising had been an open secret, and the Government, which that same day had elected Don Santiago Alba as its new leader, was perfectly aware of their plans, anticipating them.
A tense and strange wait ensued, the anarchists, undecided and increasingly showing signs of nervousness, were consulting among themselves as to what to do in view of the frustrating result of their action. Suddenly we heard several detonations coming from the river road. In a moment there was chaos in the room and the anarchists wielded their weapons threateningly, not knowing what to expect or the cause of the shots. One of those on the balcony rushed in and shouted to the comrades:
-The Civil Guard! What do we do, do we resist or do we abandon the town?
The leader stared at Don Gregorio, as if he intended to execute him. Don Gregorio gasped, pale as if he were already dead, but the anarchist grabbed him violently by the arm and shouted at him:
-We're leaving, but he's coming with us, as a hostage!
 Let's go, and no funny business or you're a dead priest!
They rushed down the stairs and forgot all about me, and I could breathe a sigh of relief. They made their way through the astonished townspeople and hurriedly climbed into the two cars in which they had arrived. The townspeople, when they understood what was happening, started running in all directions and in a few moments the square was deserted. One of the vehicles did not seem to want to start and the civil guards, on horseback, were already at the height of the hermitage of the humilladero, and almost had them in range. The anarchists pushed the vehicle to try to start it that way and, finally, it started. Precipitously, those who had pushed the car got on the davits and the car started as fast as they could. I, who for some reason have never shied away from risk, watched the scene from the balcony of the City Hall. Then I saw how a civil guard pointed his musket at one of those on the davits, fired and the bullet went through the back of the anarchist, who fell like a bundle to the street, somersaulting as if he were a rag doll, raising a macabre dust. I was overwhelmed by the scene. It was the first time I had seen a person wounded by a bullet fall, and it seemed grotesque and absurd that something so small and fired from so far away could in an instant have ended the life of a young man, whose crime was nothing more than wanting good for his fellow man, even though he might be mistaken! I went down the stairs without feeling the steps under my feet, and when I was running towards the place where the body lay, the civil guards had already begun their pursuit of the escaped anarchists. At that moment I saw that the Romanín's car was coming in from the side of the church at full speed. When he arrived next to the body of the young man, he descended precipitously from the car wielding a pistol, and addressing me he shouted contemptuously:
-Get out of the way, priest, this is a man's business! One less anarchist dog, and that's how they'll all end up!
When I arrived at the body, my heart shrank so violently that I was breathless. What lay on the ground was a young woman no older than Agnes. At that moment I would have liked to be a priest, to try to comfort her, if she was still alive. She remained with her body twisted, with her eyes open and her gaze still with an expression of terror and bewilderment. I tried to find out if she was still alive, but the Romanin pushed me away, making me fall to the ground. He approached the young woman and cold-bloodedly shot her point-blank in the forehead. The girl should have been dead by now because, although the body gasped from the impact of the bullet, the wound did not bleed.
-Just in case! -commented Romanín, without the slightest pang of conscience.
Dejected, without the courage or strength to throw myself against him, I approached the corpse of the young woman, and inwardly asked him for forgiveness for not having been able to do anything to save her life and closed her eyelids. That was all that could be done for that unfortunate young anarchist.
Miraculously, Don Gregorio had escaped unharmed from the scuffle, because taking advantage of the haste of the escape, he managed to jump out of the vehicle where he was being held hostage. They shot at him but missed him. He spent some days in bed, recovering from the shock, and when he returned to his parish his political position was fully defined. Since then there was no raid in the village against leftists in which he was not involved in some way.
Counterrevolutionary spring
The new anarchist revolutionary attempt was put down after four days, in which there were violent clashes between insurrectionists and the Civil Guard and the Assault Guard. In the province of Valencia the cutting of the railway caused the derailment of the Barcelona-Seville express, with a toll of dead and wounded, innocent people, which shocked the country and did not exactly help the cause of the anarchists.
Thus, on December 18, the new government with a radical majority was formed. It was the culmination of the political career of the old Lerroux, whose Radical Republican Party he himself had founded back in 1908. For the first time since the establishment of the Second Republic, representatives of the landowners and of the great financiers entered the Government, but, by agreement between them, the CEDA of Gil Robles, the morally winning party, did not obtain portfolios.
The most important consequences of this new and frustrated anarchist revolution were, on the one hand, the creation of an authentic "squadron" of local Falangists, who, emboldened by the new situation created in national politics, believed they were already legitimized to exercise by themselves the functions of "political police" in the whole region, but, above all, they already harbored well-founded hopes of being able to make their own "national syndicalist" revolution, a Spanish version of Italian fascism, rather than of German "national socialism".
On the other hand, the radicalization of the socialists, increasingly closer to the communists, who were still not very numerous, perhaps because of their submission to the dictates of Moscow, to the point that their youth merged into a single political force: the Unified Socialist Youth. Indalecio Prieto went so far as to say that if there was a new military uprising "the Socialist Party was committed to unleashing the revolution". Thus, in 1934 many of the conditions that made civil war inevitable were already in place. As a consequence of all these threats and coercions, the U.G.T. and the socialists of Sigüenza, alarmed by the aggressiveness of the Falangists, took precautions and many of them began to carry small arms, which I do not know where they came from, but they appeared everywhere. Perhaps out of ignorance or youthful recklessness, I myself accepted to go armed with a revolver, already somewhat old, but in good use, which the bishop himself gave me, with the excuse that in the many journeys in which I accompanied him we were already in real danger of being attacked by some exalted anarchist or anticlerical communist.
-I don't want them to know you're armed, Andrés, but we can't go around without some protection these days!
Despite my aversion to weapons, I understood that the prelate's reasons were not unfounded. Even I myself, wearing the cassock of a seminarian, could be the target of an attack. So, with the firm resolution of not using it except in case of extreme necessity, and always in self-defense, I accepted it and we agreed on a place to hide it, in one of the drawers of a chest of drawers in the visitors' room of the bishop's palace. The bishop strongly forbade me to take the weapon if it was not to accompany him in his outings around the city. Both he and I did some practice with it, driving away with the car to a solitary place, curiously enough in Don Román's preserve, so that the shots would be confused with those of the hunters. The prelate was not a bad marksman, who used to join the hunting trips organized by Don Román, but I did not lag behind, and in a short time I got the hang of the revolver and did not miss the targets. At first I felt that the gun burned in my hands and the noise of the detonation upset my nerves, but, little by little, I got used to it and, finally, I became even more skilled than the bishop himself, who apparently had practiced with it before those occasional outings.
-May God grant that we will only have to use it to pierce boats, Andrés, because the devil carries the guns! But if it comes to it, don't hesitate to shoot, because the life of a servant of God is more important than that of a heartless terrorist!
I did not agree with his assessment, but I never replied to the prelate, so I limited myself to saying yes to everything, which increased his confidence in my fidelity, sending me on more and more demanding missions.
Those were other sad Christmases, which I spent between the asylum, where my father languished and hardly recognized me, and the town, whose people, after the events of December, were already suspicious of everything that had to do with politics, especially if it was left-wing. Juan Valiente had gotten help from the ugetistas of Sigüenza to rehabilitate the Casa del Pueblo, it was even said that he received a salary from the union, because since the return of Don Mariano to the mayor's office all the works were paralyzed, even those of water supply, and he was left without work. But his meetings were attended only by half a dozen members of the U.G.T., the "Tejero", who did not rule out the possibility of returning to the mayor's office if new elections were held, and the occasional unemployed young man, more out of curiosity than conviction.
However, that Christmas the Casa del Pueblo was somewhat revived thanks to the presence of a group of university students from the F.U.E. of Madrid, with their rural performances of the "Teatros Universitarios" and the "Misiones Culturales Rurales" (Rural Cultural Missions). Thanks to them, the town was encouraged and was able to attend a performance of
"Fuenteovejuna" according to the staging of the ill-fated García Lorca, who had not long ago visited Sigüenza.
When in the final apotheosis of the play Queen Isabel herself asks who killed the Comendador and Esteban, the mayor, answers "Fuenteovejuna, madam!", some peasants whistled as if they felt alluded to and perceived some political intentionality, which undoubtedly it had! But most of them applauded wildly, especially because it was the first time they attended a theatrical performance.
At the end, when they saw the actors without makeup and dressed in their usual clothes, they could not believe that they were the same ones who had performed the immortal play by Lope de Vega.
-Hey, sir, where have the kings gone? -asked the children to the actors, unable to understand their transfiguration.
-We have dismissed them and sent them into exile! Or don't you know yet that this is a Republic? -the young actors replied in a jocular tone.
Amidst jokes and jokes, the evening came to an end, the sets, props and all the other gear were collected and loaded into a van, whose awning was decorated with an illustration of García Lorca himself, as well as an eye-catching sign with the name of
The "Teatro Universitario", and, aware of their important educational and pedagogical work, they set out on the road to the next town.
The first measures of "social restoration", as the conservatives euphemistically called the repeal of all the legislation of the first Republican biennium, were not long in coming. Not only did they grant amnesty to Calvo Sotelo, who returned from Paris in the smell of crowds, but they also repealed some of the articles of the controversial Agrarian Reform, once again expelling thousands of peasants from the farms where they had been settled. All these measures were answered with a succession of strikes, now more violent and blatantly political than revolutionary, such as those of the construction workers or the metalworkers of Madrid, in which armed confrontation between strikers and Falangists was already commonplace. As if that were not enough, the university became a battlefield, where not a day went by that the F.U.E. boys were not attacked by the S.E.U. boys, that is, the Falangists, and the latter did not reply with new aggressions.
But the agricultural owners also began their own offensive, reducing wages, increasing working hours and ignoring most of the labor legislation still in force. Not content with all this, even the old monarchists took the initiative to prepare the conditions for a military coup to overthrow the Republic, since, according to public declarations by the head of the "Juventudes de Acción Popular", "without religion and the monarchy, Spain had no salvation". At the end of March, a group of monarchist financiers and military men met with the "Duce" himself in Rome, who promised them help for a military uprising, as well as giving them an "advance" of one and a half million pesetas at the time, which was a real capital, with which to bribe one or the other and move easily to prepare the armed rebellion. Gil Robles must have been aware of all these maneuvers, because at a certain meeting he declared that he was determined to come to power "with whatever and however he could..."
A few days after the anniversary of the proclamation of the Republic, the celebration of which was a new cause for confrontations, the same bishop informed us that on April 22, to reward our application, the best of us would make an excursion to the Escorial.
I had never traveled beyond the municipality of Sigüenza, so it seemed to me an extraordinary adventure. The day arrived and in the early morning we were all the selected seminarians on our feet, dressed and had breakfast. Those who knew where El Escorial was, commented on the route and the towns we would pass through. We would go up through Atienza, towards Ayllón, then to Segovia to reach our destination around noon, if the rickety bus, the same one that made the route from Molina de Aragón to Villar de Cobeta, was able to take us safe and sound through such a rough and dangerous route.
We set out amidst a childish merriment, which did not seem to be young people, but rather school snack children. But the truth was that most of us seminarians were of an almost angelic naivety, docile and manageable.
When crossing Atienza, the old bus had to make a stop to refuel gasoline and especially water, which had been smoking the radiator as if it were a steam locomotive. We started the ascent of the Sierra de Ayllón and most of us were not sure that it could go up it, so we started to make jokes about the old jalopy that irritated the driver: "My father's donkey would pull with more energy uphill than this jalopy! "Stop, driver, I'm going down to have a cigarette and I'll catch you on the first slope! "Hey, driver, how are our brakes, let's not be the first to reach El Escorial, but flying!"
-Everybody shut up, or I'll turn around and go back to Sigüenza! -protested the driver, a poor, small, thick man, covered with a blue visor cap with the logo of the bus line, which gave him a certain air of official respectability.
We managed to climb the summit, but it was necessary to replenish the water in the radiator and wait for it to cool down. I took the opportunity to stretch my legs and contemplate the superb panorama, from where I could see the peaks of the Sierra de Guadarrama, still snowy, and the dense and dark coniferous forests on the slopes, where the historic town of Riaza must have been. Even the morning was so clean and clear that it was possible to see the town of El Burgo de Osma and, of course, the town of Atienza, with its rock castle on top of the mound that distinguished it. Once again, the old vehicle struggled to go up the mountain pass of Guadarrama, with the obligatory stop to replenish water in the radiator, and when we arrived at the mountain town of the same name, we were surprised to find a real column of buses, similar to ours, and we could hardly make our way through its narrow streets. Stuck in the town square, I asked a vendor who was offering snacks and refreshments to the passengers:
-Madam, what kind of party is this?
-It must be a party! It's something political that happens in El Escorial! But if you don't know about it, boy, who's going there, who's going to know?
I exchanged a few glances with my companions, who, shrugging their shoulders, gave me to understand that they were as ignorant as I was. At last, the driver put our minds at rest.
-Let's go to a Gil Robles rally!
In fact, we had been selected to be part of a march to El Escorial that was intended to have the same effect as the "March on Rome" of the Italian fascists to the Mussolini front, and perhaps the organizers, the Popular Action Youth, believed that it would have the same results as that one. Moving painfully forward among an incredible crowd, which not only arrived in buses but also in cars, horses and even on bicycles, we finally reached this historic town. Some young people, with J.A.P. armbands, were marking the whole route, pointing out to the vehicles the place to park. Finally, in the midst of a sensational dust and commotion, almost thirty thousand people gathered in the Lonja of this city. When José María Gil Robles appeared on the stage, the crowd did not wait to hear him, and shouted in chorus, "Boss, Boss, Boss!
It was a violent situation, because I could not remain impassive surrounded by exalted followers, euphoric with the emotion of the moment, and not without some displeasure I also raised my arm and made some gestures with my lips, implying that I was also chanting the popular cry. The rally was a real challenge to the Republic, and it was already clear that it had more enemies than the naivety or blindness of its rulers believed it could have. The reaction was not long in coming, and the next day a general strike was declared in Madrid. Azaña's response was to unify the left-wing Republicans in a new party, "Partido de Izquierda Republicana" (Republican Left Party), which united "Acción Republicana" and the radical-socialists. The reaction of the socialists, and especially of Largo Caballero, was a greater rapprochement with the communists, proposing their participation in the "Alianza Obrera".
In that month we still had some novelty in the national politics, since Lerroux had to resign due to the refusal of don Niceto to sign a decree of amnesty against the rebels of August 31, but in his place was put his man of confidence, Ricardo Samper, leaving the rest of the Government as it was. It was the month of May when the tension rose in tone throughout the country, and with the excuse of an agrarian law promulgated by the Generalitat of Catalonia, the country returned to the dynamics of confrontation and generalized violence.














CHAPTER ELEVEN
Strike in the field
The exams of my third year of deaconate came and I had the painful subject of "Dogmatic Theology" somewhat choked, because it was not possible to combine my knowledge of physics with the idea of creation as they wanted us to believe it. The truth is that I made an effort to combine reason with faith and philosophical discourse with that of revelation, and although it could be said that both reached the same conclusions, they used such disparate paths of knowledge that I could not understand why they did not agree. Of course, I was a follower of St. Thomas and Aristotle, and I came to have a personal aversion to Plato and St. Augustine. It was easier for me to accept the Trinity, since there was no contradiction in considering the Holy Spirit as a divine essence, since I interpreted him as the inspiration, or that which must be divine in each one of us and which makes creation possible.
But there was no room for discussion in such a matter or in most of them. I soon realized that the seminary curriculum had no other mission than to inculcate the faith without discussing it, and that its main objective was to give "servants for the Church", docile and credulous, not as saviors of souls, but of their own earthly interests, which were many and very diverse. Our mission was not to evangelize, but rather to proselytize the Catholic Church; but not the one in Rome, but the Spanish one, since our relations with the Vatican were not exactly fluid and our points of view did not coincide. The Pope had tried in vain to persuade the Spanish ecclesiastical hierarchy to come to some kind of agreement with the Republic and not to be openly hostile to it, but both the Primate and the other Spanish cardinals were suspicious of the Nuncio of Rome, and did not go so far as to abide by his recommendations. It was, therefore, a Church that did not have its roots in St. Peter, but in Torquemada; that had not been made in the catacombs of Rome, but in the dungeons of the Inquisition and in the crusades, but not against the infidels of Palestine, but against those of Cordoba or Toledo. It was, in short, a Church more papist than the Pope, dogmatic and ignorant, closed to all theological discussion, much less philosophical. That is why that year the results of my exams were not so brilliant. I had never had faith and I had hoped to acquire it through the knowledge that the seminary would give me, but it turned out just the opposite: the little faith I had brought to that house was disappearing.
-I see that you have slackened off a lot this year, Andrés, and I thought I was already making you a cardinal! -The bishop himself commented to me one day, "Can you tell me the reason?
I would have liked to come clean and expose to him my theological doubts and my weak faith, but it was evident that, despite being such a high dignitary of the Church, I did not expect him to understand the arguments of my objections.
-Perhaps I was not born to be a priest, Bishop! -I dared to suggest.
It was as if a recruit told a sergeant that he was not fit for arms, as if the recruit could choose to be in the army!
-Nonsense, Andrés, everyone can be a priest if God calls them to the seminary! What happens is that you are at the worst age and you will be distracted by temptations... of nature. Pray a lot and do penance! You have to mortify yourself, Andrés, imitate the suffering of Christ on the cross and not listen to the temptations of the denomination and of the flesh!
I didn't really know what he was talking about or what he was advising me to do, because when a priest tried to talk to us about sexuality, he himself didn't know what he was talking about, because of all the roundabouts and twists and turns they gave to the subject. The truth was that the growing vigor of my nature also contributed to the weakness of my beliefs, in spite of the fact that we were drugged with bromide and God knows what other potentates, but they did not have much effect on me, so I did not have the least modesty to solve the problem when I was already insufferable with some nocturnal masturbation.
As I say, right and left were already convinced that the time would come when they would have to defend their ideas by force of arms, and both began to take their own measures. The Navarre traditionalists began to train militarily and the Falangists, concentrated in Carabanchel, did the same. In order to practice their guerrilla tactics, not a day went by without an attack against a Casa del Pueblo, a workers' union or, unfortunately, against socialist or trade union militants. In the small town near Madrid of El Pardo, a speeding car, occupied by a Falangist squad, machine-gunned some young socialists returning from a country excursion, killing a young woman in the group.
Largo Caballero believed that the time had come for the Socialists to respond forcefully to all these provocations and to the passivity of the radical government to prevent and repress them, and a national referendum was held among the members of the Federation of Land Workers, dependent on the U.G.T., to decide on the first big general strike of the Socialists, who until then had only joined other calls. The result was overwhelming and seventy thousand members decided to call the strike, making it coincide with the harvesting season. For the first time Juan Valiente had to organize a picket line to try to make the strike effective in our town, as it was expected to be in the whole region. The month of June arrived and the heat we suffered in May and the abundant rains of April, made the harvests advance that year, so that most of them were ready for harvesting. The first reaping crews arrived in Sigüenza and with them the busy markets of mowing utensils, albarderías, buñuelerías and the inevitable charlatan, who this year was dedicated to paint pictures of bucolic landscapes, with wax crayons, and that made quickly and good stroke, in the presence of the astonished peasants, but instead of selling them, they raffled them. So that for a fat dog anyone could have the opportunity to decorate the living room of his miserable house with something more than a crucifix, the picture of the bride and groom, if he could afford it, or the calendar of the Caja Agrícola, which also used to be of saints.
My situation was really compromised, because Don Román had proposed me to be his foreman again. Apparently, the previous year he had been very satisfied with my management, but the truth is that I did not have much to do and I did it with pleasure, because of the pleasant company of Inés. I went to her house to work out the details of the season, such as the number of reapers needed, the women I could hire, as well as my own salary, which was slightly higher than the previous year.
-I raise you two pesetas a day, Andrés, because you deserve it and, besides, this year we will have a good harvest! -he said, patting me on the back in complicity and camaraderie. I felt uncomfortable, but I needed that day's wages, because from the sale of our land my father never gave me a single fat penny. I don't think he himself knew where the money had gone or who managed it. However, I dared to remind Don Román that there was a strike call and I wanted to know what to expect if the harvesters did not come.
-You go to the fields, Andresito, we'll have reapers and that's all I'm saying, my boy and others will be there to avoid any misunderstanding... with those strike people!... Well, that's all, Andrés! By the way, it's been a while since you've eaten in this house. You're not bitter about something from the past? Come on, stay for dinner, my wife has a lot of faith in you and will be happy to see you. If I'm not mistaken, she must be at some novena, since things are so messed up in this country!
He poured me the obligatory glass of sherry and did not even let me accept the invitation that he already took for granted. So I could not refuse, and went back to the old habits, the conversations about the lives of saints, the comments on the works carried out by the bishopric throughout the diocese, the blessing God had bestowed on his abundant harvests and the latest hunting bravado of his son, but not a word about the strike or the situation of the country in general. Don Roman was forbidden to do so in front of the poor woman, because since the failure of the coup she had deteriorated so much that it was pitiful to see her. She was in the bones and the skin, bluish in its deep dark circles, let see the veins and even the flesh, which looked like the living image of a calendar saint.
The day the strike began, Juan Valiente and the few members of the Casa del Pueblo went down to Sigüenza and joined the local union. They went to the railroad station and unfurled a banner warning the harvesters arriving on the mail trains of the strike call, inviting them to show solidarity with them, but the new arrivals tried to avoid them.
-In this region there will be no harvesting until the bosses accept all our demands! -they said, blocking their way out of the station.
-Do you have a family? -asked the indignant reapers.
-I've got it, and I know where you're going! But it is precisely for them that we strike, so that when they come of age they will live with dignity and justice.
-And who feeds them in the meantime?
-If we sacrifice now we will be richly rewarded later! Can't you see that the country is falling into the hands of the fascists and that if they succeed they will treat us farm workers like dogs and slaves again?
But the reapers escaped the picket line and continued on their way to the square in search of a contract. There, others were waiting for them, and again they were being urged to join the strike. Some finally gave in and showed solidarity, but others again used the same arguments to reject them. The atmosphere was tense and sometimes violent, as some harvesters, fed up with the speeches, ended up hitting the unionists. The latter avoided any provocation with them and desisted in their insistence, warning them that other pickets were acting in the villages and in the same fields, so they were warned of the possible consequences if they broke the strike.
But what increased the tension during that strike was a provision of the Government, which had declared as "minimum services" the harvesting of crops, so that the pickets could be considered illegal, in addition to prohibiting rallies and demonstrations. Thus, couples of the Civil Guard began to be seen guarding the station and the square, allowing the bosses to hire their crews. Don Román, who already had the same cuadrillas as the previous year, sent his son to pick them up at the station and take them to the town himself. I had no choice but to accompany them, since, as foreman, my work began at that very moment. When we arrived at the station we met the picket of Juan Valiente, and I feared that some violent confrontation would be inevitable.
-Let's see if they have what it takes to cross my path! -said Romanín to his thugs, feeling his pistol holster, hidden under his shirt.
Juan already knew that these people were armed, so he warned the picket line.
-Be careful, these guys are armed! No provocations!
-Are we going to let him take his reapers?
-It's better that they take them away than that we get hurt!
-So, what are we doing this strike for?
-I'll take care of them in the fields, now let him take them away!
The train arrived and Romanín stood in the middle of the platform, shouting without the slightest concern for those on the picket line, who remained impassive, limiting themselves to displaying their placards.
-Who are Don Román Beltrán's reapers?
-Servants! answered an old and weather-beaten man, uncovering himself before the Romanín, without being able to avoid crossing a fearful glance with those of the picket, who remained silent.
-I know you, you are Sebastian Gonzalez!
-Servant, and you are Don Romanín, the boss's son!
-He himself, walking to town and not worrying about these! -He said contemptuously as he crossed in front of the Juan's picket line, "they won't bother you when I'm here.
One of the union members was about to question the harvesters, but Juan grabbed him by the arm and forcefully pulled him back to the picket line.
-Shut up, let's not have it anymore!
We threw the harvesters' gear on the luggage rack, got into the cars, and left for town. I thanked God for Juan's prudence, because it was evident that he had avoided a possible confrontation.
-What did I tell you! -said the Romanin to his acolytes.
There is no one in this town who has the balls to stop them from mowing our crops!
The reapers remained silent and frightened, especially a boy who accompanied them, the son of one of them and still at the age of play, who remained silent and with his gaze fixed on who must be his father, pressing against him as if he were glued to him.
As every year the harvest season began with a mass for the reapers, in whose sermon Don Gregorio always took the opportunity to quote the parable of the good sower, but being reapers, it did not seem that it could be related. The Romanín left the reapers in the church and, encouraged by the taste for action, returned to Sigüenza to continue their provocations and try to break the strike. Juan and the other unionists of the town had already left the station and returned to the town without crossing the road with the Romanín. When they arrived, we were still at mass and instead of waiting for the reapers at the church door, they decided to go to the fields to prevent them from entering, or at least to convince them not to start the harvest and to continue the strike. On the way out, the reapers and myself were warned that Juan's picket was waiting for us at the entrance to Don Román's fields.
-What do you want to do? -I asked them, not knowing myself which side to take, "Do you want to join the strike or not? I have no role to play here and I leave it up to you!
-Let's sow! -replied the old man and spokesman of the gang.
Since they were determined, the only thing to do was to try to dialogue with the Juan and his people and reach an agreement to avoid confrontations. So I myself led the march to the fields, determined to act as an intermediary and achieve peace. Don Gregorio wasted no time, and returned to the village to warn Don Román of the situation. Inés, for her part, warned me that her brother would not give in, because that was his obligation as president of the Casa del Pueblo and a U.G.T. member.
-He has no more salary than what the U.G.T. gives him, and the baby is born in August, Andrés, his obligation is to defend the strike! What will you do if he doesn't give in?
-I don't know Inés, you'll see, people understand each other by talking!
Enclosure in the church

The procession of reapers was joined by other young men from the town, who were also unsure about joining the strike, since most of them were reaping in family or neighboring fields and did not really consider themselves day laborers.
-Listen, Don Andrés," commented the old harvester as we headed for the fields, who because of my relationship with Don Román did not dare to address me as Don Román, "we don't want to make trouble, and if we can we'll mow, but don't let Don Román think we're happy with what we're doing. You seem more understanding, that's why I'm telling you or I'll bust: we'd gladly go on strike! We have already been thrown out of more than one farm in our land, and we have almost lost the olive season for similar reasons, so we can't stand it any longer, that's why we are working, but not because we want to! You tell that to the picket line, who will be more talkative, to see if we can do our work, finish it as soon as possible, and leave in peace and harmony!
They seemed to me to be arguments that fully justified his attitude, but I was not sure that the Juan would accept them.
The Juan's pickets were waiting for us sitting under the shade of the only tree in the place, an old oak with brown and tough leaves, which was always used by the shepherds to take a nap while the sheep grazed in the stubble. When they saw us arrive, they headed towards the entrance of the farm, which was fenced with a stone wall skillfully placed in the style of our region, and they stood at the entrance, blocking the way, both to me and to the reapers.
When he saw me leading the retinue, the Juan could not avoid a clear gesture of displeasure. That was the first time that our gazes met with a certain defiant tone, which seemed to have forgotten our friendship.
-But what are you doing with these people, Andrés? -he asked me, puzzled.
-You know I'm Don Román's foreman, just like last year! Why so strange, Juan?
-Well, this year you've chosen the wrong trade, we're on strike!
-That's what I wanted to talk about...
-There's nothing to talk about, Andrés, or have you come as a scab? -he interrupted me, becoming more and more aggressive with me.
-Why don't you listen to these people, Juan? Do you think they're happy with what they're doing?
The old man nodded his head with a humble and resigned gesture. Juan seemed to hesitate and those on the picket line were pressuring him to stand firm and not give in.
-No slacking off, Juan, the strike is by majority vote and everything has already been discussed, so there's nothing more to talk about!
-Wouldn't there be some solution; some agreement? These people have already suffered enough strikes and they are not ready for any more! -I insisted.
-And if we arrange lodging for them and make a resistance box, would they agree to go along with the strike? -proposed the Juan, addressing the old harvester.
-Look here, comrade, there are six heads of family here, the least of them with half a dozen children; this child is the oldest of the six that this one has," he said, placing his hand on the shaven head of the frightened child. If we didn't have this responsibility, we wouldn't give a single blow of the sickle, but how can we leave without our wages? We have to mow, comrade, I have more workers' struggles in my body, with their bruises and broken ribs, than all of us here present. But if it were in my heart, I'd be on the picket line myself!
The harvesters nodded their heads, as if to imply that they were no less experienced in those labor avatars. Juan seemed to hesitate and lose his initial firmness. It was evident that he was facing a dilemma for which he was not prepared. One of the picket, fearing that he would finally give in and let the harvesters work, moved away from the group, entered the fields and shouted at us:
-If there is no strike, there is no harvest!
And before we could react, the crops began to burn. Fanned by the dry and torrid breeze coming from the south, the fire spread rapidly. We didn't know what to do because the river was too far away and no one had anything to put out the fire. We were stunned and deeply shocked, because we all knew that it would have serious consequences for the village.
The one who had set fire to the crop fled to the neighboring mountain and in a few moments disappeared among the oak groves. Alarmed by the screams and the dense column of smoke, more people from the village began to arrive, because the fire threatened to burn their crops as well.
-What are we going to eat this winter? -cried a poor woman, throwing her hands to her head in horror at the voracity of the flames.
-What do we do, Andrés? You've already seen what happened! It was that crazy Agustín who set the fire, we're not to blame.
-God have mercy on us! -the old reaper moaned,
Now we're going on strike, but out of necessity! We'll see if we get out of this one all right, because with our track record, they might even make us guilty!
I don't know why but I had the idea that if they locked themselves in the village church they could do nothing to them while I would try to mediate for all of them and avoid a disgrace. They liked the idea and hurried back to the village while the fields were turning to ashes.
Hardly had we reached the church when we saw two pairs of civil guards on horseback galloping up the road, raising a dense cloud of dust, and somewhat later, the car of the Romanín, who seemed to have the instinct to be in the middle of all the conflicts.
-Hurry to the church, and bolt the door, and I'll try to calm them down! -I shouted, pushing them to hurry. The child fell to the ground, I picked him up and gave him to his father. The child was crying and complaining about the wound he had made on his knee when he fell, and it was bleeding profusely. There is water in the sacristy, wash his wound!
The sound of the bolt locking the door from the inside was barely audible when the civil guards appeared and, impassive, descended from their mounts. The poor animals were dripping with sweat and their mouths were full of foam, parched from the effort and the pressure of the bite.
-What happened here, what's that smoke, who locked himself in the church? -I was asked repeatedly by the corporal with bad manners, while he ordered the other numbers to take up positions at the exit of the village.
-The crops are burning! It was an accident!
I did not finish the sentence when Romanín's car arrived, but to my surprise Don Román and Don Gregorio got out of it, as well as his son and some of his crew.
-What happened here, Andrés? What's burning?
It's my crops, isn't it? And the picketers must have done it! Isn't that right, Andrés?
I did not lose my cool and repeated what I had told the Guardia Civil.
-It was an accident, Don Roman! I guess it was a cigarette, I'm not sure because it just happened!
-Come on, Romanín, go to the fields and see what has happened! -He ordered his son, then turned to me again with an aggressive and threatening tone, "Where are my reapers; what happened here, damn it, and tell me the truth, Andrés, things are not good for deceit!
I was outraged by his haughty and rude tone and that gave me the strength to defend those who were locked in the church.
-They are in the church, Don Román, but that is God's house and the Civil Guard cannot enter without authorization from the bishopric!
-Corporal, break down the door, we'll ask the Pope for permission later if necessary! -Don Roman shouted angrily. I anticipated the guards and leaned on the door to avoid any attempt to break it down. Don Gregorio, who was watching the scene nervously and confused, finally reacted.
-Wait, Don Román, there is no need for violence, I will talk to the boy!
Reluctantly, and indignant at being involved in this conflict, he approached me and asked the guard to leave us alone.
-It was your idea to lock them in the church, wasn't it, Andrés?
-Yes, Don Gregorio, and they will not leave here unless they have guarantees that they will be treated according to the law!
-What law or what the hell, if there is no law in Spain! That is, Andrés, first they burn churches and now they take refuge in it!
Tell them to come out and we will avoid an even greater misfortune, that they themselves are capable of burning the church to save themselves!
Don Román's son arrived and told his father what had happened. Someone in town had told him in detail what had happened, so he could not keep my version of the accident. Don Román, beside himself, approached Don Gregorio and almost shouted at him:
-Father, these people are criminals! They have burned my crops and there is no God to protect them from the law, so get out of the way and we will break down the door!
I tried again to interpose myself but a guard held me tightly and forced me to move away. Don Román shouted at me again:
-Get out of the way, Andrés, and stay out of this! When we get them and interrogate them, we'll see if they are guilty or not!
With the blows of a cultist they managed to unlock the small entrance door, which, due to its age, did not offer much resistance. Don Gregorio crossed himself and folded his hands in a hypocritical gesture that looked like he was praying. The guards entered and we heard their shouts ordering them to come out from where they were hiding. A few anxious moments of absolute silence passed. Suddenly we heard shouts and insults, then two detonations sounded that chilled my blood. Don Gregorio again crossed himself and put his hands to his mouth in terror, the Romanín, however, smiled maliciously and Don Román did not even flinch. I feared the worst and only wished that they would appear as soon as possible through the door and that those shots had only been for intimidation.
The old reaper appeared first, followed by his gang, including the boy, who, clinging to his father's pants, kept whimpering in fright. Then, to my relief and that of Inés, who had run to the church warned by the townspeople, Juan and the picket appeared, except for one, Agustín's brother, who had set fire to the crops. The guards in the street pointed their muskets at them and forced them to face the wall, on the wall of the church, and stand with their arms up behind their necks.
The mother of the missing man, distraught, threw herself at the guard who came out last, wielding a pistol, and shouted at him:
-Where is my son! Son, they have killed you!
The guard showed the gun to the corporal and, freeing himself from the woman, said:
He was armed, Corporal, it was self-defense!
But that was a crude excuse, because it was obvious that the pistol was the Civil Guard's regulation pistol. The poor woman collapsed, fainted, and had to be rescued by other women who, without holding back their tears, tried to revive her.
In fact, the eviction of the church resulted in the death of a seventeen-year-old boy, brother of the escaped arsonist, who lost his temper and confronted the Civil Guard armed with a large candle, the same one that Don Román had given to St. Anthony, because there was no other saint, to protect his crops. The worst thing was that this new death once again weighed on my conscience, because the idea of the confinement was mine. The reapers were immediately released, but as a precaution they were put back on the first train, back to their land. As for Juan and the rest of the picket, they were charged with "disturbing the public order", "illegal assembly" and "resistance to authority", because my testimony freed them from the charge of "destruction of private property", and they were sent that same day to the Sigüenza jail. Only part of the crop burned, from where Agustín set fire to the northern boundary, a little more than half, but the insurance that Don Román had contracted compensated for the loss. The rest was reaped by other crews and the grain was threshed with the same machine as the previous year. And thus ended the first revolutionary strike in which we were involved.
A job for Inés
Juan Valiente was sentenced to three months in jail for charges brought against him after the incidents of the general strike in our town. He could not get out of serving the sentence because he was already on file. The rest were released because they had clean records. Nothing was known about the fugitive, although there were rumors that he was roaming the mountains and that he came down to the village from time to time to see his poor mother. I agreed with Inés to accompany her to the Sigüenza prison, since given the short sentence he would not be transferred to the provincial prison, and to take some money, clothes and food, because the conditions in that prison were deplorable.
-What can I do, Andrés? -And all that's left is for them to come to me one day and tell me that another misfortune has befallen Damian and Benjamin, that I don't even know where they stop! And what are we going to live on, that we don't even have anything to put in our mouths! What's going on, Andrés? Why all these fights and all these deaths? What happened to those happy times when I had nothing to worry about but school... and four silly things of my age? Where have my girlish dreams, my organdy dresses and my walks along the mall on the arm of a handsome young man gone to?..." -he fell silent for a few moments and I noticed that he smiled silently, without hiding a certain bitter grimace, as if he was seeing himself in those dreams, but they immediately faded away- "Do you remember when I used to scold you because you were illiterate? How happy I was in those days! You were so funny and I enjoyed laughing at you so much! But I didn't do it with bad intentions, just to wake you up, and you've woken up! -He fell silent again for a long time and we walked in silence, listening almost with anguish to our own steps, but we didn't resume the conversation so we could listen to the distant trill of a nightingale singing in some tree on the riverbank and then the cuckoo's, resounding somewhere in the valley, without us ever knowing where it was. Do you remember, Andrés, when I told you that if you became a priest I would become a nun? Maybe I should keep that promise!
-It's better not to think about all that now," I dared to suggest, because I did not want her memories to go back to our fleeting but passionate secret courtship.
-Yes, you're right, Andrés, it's better not to think... because if I think I'll go crazy!
Then I came up with another of my ideas, which did not seem to have been satisfied with the previous ones, and I suggested that she get a job in Sigüenza, which would keep her distracted and, at the same time, she could earn some money, which she undoubtedly needed.
-And what do you want me to do? Where do I go looking like this?
And who's going to love me when they find out what family I come from? Well, what a bunch of Sigüenza people they are!
-If you wouldn't mind being a maid, maybe I could find you something....
-The more of a servant I am in my own house, the more I wouldn't be in someone else's, so it wouldn't matter to me!
-I am thinking about the Beltrán family, because...
-You, Andrés, you must be crazy! How can they love me in that house with the hatred they have for my brothers?
-I know Doña Virtudes well, and I also know that she is not in good health and is looking for a girl to help her around the house.
I'm sure if I talk to her... The bad thing is that she is a very church-going woman, and you would have to accompany her to rosaries and novenas almost every day!
-That doesn't kill anyone!
-So, Inés, shall I tell him about you?
-Do what you want, Andrés, and think for me, because I don't even know what's good for me anymore!
The opportunity arose for the feast of San Roque, which, as usual, I was invited to the Beltranes' house. As in other years, I also helped in the mass of the Virgen de la Mayor and accompanied, in a prominent place, the procession procession.
Once in the house, once again Doña Virtudes, trembling and weak, reminded me of my inevitable destiny:
-God forgive me if this is a sin, but this man should pay more attention to what he eats, for soon there won't be enough cloth to make him a new chasuble! -She herself laughed at the humor, but her joy did not last long, and she returned to the usual languid and somber tone of her expression. The bad thing, Andresito, is that I don't know if I will see you as a priest, because I think God wants to take me to him before that happens... But, yes, I will see you from Heaven!
-Doña Virtudes! -I interrupted her, "what are these gloomy thoughts? You must live to see me as cardinal, as we have agreed, and not another word about this matter!
We changed the subject and praised the solemnity and how crowded the procession had been and the program of the festivities, including the line-up of bullfighters for the Feria, which, although I was not a big fan of bullfights, she had been a matron of bullfighters and still kept combs and shawls as if they were relics of saints.
-By the way, Doña Virtudes," I finally dared to say, introducing the subject of Inés's work, "I believe you are looking for a maid.
-Yes, son, but the ones that have been presented don't fit in with Román, some for one thing and others for another, as if he were the one taking care of the house!
-Maybe I can find him a girl from my town.
-If my husband likes her! It's just that, Andresito, with the times we live in, you have to be very careful who you bring into your house, because the girls around here are all so insolent and spoiled. As you say, maybe in your town....
-I was thinking about Inés.
-Do you know the family well?
-Of course, she is the daughter of the Valiente family!
The poor woman was shocked when she heard that name, and lowering her voice, she reproached me:
-But Andresito, for God's sake, how could you even think of mentioning that name here?
-But Doña Virtudes, what is the girl's fault for what has happened between you and her brothers? She has never meddled in political matters, and she is a good girl with good manners, we have known each other since we were children. Besides, the brothers are not guilty of anything either, and one of them is already paying for whatever little or much they may have done. It is a good Christian thing to forgive our enemies, Doña Virtudes!
-That's true, Andresito, and they are well forgiven by me, but Román... I dare not even ask him!
-I will do it, Doña Virtudes, if you agree, I will discuss it with your husband.
-Be, Andresito, the ways of the Lord are inscrutable and we never know how we will win heaven!
Don Román must have thought that having the youngest of the Valiente siblings in his house would keep them under control and they would not dare to damage his interests again, because after the first surprise and even indignation for my audacity, he had to reconsider this possibility and agreed to receive her at his house for an interview.
I let Inés know, and she became nervous, since she herself distrusted the good intentions of this family, but given her need, she agreed to go to the Beltranes' house as we had agreed.
Doña Virtudes found her adequate and well-mannered, very different, according to herself, from the girls she had interviewed before. She was even surprised that a village girl was not illiterate and able to solve with more agility than herself the accounts of the market, besides being able to read so fluently.
-Do you like biographies of saints, child?
-If they are pretty... of course!
Don Román, who was present at the first interview, looked her up and down without the slightest qualm, as if he was more concerned that she was not one-armed or lame than about her cooking or reading skills. Finally, they were both satisfied and agreed on the wages, chores and schedules. She would earn three pesetas a day, well below the legal minimum wage, but she was housed and fed. She would stay in the house six days a week and could enjoy a day off to return to the village and take care of her parents. She would wear a maid's uniform, with white bonnet and starched apron, but for mass outings, Doña Virtudes herself would provide her with the appropriate clothing, so that it would not seem that she was accompanied by a maid, but a companion. In general, and given the times, the conditions were not bad, since with those three pesetas the parents could live, without luxuries but with the basics.
Satisfied with the result of my good management, I accompanied Inés on the first day of her new job. Dressed in her maid's clothes, which she had taken with her to the village to make some alterations, and covered with a black towel, we went down the road again together towards Sigüenza.
-Are you happy, Inés? -I asked her on the way.
-I've never worked for anyone and I don't know if I'll be good enough to be sent!
-You get used to everything, Inés! I didn't think I was good enough for the seminary either, and after three months I was ashamed to leave it!
Inés, as was to be expected from her good nature, soon made herself at home, and helped to bring up her unfortunate family.

CHAPTER TWELVE
The October Revolution
The month of August 1934 had not ended when the tension in the country produced a new event, which again reminded me that the relative calm, after the end of the festivities and with the satisfaction of having placed Inés in the house of the Beltranes, was fictitious. On the last day of that hot month a new confrontation between Falangists and trade unionists caused the death of the young leader of the Communist Youth, Joaquín de Grao. The reaction of the left was overwhelming and on the day of the funeral almost one hundred thousand people accompanied the coffin, while an airplane dropped red roses on the cortege.
The same day I was returning to the seminary, the right-wing organized, in turn, another demonstration, this time in the emblematic place of Covadonga, where thousands of "cedistas", Falangites and other fractions, now openly opposed to the Republic, gathered. Gil Robles himself, without the slightest concern for the possible political consequences, said at that meeting: "This is as far as we have come, and we are not going to stand it any longer!", denying any support to the Lerroux government. In protest, a general strike was again declared in Madrid, but also in Asturias. The Government, determined to stop these initiatives, closed several Casas del Pueblo, but the strike paralyzed even the radio stations, preventing the Minister of the Interior himself from addressing the country as he had planned.
The spiral of violence returned to the country and in mid-September two new deaths in San Sebastian of leaders of both sides darkened the Spanish panorama once again. Such was the state of affairs that the Minister of the Interior, Salazar Alonso, asked for the declaration of a state of war, which was not declared because the fall of that Government was imminent and it seemed inevitable that the CEDA would become part of the one that would emerge after the crisis.
At a meeting of Socialists and Communists, held on September 11, Largo Caballero got his way by getting the Communist Party to join the Workers' Alliances, a preliminary step to create a common front and attempt a new and decisive revolutionary uprising, even before the right wing formed a new government. But the Communists, perhaps more realistic because they lacked political strength and their militancy was still scarce, proposed the general strike as a measure of pressure to prevent Gil Robles and the right wing from entering the Government. Indalecio Prieto also disagreed with the strategy of Largo Caballero, who was already beginning to be nicknamed the "Spanish Lenin", and although he agreed with the revolutionary uprising, the objective was not to establish a socialist regime with Marxist principles, but to reinforce the Republic with a new republican-socialist government.
On October 1, the government crisis was unleashed. The consultations lasted three days, during which the tension reached such magnitude that the troops were quartered. That same day "El Socialista" had written in its editorial: "On guard, comrades. We have reached the limit of retreats!", making a clear call for popular insurrection. On the 4th, Gil Robles finally got what he wanted and Alcalá Zamora signed the decree of constitution of the new Government with three ministers of the CEDA. That same day, in another editorial, the newspaper of the Communists,
"Mundo Obrero", also launched its revolutionary slogan: "The hour of decision has arrived!...". It only remained to be known what would be the position of the C.N.T.-F.A.I. and other anarchist and libertarian groups. But these were suspicious of communists and socialists, since they had neither participated in nor supported their two previous revolutionary attempts, nor did they agree with the political and social systems they intended to establish after the revolution. Only in Asturias were the anarchists in good harmony with communists and socialists.
Be that as it may, with or without their support, on October 4 a general revolutionary strike was called throughout Spain, and we all held our breath, because we feared that the "Spanish revolutionary October" was coming.
That same day, in the evening, the bishop called me. I had the feeling that the prelate wanted to warn me about the situation, and my intuition was right.
-Andrés, I want to warn you that serious events are coming, and we must not be caught unawares! I suppose you know what I'm talking about... There may be a riot, and although I don't expect anything to happen here, since we are well protected by the Guardia Civil, you know where the gun is. Be attentive to my orders and if you see that there are altercations in the street, come quickly, I have prepared a plan to escape if things turn against us.
This was the feeling of the Church in those turbulent days of October. On the 5th no one was able to concentrate in their studios and we lived pending the news coming from Madrid, but the general strike that had begun the previous morning had left the capital without most of the radio stations, except for the official radio. The telephones were not working either, so that our concern was heightened by the lack of news, at most there were rumors that the first armed clashes between strikers and the Guardia de Asalto had already taken place in Madrid. Some comrades, fearful of possible reprisals if the rebels triumphed, were already making plans to evacuate the seminary.
-I'll jump over the fence of the orchards, I've already piled up a few stones just in case! And the cassock stays here, I've hidden a raincoat for the same reason.
-What does this revolution have to do with us if we are not yet priests? -They are going against the Church, not against the seminarians, who are people of the lower classes, like them!
-Shut up, you animal, don't come here talking like a Marxist," they scolded him.
Such was the atmosphere in the seminary on the morning of the 5th, when we were more focused on the street than on the readings of the Bible or the History of the Church, a controversial subject at that time. I thought of Agnes and her fate if there really was a revolution, since if a riot was organized I was sure that they would attack the Beltranes' house, but I was reassured by the bishop's comment about the local Civil Guard, and that, on the other hand, the city itself was not mostly in favor of supporting the strike call. Since we were not allowed to leave the seminary I could not know if the strike was really being followed, but at least we knew that the railroad workers had taken over the station and the trains were not running. Neither did the buses leave, which were parked in front of the seminary, nor was there any movement of people in the streets, in any case no more or less than on a normal day.
Early in the morning the official radio station began to broadcast news and the new Minister of the Interior spoke to the country to announce that "tranquility reigned in Spain", but, judging by his languid tone of voice, he did not seem to be very convinced. By mid-morning it was already known that in Asturias the general strike called by the "Alianzas Obreras", therefore with socialists, communists and anarchists, had taken a violent turn, of generalized armed insurrection, and the majority of the miners, armed with sticks of dynamite and the weapons they were getting from the barracks that were falling after being besieged, were already organizing a "New Regime", and each group was already appointing its "Committees", coordinated by the miner Ramón González Peña. They immediately collectivized factories, dairy farms, food and transport warehouses, and in many towns even money was suppressed, because the insurrection had been better prepared and less improvised than in the rest of Spain. In Barcelona, for example, the strike was a total chaos, because the Generalitat, presided then by Companys, was torn between its respect for the legality in force of the Republic and the pressure of the young people of Estat Català and the new somatenes, who received weapons to repress the rebels.  These did not act in a coordinated manner either and those of the "Alianzas Obreras" and the C.N.T. went each one on their own. In vain the president issued several desperate messages by radio, because the strike became general in most of the counties near Barcelona, as well as in the whole Llobregat basin.
At nightfall that day, no one wanted to retire to the dormitories where we would be isolated from any rumors or new information. What was happening was that, in reality, there was no unanimity among us as to which side we were on. No one wanted to openly state their preferences, but by their gestures when receiving new news you could tell which side they were really on. I was quite confident with a certain Jordi González, son of a Catalan mother and a Castilian father, with whom I dared to comment on the events, and who did not hide his preferences for the rebels, but was divided about the events in Catalonia.
-The anarchists do not understand the Catalans! They think we are bourgeois and even reactionary, but I think it is our way of understanding order and social justice, based on work and responsibility.
It was evident that his heart was on the side of the land of his mother and it was not surprising, because if there was a region in Spain at that time that represented modernity, within an economic liberalism, somewhat despotic but also enlightened and democratic, that was Catalonia. The rest of the country still suffered from the absolutist nineteenth-century legacy, and was prone to shout at any time it was necessary to shout that "Long live the chains!" of the followers of Ferdinand VII. It was not in vain that Napoleon wanted to extend the liberal and bourgeois Europe born of the French Revolution to the Ebro, but not one kilometer further south, and he would have succeeded had it not been for the opposition of his brother, who naively believed that the Spanish would thank him for it.
The early morning was tense and sleepless. I shared a bunk with Jordi and we could talk without being overheard by the other companions, who could not fall asleep either.
-What will you do if the revolution triumphs? -Jordi asked me with an almost trembling tone of voice.
The question took me by surprise because there were already so many revolts and uprisings that we had had to endure in three years of the Republic that I no longer really believed that any of them could succeed. They seemed to me to be explosions of popular indignation, poorly organized and uncoordinated, but, by dint of reading about the circumstances of all the previous ones, I had already become an expert in revolutionary strategies.
I knew that no revolution could succeed without the support of the Army, so I reassured the poor boy, as if the answer was given to him by the Chief of Staff himself.
-Relax, Jordi, if the Army doesn't support them, they can't succeed!
-So why so much useless bloodshed? Can't they see that it can't be?
-Good question! -I answered, and at the same time I remembered the young anarchist who died in my town. Once I saw a young anarchist girl killed, and standing by her corpse I asked myself the same question: Why had she sacrificed herself if everything was against her? To what extent do we human beings believe so blindly in our ideals that we are capable of risking our lives for them even knowing that they are lost beforehand? I don't have the answer, Jordi, nor do I think anyone else does!
People are a mystery even to ourselves!
-So, have you already seen dead people, Andrés?
-I have seen them, yes, and if God does not put an end to this fratricidal violence I will have many more to see! -I answered as if I had received an inspiration.
We remained silent, and we could barely hear the whisper of other conversations, which would not be very different from ours. After a while he asked me again in the same weak and trembling voice:
-Do you want to be a priest, Andrés?
Again the question took me by surprise, but I couldn't just answer anything. This was a good opportunity to be honest with myself.
-No, not really, Jordi! They forced me in and here I am!
-Yes, I have always wanted it, ever since I was a boy! But I want to be a real priest, and not like these people! I don't know how to explain it to you, Andrés, but I feel that way; I want to go to my mother's land, to a village in the Girona Pyrenees and be the village priest, as if I were the town crier or the letter carrier; to be just one more, the most humble one. To help people, to show them the goodness that Jesus Christ taught us; to teach them not to lie, not to blaspheme, not to do evil to others. But I don't want to go around bragging about being self-righteous, nor do I want them to come to me with flattery or perks. I like simple people, who fall into temptation but who truly feel their guilt and repent with humility and contrition, not like these blessed ones, who know the Mass in Latin but don't talk to them about the beatitudes..." He remained silent for a few moments. I did not reply because I was trying to reflect on so many good intentions. Then he continued: "I do not believe that the anarchists, who say they are so atheists, would pick on me being a priest as I tell you. Because I respect those who believe as much as those who don't, because an atheist who is honest is better than a believer who is a scoundrel! -Again there was silence and I didn't know what to reply. The next thing that followed disconcerted me again, "Let's pray for all those unfortunate people who are dying right now, Andrés, for the ones and for the others, for they are all children of God! -And he did not speak again all night.
I did not know how to do it, but for some reason I was overwhelmed and disturbed by the strength of that boy's faith and perhaps just to please him I tried to improvise a simple prayer of supplication: "I beg you Lord to forgive those who at this moment are killing their brothers, because they do not know what they are doing!
It was a short prayer, more out of solidarity with the boy than on my own initiative, but it must have comforted my spirits, because almost at the end of it I fell asleep.
Uncertainty
Friday the 6th dawned with hardly any news or rumors. During lunch someone spread the word that several Army columns were marching on Asturias, where the strikers already had control of such important cities as La Felguera, Gijón and Avilés, and that they were fighting at the gates of Oviedo, where the dynamiters were wreaking havoc wherever they went, leaving the city in ruins. Also, that they had seized an arms factory, where they were supplied with cannons and machine guns, so that the struggle was beginning to be favorable to the strikers, who had already declared the "Socialist Republic" in all these cities and in most of the mining areas. Also in the Basque Country the strikers seemed to have the situation under control and the stoppage was total in Vizcaya and Guipúzcoa.
I was looking forward to Saturday, because I had been invited to dinner with the Beltranes, and there I would have the opportunity to learn about the situation and, at the same time, to find out how things were going in the town, and if Juan had been arrested again, as had happened with the last insurrection. Alarming rumors were coming from Catalonia and poor Jordi kept pestering me with questions to which I had no answer:
-What is known about my land, Andrés?
-The last I heard, things are in turmoil, but they can't agree on which side to take!
-And which side is the President on?
-Well, he doesn't know which side to be on!
-This is how we lose our autonomy! -he said, trying to make sure only I could hear him.
That day we were not allowed to go for a walk in the nearby meadows and we were locked in the seminary, but the classes could not take place normally either, because most of us were nervous and distracted, so we ended the day in the courtyard kicking our nerves away, playing the most violent soccer game I remember, because the ball jumped over the high walls on more than one occasion. The rosary was also a compromise and poorly prayed. Once in the dormitories, each one of us tried to get rid of our restlessness by reading our devotional book, playing brisca or telling redneck jokes, and some spicy ones, but lowering our voices so as not to be overheard by the dormitory warden.
Saturday dawned and at breakfast time everyone asked his companion if he knew anything new about the situation in the country, but they all shrugged their shoulders and declared themselves ignorant. I hoped to be able to leave before lunch, with the excuse of visiting my father in the nursing home. At mid-morning the bishop had me called by Don Gregorio. I went expecting that he would not detain me with one of his inopportune errands, but it was quite the opposite, it was to notify me that that night we would both go to the Beltranes' house, because Doña Virtudes wanted to give him in person a shawl embroidered by herself for the image of the Virgen de la Mayor. This was a promise she had made to her after they had come out of the August uprising safely.
-At seven o'clock, not a minute later, come to the palace, we'll go by car to the Beltran family's house, because, although it's not a long distance, it's not the day to go out in the open. And, just in case, this time take the pistol, Andrés!
I was so concerned about the events of the day that I dared to ask the prelate about the general situation of the strike.
-Things are a little bit unsettled in Asturias and Catalonia, but the Government is already taking the necessary measures to solve it... Go on, go with God to see your father, but at seven o'clock I want you at the palace!
When we went out into the street, the atmosphere was certainly not that of a normal Saturday. Only two or three stalls had been set up in the market square, some stores remained closed and two civil guards on horseback were patrolling the square, unable to keep the animals still, who stirred as if they too were feeling the tension of the moment.
I went to the nursing home and found my father bedridden, with serious breathing difficulties, because I could hear the snoring of his congested bronchi. His mouth was ajar, his cheeks were dry, his beard was several days old and his gaze was lost somewhere on the ceiling. I don't know if he was aware of my presence, but a sister warned me that he had caught a cold and contracted pneumonia, and was having difficulty breathing.
-Do you fear for your life, Sister?
-What do I know, Andrés, but pneumonia is a bad thing for old people, although they say it is the sweetest and most peaceful death. If it gets worse, I'll have you called to the seminary... but don't worry, it's not for God to take it away... at least for the moment....
Comforted by the nun, I set out on my way to town, but not without first buying the only two newspapers that had arrived in town, the "ABC" and "El Debate".
The Juan's son had already been born, a weak and lightweight baby that the midwife had given for dead, but who surprised everyone with an unexpectedly loud and angry cry, as if claiming his right to live when he had already been evicted. Perhaps this is why the Juan was not detained for prevention as last time. I found him sitting at the door of his house, because the day was sunny and mild and it was nice outdoors. He was cradling the insignificant creature, who remained wrapped in a little blanket, curled up in an esparto grass basket, one of those used to carry grain from the threshing floor.
-How is the creature, Juan, is it coming to life or what?
-Psché, what do I know! He's not very strong, but he sucks hard, which is what matters! -answered Juan, who was obviously worried about the weakness and low weight of his first child.
-It's not that I understand about this," I said, making some kind of monkey of the poor kid, whose big, disproportionate head I could barely see, which seemed almost deformed, "but nature is very wise and you can't rely on appearances, maybe he'll turn out to be a boxer!
The Juan smiled at the witticism, but his expression remained melancholy and worried.
-What do you know about your brothers? -I asked him, knowing that this would be the real cause of his concern.
-Nothing, Andrés, but I'm sure they're involved in the uprising in Barcelona!
-And what do you know about Barcelona?
-There may be civil war!
In fact, at that time all the parties in conflict were meeting at the Generalitat, trying to find a way out of the crisis. There were those of Estat Català, who intended to confront the anarchists of the C.N.T., and representatives of the "Alianza Obrera", who wanted to proclaim the "Catalan Republic". But, in Madrid, Lerroux was determined to crush any resolution that was contrary to the current situation, and had ordered General Batet to march with his artillerymen to the very Plaza de la República, to take, if necessary by cannon fire, the palace of the Generalitat and the City Hall.
No stranger appeared in the village, nor was Don Gregorio scheduled to officiate at mass that day, which was very upsetting to the poor women, who were used to them as an obligation. But Don Gregorio, since the death of Agustín's brother, and while the latter was still a fugitive, feared to appear too much in the village, because rumors spread that the latter had sworn to take revenge by killing him at the slightest opportunity. The Guardia Civil made several raids through the oak groves, reaching the borders of Aragon, but they did not find him. I walked through the countryside until dusk, remembering my peaceful days as a shepherd.
I arrived at the fountain where the cattle used to water, and there I met Don Mariano's shepherd, whose herd must have numbered more than five hundred head. The animals were crowded around the basin, jumping over each other until they reached the water. I exchanged greetings with the carefree shepherd and managed to make a place for myself among the thirsty sheep next to the spout to take a drink of water. My thirst quenched, I set out to return to the seminary, as I had agreed with the bishop. As I passed by the station, I saw that several numbers of Civil Guards were arriving, perhaps with the intention of allowing the mail train to leave for Madrid. The U.G.T. railroad workers had made themselves strong there on the first day of the strike, but after several charges by the guards, they were unable to prevent the departure of the train, which finally could not pass Jadraque, because the Guadalajara and Madrid stations were paralyzed by the strike.
When I arrived at the seminary, the bishop's car was already parked next to the steps of the palace. I exchanged a greeting with the driver, who for some reason did not like me, and went up to the bishop's quarters as quickly as possible. Don Martin was already ready to leave and when he saw me arrive he handed me the pistol himself, giving me the last recommendations:
-At the Beltranes' house you don't need to be armed, so leave the gun in the car, in the door pockets, so that the driver doesn't know about it.
We went up the street of Cardenal Mendoza, where we saw only a young man, somewhat subnormal, who made an obscene gesture that deeply displeased the bishop, and we went out to the Cathedral square, where the clock tower gave the first quarter to eight o'clock. The Plaza Mayor was also deserted, if it were not for two numbers of the Guardia Civil patrolling the town on horseback, who had dismounted and were stationed under the arcades, smoking a cigarette. When they saw the bishop's carriage arrive, they squared up and as they descended they gave him a military salute.
-At your orders, Your Grace! -said the corporal, bending down to kiss his ring.
-How are things in town?
-In peace and order, thank God, Your Grace!
-God willing it will stay that way until this madness passes.
-We wish the same, Your Grace.
-May you have a good service, and God bless you! -said the bishop finally to the guards. They squared up again and the corporal kissed his ring again.
Doña Virtudes, warned by the noise of the car, had ordered Inés, who was already familiar with the house, to open the door and attend to the prelate. I could not help my nervousness, because I did not know how I was going to react when I met her again, now as the maid of the Beltranes. The house had been transfigured for such a solemn occasion. All the light bulbs were shining and pictures of saints and religious cards appeared everywhere, as well as bouquets of red and white carnations, difficult to find in those circumstances.
On the large dining table, covered with a lace tablecloth, burned a four-armed silver candelabra and on a tray, also silver, was the promised shawl.
-Come in, Your Grace; come into my humble house! Happy are the eyes that see you again, and looking so well!
No protocol, Virtues, you have to treat me like family here, and get on a first-name basis!
-No, for God's sake, that would be disrespectful! -excused the woman, without avoiding her uneasiness at the presence of the bishop. Don Roman kissed her ring, but with a quick and formal gesture, and immediately became interested in the events of the country.
-Bad times for Spain, Martín!
-Bad; really bad, Román, I don't know if we'll get out of this one without a bloodbath!
The two men talked as if they were old comrades, without any protocol and in full harmony of ideas and concerns. She exchanged a quick glance of complicity with me, and without saying a word she left the tray on the large table and was about to leave when Doña Inés took her by the arm and introduced her to the prelate.
-This girl is Inés, our new maid! -said the woman. Agnes blushed, because she did not expect to be presented to the bishop himself, made a respectful bow and kissed the ring of the prelate, who by custom was already used to anticipate, extending his hand.
-Good girl, and polite! -he commented to Don Román.
-She is the daughter of the Valiente family, but she has received a good education and is very literate, she reads the Bible better than my girls!
Doña Virtudes, embarrassed because she feared that the shawl might not be to the bishop's liking, finally decided to show it to him and spread it out on the table.
-What do you think, will it look good on the Virgin for next year's festivities?
The prelate made a clearly exaggerated gesture of admiration, ran his short, fleshy fingers over the embroidery and exclaimed in a flattering tone:
-A work of angels, Doña Virtudes! Who embroidered it?
The poor woman blushed so much that she put her hands to her cheeks to hide them. Full of pride, she answered the bishop:
-These hands, now old and trembling, Don Martin!
The flattery had its effect and the poor woman was full of praise for the prelate's good taste, urging Agnes to prepare dinner.
-Come on, girl, you can set the table now, Don Martin must be hungry! And when you go to the kitchen, make sure the soup is very hot, because cold soup is like drinking water from the fountain. By the way, keep an eye on the oven, so that the suckling pig is not scorched; make sure it is just right, golden and juicy, like the ones they serve in Segovia!
As it was a special dinner, I was served in the kitchen, with the service. I saw Inés come and go carrying soup tureens, trays with bread and jugs of wine put to cool in the cooler, but the suckling pig was served by the cook herself, who had placed it beautifully on a large tray, surrounded by prunes, baked potatoes and other vegetables. In its mouth was a baked apple. It was pitiful to be eaten for not undoing the presentation. The woman came out, shaking off her apron, and as she entered the hall, there was applause and praise.
When she returned to the kitchen she was red as a tomato and commented to us full of healthy professional pride:
-This bishop knows more about cooking than about Latin, he ate the suckling pig with his eyes! Thank the Lord that everything turned out well! -And he said to himself, as if thanking heaven for having created the oven and the piglets.
After dinner I was invited to join the men in the bookstore, where this time I accepted a glass of cognac; I was already getting a taste for this healthy liquor.
There was a radio set in the bookstore, and it must have been after nine o'clock when Don Román tried to tune in to some station that would give the news, because, in spite of the succulent dinner and the drowsiness produced by the liquors, we were all deeply concerned about the events of the day. Don Román must have heard something that impressed him, because he asked us all to keep quiet and exclaimed indignantly:
-The Catalans have separated from Spain; they have just proclaimed themselves an independent state!
-Heaven save us, and now what will happen? -exclaimed the bishop, dropping heavily on one of the armchairs.
-War, what's going to happen? There can only be one Spain! -exclaimed Romanín angrily.
-Heaven help us! And what will the government do? -the bishop asked again in anguish.
-Fulfill your obligation and crush the rebellion! -replied Don Román energetically. This old fox Lerroux has had it in for the Catalans ever since he was in politics in those lands. He has General Batet under his command, and, although I can't boast of military knowledge, I can tell you, Martín, that the Catalans surrender at the first gunshot. They may be good for business, but for weapons, they lack balls! And excuse the expression, Martin, but there is history to confirm it!
Don Román was not mistaken about the intentions of the Madrid Government, and that same night he declared a state of war throughout the country. General Batet obeyed the orders of the central government and confronted the Mossos d'Escuadra of the Generalitat, and that same night the first armed clashes took place at various points in Barcelona.
In Madrid, Lerroux called General Franco to direct the repression of Asturias, who with the collaboration of General Yagüe, Bosch and others, prepared to face one of the most violent revolutionary uprisings that the weak Spanish Republic had suffered until then, and the first in importance in Europe after the October Revolution in Russia.
A violent Sunday
When we left the Beltranes' house, we were escorted by the couple of the Civil Guard to the palace, because they had not moved from the square to wait for the prelate. I had never seen that city looking so gloomy and disturbing. The streets were dark and not even the gleam of a window illuminated them, for they were all shut tight. There was not a soul on the street and we came across other numbers of the Civil Guard, who were patrolling to ensure that the state of war, declared that same afternoon by the Government of Madrid, was respected. I had to stay at the seminary, because I was not allowed to return to the town until dawn the next day.
As I entered the bedroom it was inevitable that poor Jordi would ask me in anguish if I had any news of what was happening in Catalonia, and I had no choice but to tell him the truth:
-Your president has proclaimed the Catalan State within what he says is the "Spanish Federal Republic", but there is no Federal Republic here, Jordi, so the Mossos d'Escuadra and the Army are already shooting in the streets!
-That means there is war in Catalonia! -he asked me to clarify, without disguising his anguish.
I just confirmed it with a nod of my head. I lay down on the bed and I decided not to think about anything, to relax and simply let the time pass, and the next morning we would see what all the commotion was about. Jordi understood and did not ask me any more questions, but he must not have slept all night.
At breakfast time the next day we already knew that the Army was attacking with cannon fire the palace of the Generalitat in Barcelona, but the news from Asturias was no less alarming, where also the Army, not without difficulty, was advancing from the four cardinal points towards Oviedo.
In spite of the state of war, tranquility was evident throughout the city, and the possible effect of the strike was not appreciated, since the stores were closed due to the fact that it was a holiday. Only the presence of the Civil Guard in the streets was a reminder of the state of emergency in which we lived. I left the seminary ready to spend the day in town and bring the news to Juan about the situation in Barcelona, in case he did not know about it. When I arrived at the cathedral square, I was surprised to see a group of people, including Don Roman's son and his followers. They were a little more than a hundred well-dressed young people, with Sunday attire, and who were undoubtedly mostly the children of the wealthiest families, shouting slogans in favor of the unity of Spain and against the rebel strikers.
Out of curiosity I approached the group, since it was evident from my cassock that my presence would not be strange to them, and I asked a young man, who was waving the red and black flag with the yoke and arrows of the Falangists, the reason for that concentration.
-We support José Antonio, who is holding a rally at the Puerta del Sol in Madrid to demand that the government recover the unity of Spain and put the traitors to death!
I preferred not to ask any more questions because the group, chanting increasingly aggressive phrases, had made the decision to head towards the Casa del Pueblo, and began to descend the street that leads to the alameda, at the end of which the premises were located. When Don Román's son saw me, he approached me, put his hand on my shoulder and with his usual contemptuous tone shouted at me, because it was the only way to make himself heard in the midst of that uproar:
-Come on, come with us, we're going to give a lesson in patriotism to those traitorous communists and socialists of the House of the People!
I did not know how to get rid of him without provoking him, for they were so enraged that any refusal might be interpreted as a betrayal of their cause.
-If I were not wearing the cassock, still! -I thought of replying without measuring my words well, "but with these habits I can't get involved in political matters!
I was inwardly furious at my cowardice, but at least the argument must have seemed adequate, because Romanín, without abandoning his cocky tone, patted me on the shoulder again and replied:
-Well spoken, yes sir, do not go around saying that the Church and the Phalange are one and the same thing, that, although we sympathize in the essentials, each has its own creed!
I managed to break away from the group but did not get too far away, for once again my recklessness overcame my common sense, and I could not help but follow the events closely.
Fate sometimes wants to complicate things more than they already are, because that same morning the majority of the affiliates of the Casa del Pueblo had held an emergency meeting to discuss the progress of the strike, which had been practically broken by the Civil Guard. It was such a short distance between the cathedral and the premises that they barely had time to react, and when they wanted to leave they found themselves practically face to face with the Falangists. The latter, believing that they were trying to flee, and inflamed by the shouts of one or the other, threw themselves against the surprised unionists. When they understood that it was impossible to avoid the confrontation, they turned against the Falangists and in a moment the street was turned into a battlefield, exchanging insults, at the same time that they got into a fist fight, kicking or hitting each other with sticks, because some had found some dry branches in the nearby gardens. Bloodied noses and people began to be seen rolling on the ground, who were viciously kicked until they could be helped by their comrades. But it seemed that the Falangists were taking the brunt of it, for most of the workers were strong people and, once angered by the provocation, they fought with more courage than the Falangists.
Don Roman's own son received a strong punch in the nose that sent him rolling down the street. When he recovered and saw the blood gushing abundantly from his nose, he screamed out of his mind:
-Sons of bitches, I'm going to kill you all like rabid dogs! -And he pulled out his pistol, threatening one and all, but because of the din of the fight he could not decide to open fire. Thank God that at that very moment several civil guards arrived at a gallop, who fired a burst of machine gun fire into the air and managed to stop the fight. Frightened, the Romanín hastily put his gun away.
Without getting off the horses, a civil guard shouted at them:
-What's going on here? Who started this fight?
-Who are they going to be? -shouted a trade unionist, "the usual ones! But I'm sure they'll say it was us!
The guards seemed to understand the delicate situation and that they could not stop them all. The one in charge of the patrol slowly descended from his mount, approached the one who had replied and threatened him:
-If you don't want to sleep in the dungeon, let's go home! If there are more altercations, next time we won't shoot in the air, do you understand "leader"? -He then turned to the Falangists and also threatened them, but it was evident that without the same acrimony. And you, calm down and don't get into any more trouble, we have very severe orders and if there are any more fights there could be a disgrace! So, back to your homes, and without complaining!
Reluctantly the Falangists, battered and bruised, picked up their flags and returned to the cathedral square, where they remained concentrated for some time, but closely guarded by the Civil Guard. The unionists obeyed as well, and silently dispersed, putting an end to another confrontation that could have ended in tragedy.
While these events were taking place, in Madrid, in fact, José Antonio Primo de Rivera himself had gathered a large group of sympathizers at the Puerta del Sol, and after improvising a meeting of patriotic exaltation, he was received by Lerroux himself, who could not hide his sympathies for the dictator's son, with whose father he had also sympathized.
In the early afternoon everything was over in Barcelona. Companys and the entire Generalitat government, except for the head of the Mossos d'Escuadra, José Dencás, who was able to escape and fled to France, were arrested and imprisoned on a ship anchored in the port. The Estat Català had lasted for hours. Two important Catalanist leaders, Jaime Comte and Manuel González Alba, had fallen in the fray. At night, a flag of the Tercio, composed mostly of foreigners, paraded through the streets of Barcelona singing military marches, thus ending the humiliation of the city after its defeat. The fiery speech that Companys addressed on the radio to the Catalans in the most critical moments was of little use, who, to tell the truth, did not mobilize in defense of the new State, reviving the spirit of Maciá and with this almost epic ending: "Each one in his place and the Republic in the heart of all. Long live the Republic and long live freedom!
A bloodbath
When I returned to the seminary on Monday there was no talk of anything other than the anticlerical persecution that was taking place in Asturias. "They won't leave a priest alive in the parishes, but they don't respect the nuns in the convents either!". "Thank God, here there is no strike or revolutions!". These were the most generalized comments. There was no chance for us to concentrate on our studies and we spent the morning commenting on any rumor or news that reached us through any channel. That Monday there was not a single city in Spain where there were no clashes with the Civil Guard, the Assault Guard or the Carabineros. There were constant assaults on barracks, factories, public buildings, command posts or town halls, but the surprising thing was that there was no talk of anyone in particular directing the whole revolutionary movement. As for the Army, the key to all this turmoil, it had only been mobilized in Catalonia and Asturias, in the rest of the country it was enough with the police forces.
By corporate spirit, our concern was centered on the fate of our brothers and sisters in Asturias, and the situation was used by our tutors to prove that what the revolutionaries were really after was the destruction of the Catholic Church as a first step, and then the establishment of an atheistic and egalitarian regime.
-Here we can see how the one and the other think - commented the father as an alternative to the useless classes of "Introduction to the Holy Scriptures" or "Greek Language", which corresponded that morning - and how there is no difference between socialists, communists or anarchists, and many of the republicans, who do not hide their sympathies for them.
I dared to reply, because I did not think it was fair not to make distinctions, which there were, and in substance.
-There are differences, there are countries where the Socialists respect the Church, as in France, where the Popular Front has not made any anticlerical repression or burned churches, because, moreover, they belong to the State. What happens is that in Spain the social circumstances are very confronted and bitter, and some and others practice intolerance.
I spoke almost in one breath. Few were the seminarians who understood the meaning of my intervention. Only Jordi nodded his head, but Father did not seem to agree.
There are no greater atheists than the French, who are to blame for everything, because of their Revolution! That was an anti-clerical Revolution, not to mention Napoleon and his excesses in Spain, when churches were burned and many priests and nuns were guillotined to death!
I was not very aware of those circumstances, so I had to accept those facts as true and the discussion continued with the same bitter and critical tone against the left, which had expanded in such a way that it seemed that the only right-wingers in the country were the religious, because even the Falangists were also "revolutionaries", and, therefore, contrary to the humility and docility of the good Christian.
In the evening, the bishop himself, restless and with clear signs of nervousness, celebrated a Mass in the seminary chapel to pray for the martyrs who were being martyred in Asturias. There was no sermon, but only the reading of several passages from the Gospel related to the passion of Jesus Christ, allegorical to his martyrdom, which, given the circumstances, managed to overwhelm us more than usual, because deep down we felt the persecution of other members of the Church as if it were our own flesh and blood. In my recollection I asked myself why honest and peaceful people like Juan or the Valiente brothers could, at a given moment, wish for my death. What distressed me was not finding the true cause of this historical hatred towards the Catholic Church, which obviously was not discussed in the seminary and there were no elements to find out. The entire library at our disposal was conveniently censored, and there were no history books other than those extolling the evangelizing and pedagogical work of the Catholic Church throughout its history, including its "positive" assessment of the evangelization of America, but not a word about its interventionism in temporal affairs; its political machinations; its intolerance of liberal ideas or its concubinage with absolutist monarchies, the main cause of the rigidity and obstinacy of the social classes that enjoyed privileges.
What tortured my conscience the most was my powerlessness to freely express all these ideas, because even the Lutheran Reformation was not studied with equanimity, but was also seen as an aggression, of satanic inspiration, against the Church of Jesus Christ, the only true one, which of course was none other than the Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church. Undoubtedly, had he been born in Germany or even in secular France, he would have been a good Protestant priest, but given the present circumstances, he was doomed to be a bad Catholic priest.
On Tuesday, October 8, the C.N.T. of Barcelona, a city which had been militarily occupied and where the general strike had already failed, radioed the order to call off the strike and return to work. The message did not take into account the situation that had already been created in Asturias, where 30,000 workers had already established a communist regime and were preparing to face four Army columns, with a total of 18,000 soldiers, mostly foreign and Rifian Tercios, who were urgently transferred from the protectorate of Morocco under the command of General Franco, who from the General Staff, in the Ministry of the Interior, was directing the operations.
It was another useless day for any study and we spent it between prayers, masses and games in the courtyard, because we were not allowed to go out that day either, even though the strike had already been called off and total calm reigned in the city, and not even the patrols of the Civil Guard were around anymore.
But the situation in Spain was far from normalizing. On the contrary, the Lerroux government took new measures that helped to further fester ideological differences, such as the arrest of Manuel Azaña in Barcelona, imprisoned on another warship anchored in the port, where a Tercio of the foreign legion was still stationed.
The siege over Asturias was tightening and airplanes flew over the main cities dropping leaflets inviting the workers to surrender, but the struggle continued and the miners continued to besiege barracks and military buildings. Government forces continued to resist in Oviedo, especially in the tower of its cathedral. Franco's air force bombed the strikers' positions, causing dozens of deaths. The wounded piled up in the hospitals, where there was no more gauze or anything to sterilize the wounds, much less blood for transfusions.
On Thursday the strike committee met, headed by González Peña, and the capitulation began to be considered. Yagüe had already entered Gijón with a flag of legionaries and a regiment of regulars. In the afternoon they were already fighting house to house. There the case of heroism of the young Aída Lafuente took place, who helped by another girl kept at bay a whole legionary Tercio, while her companions evacuated the church where they were entrenched. She was finally killed without abandoning her position. In the afternoon, General Yagüe paraded with his troops through the city, led by a Moorish legionary. That same day in Madrid Largo Caballero was arrested and imprisoned.
Three days later, on October 18, with torrential rains in Asturias, the rebelled miners made a last desperate attempt to resist, getting the government forces, commanded by López Ochoa, to retreat. Finally, after a week of bloody fighting, more than fifteen hundred dead and the partial destruction of Oviedo and other cities, the rebels accepted the surrender, with the only condition that the Moors would not be the first to enter. But the final sentence of the communiqué left the doors open to a new armed conflict: "The proletarian can be defeated, but never defeated!
In the town the repercussions were minimal, but the Casa del Pueblo was closed, and Juan was arrested again but released the same day, as there was nothing that could incriminate him, since only the railwaymen of Sigüenza supported the strike, and could hardly paralyze the departure of any train, which were also affected by the general strike, both those departing from Madrid or Zaragoza, as well as those from Barcelona.
In the seminary the general satisfaction for the outcome of the strike could not be hidden, and several Masses of "thanksgiving" were celebrated. On Sunday, the 21st, the same bishop celebrated one in the cathedral, where practically the whole city attended, since the two large side naves were filled and the people still had to make themselves comfortable in the adjacent chapel of the Virgen de la Mayor. When leaving, the Falangists, uniformed and standard-bearers, intoned the "Cara al Sol" chanted without dissimulation by a good part of those present, at the same time that they made the usual fascist salute. The whole city lived moments of patriotic exaltation and nobody spoke of the dead and wounded in Asturias, but of the heroism and bravery of the government troops, especially of the legionnaires, who, according to expressions easy to hear, "gave more balls than any other". The Beltran family took a place of honor in front of the altar, together with the authorities and other local notables. At the exit of the cathedral, some local State officials, the notary, directors of the four local banks and savings banks and some canon, who, without the slightest qualm, argued what had happened in a joking and defiant tone: "This is so that they will not want to return to the barricades! "What we have to do now is a thorough cleansing and shoot a few ringleaders, otherwise they will be revolutionized again at the first opportunity! "To begin with, they already have Largo Caballero and Azaña, the biggest criminals of this country! Let's see if they have the guts to shoot them, and forgive me, Father, for the somewhat high-flown expression, but those two characters are the worst this country has produced in all its glorious history and deserve nothing more than the gallows!". I joined the group of women, because Doña Virtudes had the ability to disappear when she knew that her husband wanted to talk about politics.
-Come with us, Andresito, because these men only know how to talk about politics, as if we didn't already have enough problems because of it!
In effect, the government cleaned up, imprisoning more than 40,000 people and harshly repressing the rebels, after brief trials directed by an examining magistrate appointed for the case, a certain Alarcón. The task was entrusted to 400 civil guards, who exceeded their professional zeal and it was more a revenge for the death of their 100 colleagues, according to official estimates, than mere police work.
The consequences of the rebellion were also felt in our town, as Inés' fears were unfortunately soon confirmed: Benjamín had been arrested again and was once again imprisoned in the model prison of Barcelona, this time with the charge of attempted assault and armed robbery of a bank in the town of Tarrasa, an accusation supported by an eyewitness, an employee of the bank, coincidentally affiliated with the conservative Lliga Catalana. The other brother, Damián, was unaccounted for, but he was also the subject of a search and arrest warrant for the same crime. Later we would come to know that both brothers had taken refuge in this entity when they were surprised by the Mossos d'Escuadra, during the first day of the strike, but, unfortunately, Benjamin was carrying a gun, so the employee believed that it was a robbery. In addition to this charge, there were also charges of sedition, acts of terrorism and disturbing the public order. In total, the State Prosecutor asked for a total of 20 years and one day in prison, the same as for the brother, whose whereabouts are unknown. 


































CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Rumors of a coup
Until Christmas there was no talk of anything else but the death sentences of the leaders of the October revolution, especially of its most prominent leaders: Pérez Farrás and González Peña. Don Román lost no opportunity to show his opinion in favor of the execution of the sentences and nobody in the town, and even less in the seminary, dared to express in public opinions in favor of the pardon. During the usual All Saints' dinner at the Beltranes' house, which I again attended in the company of Don Gregorio, it was inevitable that the subject of the pardon would come up during the after-dinner conversation.
-He who kills with iron, dies with iron, Don Gregorio! They started the carnage by killing innocent people, especially poor village priests who were not guilty of anything! Therefore, the Government of the nation cannot have clemency with murderers who, besides, are in the pay of Moscow," commented Don Román, taking a long puff on his cigar while waiting for Don Gregorio's reply.
-Those miners have committed atrocities against the Church! - replied Don Gregorio, trying to see things from his personal point of view, "and not only against priests, which is the most to be condemned, but also against its symbols, because the cathedral of Oviedo has been left almost in ruins, and many other churches will not even be worth rebuilding!
As on other occasions, I never intervened in these conversations, because I knew perfectly well the intolerance of don Román, who did not accept a reply contrary to his ideas. On the other hand, thanks to Inés, my visits to that house were much more pleasant. I had become accustomed to her presence in that house, even though she hardly appeared during the service of the food and appetizers, then she would meet with the servants in the kitchen and there she would remain until Doña Virtudes called her for some occupation or to attend to some wish of the guests. For some reason she called me "Mr. Andrés" in the presence of the others, and although I did not like the coldness she showed me, I understood that it was because of what she had surely been inculcated with. To Romanín she even treated him with the vexatious treatment of "señorito Romanín", which she pronounced as if she was reading it, and without much enthusiasm. Her manners were almost exquisite and Doña Virtudes was delighted with her, and she never stopped praising her progress and how well she had made herself at home.
-What a good recommendation you gave me, Andresito, this girl has already won over everyone in the house! To tell you that the cook, who is mean even to herself; that if we keep her, it's because of her hand for the piglet, she makes special food just for her! And even the girls, who are the most prissy, are fond of her and leave their dresses with her. Be sure she even accompanies them to the dance in the alameda!
I was satisfied with that good harmony, although a little jealous about the dance, and I dared to praise the rest of the Valiente family, who, in my opinion, and with the exception of the father, were all of the same good nature.
-It's the whole family, Mrs. Virtudes! What is happening is that the boys have been involved in trouble because of the situation we are living in, otherwise they would be treatable people, because they are all good-hearted!
-Yes, son, you are right about that, that in these times the good and docile become demons and murderers... Oh, Lord, how we will all end up if this is not fixed!
But far from being fixed, the situation was getting worse every day. Already at the end of October rumors were circulating that Alcala Zamora was going to resign and Franco would head a military directory and would return to establish a new dictatorship like that of Primo de Rivera. According to the confidences I was able to hear in the Beltranes' house, José Antonio himself had offered him the support of the Falange for a coup d'état. I do not know if these rumors were founded or not, but Franco was promoted to general and, more than assigned, "deported" to the Canary Islands, as well as other commanders supposedly involved in this new plot against the Republic. Tension among the military grew when the Government pardoned Pérez Ferrás and several other Republican soldiers involved in the uprising in Barcelona. It remained to execute the sentence of González Peña, which was the cause of constant controversy between the followers of Gil Robles, José Antonio and Calvo Sotelo, who demanded its execution; the leftists en bloc, who asked for his pardon; and in the middle was the Government itself, divided over its application. But the case would not be heard until the following year, because the Government commissioned a legal report to evaluate the sentence.
A few days before Christmas, Manuel Azaña was released from prison. From the very first moment he stepped on the streets again, he set out to rebuild the unity of the left, regardless of their ideological line. In reaction, the right-wing formed a "National Bloc", whose objective now seemed to be the conquest of power, even if necessary by means of violence, and they no longer had the slightest qualms about making their intentions public, since after the events of October, everyone seemed to have the legitimacy to resort to this means. Thus, democracy in our country only served for the elections, which they still tried to respect, but since the events of Asturias and Catalonia, it no longer formed part of the political convictions of the majority of Spaniards, who, in reality, lacked tradition and even practice.
But it was not only ordinary people who began to disavow democratic ideas, but also intellectuals, such as, for example, the contradictory and polemic Miguel de Unamuno, who would comment without the slightest qualm that "democracy is mental leveling, equality in the vulgarity".
But also former great defenders of republican and democratic values during the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera, such as Don José Ortega y Gasset, were beginning to lose faith in the ability of the people to give themselves an adequate government. Therefore, on both sides a certain "Platonic idealism", for which I felt aversion since I had my first knowledge of philosophy, was already spreading, and everyone was beginning to believe that the people could only be well governed by "custodians", that is, by an elite, if not a single "boss", strongly supported by a well-coordinated and well-oiled political organization, without regard for those who disagreed, whether it was the Falange y las JONS, the CEDA, the PSOE, the C.N.T. or the U.G.T. They no longer aspired to anything other than domination and totalitarianism, whichever side they were on, but some believed they could achieve it with the ballot box and the others with weapons. Perhaps only Azaña and four old republicans and "petty bourgeois" still had faith that democracy would finally emerge unscathed from so many indiscriminate attacks, not only in Spain but throughout Europe.
Revenge
I spent most of the Christmas vacations of 1934 in the asylum, at the foot of the bed of my dying father, who no longer even recognized me. The sister who cared for him gave me no hope and I feared that he would not even make it to the New Year. He was prostrate, weighed down by his breathing difficulties, but he looked calm and serene, I don't know if it was because he was no longer conscious; because he was in God knows what thoughts, or because the anguish of imminent death had him overwhelmed.
I had never thought about death before, even though it was not the first time I had seen it up close. But I thought of it as something that happens to others and which was far from happening to me. Death should be something natural, as was the case with my poor father, and therefore there was nothing to regret. He had already lived the life that corresponded to him, because no one could aspire to more, and he did it according to how he believed he should live it. Now he could die peacefully, because there was nothing more left for him to do in this world. That was my thought then, and for this very reason the only thing that distressed me was that I could not do the same, and live my life as I wished and not as others wanted.
As I stood vigil in the gloom of that cold but clean room, with the smell of camphor mixed with the smell of old people, I made plans for my future once my father was gone. If there was any money left, and it was enough to give me some respite, I planned to leave the seminary, at least for a year, until I could see if I was able to make a living for myself. Although without having too many illusions, I began to plan how I could get Inés back, and if she agreed, we would get married and go to live in some other quiet place, outside that city, overwhelmed by the Catholic Church, which dominated everything and impregnated it with its millenary intolerance and fanaticism.
That feeling was easy to harbor just by seeing the disproportion between its cathedral, which by its style and imposing appearance seemed built more for war than to honor God, and the misery and insignificance of its population. Especially the popular neighborhoods, near the castle, then headquarters of the Civil Guard, and the farmers, which had the derogatory nickname of "El arrabal", composed of unhealthy shacks, half in ruins, whose stables and abundant livestock ended up giving them a deplorable, dirty and marginal aspect. There was probably no other city in Spain that had a greater disproportion between the religious and the civil, that any step taken in any direction, one ended up running into a church, convent or building of religious use, of the episcopate or of the chapter. Not to mention those that were apparently civilian, but were also linked to the local Church, such as the headquarters of Catholic Action, the Caja Agrícola Rural, and the many civilian properties leased by the Church throughout the city.
On the afternoon of December 24, in spite of the seriousness of my father's condition, I could not avoid my usual responsibility of helping Don Gregorio at the Midnight Mass, but we had agreed that I would not arrive in town until late in the evening, in case of the outcome. In the middle of the afternoon I was surprised by the visit of Doña Virtudes, who accompanied by Inés, came to the asylum to inquire about my father's health.
-She is dying, Doña Virtudes; in fact, I don't think she has lived since the death of my poor mother! -I told her in a more affected tone than I really was, so as not to seem ruthless.
The good woman sanctified herself, and with a trembling and quiet voice, tried to comfort me.
-That comes to all of us when God wants it, Andresito, it's natural! The important thing is that the good man doesn't suffer....
I think Inés also felt sorry for me, but she did not say anything because it must have reminded her of her own mother's situation, who was also very broken by suffering, and who had been in bed for days, although without any apparent illness, but because she must have been deeply depressed.
-Forgive me if I don't go to Midnight Mass this year, Andrés," he told me, "but I'm staying at home with my mother, who is also a little down....
-I will pray for her... and for all of you," I answered, no doubt thinking of the imprisoned brother and the other one who had fled.
She whispered a "thank you", but I hardly heard it, because it must not have seemed enough to pray to solve her many problems. After that protocol visit, Inés accompanied her mistress to her house, and immediately afterwards she also went to the village.
It was already dark and a cold wind was blowing, probably coming from the snowy mountain range of Ayllón, when I left the asylum, leaving my father in the same agony. I passed by the railroad station just as the mail train from Barcelona was arriving. No one got off and the train resumed its parsimonious march, amid clouds of steam, and I had the feeling that the engineer would be upset for having had to make that useless stop. The station clock read ten o'clock, a little past, but since it was a moonless night and half cloudy, it seemed to be already twelve o'clock. I hurried my pace, headed down the river path and scared off several birds, probably owls and magpies, judging by the screeching and squawking of one or the other. Luckily I was already accustomed to the screeching of owls, otherwise I would have mistaken them for souls in pain coming out of purgatory.
I saw the lights of the town, which were flickering because the wind was shaking the lampshades that hung in the center of the streets, but I saw no light in the church, which alarmed me, since Don Gregorio was supposed to be there already, preparing everything himself for the mass.
When I arrived at the outer door, I was again surprised to see it ajar and not the slightest noise inside. From the door itself, and no longer disguising my uneasiness, I shouted:
-Don Gregorio, are you here?
But there was no answer and my voice was heard echoing in every corner of the ship. I did not know what to do and I supposed that Don Gregorio must have gone to the tavern for a moment, but I remembered that at that hour it must have been closed. Increasingly alarmed I thought that perhaps he might have suffered some fortuitous accident because of his clumsiness to move in the dark, and without thinking more I pushed the double door that led directly to the nave, I looked out and could see that there was light in the sacristy, but it must have been from a candelabra and not electric, because I had not seen it from the street. Without worrying about anything other than getting out of doubt as soon as possible, I ran towards the sacristy, not without tripping over some badly placed kneeler myself, and when I reached the door I thought I heard as if someone had tripped over something. I could not help being startled and fear paralyzed me again. Standing behind the door of the sacristy, unable to see anything but the glow of a candle projected on the main altar, I asked again, unable to conceal the fear that distressed me:
-Don Gregorio, are you there? -But I immediately understood that if he didn't answer me, it was because the noise had been produced by someone else, so I asked again, fearing that I would find someone strange, "Who is there? Is anyone there?
I could not stay there in the middle, but neither could I leave without knowing what was happening, so instinctively I went after myself and, summoning all the courage I could muster, I finally entered the sacristy. I had only just rounded the door when the dim light of the candle illuminated the body of Don Gregorio, lying on the floor, next to a pool of what must have been his own blood. Unwisely, moved more by shock than by reason, I approached the body and tried to lift him up, at the same time asking him in anguish:
-Don Gregorio, Don Gregorio! Can you hear me? What has happened to you?
Suddenly, a strong, resolute voice chilled my blood, I felt my hair stand on end and a shiver of death violently ran through my whole body.
-He doesn't listen to you because he's dead! I killed him! -was the voice of Agustín, who was still holding the candlestick with which he must have hit the priest. He wore a beard several days old, and was haggard and disheveled. Trying to exculpate his murder, he said to me again: "Justice has been done! Because of this bad priest, in this very church my brother died in a bad way; I swore I would kill him in the same place, and it is done! -I recovered from the first impression and understood that I could not reproach him for his action, because he was still holding the candlestick tightly as if he was ready to use it again with me. You are a good boy, Andrés, although you have chosen a bad path, but I have nothing against you, so stay away and do not go to alarm the town or report me to the Guardia Civil or I will be forced to..." he did not conclude, but he raised the candlestick threateningly.
What could I do if the evil was already done? Without opening my mouth, I slowly sat up and moved away as he had ordered me to do. He threw the candlestick against the body of the unhappy parish priest, spat violently, and without saying anything else to me, disappeared into the darkness of the nave, rushing out of the church.
I was so shocked that for a few moments I could do nothing but let myself fall on the sacristy pew, and try to put my thoughts in order after the first impression. There was no doubt that there was no possible justification for that murder and I would have no choice but to confess the truth when the Guardia Civil arrived.
I was not so much worried about the boy's threats, but about his own fate, who, if arrested, would not be spared the death penalty, and would probably be executed by "garrote vil", which was still used in cases like that. As for the town, I did not even want to think about the consequences, because the violent death of a priest would fill us with opprobrium and stigmatize us forever, in such a way that from now on all of us in my town would be those who "killed the parish priest on Christmas Eve".
It was not long before midnight and people would soon arrive. I reacted and thought that the first thing to do was to close the church and prevent anyone from entering, report the case to the Civil Guard and they would find out why there was no mass when the guards and the judge arrived to remove the body.
On the way back to Sigüenza, I wondered if the other deaths of priests that had occurred during the October revolution had been for the same reason, and if those killed had also been involved in the past in other events similar to those that caused the revenge death of Don Gregorio, because I could not believe that someone would kill a fellow priest with impunity, just for wearing a cassock and having a crucifix hanging on his head. It was an ignoble and cruel thought, given the circumstances, but in those moments I no longer knew what to think or which side to be on. I was as sorry for the violent death of some as of others, but it was evident that dust always brings mud when bad weather arrives!
Convinced that I was not able to clearly discern the guilt of one or the other, I decided to return to the village without reporting the case to the Civil Guard, and to pretend that I had just arrived too, since I had the alibi of the asylum, and that the whole village, as in the comedy of Lope de Vega, "Fuenteovejuna", would bear the responsibility for his death, since in any case we would all be accused of murdering priests. Luckily I had the inspiration to open the church and leave it just as I had found it, because otherwise suspicion would have fallen on the town sheriff, the only person who had a key to it. The body was discovered by a group of women who, without the slightest fear, entered the church without suspecting what they would find. I remained hidden in order to appear at the right moment, and when I heard the screams of the poor women I ran to the church showing total ignorance.
-What happened? What's all the shouting about, ladies?
One of them, the most daring, had come out of the church shouting "They have killed Don Gregorio!", which began to cause a commotion among the people who were already on their way there. When she saw me, she grabbed me by the arms and taking a breath, she repeated the same thing to me again, but she reacted with more sense of responsibility than I did.
-The sheriff must be notified and the Civil Guard sent for! Oh God, what a disgrace has befallen this town! The boy from Agustin had sworn it to him!
-How do you know it was him! -I asked indignantly, because such an accusation could not be made without proof, and the only one who had it was myself.
-And who else could it have been? We are not murderers here!
I understood that even without my testimony, the whole town would be ready to swear that Augustine had killed him, perhaps to free themselves from suspicion, because it was evident that everyone had spread the rumor of his threats, or because of the malice that already existed in the whole town against one another.
Since the arrival of the Guardia Civil and the judge on duty, the whole town accused the boy and that same night organized gangs to go in search of him, even some of the people, the most devout and sympathetic to the Church, signed up.
At dawn, almost frozen to death, the boy was arrested, who had fallen into a ravine because of his hasty flight, breaking his leg. Splinted and leaning clumsily on a thick branch of oak, he was taken to the barracks of Sigüenza, but first crossing the town, perhaps to serve as a mockery and example of the effectiveness of the Civil Guard.
The poor mother came out to meet him, who with him had already lost her two children, and allowed him to give her a bundle of food and clothes, but the father spat in her face, violently pushing the poor woman away from the boy, who, collapsed and frightened, burst into tears as if he were a child. A guard put an end to that pathetic scene and with one blow, forced the boy to continue his painful march towards Sigüenza. There was no "Fuenteovejuna" because that was not the town imagined by a poet, lover of justice and freedom, but a real one, inhabited by frightened and resentful peasants.
Two days later, in the midst of a heavy snowfall, a solemn funeral was held in the cathedral of Sigüenza, officiated by the bishop himself and assisted by all the canons, in which Bach and Handel requiems were performed, for which they called a young and virtuous organist from the diocese of Valencia, homeland of the murdered priest. In his long eulogy, Don Martin praised the figure of Don Gregorio, whom he described as "martyr of the red terror, which one day will devastate our country if someone does not remedy it first", and I reproduce his words verbatim because they were the object of harsh criticism in the provincial socialist and communist media, then still in hiding, and even had repercussions in some people in Madrid. The boy was taken to the provincial prison and I never knew again what his sentence was. The priest was buried in his homeland.





























CHAPTER FOURTEEN
1935

In May, I was 19 years old, a deacon for four years and about to take minor orders. I was an expert in Latin and fluent in Greek. We were beginning to study "Sacramental Theology" and "Sacred Liturgy", which brought me closer and closer to the priesthood without, on the other hand, strengthening my faith. I was interested in Church History, but I disagreed with many of the assessments, and I still missed a more realistic and historical view of the Lutheran Reformation, as well as a more critical review of the period of the Inquisition. From the Old Testament there was no longer a Jewish prophet or monarch about whom I did not know even the most insignificant details, and I took the opportunity to introduce myself almost passionately to the history of Egypt and ancient Greece, especially that of the era of Pericles. I knew everything about the trial of Socrates, about the aristocrat Plato and his historical circumstances, even his absurd political experiments in Syracuse, and there was no book of Aristotle that I had not read, especially those on metaphysics, which I was passionate about. But Parmenides remained my favorite philosopher, perhaps because of the charm of his verses and the strength and simplicity of his metaphysics.
It goes without saying that the country was already adrift and the old Lerroux, clearly overwhelmed by the historical circumstances, was no longer capable of forming a single stable government. What most disturbed the political life of the country continued to be the pardon of all the death sentences imposed on those who had risen in October. The most reactionary right wing was of the opinion that Lerroux had made a pact with the foreign Masons for the pardon, but that he was dragging his feet to avoid new crises in his cabinet. The revolutionaries were, in effect, pardoned, but the political price was having to give up to six portfolios to the CEDA, after a provisional Government, formed by radicals and independents, which barely lasted between April and May.
Thus, five years after the proclamation of the Republic, there were no longer any Republicans in the Government, and it was only a matter of time before they would put an end to it. There were in that Government representatives of the great national oligarchy: bankers, landowners, merchants, high ranking officials and also the Church was well represented. Lerroux assumed the presidency, but Gil Robles took over the War portfolio. The State was already in the hands of politicians who were clearly opposed to the republican, and even democratic, regime, because the favorable ones had been removed. It was not surprising that the left, weakened but not defeated, prepared for the counterattack and saw in the formation of a Popular Front and in the calling of new elections the only hope of overthrowing the "ceding" Government and the extreme right wing already installed in it. Acción Popular already saw the overthrow of the Republic and the installation of a fascist regime as inevitable and demanded "all power to a boss". After all, the spectacular economic successes of Hitler and Mussolini, as well as the influence of Maurras in France and Dollfuss in Austria, not to mention other fascisms already emerging in Eastern Europe, came to create the widespread opinion that this was the political option of the future in Europe and that to resist it was like going against history. The "Communist International", from Moscow, reacted by giving priority to the struggle against fascism, leaving Marxist orthodoxy for better times, a circumstance which favored the rapprochement of all the progressive and democratic forces in Spain, but, above all, the Communist Party, which from then on became the standard bearer against fascism in Spain.
To complete this sensation of liquidation of all that the Revolution of 1931 represented, General Franco, who for the new conservative government was the one who had saved Spain from communism and its territorial disintegration, was appointed Chief of the Central General Staff, a person in whom all the right wing in favor of a military coup had already pinned their hopes. Not content with this, General Fanjul, a coup leader, was appointed Undersecretary of War; that is to say, by the end of May 1935 the country was totally in the hands of politicians clearly in favor of liquidating the Republic and establishing a regime similar to that already existing in Germany or Italy. By then nobody seriously thought about the Bourbons in exile, although these, from Rome, continued to conspire to achieve their return with some monarchic but not democratic formula.
The arrest of Damián Valiente
The sister at the asylum was not mistaken and my poor father died peacefully on the penultimate day of 1934, thus avoiding the great sufferings that were to come. After the funeral and burial, the bishop called me to update me on my financial situation. I was still hoping that he would have left me some money with which to rebuild my life and start over, but as soon as he made me sit down at his office table, I understood from his expression that my plans would have to wait.
-Well, Andrés, now all you have left is the Church! -he said without beating around the bush, of which the prelate was not a very good friend. He showed me a document that I didn't even have a chance to look at for myself and exclaimed, "This is the last will of your poor father, in which he expresses his wish for you to be ordained a priest. It is not much he leaves, but discounting the burial expenses, the new inscription on the tombstone and the funeral, plus those of the asylum, it will cover your expenses until ordination... Even the house in the village he leaves to the seminary, because the poor man does not want you to leave the seminary until you are assigned to a parish, where you will already have your consequent lodging. So, Andrés, if there is anything left of your inheritance, you will receive it the day you are ordained - he left the document on the table, took off his reading glasses, and went back to wiping imaginary specks of dust from his cassock, a sign that he was thinking about what he would say next - Of course, if you continue working as foreman for Don Román you can continue to use your house during the summers. In reality that house is not worth much and it will bring us more harm than good, but that was your father's will and we have to respect it, Andrés!
There was no option for a reply, because, having said this, he concluded the interview and the subject. So I was left without a father and without an inheritance at the same time, and my longed-for plans for freedom and romance had to be postponed sine die, to use the Latin expression that best suited the situation.
Seeing the atmosphere that reigned in the city, no one would think that the whole country was already at loggerheads, but what was happening was that the majority of the population, and even of the region, were in favor of the new Government, and harbored the hope that the confrontations and rivalries had ended or were about to end. Those who did not agree had been so chastened after the last frustrated revolutionary attempt, and were viewed with so much suspicion and suspicion, that it seemed as if they no longer existed. The Casa del Pueblo had been closed and the same thing was happening with the one in our town. There was such a "good atmosphere" in the town that they were already thinking about the bullfighting poster for the San Roque fair, and it was rumored that that year they would bring bullfighters of some national renown.
The Sunday dances had ceased to be conflictive, since the municipal band no longer played Riego's hymn, and the few left-wing musicians it had, had been repressed and expelled.
So that was the most spectacular and crowded Holy Week of all I remember. All the "pasos" were profusely decorated, the brotherhoods had new uniforms of "Romans", thousands of candles burned in the churches, whose atmosphere was almost unbreathable, the Civil Guard accompanied the processions in full dress uniform and even the civil Governor of Guadalajara attended the most important ones, especially the "Silencio" of "Good Friday", because Sigüenza was the seat of the provincial diocese.
He had never seen the bishop so sought after or so invited in the notable houses of the city, and he no longer even worried that he was armed, for to such an extent did he believe that normality and order had returned to the country.
Such was the confidence that the left had been crushed and disarticulated, that people linked to the extreme right allowed themselves to buy entire shipments of weapons abroad to prepare a "national uprising", which once and for all would put an end to the remnants of the policy initiated in 1931. The King of Belgium himself had to intervene to prevent a ship carrying thousands of rifles, machine guns, hand bombs and millions of cartridges from reaching Spain. But that did not prevent them from continuing to buy arms, especially for the Navarrese requetés, under the command of General Varela, and for the members of the Falange.
From Estoril, General Sanjurjo planned his "revenge" and presided over a Carlist Military Junta, because they already had advanced plans for an armed intervention from Portugal. A group of generals had revived the Spanish Military Union, dissolved during the governments of Azaña, and, to end this pre-war panorama, which apparently was not perceived in that city, the Falangists, gathered in the Parador de Gredos, unanimously decided to sign up for an armed insurrection if the military finally decided to start it. José Antonio himself addressed a letter to the military of the UME in which he urged them to "do their duty, and take over a State which was already non-existent", but for the time being the military declined the offer of the Falangist leader.
Meanwhile, throughout the country the jails were overflowing with political prisoners, and hundreds of young people, as in the case of Damián Valiente, remained on the run, living clandestinely, supported by leftist organizations, hiding wherever they could, because accusations of sedition continued to weigh on them. The only thing the left could do was to create a "Committee to help political prisoners" and continue their clandestine work of trying to regroup their political and workers' organizations. During the Holy Week celebrations I had numerous opportunities to meet with Inés at the Beltranes' house, and I became interested in her younger brothers.
-All we know about Benjamin is that the trial has not yet been held, and not a word about Damian, but it seems that he is hiding somewhere, helped by the anarchists. As bad as it is for me, I had to turn to this family to help us with the Benjamin, the other one, God knows what will become of him," she told me resignedly.
-If I could do something, I would gladly do it, but I can't think of what!
-There is nothing to do, Andrés, what we lack is money for a good lawyer, we can no longer count on those of the Casa del Pueblo.
-Well, I can't help you there, Inés, because between one and the other they've left me with what I've got, and even the house in the village isn't mine anymore!
-And I'm not saying that God will help us, because it seems that he has forgotten the poor and unfortunate and only helps the rich!
There were really reasons to have serious doubts about the existence of God at that time, or, at least, that it was that of all Spaniards, and not only of a few, those who mentioned him every day in their political and nationalist harangues, forgetting that one of the Commandments is: "Thou shalt not take the name of God in vain!"
On the last day of vacation I wanted to say goodbye to my house and pick up whatever there might be of some value, even if it was only sentimental, such as old photographs or some of my poor mother's handiwork, which still decorated the four miserable pieces of furniture in it.
I arrived at the house at dusk, when the first swallows were gathering in their nests, and it seemed that only they had not noticed the changes in the house. They flew along the alley in an incessant coming and going, amidst the gurgle of their interminable trills. They alternated flight with the occasional swift, which used to nest in the ailerons of the church, for for some reason these agile birds love heights, perhaps because of their curious inability to soar once they hit the ground. The blackbirds, perched on the overhangs of the houses, were making their varied and melodious whistles. It was a pleasant afternoon, reminding me of the splendor of spring in times when I was in the mood to enjoy it. The sky was already reddening on the horizon and the April rain clouds, forming large cumulus clouds, were turning pinkish and transparent, as they soon lost their humidity due to the premature heat of the anticipation of summer.
The house smelled of old, and if I had been a poet I would have said it smelled of the past and without the slightest scent of the future. It was the ruin of an indestructible secular Spain, reluctant to change its medieval habits and enter at once into the twentieth century without fear or misgivings. It was a lover of discreet misery, of habit and custom, mending its rips and tears with old clothes, because it had an aversion and contempt for the new or the modern. It was, in short, the best image of the Spain that was tearing itself apart, falling to pieces but without deciding to build a new and well-founded house, but taking advantage of the old rotten logs to rebuild its rickety roof, through which the water was already pouring.
That thought kept me entertained for quite a while, sitting on the stool that my father used to use and that I would have thrown into the fire had it been lit. I was so intent on my melancholy thoughts that I did not hear some hissing sounds coming from the window overlooking the corral. But they were so insistent that I was finally startled and jumped up, with such haste that I hit my head against the pole of a gibbet hanging from the ceiling.
-Don't be scared, Andrés, it's me, Damián; Damián Valiente! Or don't you remember me anymore?
I could not avoid a strange feeling of joy mixed with a feeling of fear at the same time, for if he was arrested in my house there was no doubt that I would be considered his abettor. But I reacted and reproached myself for my cowardice, welcoming him with great joy at seeing him safe and sound again.
-Damian, you're here in the village! But how did you get here? How did you get into the corral? Couldn't someone from the village have seen you? 
Damián, reassured by my attitude, entered the room with extreme caution, nervously looking in every corner and closing the patio door behind him, so that we were almost in semi-darkness. In spite of the dim light, I could see his pitiful appearance, but he seemed to have grown almost a quarter, besides having lost his boyish features to the overgrown beard. His face was already that of a young adult, with pale, stark cheeks. We stood for a few moments not knowing how to react, perhaps piecing together our common childhood memories, and finally we embraced in silence. Now calmer and more relaxed, I filled him in on the situation at my house and that of his family, since I had not yet seen them, so as not to compromise his siblings.
-As a maid in that fascist's house! -he exclaimed indignantly when I told him about his sister. How could Inés do something like that?
Calm down, Damian, there was no other solution! With all your problems and those of politics, your family is having a hard time! She is single-handedly pulling you all through!
Damián felt dejected and humiliated, because he undoubtedly felt guilty about the situation. He did not dare to reply and punched so hard against one of the walls that even the house shook.
-I swear to God that someday we will be repaid for so much humiliation and shame, as my name is Damien Valiente!
He had not finished his oath when we heard a roar and the door of the house fell to the ground, torn off its hinges by the blow. Without being able to react, we were confronted by a civil guard who, pointing his musket at us, shouted:
-Hands up, quick; and not a move or shot!
Damián made an instinctive gesture, as if trying to flee to the corral, but when he saw the closed door, he desisted.
-Damian, don't resist, do as you're told, let's not have another murder here! -I shouted at him, because I knew how the civil guards acted in those cases.
The guard must not have liked my comment, because without taking into consideration my seminarian habits, he tried to hit me with the butt of the musket. Luckily I had good reflexes and dodged the blow, because otherwise I might have been the victim. Damián must have understood that if I resisted, my life was also in danger, and with a gesture of rage and desperation, he resigned himself to being arrested, slowly raising his arms, as the guard had ordered us to do.
When we went out into the street three other guards were waiting for him, all pointing their guns in the direction of the door. Somewhat withdrawn and half hidden, was the same peasant who had spat at his own son for the death of Don Gregorio. Seeing the Damián, he commented, rubbing his hands together maliciously:
-Another Red down! And the priest is no less a communist, let them put him in jail too!
That vermin had seen Damien jump over the wall of my corral and ran to alert the Civil Guard, and perhaps now he was waiting for the thirty coins, but the guards sent him away without a second thought.
-You go home, this is a matter of law!
The old pimp felt hurt and still dared to protest:
-What side are you guys on? -But the guards were no longer listening to him, because, after putting the handcuffs on Damian, who for some reason left me free, we all hurriedly set off in the direction of Sigüenza. One of the guards, who had lagged a little behind, ordered him in a threatening tone, at the same time as he threw his musket over his shoulder.
-We told you to go home, and let us do our job, you've already done your job as a whistleblower!
It seemed to me a strange reaction for a civil guard, but that number must not have been very favorable to the fascists, who were also republicans! The old man was red with anger, but he withdrew as he had been ordered to do. His figure, rude and stooped, looked like the image of Lucifer himself reincarnated. People like that, unfortunately, abounded, not only in my town, but in all of rural Spain at that time.
Released without charge
Word of our arrest spread quickly through the town and Juan heard about it in the tavern. He hurried out and the two brothers met again in the middle of the street, but the guards barely allowed them to embrace and exchange a few brief greetings, Juan taking an interest in his health and Damian in that of his parents. Before we left the village, the inevitable little boys surrounded the procession and threw us their not less malicious pranks: "They are taking the priest prisoner, they are taking the priest prisoner!". "The half-priest has turned red and they're taking him prisoner! "Not even the cassock was enough for him!
I didn't need to be shown the way to the local jail, because unfortunately I already knew it. On the way we were not allowed to talk to each other, but one of the guards, the one who had sent the snitch away in a bad way, took an interest in us:
-What are you accused of, if I may ask? -he asked me, as if he himself regretted having to participate in our arrest.
-You're welcome to me, and to this one for having political ideas, which is not a crime, I think!
-With the times we live in, we no longer know what is a crime and what is not, because thieves are on the loose and workers are imprisoned!
I was surprised by the guard's comment, which, on the other hand, he tried to make without being overheard by his companions. I nodded in agreement, convinced that he could not have expressed himself better, and as a precaution we ended that compromising conversation.
Again we had to cross the town and had to go through the embarrassment of being led by two couples of the Guardia Civil, but seeing me free and Damian handcuffed, I should think that I was his spiritual advisor, or something like that, because it could not even cross their minds that in that town a priest, not even an apprentice priest, could be detained by the Guardia Civil.
We were not taken to the local jail, but to the castle, where their barracks were located. It looked deplorable, as only a tenth of the huge building was usable, the rest being completely in ruins. Waiting for us there was the same captain who had interrogated us the first time I was arrested, but he had much less hair and had grown a thick black moustache, so it was difficult for me to recognize him.
-I know you, kid! -He said, putting his hand on my shoulder with an almost familiar gesture, "Why do you always have to be involved in the troubles of these brothers, who give us no rest?
I didn't know what to answer, so I shrugged.
-Well, you can leave whenever you want, you're free, but this one stays to testify and then we'll see!
-What is he accused of? -I dared to ask.
-Nothing serious, but we have a complaint from one of the villagers who has seen you stealing from a house....
-But that's my house, and I wasn't stealing! -I replied, astonished and indignant at the same time at the wickedness of the informer.
-And he had to jump over the wall and sneak around to see you? Fuck, that's weird, and pardon the expression, kid!
If that was the accusation, it meant that he did not have his arrest warrant or there was no longer one. The captain hesitated for a few moments and questioned Damien directly.
-Why were you jumping over the wall? If you just wanted to visit him, you knock on the door and if he's not there you come back later, that's what honest people do! You're looking for something that's not honest!
The situation was embarrassing but I had an inspiration that got us off the hook.
-It's my fault, officer! I had him jump over the wall from time to time and go into the corral to feed my cat, who doesn't want to leave the house and is always wandering around half-starved....
The captain considered my argument, paced up and down a couple of times, and turned back to the Damien directly:
-You swear to God that's the truth, kid!
The Damián, without a moment's hesitation, swore and the guard seemed convinced. He called the corporal and ordered him to remove the handcuffs. Then he wrote something on a sheet of paper on the typewriter and gave it to him to sign.
-Sign here, boy, and that's the last time I'll see you around here, not for cats and bollocks!
When we saw each other in the large square of the castle, both of us free and without the slightest mishap, we could not help but laugh with restrained laughter.
-Is it true about the cat, Andrés?
-What cat or what the hell? Sometimes even we priests have to invent a pious lie, but God, if He exists, has you on file for the false oath.
-It is also possible to swear a false oath from time to time, but a pious one, of course!
-Heretic! -I reproached him, but in such a way that he took it as a joke, and he laughed again.
I had to give all kinds of explanations to the poor seminary doorman and Damien returned to town, free of charges, which must have been a source of great joy for his depressed mother.
But, as the saying goes, "joy does not last long in a poor man's house", because the trial of Benjamin was to take place that same month and he was sentenced to twenty years and one day. So once again Juan and his mother had to travel to Barcelona to hire a good lawyer and do whatever they could to get him released, or at least have his sentence reduced. The key was to know if the witness would allow himself to be bribed with the four duros they still had left from the sale of the estate and rectify his statement.
The witness rectified and the Valiente family was left in complete ruin. Damián, now also free of charges, went with them to Barcelona, and the two brothers stayed there again, trying to find a job to take care of the family's needs, but given their condition as ex-convicts, it was not an easy task.
Upon his return, the Juan learned that his son had passed the measles. He had a high fever and respiratory complications and the poor mother thought he was leaving this world, without having made much room in it, but as I had prophesied, the child was not insignificant because of his weak constitution, and overcame the infantile disease without leaving any sign. When he saw his father again, he even gave him a warm welcome, waving his skeletal little arms and babbling a little slur, at the same time smiling at him as if he had recognized him and was glad to see him. Thank God that there are always unexpected joys in this world, which nature gives without costing money.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Summer 1935
That summer of 1935 there was a tense calm, which each side took advantage of to organize its plans and take positions. The right wing was already thinking of a military uprising, while the left wing, after the bad experience of October and the other previous revolutions, was more confident of an electoral defeat. Pepe Díaz, the leader of the Communists, arrived from Moscow, after attending the VII Congress of the "Communist International", with a proposal for an "Anti-Fascist Front" which was well received by the Socialists and Republicans. In Mestalla, Azaña gave his first rally calling for unity "in an open field", as they came to be popularly called, because the Government prevented them from being held in closed places, such as stadiums or bullrings, and concentrated a crowd of close to one hundred thousand people.
At the beginning of June, President Companys and his consellers were all sentenced to thirty years and did not escape prison, but the Lerroux Government, not content with this, also tried to reform the Constitution, so that the powers of the Generalitat would be drastically reduced, and if this was not carried out it was to avoid the dissolution of the Cortes and having to call new elections. Both Calvo Sotelo and Gil Robles no longer wanted reforms, but dissolutions. But Alcalá Zamora resisted and the reforms remained pending until after the summer.
Like every year at that time I went to the Beltranes' house to adjust my work in their fields, but to my surprise that year it would be their son, Romanín, who would be in charge, because his father wanted me to start having responsibilities.
-I'm sorry, Andrés, but it's about time the boy earned what he spends, which is not little! But if you want, you can stay on as a harvester, or help with the harvest, but with a harvester's salary.
Since I knew about the precarious situation Juan was in, I dared to ask him for a job on his behalf, even without knowing if he would accept it.
-For me, any job is fine, Don Román; and as for the salary, whatever you think is convenient, but I would like to ask you for another job for someone else, although you know nothing about this and maybe I am asking you for nothing... It is for Juan Valiente... -he did not let me finish, and he replied almost angry.
-Do you want me to take care of the whole family, Andrés? I already have enough with the girl!
-Yes, Don Román, and they thank him for it, but the man has a family, and with the problem of the other brothers, they no longer have anything to put in their mouths. Besides, he doesn't have to pay for house and food, he has his own....
-That's what you get for getting involved in politics, Andrés! Whoever doesn't have enough goods or education, it's better to stay at home, do his job, little or much, and get used to that life, without going around with impossible aspirations... -he lit a Havana cigar and puffed on it several times until the ember was fanned. When it seemed to be well lit, he took several puffs, sniffed the aroma of the smoke, and looking at me maliciously, he proposed: -But if he leaves the union... at least I can do something for him!
-Man, Don Román, I don't think I'll do as much as that!
But what does it matter to you if you haven't even been to the Casa del Pueblo for a long time?
-You tell him and let him decide! Eight pesetas a day and no food. Go on, go now, Andresito, I have to do something!
I left the house indignant, because that man would not rectify even if the Pope himself asked him to, and he enjoyed humiliating people. It was obvious that Juan would not accept, and I even doubted whether or not I should pass the offer on to him, but nothing was lost by doing so, and I went to his house, fearful that he would take it the wrong way.
-Eight pesetas? And besides, I have to resign from the U.G.T.! Have you taken me for a starving man like those you are in the habit of exploiting? I'd rather steal than work for that bastard! -He said angrily, spitting violently on the floor, "Tell him to shove his eight pesetas up his ass, and that I'm still in the union, and, until it is decided otherwise, as president! Tell him even more: that we're not going to allow abuses here again... Well, don't tell him that, because we have neither the strength nor the will to get into union fights... Besides, I have no choice but to form a gang and leave for the lands of Valladolid and Salamanca, like other years, or we'll end up eating dried beans... If it weren't for the kid, Andrés, this time he wouldn't get away with it! -He remained silent, defeated and impotent, perhaps thinking of the angelic smiles of that insignificant creature that held him in its grip. He looked at the wheat fields as if they were entering through his eyes, with nostalgia and anguish- "Damn misery, Andrés; damn the country and damn the land that kills with hunger those who sow it! -he said in despair. Then he entered the house and I understood that it was not worth insisting.
Slowly, as if savoring the bitterness that oppressed my chest, which seemed that in Castile there was no other taste than that of sadness, I made my way home, remembering the verses of Antonio Machado about my land, who felt and understood it so much:

"Manly Castile, dour land! Castile of disdain against death, Castile of pain and war, immortal land, Castile of death."

To make matters worse, and to my surprise, my former home had become the temporary residence of Don Roman's reapers, so even there I could not enjoy the tranquility I needed to calm my spirit and free it from the bitter taste of bitterness.
Suspicion
One afternoon in July, after a hard day's work in the threshing mill, where I went back to work that summer, I decided to visit the mother of the Valiente family, because the poor woman must be alone, not only were all her children out of town, but her husband had no one to take him out of the tavern, drinking what little money he had left. Just as I was passing by the tavern, I saw him sitting in a chair, under the shadow cast by the façade at that time of the afternoon.
-With God, Andresito! Say hello to the bishop for me, and if he catches you on the way, say hello to the Pope too! -He said to me in a drunken voice, thinking he was making a joke, and at the same time he lifted his arm heavily and it fell again without strength or control.
I knew it was useless to try to talk to that man, but out of politeness, I overlooked his disrespect and stopped for a while to try to converse with him.
-I will do it, Mr. Juan, but it will be more difficult for the Pope! What do you know about the boys?
The old man shrugged his shoulders as if he wasn't interested in them.
-What do I know, they're out there, mowing in the lands of the Duero, as if there were no fields to mow here! And the girl, as a young lady in Sigüenza! Come on, have a glass of wine, Andresito, it's on me! I was indignant at his lack of responsibility and could not help but reproach him energetically:
-But, for God's sake, how can you invite anyone if you don't even have enough to eat?
But the man, leaning heavily back in his chair, reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of pesetas.
-Quia, Andresito; look, I don't have any money! Go on, have as many drinks as you want and don't worry, there's more at home!
-Keep them, Señor Juan, and don't go around bragging that you have money! -He didn't really seem to be worried, maybe because of his drunken unconsciousness or because I was misinformed and they weren't as bad as I thought. Thanks for the invitation, Mr. Juan, but I don't have the body for wine right now! Do you know if your wife is at home?
That's where I was when I came to the tavern, with my sister-in-law and that lousy grandson of mine!
The truth is that the man made himself hated, because he never missed an opportunity to despise anyone, whether they were family or not. I left him half drowsy from the alcohol and went to his house. The two women were in the street, taking advantage of the last rays of the sun and because at that hour it was already cool. They were chatting animatedly and Juan's wife was holding the puny little boy by the arms, because he was already trying to take his first steps.
-Blessed are the eyes that see you, Andresito! What brings you to this house? -I was greeted by the good woman, who, contrary to what I expected, was in a good mood and even cheerful. You've seen the creature, he's already holding his own! And we didn't give a penny for the poor thing when he came into this world!
I stroked the child, who always had a smile on his lips for everyone, as he was undoubtedly of good nature, but I didn't want to waste any more time and get out of doubt as soon as possible.
-How's life, Doña Maria? What do you know about the kids?
The woman did not seem to be in a mood to lose her good humor and answered me with an evasive answer that puzzled me:
-Leave him alone, Julia, and you'll see how the child will get along! she said to her sister-in-law, avoiding the subject of her children. Although she knew that curiosity is a sin, she could not help but ask again, but this time being more specific:
-So, you're all well; you're all fine!
-Oh, Andresito, you who are going to be a priest should already know: God squeezes but does not suffocate! There is always a charitable soul who takes pity on poor people. But it's not right to say anything else, because the Bible says "let not your right hand know what your left hand gives," or whatever it is called, because I know little about such things.
It was obvious that the good woman was trying to hide something from me and so many detours disconcerted me. However, I did not insist and I was glad that, at least, they did not lack something to eat. However, something tortured my conscience, without knowing exactly what. How was it possible that I did not believe in charity when I was going to be a priest? Who could help that family, which was hated and repudiated by everyone? Disconcerted and confused, I said goodbye, trying to hide my doubts and mistrust.
-I'm glad to see you so cheerful, Doña María, your daughter Inés must be happy too!
-And so happy, what luck we've had with the job you've found for her! And again she asked her sister-in-law to let the child go, so I assumed she didn't want us to continue with the subject.
-Well, then, I'll keep them entertained, and I'll go and see if I can freshen up a bit and take a walk in the bush!
-Goodbye, Andresito, and come whenever you want, the doors are always open to you in this house!
After that interview, the devil himself must have entered my body, because I could not even get to sleep. What was happening was that I was troubled by a presentiment that, little by little, became a suspicion against Inés! And God knows I did everything I could to keep her out of my mind!
Several days went by when I was not even able to concentrate on the simple job I had been given, which was to watch over the threshing machine, and more than once it got jammed, producing such a mess that they had to stop the threshing for several days until someone came to fix it. However, I was firmly determined to get that suspicion out of my head, even if I had to beat it out of my head. But what tormented me was not only doubt, but curiosity. Who could be helping the Valiente family? It could be none other than the Beltranes! Undoubtedly it would be the good Doña Virtudes, since her generosity and active participation in all the charitable organizations in the city, especially with the children of the orphanage, was well known.
Thanks to the fact that my house was as crowded as the seminary and there was no possibility of concentrating on anything or being alone for a moment, that mortifying suspicion gradually went away from my mind, and between a game of brisca with the reapers or a game of chess with the son of one of the reapers, who had returned to the village as every year, the days went by and I had almost forgotten about it. At the end of the harvest season in the village, Doña Virtudes invited me, as usual, to accompany her to the mass of the Virgen de la Mayor, so that I could contemplate and admire her beautiful bully on her shoulders. I was not in a good mood, indeed, I had become quite irascible and irritable, perhaps because my age demanded less habits and Hail Marys and more amusements.
Those were the festivities of Sigüenza and it irritated me to see other boys of my age having fun in the alameda, running after the girls, at the dance, or alternating in the bars and kiosks with other friends, while I wandered from church to church, on the arm of Doña Virtudes and other old friends of hers, widows or spinsters. Those walks frankly irritated me, and, with difficulty, I was able to maintain my tone and good manners in the face of the crazy comments of the ladies:
-To be a priest you have to be more of a man than anyone else, because you have to have an iron will not to fall into temptations! Isn't that true, Doña Virtudes?
-What do you want me to tell you, girls, Andresito must know that, he's the one affected!
I did not answer such simplicity, but gave them a pathetic smile, which even amused them, and they squeezed each other's arms tighter, whispering among themselves, I suppose wondering whether I was a man or not, for which I myself had no clear answer. Perhaps it was because of my bad mood that I went back to thinking about my suspicion, and tired of repressing myself and wishing to get out of doubt once and for all, I could not help but make an underhand comment to Doña Virtudes to put an end to that unbearable situation.
-By the way, Doña Virtudes, Inés's mother is very grateful to you; you are getting them out of trouble!
-Me? Holy Virgin, how grateful the good woman is! But what can the poor woman do with the three pesetas we give Inés? And what a cost, Andresito, I keep insisting to Román that he raise her even one peseta! But nothing, he won't budge, he's very much hers for the money!
I did not even listen to the last explanations that Doña Virtudes was giving me, because I was overcome by a sudden anguish that had paralyzed me. It was as if something inside me was twisting and squeezing my heart. As if the beautiful memories I kept of Agnes in some hidden place of my soul, suddenly emerged muddy and dirty. Her face, permanently fresh and seductive, was twitching and becoming repulsive; her virginal image, idealized in memory, was deformed until it looked like that of a prostitute, because my suspicion was that Agnes was selling her body to support the family. It was only when I realized how serious my accusation was that I felt the shudder of the horrendous sin I had just committed with that unfounded accusation, and, finally, that everything I hated in others was now within myself. But the remotest possibility that it was true hurt me as if I were being stabbed, because, without a doubt, and at that moment I understood as never before, I still loved Agnes!
Confirmation
Those last days were the most bitter of my life, and I was even seriously thinking of leaving the seminary, because my soul was in sin and there was no confession that could alleviate it. Only by getting out of doubt could calm return to my spirit; the calm of life or death, but calm at last! I went from indignation to understanding and, by the end of August, I think even to resignation. If my suspicion was true, no one but me was responsible, therefore, rather than censuring it, I should understand and forgive it. But, after all these reflections, I was even more indignant to realize that they were nothing more than conjecture. Finally, I plucked up courage and made up my mind to face reality and find out once and for all what might be true in my suspicions about Inés' virtue.
It was a cool afternoon at the end of August, because during the morning it had been raining, and when it had been raining there was a breeze that brought traces of humidity and caught me unawares, with my summer clothes still on. I made my way to the tavern to see if Inés' father was there and, without hesitation, to find out what I could about the origin of that apparent economic bonanza. Juan was still in the lands of Old Castile, because perhaps he had found other jobs besides harvesting or was working on other crops.
As expected, the father was there, along with three other parishioners, playing a game of cards. When he saw me, he didn't even recognize me, so focused was he on the game. On the table, on each side of the players, there was money, perhaps more than two or three duros in pesetas and reales, so I deduced that they were playing for money. The bartender himself was astonished by my presence and could not help a joke in bad taste.
-If you come to say mass, the church is further down, Andresito!
-Stop joking and pour me a glass of wine; no, better a glass of cognac! -I asked for that drink because my mood needed something stronger than wine. What a game you have here! Since when do they play for money in this tavern?
-Don't think that I like it, Andresito, because one day we'll have a serious upset! They're even gambling what they don't have!
I drank the glass in one gulp and asked the bartender to refill it for me.
-It's because of the drunkard Valiente, I don't know where he gets so much money!
I only needed that comment to feel like I was in hell again. With malice, and waiting for the answer I was trying not to hear, I asked him:
-And where does he get it from, if I may ask?
-What do I know..." It was evident that the innkeeper had his own idea, but he didn't seem to dare to discuss it, especially not with me. But his small-town malice prevailed over his discretion, and he ended up telling me his own version. Don't mind me, Andrés, but people are saying that the girl... well... that Inés brings them hard cash in baskets. And you'll tell me where she gets it from as a maid in Sigüenza!... But, in that house... With that stupid boy... Anyway... well, I've already said too much! But the thing is that his father himself is bragging about his generous daughter, and just yesterday he showed me three dollars that the girl had just given him! That's what he told me, at least. Whether it's true or false, let him be with his conscience!
I drank the new glass in one gulp and, half in a daze, I left the tavern with my spirits shattered, to the point that, due to the effect of alcohol and bitterness at the confirmation of my suspicions, I was on the verge of crying like a child. I walked for hours through the hills without a specific direction and appeared under the oak tree where I used to rest my days of grazing.
Little by little I began to calm down, and I felt that my platonic love for that girl, jealously guarded for years as the hope of a more pleasant and happy life, once out of the seminary, had vanished and in its place I could only find a bitter emptiness, as if love occupied a place somewhere in the soul and, as it faded, the hole was filled with bitterness and there it remained. What distressed me most was not being able to forgive her and still love her, which showed me that I was not so different from the others, and that four years of religious reading and obsessive praying had not helped much. On the other hand, there remained confirmation by herself; only when I heard it from her own lips should I be sure that Agnes was prostituting herself. Therefore, before condemning her, I needed her own confession, and, from that very day, I set out to obtain it.
But the situation worsened when at the beginning of September the older brother returned. He had not made a bad campaign and was satisfied to be able to give some money to his wife, but when he saw that they lacked nothing and that everything came from Inés, he could not help having the same suspicions that I had. In vain the frightened mother tried to reassure him, swearing again and again that they were donations from the charitable Doña Virtudes, because he, like me, did not believe such a possibility. But he only went to the tavern a couple of times, where I coincided with him, because I was also becoming fond of drinking, so that he would learn of the rumors that were already spreading around town about his sister's dubious morality. Someone had even taken the trouble to modify that defamatory couplet that had once been made to Inés and me, and now it went like this:

"The daughter of the Valiente is the hottest wench, who goes about in carnal dealings with all the Beltranes."

We were both in the tavern, when someone whispered in his ear the lyrics of this malicious couplet. El Juan tried to calm his indignation, approached me and asked me, hoping that I would know the truth about where the money came from:
-What do you know about this, Andrés, who stops a lot in that house?
-The same as you, Juan!... But if I were you, I wouldn't pay attention to these rumors, these people enjoy doing harm....
He didn't even say goodbye to me and rushed out of the tavern. I got scared and tried to follow him because I was afraid he might do something crazy.
-Wait, Juan, where are you going so fast? Stop, man, and calm down!
-Don't get involved in this, Andrés, it's a family thing!
-But where are you going so upset?
-I'm going to kill a varmint!
I managed to overtake him and held him tightly by the arm, preventing him from walking any further.
-Don't be crazy! What proof have you got, Juan? Calm down, I'll talk to her, and then you'll see what you can do. But don't even mention the idea of killing anyone, because if anyone in town hears you, it won't take them five minutes to arrest you again! Think of your child and your wife, or your poor mother!
The Juan, reluctantly, and biting his lips violently as he used to do whenever he was upset, seemed to accept my arguments.
-Talk to her and let her tell you the truth! And if it is as they say, I swear to God, that this leech will pay for all of it, not only for this, but for everything she has done to our family! We can't live more humiliated and ashamed!
This was not an easy assignment, nor did I think I had any right to meddle in the life of Inés, but it seemed to me that perhaps I could avoid a new misfortune if I could find some solution after talking to her. Perhaps aware that these rumors were already circulating in the town, Inés herself avoided being seen there and if she did it was to spend a few moments, see her mother, give them whatever it was and return immediately to Sigüenza. The only possibility was to wait for her on the road, the same one where we used to meet when I was a shepherd, who would have gladly exchanged all my Latin and theology for those two dozen stubborn sheep, and I would never have entered the seminary.
As I knew the day I was free, I waited for her, half hidden behind an old walnut tree at the crossing with the river, next to the level crossing. I saw a train go by, limping and complaining, because when it left the Sigüenza station towards Zaragoza the track is steep and it was hard to get back on track. I was greeted by several children from the cars and I greeted them back out of courtesy, not because I was paying attention to what I was doing. The sun was hidden between cirrus clouds that prolonged the contour of the mountains, and flocks of starlings were grouped making curious figures in the sky, getting ready to perch on the tall poplars and spend the night. But Agnes did not appear, and given the time it was not likely that she would. I feared that she had decided not to return to the village.
I let myself fall down at the foot of the walnut tree, throwing stones into the river mechanically, without ceasing to think about the death threats that Juan had made. If I lost my head, disgrace would definitely befall the whole Valiente family and would also splash Inés herself. I was so concentrated in my dismal thoughts that I did not notice that Inés herself was behind me, contemplating me without deciding whether to speak to me or continue on her way. I felt her presence and turned around without being able to avoid being startled to see her there, undecided and even violent.
-Inés, were you here?
-I'm on my way to town... and what are you doing here, may I ask?
-She asked me strangely, not daring to look at me straight on, but pretending to contemplate the starlings' dance, about which she asked evasively, "How do those birds manage to go so close together and so fast?
-I'll go with you, Inés, I'm also going to town.
-No, Andrés; I don't want you to come with me... So, if you're all right, I'll be on my way; I have to get back before it gets too dark.
-Are you angry with me about something, Inés?
-Why should I be? I'm in a hurry!
I didn't want to beat around the bush because I couldn't let that opportunity pass me by, so I cut to the chase.
-Wait Inés, I have to talk to you!
Agnes was not a slow girl and it seemed that life was teaching her more quickly than she herself perhaps wished, because she understood perfectly well what I wanted to talk to her about and she replied almost violently:
-Stay out of my life, Andrés! I appreciate you as a friend, but that's all. Live your life and I'll live mine... and as I see fit!
-So, it's true..." I said almost without realizing it.
-What's true: that I'm a whore, as they're already saying around town? Yes, maybe I am a whore! What does it matter to you?
As hard as it was for me, Inés was right. It just broke my heart that she no longer felt anything for me. At that moment, I don't know why the story of Mary Magdalene and the parable of the sinner came to my mind, and the first thing that came to my mind was a real outrage.
-I forgive you for my sake!
Agnes' face was transfigured as if I had slapped her. She looked at me with contempt and even hatred, and said to me angrily:
-Forgive me? forgive me? you forgive me? And for what fault, may I ask: for having saved the life of that skeletal creature, or do you think doctors are free? for having brought four bucks to the house so that my mother could put a piece of chorizo in the beans and get her out of death, who wanted nothing more than to die? And who are you to forgive anyone? Do you think you're the Pope? -She took a breath, swallowed saliva because the excitement was choking her, and continued more and more angry with me, "What do you know about life? What do all you men know about life? If you have a woman in bed and a patron saint on a pedestal, that's enough for you! -He made as if he was starting to walk, but he stopped; he looked at me again with an expression that was already clearly hateful and finished reproaching me. Besides, it's all your fault, Andrés, I told you once, and right here, that if it wasn't for you it would be for the devil! And what better devil than Don Román? So, stay with your God and I'll stay with the devil, who at least paid me well for my services!
Violently, he turned and walked away from me in a hurry. I don't know if I thought I heard any sobbing, but I was so depressed and ashamed that I didn't know how to react, because he hadn't made any reproach that wasn't true. Everything was over between us, and the worst thing was that I felt that a new tragedy was looming over our town, and once again the culprit had been me and my good intentions, which all became diabolical without being able to remedy it!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The two Spains
The bishop was right when he told me that I only had the Church as a refuge, although not as a consolation, since there was no possible penance to forgive all my sins. I returned to the seminary determined to devote myself obsessively to my studies, but among the subjects there was one whose very mention repulsed me, "Morals". What morals could the Catholic Church teach, whose most faithful devotees, besides their protectors, were corrupt, usurers, conspirators and exploiters? But of all that was new in the program, what attracted my attention most were the "Prophetic Books", especially the "Apocalypse" of Isaiah, or the "Oracles of the Nations" of Jeremiah and Ezekiel, for in my inner self I hoped that the world would end as soon as possible, and I with it, and I became somewhat paranoid trying to see analogies between the prophecies and the events of the world in those turbulent times, which were astonishingly coincidental. I saw the "Four Horsemen" of the end of the world as the fascist hosts of Hitler and Mussolini, of Maurràs or of the Austrian Chancellor Dollfuss. But most of the leaders of the left seemed to me the personification of the "Antichrist", especially the Russian dictator Stalin or the anarchist Durruti. Any flu epidemic I interpreted as a new "biblical plague". Such was my fondness for this type of books that I asked to be allowed to consult the archives of the chapter, since there was no librarian visible at that time and the incunabula were unclassified, abandoned on dusty shelves, and some of them were even eaten away by humidity and rust.
I obtained the position of "Assistant Archivist", although I never knew who the official archivist was, but at least I had access to these extraordinary bibliographic collections, and instead of spending my free time at the Beltranes' house, I spent it in the old library of the cathedral. That occupation saved me from depression and I soon became so obsessed that I would return to the seminary late at night, much to the chagrin of the porter, who was already tucked up and in bed. 
For some time I did not want to know anything about what was happening in the world or what had become of Inés or her brothers. But it was impossible to ignore some of the most outstanding events of the agitated national political life, such as the massive concentration in the esplanade of Comillas, in Madrid, to listen to an Azaña determined to put up a fight against the right-wingers and thwart their plans for a military coup. The universities were once again the focus of attention, where the students affiliated to the FUE revived their "Popular Universities" and their itinerant theatrical performances or sports activities throughout the towns of Spain. But it was neither the left nor the right who finally overthrew the Lerroux government, but a casino roulette, the "Estraperlo", prepared so that the banks would always win, and in whose implementation in Spain an adopted son of Lerroux himself was involved. The bribe was a pittance, but Gil Robles took advantage of it to pose the dilemma of "either him or elections". Alcalá Zamora resisted once again and got Portella Valladares to form a new Government on New Year's Eve, but the dissolution of the Cortes was inevitable and, therefore, the calling of new general elections. Gil Robles, rebuffed by Alcala Zamora, responded once again with his usual defiant tone and proposed the creation of a "National Front" "against the revolution and its accomplices", but the truth was that the most revolutionary at that time were precisely those who were on his political side, that is to say, the traditionalists of the Falange and the JONS. The two CEDA ministers left the new Government and everyone began to prepare for the imminent electoral consultation, in spite of the fact that the dissolution of the Cortes had not yet been decreed.
For their part, the left had learned their lesson during their bloody October and this time all groups, practically without exception, were determined to form part of a new "Popular Front" and mobilize the left vote. Unlike the previous elections, the anarchists of the C.N.T. also participated. The "unity" fever even reached small political groups split from the Communist Party, like those of the "Partido Obrero Unificado Marxista", of Trotskyist orientation: or anarchists, like the "Partido Sindicalista", of Pestaña. All of them, with a good understanding among the revolutionary and libertarian youth, also signed up to the new "anti-fascist front". The truth was that none of them signed the pact thinking of the same thing, but that each one hoped to take his own advantage of a hypothetical electoral triumph of the left. Finally, new general elections were called for February 16, 1936, in which political parties would no longer confront each other, but "fronts": the "Popular Front" and the "National Front", that is to say, the two Spains.
For Christmas I could not avoid accepting an invitation from Doña Virtudes, which the poor woman was deeply concerned about my sudden isolation, but which she interpreted as a normal process of recollection proper to a seminarian with a vocation. I did not care for her, but I was not yet ready to meet again with Inés, and I felt real disgust for her husband, undoubtedly the cause of all my misfortunes. But she harassed me so much and sent so many emissaries to intercede, that, finally, I had to accept. I would have dinner at her house on Christmas Eve and then we would go together to the Midnight Mass at the cathedral, because since the death of Don Gregorio I had managed to excuse myself from going to town to help the new interim parish priest, a rough, elderly priest, simple and without political ideas, who did his work like a bricklayer builds a house, with no other passion or vocation.
It was about eight o'clock when I left the cathedral archives. I crossed the nave, almost in the dark, with a canon who had just finished giving confession, and several mourning women, who, believing that I was also a canon, tried to kiss my hand. I disabused them as politely as I could and left the cathedral in the company of one of the fathers, exchanging four sentences about the weather.
-It's already freezing, Andrés, we'll have to wrap up warm tonight for Midnight Mass!
-I have always believed that Mass should be celebrated in a more secluded place and not on the main altar, which is the closest thing to the North Pole. -I commented, with that practical sense that a seminarian should never have.
-Tonight is a night of sacrifice, as Our Lord sacrificed himself for us on the cross, Andrew!
The answer was almost obvious. We said goodbye and, hesitantly, to the point that it crossed my mind to look for some excuse of sudden illness, I ended up finding myself at the doors of the Beltranes' house. Once there, I could not help but knock and let it be what God willed. As usual, the chauffeur opened the door and I expected Inés to appear after the next one, but I was surprised to see Rosarito, who over the years had put on weight and was almost grotesque, and she shouted at her mother.
-Andres is already here, mother, shall I tell him to come in? Doña Virtudes appeared, almost alarmed by the question, and excused herself as best she could.
-Of course, daughter, won't it happen? This Rosarito, instead of getting better, is getting slower and slower every day, poor thing! -And taking me by the arm she made me enter the living room, where the table was already set and the diners were seated waiting for their dinner to be served. We were waiting for you to start, Andrés... Come on, daughter, tell the servants that dinner can be served, Don Andrés is already here! - That was the first time I was addressed as don, but I was so attentive to Inés' appearance in the living room that I didn't protest. But it was not Inés who appeared, but a new maid I did not know. Doña Virtudes, noticing my strangeness, clarified the situation.
-Oh, Andrés, I didn't tell you! Inés left us without even telling us, just like that! One day she told me she was going to town and we never heard from her again! Maybe you know what happened to this girl, because I can't explain what happened to her... She was so polite and formal that... Anyway, go on, eat your soup, it's getting cold!
Instinctively I exchanged a glance with don Román, who upon meeting mine must have understood what I was reproaching him for, because haughtily and with an astonishing hypocrisy, he told me to evade any further comment about Inés:
-These service girls are all the same! At first they're very docile and docile, until the day they're least bothered, if I've seen you I don't remember, and they run off with the first man they meet. Go on, we'll hear from her when we least expect it! -And as if nothing had happened, she ordered the new maid: "Go on, girl, bring another bottle of wine, but make sure it's fresh! Let's see if you learn that white wine must be fresh and red wine must be seasonal! These girls!....
If instead of being a poor and cowardly seminarian I had really been a man, at that moment I would have jumped on him and beaten him until he asked for forgiveness on his knees and before his own family, and showed a minimum of honesty and repentance, but the seminary had made of me a docile little lamb, who could be humiliated with that impunity and be sure that he would continue to sit quietly, eating his baked sole, accompanied by a good white wine from the Ribera del Duero, and at his ideal temperature! That was how I was back then, when the country had already discarded any possibility of peaceful understanding, and that degrading scene at the Beltranes' house was the best illustration of the causes of all that national tension.
The flight of Inés

I had resolved never to think of the town again, where there was nothing left to tie me down, except for the family niche in the cemetery, nor of the Valiente brothers, of whom I feared to hear any day some news of tragedy if Juan carried out his threats. But the doubts about what could have happened to Inés tortured my conscience and, finally, I could not avoid making the decision to go up to the village again and ask her brother about her whereabouts.
I took advantage of the last Sunday of January, probably the coldest and most unpleasant day of that winter, to make the dreaded visit to the Valiente. It had snowed heavily throughout Saturday and a good part of Sunday, but by mid-morning the blizzard began to clear. The sun was shy at first and bright at midday, and the white of the snow hurt my eyes, throwing bright reflections because the intense cold crystallized it. With difficulty, I ascended the road to the village, where I met the new parish priest, who was returning from saying mass. We greeted each other like two colleagues, exchanging the obligatory comments about the weather, and he updated me on the four highlights of the village, such as deaths and baptisms, but commenting on his feeling for those people, who suffered severely from the inclement weather in those ill-conditioned and poorly sheltered houses.
I wanted to enter the tavern first and warm myself up a little, not only with the warmth of the stove, but with a good glass of cognac, the best remedy against the cold. No sooner had I entered the room, blackened by the smoke from the stove and where the air was thick and dirty from the smell of stale tobacco and, why not say it, from the poor hygiene of the patrons, when I came face to face with the Juan, who was seated at one of the tables with a taciturn and bitter expression. At another table was the father, as usual playing a game of cards with other patrons, but this time there was no money on the table, because he had run out or was hiding it because of the presence of the eldest son.
The Juan saw me enter but barely made a slight gesture with his hand, without showing the slightest interest in talking to me. I supposed that he must consider me guilty about his sister, and I didn't know how to react, until, finally, and since I had come upstairs for that, I took my glass and, without asking his permission, I sat down next to him. After a few moments, after finishing the brandy in one gulp, I decided to ask him:
-What do you know about Inés? -Juan didn't even look at me, as if he was surprised by the question coming from me, but he didn't answer me. Well... I just wanted to know if she was here and in good health... But you have the right to reproach me for what happened... for having put her in that house myself!
-He's in Madrid; a whore, I guess! -he blurted out, without trying to lower his voice so that the other parishioners would not hear him. It was evident that he was deeply hurt, but I didn't know if it was only against don Román or also against his sister, whom he must have considered to be of the same kind and wickedness.
I was indignant that he himself should be so cruel to his own sister and not try to understand that he had done it to save the life of his own son. But, in matters of female honor and chastity, in the villages they have never been very condescending, and it would be useless for me to make him see these reasons. Although disappointed, and more ashamed and distressed than I arrived in the village, I was not the one to reproach the Juan for anything. As I supposed that he did not wish to talk to me any longer, I rose, paid for my drink, and with a courteous and brief salutation took my leave of him, leaving the tavern as if he were a beaten dog.
Had I known the whereabouts of Inés, perhaps I would have taken the first train and gone to Madrid to find out what had become of her, determined once and for all to confront my own cowardice and prove to myself, with trials and sacrifices, what I really felt for that unfortunate girl, but it seems that everything conspired to make me follow my incomprehensible destiny and not be able to turn away from the Church, the same one I made guilty of all my misfortunes.
The call for general elections produced such a commotion in the seminary and in the whole city, that the events themselves helped me to overcome my bad conscience.
The bishop did not hide his displeasure and feared a repetition of the circumstances of 1931, with new church burnings and persecutions of members of the clergy. During a trip to Guadalajara, where a meeting of bishops was scheduled to discuss their position regarding this new electoral consultation, the prelate openly expressed his views.
-What has democracy brought us since we have had it: nothing but confrontations and violence, especially for the Church! How right Cardinal Segura was when he said that when the Church and the monarchy understood each other, each in its own place and without getting in the way, the best works that this country has given to the world were done! And now, it's back to square one with the elections! Haven't we had enough elections without anything being solved, neither for one side nor the other?
I, as usual, nodded my head mechanically, because I knew that these were nothing but monologues from the bishop and that they did not admit any reply, much less opposition. It was not that the bishop was openly anti-democratic, but that he did not have the slightest idea of what to do in those critical circumstances.
But the same thing happened to the military, who were incapable of getting a complete idea of the usefulness of politics in general, and began to conceive drastic solutions of a military nature, and to apply the rigor and discipline of the barracks to the whole country. That was the vision of Sanjurjo, or of Franco, but there were still those who still had political ideas for after an uprising, such as General Emilio Mola or the requeté Fal Conde. In reality what was happening was that it was becoming increasingly clear that neither one nor the other would willingly accept the results of those new elections. If the Popular Front won, there would be a military uprising, but if the National Front won, there would be a popular uprising, and this time it would not be like that of October, but in all probability, it would also have ended in a bloody civil war. In fact, I began to understand that given the times we were living in and the circumstances in which the world was in such turmoil, in transition between the reactionary absolutism of the still medieval monarchies and the liberalizing effects of the industrial revolution, no country would be able to escape, sooner or later, from a civil war, since they all ended up forming two irreconcilable fronts: the one of the past and the one of the future. What remained to be seen was the violence and duration of the confrontation and which of the two sides would emerge victorious, because sooner or later, blood or no blood, there could only be one winning side: that of the future!
The elections of 1936

At the beginning of February, when the snows had not yet been removed from the shady areas, the beginning of the electoral campaign once again stirred up the atmosphere in the town. Increasingly stronger within the Falangist party, and well protected by other young people of the town who fully shared his traditionalist ideology, the Romanín returned to star in new provocations and confrontations and, as expected, took it out on those of the Casa del Pueblo. However, the Falange did not present itself with the National Front, because they did not want them because of their violent attitude and revolutionary pretensions, but they themselves considered themselves legitimized to act in that way. Those of the Casa del Pueblo were not cowed, but, on the contrary, the U.G.T. railroad workers, who were the most active and numerous group, together with the more and more conscious peons and unemployed or underemployed workers in the city, and who were organized in their respective Trade Unions, prepared for the electoral struggle with all possible means, ready to not give in to pressure or threats and, if necessary, to respond with the same violence.
This was also the opportunity that Juan Valiente must have been waiting for to carry out his revenge against the Beltranes, because he also mobilized almost all the young people of the town, who at that time had no work to do in the fields, and not only presented an electoral battle in the town, but also joined the socialists of Sigüenza to go through the district and not leave a single town or village without the message of the Popular Front. However, all these efforts would be of little use in a province like Guadalajara, where the Count of Romanones, who by tradition or custom had always been elected, and by a large majority, presented his candidacy for deputy. As if that were not enough, the peasants, who had not seen their living conditions changed by either one or the other, were already tired of elections and many were thinking of abstaining. I returned to my work in the archives and took up the job with more interest than ever, for every day I was able to read more and more incunabula, some in old Castilian or in other Romance languages from other regions of Spain. Although most of them were books of acts and writings referring to the diocese itself and its goods, prerogatives or acquired benefits, from time to time I discovered some rare publications on topics of local medieval history, or even from other regions of Spain, which fascinated me and I spent hours without realizing it, leaning on the library table, by the light of a petroleum lamp, because electric light had not yet been installed in that place.
A week before the electoral consultation, while I was in the archives of the cathedral, I heard a shouting coming from the central nave. I rushed out to see what was happening and I found Romanín and his followers, who from inside the cathedral were shouting at another group of people who remained in the atrium, shouting at the people inside.
-Don't you dare come in here, you red bastards, lest you break out in hives!
The Romanin shouted to those outside from one of the doors of the great central door. There was no canon in the cathedral, just some priest giving confession to the usual blessed women, so I had to intervene and try to bring order, make them shut up and respect the place where they were.
-What's going on here, Romanín; why are you shouting inside the cathedral?
-Man, the priest; and as always, sticking his nose where it doesn't belong!
-This is God's house and I have the responsibility to avoid these disturbances within it! -I replied forcefully.
-There will be no end to the riots here until we finish with all those reds! -he said to me with contempt, pointing towards the street.
I looked out into the atrium and saw a visibly upset group, who must have been socialists from the Casa del Pueblo, because some of them were waving U.G.T. and PSOE flags, and who were shouting, in turn, against those inside the cathedral.
-Let's go after them and put an end to their provocations once and for all!
-We don't go in there, if anything happens they'll say we did it! -Let them go, after this one I don't think they'll dare to break up our rallies again, some of them already have a few bruises on their ribs, and they'll have more if they don't behave themselves between now and the elections!
The group, reluctantly and visibly upset, left the atrium and descended towards the alameda, where, apparently, they were holding an election rally that the Falangists had tried to break up.
-They're scared shitless! -commented Romanín cynically to his acolytes, "They don't give any more communist rallies in this city as my name is Román Beltrán! -And he made a gesture of oath, putting his fingers together and then spitting on the ground. The priests appeared, who had not decided to show their faces until they saw the Falangists calm down, and with affected calm, almost with gentleness, they invited them to leave the cathedral without further violence.
-Go with God, children, you can't make such scandals in this house!
-Forgive me, Father, but God knows we are doing it for your good! Calmed down, but without abandoning their arrogant tone, they left the cathedral one by one after crossing themselves, taking holy water from each other. Whenever something like this happened, involving the traditionalists, I always wondered what kind of Catholicism had taken root in our country, which seemed not to have overcome the intolerance born of the persecution of heresies in medieval times, where the soldiers of the Catholic popes and emperors, bearing the cross of St. Peter, were capable of slitting the throats of an entire family just because they belonged to a reformed religious community. Where did such intolerance come from and why did they hide behind religion when what mattered most to them was the defense of their privileges? How could the Catholic Church present itself to the world as an example of humility, justice and love having among its faithful such individuals? I did not have the answer then, nor did I have it later!
The truth was that the right wing had more internal problems than the left wing to achieve their unity, because the most extremists were already suspicious of the leadership capacity of Gil Robles, whom they considered too liberal and democrat, and far from their pretensions of putting an end once and for all to the Republic. Finally, without the Falange, they managed to present coalition candidacies with a wide range of candidates, from radicals to monarchists, such as that of the Count of Romanones himself for our province, but also with agrarians and even with those of the reactionary "Lliga Catalana".
Their political message became an obsessive appeal against "the revolutionaries and their accomplices", but they themselves were already talking more about revolution and rebellion than the leftists themselves. The truth is that they made a confused campaign, which only made it clear that each of their candidates the only thing that mattered to them was to get their deputy's seat, because they were already so used to living off politics and had been in it for so long that they would not know how to do anything else, and that was also valid for the moderate and center left.
The return of Inés

February 16 dawned cold and rainy, as was typical of the time in this city in the mountains of Alcarria. As I was old enough to vote, I was faced with the dilemma of who to vote for, because voting for the left meant agreeing with those who wanted to annul the influence of the Church, and even its persecution, but voting for the right meant voting for everything that people as dishonest and corrupt as the two Beltranes defended. So, assuming all the consequences, I decided to vote for the left, making sure that no one in the seminary knew for whom I had voted.
Since I had to vote in my town, in spite of the downpour that had been falling since early in the morning, armed with an umbrella and a large rubber raincoat, I set out on my way as soon as we finished breakfast. There were many seminarians who had already left the day before to go and vote in their respective towns, so that not even a quarter of us were left in the seminary. Underhandedly, in sermons and talks, we had been instructed to vote for the candidates of the National Front, but the seminary had to accept a commission from the left to verify that all the requirements were fulfilled to allow the seminarians who were old enough to exercise our right to vote. The zeal of the leftists was so great that they even controlled the votes in the asylum, so that the dead would not vote, or that the sisters would not force the old people to vote for the candidates with whom the Church sympathized and not for those of their preferences.
At the station I met the buggy that used to make the trip on market days in Sigüenza, which made me happy, because I did not believe that with that deluge I could walk to the village.
-I'm going there, Andrés, but we have to wait for the mail train from Madrid, which won't be long now, in case someone comes to vote, the U.G.T. will pay for my trip.
-I hope, with this deluge I couldn't even get to the level crossing!
I took refuge inside the station and with the noise of the rain I did not hear the whistle of the locomotive when it entered the needles, and when I wanted to realize it, the train appeared on the platform. Those who were getting off ran to take shelter inside the waiting room. I was watching their faces to see if I recognized anyone from the town and, to my surprise and almost dismay, since I had long since managed to get her out of my mind, Inés appeared among them. At first I had not recognized her, because she was not really dressed like a woman, but, in my opinion, somewhat out of date no doubt, like a man: in pants and a suit jacket that I could see when she opened her coat to shake off the water.
She must not have recognized me dressed in that raincoat and because, instinctively, I turned my back to her, which seemed absurd and a new proof of my cowardice and lack of character, increasingly shy and afraid of everything. So I reacted and went to her to greet her, because given the time that had passed it was not likely that she would hold a grudge. When she saw me she couldn't help but be startled too, because I was probably the last person she expected to meet at the station.
-Andrés! What a surprise, son! But what are you doing here at this hour with what's falling?
-I'm going to town to do the same as you, I guess, to vote!
When I got a closer look at her, I was impressed by her new look, which was not even remotely what I remembered. Her hair was short and boyish, but she wore two silver earrings in her ears, her lips were painted a deep red and she had some make-up on her eyes, as it didn't seem to be her natural color. She wore a mottled blue scarf around her neck, probably made of silk because of its delicate sheen, and a red beret, which she wore on one side as soon as she entered the station, preparing for the trip. It was evident that she was no longer the Inés I had kept in some remote place of my memory, even though I had given her up for lost, but a young and attractive woman, who dressed fashionably, I suppose, and with a disdainful and haughty look. I thought that when the townspeople saw her like that, most of them would draw their own conjectures, which would not be very favorable to their morals, for that was not exactly the appearance of a maid. I suppose she was perfectly conscientious and for that very reason had acquired that indifferent and haughty expression. Fortunately the buggy had an awning, so protected from the rain we set off, Agnes, two others, also from the village, and I, without exchanging any more words along the way than were strictly necessary to make ourselves comfortable and a few comments about the weather. Agnes, as expected, killed the time by smoking several cigarettes, on which she left the carmine mark of her lips. It was evident that she made me feel more of a priest than ever, almost as ridiculous as in those times as a shepherd, when she enjoyed doing it, but now I couldn't tell if she did it on purpose or if she was indifferent to it.
Somewhat wet despite the awning of the buggy, we finally arrived at the village and were driven directly to the door of the Town Hall. I went down first and tried to help Inés, but she refused me and went down by her own means. It was undoubtedly a mistake to enter together into the room where the voting was taking place, because it was crowded with people, and when they saw us, especially when they recognized Agnes, a murmur arose, evidencing surprise and comments on her appearance, just as I had supposed. But the Agnes did not seem to care at all, as if she were not really from the town, but an outsider.
But his composure declined abruptly when he saw his older brother sitting at the polling station, because he was acting as commissary. The latter, alerted by the murmurs, looked up and when he saw his sister, he remained livid and motionless, not knowing how to react, since it was he himself who would have to check his identification card and declare the vote valid. The two brothers remained undecided for a while, and the whole town held its breath. But it was clear that Agnes knew what she was coming for and, reacting coldly and naturally, she showed her document to the brother. The latter, his hand trembling, checked it on the list and considered it valid, pronouncing aloud the name of his sister: "Inés Valiente Sarmiento, vote! Inés inserted her ballot in the ballot box and exchanged a last look with her bewildered brother, between pleading and stern. It seemed to me that the brother was about to get up to hug his sister, but I don't know if it was because of the confusion of the moment, the responsibilities before the rest of the voters or the stubbornness of their characters, what is certain is that both reacted coldly and continued with the voting. Inés made a great effort to calm down and turn her back on her brother, which she finally did with a quick and very angry gesture, and walked with a firm and determined step towards the exit. She had not reached the door when Juan called her from the voting table:
-Inés! -She turned sharply, looked at her brother almost as if begging him for a kind word. Mother has made a killing and will be happy for you to stay in town for a few days! -she said, pretending to be completely normal, but unable to hide her desire for him to accept.
I noticed that Inés's eyes watered and she accepted the invitation with a slight nod of her head, rushing out of the Town Hall. El Juan, making a great effort to remain serene, took the affiliation of the next voter. Already in the square, the rain prevented us from noticing that she was crying. I followed her, because I wanted to tell her how happy I was about this reconciliation, but when I met her in the torrential rain, I remained undecided for a few moments, not knowing what to say or what to do. Then, Inés turned to me, and wiping away the rainwater mixed with the tears that were already dripping down her cheeks, with a slight smile between tender and friendly, she said to me:
-Hey, Andrés, don't look at me so much or you'll wear me out!
I felt like hugging her, but I wasn't sure she would accept it, so I settled for that happy evocation, which brought me back to heaven, when I thought I was already burning in the flames of hell.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The victory of the Popular Front
The night of the voting day at the seminary there was a certain optimism in the air because it was already known in the city that in our province the deputies of the National Front had come out, and there were rumors that, in general, the right-wingers were ahead. I retired to the dormitories with the confused feeling of not knowing whether to rejoice or be saddened by those rumors, because, although I had voted for the left, deep down I feared that a victory of the Popular Front would totally change my life, and I was not yet ready to leave my refuge, especially when I had found an occupation that I was passionate about. But in the early hours of the morning, the father warden came into my bedroom and urged me to get dressed and go to the bishop's palace.
-Wait, Andrés, the bishop is calling you!
I did not know what time it was, but judging by the deep sleep from which I had been awakened and the difficulties in regaining full consciousness, it must have been three or four o'clock in the morning.
-At this hour, has Don Martin fallen ill? -I asked, more out of anger for having woken me up than because I was really interested in his health.
-Hurry up and don't ask so many questions!
I finally woke up and got dressed as quickly as I could. I walked almost in the dark through the long corridors of the seminary that lead to the bishop's palace. As I was going up the stairs to the prelate's quarters, he himself appeared on the landing and, taking me by the arm, led me into the visiting room.
-Stand still here and keep your eyes on the street! If you see any disturbances, you know where the gun is!
There was no need for me to ask him the reason for that warning, because I already knew his hysterical attitude. Undoubtedly the elections had been won by the Popular Front and he feared that the palace would be stormed. I rejoiced, but at the same time I was alarmed, because there was no doubt that serious events were coming for the Church. 
And there, in the darkness of the room, where only the glare of the light of the office entered through its glass door, I remained seated, not knowing what I should do in case there really were disturbances in front of the palace. But nothing happened, except that some fairground rockets exploded, perhaps launched by those of the House of the People, who were thus celebrating their victory.
The same hysteria was taking place in the Central General Staff, where General Franco, who was obsessed by public order, called on the director of the Civil Guard, General Pozas, to get the guards out of the barracks, because, according to him, that very night a Bolshevik revolution would break out in Spain. But the latter, who must not have had much sympathy for the young general, scorned his suggestion and even described it as exaggerated and alarmist.
Gil Robles did not sleep that night either, and called the head of the Government to suggest that he immediately declare a state of war, to which Portella, who had gone to sleep peacefully trusting in a triumph of the right wing, refused. Finally, José Antonio Primo de Rivera himself also called the president to ask for weapons for the Falange, since he feared that they would be attacked by the exalted victors. But the head of the Government did not agree either.
At dawn, and in view of the fact that nothing abnormal was happening in the city, the bishop, as sleepy and tired as I was, allowed me to retire for a nap, but warned me to be dressed and ready in case he called me again.
The truth was that even if the right wing had been united they would not have won those elections, the key to which was the campaign for the liberation of the thousands of political prisoners who still crowded the jails all over the country and the vote of the anarchists. But also because the period of the "cedista" government had not convinced the republican center, formed mostly by the new urban middle classes. That is to say, the Popular Front swept the main Spanish cities, but lost in the two Castillas and Extremadura, where the caciques still dominated, as was the case of Don Román; or in Navarra, where the requetés mobilized on election day itself, taking Pamplona militarily, which coerced the voters; as well as in the poorer provinces of Aragon and in conservative Granada. The anarchists achieved good results in Zaragoza, their historical fiefdom. But the winners were undoubtedly the Socialists, who obtained 85 of the 453 deputies of the Chamber and of the 257 obtained by the Popular Front. I was happy for Juan, who would finally see all his efforts and sacrifices vindicated.
In the autonomous regions, the nationalist candidacies won and Companys was elected for Barcelona and José Antonio Aguirre for Vizcaya. Most of the politicians of the first Republican biennium were elected as deputies: Azaña for Madrid, Casares for La Coruña, Albornoz for Oviedo, Indalecio Prieto for Bilbao. But the National Front also got its historical deputies, such as Gil Robles for Salamanca, Calvo Sotelo for Orense, Miguel Maura for Soria, Serrano Súñer for Zaragoza, Romanones for our province, Chapapietra for Alicante or the financier Juan March for the Balearic Islands.
In short, the new Cortes would be formed by the same people as always, but once again the correlation of forces was favorable to the left and the republican center. Once again the collaboration of the socialists with the republicans was raised, and once again the doubts of the anarchists arose as to whether to accept reforms, more agile and rapid this time, or to take advantage of the situation to unleash once and for all the social revolution, so desired and matured by their co-religionists. Therefore Azaña was once again faced with the dilemma of having to form a government with people from his own party.
Largo Caballero, resigned from the leadership of the PSOE, encouraged from the U.G.T. an almost revolutionary trade union action, increasingly closer in its approaches to the communists, and did not consider it possible to collaborate with the new Government. But the communists, following the dictates of Moscow, were in favor of a Government with representatives of the Popular Front, which did not prosper. For their part, the trade union organizations, which had more members imprisoned in the jails, focused on the promulgation of the general amnesty, which was decreed on the 21st of that same month. At the end of February, the freed prisoners were received in the big cities as true revolutionary heroes, amidst a clamorous popular enthusiasm. On March 1, the workers dismissed for political reasons were reinstated in their jobs, and hundreds of peasants and day laborers began again to occupy farms, but this time in a more organized and even "legal" way, because, once occupied, they sent to the Ministry the papers to be legalized, which happened as a general rule. In Catalonia, the Statute of Autonomy was fully restored and, as expected, Companys was re-elected president of the Generalitat.
All these rapid measures of the new Government of Azaña helped to calm the spirits of the most radical leftists in favor of a revolution, but the same did not happen on the opposite side. From the day after the elections, a dozen generals began to conspire against the Republic, among them Franco, Varela, Orgaz, Villegas, Fanjul, Mola, Saliquet, Goded and Sanjurjo, the latter still in Estoril. Calvo Sotelo lashed out against Gil Robles and was authorized to recompose the National Front with "urgency to counteract the revolutionary forces, for an effective defense of the social order", according to his own words. In San Juan de Luz, the Bourbon candidate of the Carlist branch presided over the Supreme Carlist Military Junta, already with plans for an uprising, and which had managed to gather 40,000 requetés in Montejurra, ready for any military adventure if they were mobilized. Finally, the Falange, which had been repudiated by both sides, decided at first to stay out of alliances with rightists or traditionalists. This resentment did not last long, because shortly afterwards they joined the military coup plotters.
Azaña, who knew the plans of the military, tried to thwart them by dismissing Franco as Chief of the Central General Staff and sending him to the Canary Islands and Mola to Pamplona. But a few days later all these military men met again to agree on the first details of a coordinated military plan of uprising, under the command of Sanjurjo, and where Franco would have no other task than to raise the protectorate of Morocco and the Canary Islands. Thus, the Spanish Civil War was already decided at that meeting, in mid-March 1936, because no military could fail to consider that they would not succeed in carrying out their coup d'état plans without the violent reaction of the winners of those general elections, that is to say, slightly more than half of the Spanish people. If instead of so much patriotic passion they had had a little more common sense, they would have easily understood that the way things were in the country, at the slightest rattling of sabers thousands of young people affiliated to workers' or students' unions, political parties and even left-wing recreational and cultural associations, would sign up in avalanche to form armed militias and stop any fascist military coup d'état. But the coup generals have never stood out for their intelligence, but for their brutality, and this was the profile of most of them. Barracks military men, bureaucrats with no battlefield experience, ready to pass magazines, wear dress uniforms or attend military parades, but who would not have studied the political astuteness of Napoleon or the military strategy of Wellington. All except the "Africanists", that is, those who had made war in Morocco, among whom Mola himself, Yagüe, Goded or the young Franco stood out. But General Franco, who had not been entrusted with any vital mission for the accomplishment of the coup, still had the audacity, either personally or commissioned by the conspirators, to warn Azaña that there was a danger of a communist revolution, but the President replied, in turn, that there would be neither a communist revolution nor a "military uprising". Franco must have returned to the Canary Islands already convinced of the inevitability of the planned military coup.
Farewell at the cathedral
In March the seminarians lived in a permanent state of alarm, and we did not even go out quietly to our usual soccer game in the nearby meadows. The anticlerical atmosphere was accentuated and the insults to priests, who for some reason were considered close to the local caciques, either because they were regulars of Catholic Action, confessors of influential people, or for having seen them assiduously in celebrations and processions next to the Falangists, were constant and, sometimes, of an execrable rudeness and brutality. The aggressors were people without political convictions, nor generally literate, but illiterate young people who believed they had the right to represent the anticlerical sentiment of the left and enjoyed doing harm, but who would have done the same if the case had been the other way around.
El Romanín also went through moments of serious trouble, and on one occasion he was on the verge of being lynched by union members of the Casa del Pueblo. But he was also arrested by the Guardia Civil, denounced by Juan Valiente himself for illegal possession of weapons, who had begun his harassment of the Beltrán family through any possible legal loophole. But he was saved from prosecution by his influences and the good relations that the father had with the local commander. In fact, the Falange was being persecuted everywhere because all the attacks against leftists that were being committed in the country, which were not few, were attributed to it. Even Largo Caballero himself suffered one at the door of his house from which he escaped unharmed, and which was followed by the burning of a church on Montera Street. In mid-March, the Falange was finally outlawed, and José Antonio himself imprisoned. It was evident that Azaña was determined not to let the public order situation get out of hand in this new opportunity.
In these tense conditions of life in the city, I went back to my reading, in addition to my work at the seminary. I tried to make the journey between the seminary and the cathedral as quickly and discreetly as possible, and to avoid any provocation from one person to another. Even so, I myself, who had voted for the left, had to suffer the occasional aggression from some of their fanatical militants.
One day, towards the end of March, I was in the archive deciphering an incunabulum that must have been written in Provençal, and which referred to the foundation of the Order of Cluny, an order that would rebel against the ostentation and corruption of the Church of Rome, producing the first revolution within it, when the sacristan entered the archive to tell me that someone was asking for me. I was always alarmed in these cases, because I could never be sure of the intentions of unknown people. But, to my surprise and, I confess, great joy, the person who wanted to see me was Inés Valiente herself.
-Where have you been, Andrés, that you are no longer seen in town? -he asked me with a cheerful tone of reproach.
She hadn't changed much since the last time I saw her for the elections, but now she was wearing a printed dress, cinched by a large belt studded with sequins, holding a trench coat under her arm. Although she had covered herself with the same scarf she wore around her neck, no doubt she had finally realized her dream of sporting ample cleavage, and I confess I was disturbed, because her breasts pressed against the seams making it obvious that the dress had already become too small for her. Perhaps she noticed my confusion and covered herself as much as she could with the bangs of her scarf.
-Inés, what a joy to see you... and in the cathedral!
If I had known how cold it is in here, Andrés, I wouldn't have come so bare-chested, but it's already spring in the street! Doesn't the sun ever come in here? -she asked, as if reproaching God Himself for having her house so dreary.
I didn't want to ask him about anything personal, to avoid any reason for dispute, and it only occurred to me to inquire about his brothers.
-What do you know about Damien and Benjamin?
Perhaps Inés was expecting us to talk about something in particular, that which had made her decide to enter the cathedral and pay me that unexpected visit, so she answered me with an evasive answer, so that we would not continue with that topic of conversation.
-Ah, my brothers, they seem to be doing well," she said, as if distracted. Then she slowly scanned everything around her and ended up looking at the mortuary inscription on one of the tombstones on the floor of the central nave, and, startled, she asked me: "Are we stepping on a dead man, Andrés?
-That's right, Inés, but don't ask me who it is. I suppose one of the bishops of this diocese.
He turned away as if he felt the bishop's corpse under his feet, and remained silent for a few moments, returning to scan every detail of the imposing cathedral with his eyes.
-Why did they make these cathedrals? Couldn't God fit in a church like the one in our town? -I knew that Agnes was not interested in a possible documented answer, but for whatever reason she was trying to avoid talking about what really concerned her. Show me the cathedral, Andrés, you must know it inside out!
He had nothing better to do or more pleasant work, so we began a methodical tour, showing him with all kinds of explanations the origin and authorship of each painting, stopping especially in one of El Greco, the alabaster niches of the most prominent bishops, the chapels of illustrious families, including of course that of the Vázquez de Arce family, and the lying statue of his late son Martín, the famous "Doncel de Sigüenza", the altars and images, the bas-reliefs of the pulpits of the main altar, the splendid choir and the fantastic organ, the brilliantly colored leaded glass windows, to then enter the sacristy of the Cabezas, the canons' cemetery, the cloister and, finally, my place of work, the cathedral archives, where the book I was working on was still open. I showed him the spectacular Gregorian chant books and other pieces of extraordinary historical value, such as a beautifully illustrated 14th century map of French Aquitaine. Finally, tired from the exhaustive tour but satisfied that I had managed to have Agnes by my side for so long and with so much interest in my explanations, I thought the time had come for us to talk about what really concerned her. She also sat down with signs of tiredness, she looked through the incunabulum, admiring its illustrations that she caressed with her fingers as if she felt those delicate floral ornamentations.
-And to think that it was you who taught me to read! -I told her, trying to provoke our old memories, for perhaps it was something from the past that was troubling her.
-Do you already confess, Andrés? -he asked me suddenly, as if he had not heard my flattery.
-Inés, don't talk crazy, I'm not even a deacon! But if you want to confess, there must still be a priest in the cathedral....
I never knew how to rise to the occasion, and that day even less than ever! Inés gave me an angry look, as if I had deeply offended her by my suggestion, and, jumping to her feet, she angrily replied:
-Are you crazy or what? Telling my sins to someone else who is more sinful than I am! But are you never going to get to know me, Andrés? Are we always going to end up fighting like when we were two kids?
She tried to put her raincoat over her shoulders in such haste and anger that it fell from her hands. I, bewildered, had only reflexes to pick it up, but I didn't know what to say nor was I sure what had offended her.
-Goodbye, Andrés! Maybe I'm the wrong one... and I have no right to... Well, maybe you really were born to be a priest after all!
She did not even allow me to accompany her. She took the raincoat from my hands, gave me a farewell look, somewhere between compassionate and resigned, and disappeared behind the archive door, leaving me, once again, bewildered and mortally wounded in my dignity and self-respect. I sat down slowly, because my brain was not capable of reacting any faster, and I asked myself how I had offended her, and like a light, inspiration came to me with the answer, but it was already too late: it was evident that Inés had tried to confess something personal to me that must be pricking her conscience, and I had sent her to a stranger to tell her about it!
Azaña, President
Oblivious to events, spring arrived with the same splendor and vitality as every year. The horse chestnut trees in the alameda shed their first leaves, tender and tiny; the crops were green on the bare hills, speckled with small oaks and dwarf pines for lack of moisture; some early swallows were already rebuilding their nests to return to their instinctive annual habits; the two storks of Santa Maria church were already installed and in the din of their nuptial rites, clacking their beaks non-stop from morning to evening. Seeing all that with such a sense of normality and custom, the situation in which the country was living became even more distressing, and I wondered why only people had to constantly change our habits and customs, and that there was not a century equal to the previous one, but that each new century meant an inevitable revolution of values and customs. What sin had we human beings committed so that we were forced to condemn the past as soon as it acquired consistency, without being able to save anything or take advantage of anything? I did not have the answer, but in the seminary they insisted on instilling in me a reason that no longer made any sense: the world should not be a divine creation, immutable and imperishable, without past, present or future, but the fruit of the powerful reason of evolution, and therefore, it was made of an unstable present, which, in reality, was nothing but pure expectation of the future. In other words, the important thing was to accept change instead of defending the immutable, and once again my antipathy for Platonic idealism and its conception of a static world, which could only end in violence and destruction of itself, arose!
While I entertained my mind with these and other philosophical reflections suggested to me by the present moment, things in Madrid, far from calming down, were becoming even more agitated. Now it was the turn of the President of the Republic, Alcala Zamora, who had already exceeded his political life cycle and was about to retire. On May 7 there was a decisive vote in Congress and he was dismissed by a large majority, and in his place Martínez Barrio was appointed on an interim basis, with the task of preparing the mechanisms for the election of a new president of the Republic. Meanwhile, the Falangists, persecuted, became much more aggressive and violent and not a day went by without some attack or aggression. On April 14, on the occasion of the anniversary of the shaky Republic, they unleashed a series of attacks against military parades and commemorative festivities that ended with the death of an ensign of the Civil Guard in Madrid. The funeral was used to turn it into an act of fascist exaltation, but it was violently contested by construction workers working in the surrounding area. In the end, both sides ended up shooting at each other and the Guardia de Asalto had to intervene, with the result of three dead and numerous wounded. The following day a 24-hour general strike was declared throughout Madrid. In our province the altercations were also serious, and the Falangists tried by all means to boycott the commemorative parade in Guadalajara. Undoubtedly the Seguntinos, at the head of the Romanín, must have been among the rioters. In the city there was only a protocol act in the City Hall, which was presided over by a mayor of the Union Republic, after it was impossible to achieve the majority for a mayor of the CEDA to be dressed. There was no good harmony between this mayor and the people, but being a person of consensus, he knew how to please everyone.
The issue of public order became a weapon of war between one side and the other. Calvo Sotelo blamed the Government of "persecution of the right wing", and of favoring the "soviets" for the implantation of a communist regime in Spain. The Socialists retorted by arguing that violence was the answer to the provocations of the Falangists and the same was argued by the Communists. In the midst of this rarefied atmosphere, the military coup plotters already had a date for their uprising: April 20. The conspiracy, coordinated from the illegal Spanish Military Union, had already prepared its communiqué, which justified its action by the state of chaos and generalized violence that reigned throughout the country, granting maximum authority and power to both the military and the Civil Guard. But the coup was postponed and General Mola, the real instigator, took the opportunity to include other undecided generals, such as Queipo de Llano and Cabanellas, in the list of coup plotters. Incidentally, Sanjurjo was appointed supreme chief of the UME, to serve as a motivation for the Requetés of Navarre, who did not trust Mola and did not like his absurd political plans for after the coup.
At that time the communist youth also unified with the socialist youth, promoted by the left of the PSOE, forming the Unified Socialist Youth. For its part, the C.N.T. was not inactive either, since in its congress in Zaragoza they agreed to unify all the trade unions which were in opposition and not to make any pact with political parties, but only with the reconverted
U.G.T. of Largo Caballero, if it finally assumed a revolutionary program similar or compatible with that of the anarchists.
Finally, on May 10, out of the 847 deputies and delegates appointed for the election of the new President of the Republic, 754 voted for Azaña, one for Largo Caballero, one for the inevitable Lerroux and one also for José Antonio Primo de Rivera himself, who had presented his candidacy; 88 deputies abstained. Therefore, Mr. Manuel Azaña was elected as the new President of the Spanish Republic and was sworn in the following day.
But if Azaña was a good President of the Council of Ministers, as President of the Republic he was not so successful, since he entrusted the formation of the Government to the least suitable person to face the serious events that were approaching, as was the insecure and taciturn Santiago Casares Quiroga. It is true that Largo Caballero prevented Indalecio Prieto from doing so, because the socialists were not willing to repeat the same situation created during the first Republican biennium.
Santiago Casares' first mistake was his total blindness to the military coup plans that were being hatched and which were already almost public knowledge; the second was to form a government of bureaucrats, lawyers and professors, as fearful and indecisive as the president himself. As if that were not enough, the international environment was also acquiring alarming tones, since Mussolini's troops had invaded Ethiopia, although, by contrast, in neighboring France another Popular Front was winning the elections, formed by radicals, socialists and communists, but which, given our historical reservations, if not open antipathy against everything on this side of the Pyrenees, was not of great help to the threatened Republic either. Largo Caballero's disavowal of Prieto produced a deep rift among the Socialists, and the new altercations between landowners and the trade unionists of the Federation of Land Workers, of the U.G.T., inclined the latter to a closer collaboration with the C.N.T., so the countryside was a hotbed, where clashes between peasants and the Civil Guard were commonplace, with deaths and injuries on both sides almost daily.
This tense situation was also experienced in my town, where the influence of the C.N.T. of Aragon, on the border with our municipality, was evident. Juan Valiente, more and more in tune with the anarchists, proposed to fight the union battle and not allow a single harvester to enter the fields of the town that summer unless he came advised by the union, received his legal salary and worked the stipulated day. Naturally, this was a declaration of war against Don Román and the rest of the landowners who needed to hire reapers for the imminent harvest. At the beginning of June, when the first reapers began to arrive, there were also, as was to be expected, the first altercations.
The murder of Juan Valiente
The first incidents in the village took place the day when, as in other years, the threshing machine arrived to be installed on the threshing floor. Even though I knew what I was risking, I had no choice but to accept the same job as the previous year, as foreman of that monstrous machine, because the few pesetas I earned was all I had for my extra expenses, which I usually spent on books and magazines and the occasional whim. Neither Juan nor the peasants could have anything against that machine, for it was evident that it was not covered by any labor legislation and it employed only two laborers. But that year the spirits were exalted and everything that lived of Don Román was seen with suspicion, so that the peasants affiliated to the U.G.T., who were already very numerous, hindered its installation as much as they could.
We brought it painfully towed by an old truck from the First World War, which had difficulties to go up the road of the village and maneuver through the narrow streets, since to reach the threshing floors it was necessary to cross the village. The peasants stood in its way, and only when the truck was already brushing their clothes, determined to continue its march, did they reluctantly move aside. Don Román, who was traveling with me and Romanín in his car, behind the machine, pressured the driver to continue, insistently sounding the horn. Reluctantly and willing to continue boycotting its installation, the peasants had to allow the machine to finally reach the threshing floors. El Juan, who was in charge of that maneuver, when he saw me get out of Don Román's car could not avoid a notorious gesture of reproach, so I approached him and hurried to justify myself.
-There is nothing illegal about threshing with this machine, Juan!
-It's not because of the illegality," he replied, visibly irritated with me, "it's because of the wages you take from needy people!
-But can't you go against progress? You can't refuse the mechanization of farm work. Sooner or later everything will be done by machines! The union has to take that into account too!
-Well, stop lecturing me, Andrés! -If you are on the side of the fascists, that's up to you, but beware of the consequences!
-I only say what I think is right, and I believe I have the right to express my opinion freely, without that meaning that I am with one or the other! -I replied, indignant at the unjust accusation. Don Román must have understood that we were arguing because of the machine, although he did not hear any of our conversation, but he approached us and, in a threatening tone, warned the Juan:
-The Civil Guard has already been notified, so if anything happens to this machine, we will know who will be responsible!
But the mere presence of Don Ramón already irritated Juan, and much more so if he still spoke to him with his usual arrogance and arrogance. The two of them looked at each other like two rabid dogs, challenging each other, and Juan lost his temper, and without replying to the warnings rushed at him with the intention of hitting him. I had no alternative but to put myself between the two of them and the first blow of the Juan I received in the face, making me fall to the ground stunned and almost senseless. All I know is that there was a commotion and that the peasants held Juan while Don Román's son tried to attack him, but was in turn held down by his gang. When I recovered, there was only don Román, his son and his companions in the threshing floor. I felt an intense pain in my cheek and someone brought me a wet handkerchief that comforted my pain somewhat.
-That mare has given you a good eye! -I heard Don Román comment to me. Then they put me in the car and we returned to Sigüenza. On the way, father and son commented on what had happened without worrying about my presence: "We will have to settle the accounts of that Valiente once and for all so that he stops disturbing the region!
In this rough and violent atmosphere we began the harvest work. The pressure of the union produced its effects and the Beltranes had to adjust the new wages according to the law and respect the hours per day, as well as the other extras for meals and lodging. The family of reapers had not come each year, because, apparently, they had obtained land in their own region and were already settled. The new reapers were very young and some were even inexperienced, as this was their first season, so the mowing took longer than expected. The Beltranes were indignant and complained that that year it would have been better not to harvest the crop, because between the cost of the machine, the high wages and the low price of wheat, they would not have made a profit. Juan was satisfied with his union work, but he wanted to give the final blow to the Beltranes and denounced them for prevarication and swindling in the purchase of their old lands, a trial that would take place at the end of the summer. The hatred between the two had reached its limits and the outcome, although unforeseen, seemed inevitable.
In the middle of June, the harvest was going very slowly and, to make matters worse, the strikes of various trades, which were declared during those dates, also affected his other businesses, among which was the construction company, which carried out all the works of the chapter and the bishopric. In national politics, socialists and communists repeatedly warned the head of the Government that a military uprising was imminent, but Casares Quiroga, not only did not pay attention to them, but threatened to resign if they continued to bother him.
Don Román should have known that he sent Doña Virtudes and her daughters on a hurried vacation, but not to San Sebastián, as was customary, but to the least suitable city for that purpose, Valladolid. Calvo Sotelo warned the Congress in an interpellation that the military could not remain impassive if the integrity of Spain was in danger and anarchy reigned, thus heating up the atmosphere even more. Meanwhile, the Falange was once again legalized and its leaders released, except for José Antonio, accused of illegal possession of weapons. This unexpected measure gave wings to the Falangists of the Romanín, who again wore their blue shirts and strolled around the city with martial and provocative airs, recomposing their local squadron.
On June 29 the conspiratorial military had the opportunity to meet for the last time during some maneuvers in Morocco, a meeting that was used by Franco to make contacts with Hitler's agents so that, if needed, they could help him to transport the Tercios to the peninsula. The rest of the military, too confident and proud, disdained the economic help offered by the German Nazis. It was decided there and then that the Falange would be, with its squadrons, at the head of the rebel forces. The same did not happen with the Navarre traditionalists, who remained suspicious of Mola. The latter decided that the coup should take place between July 9 and 10, and that it would be enough to raise the barracks to overthrow the Government and establish his "republican dictatorship", a grotesque political idea that only such a conceited and ignorant character as he could conceive. His plan was simple and nineteenth-century. Once the garrisons had revolted, three columns of loyal regulars, Falangists and requetés, would leave for Madrid from the cities he assumed to be already loyal, such as Valladolid, Burgos and Zaragoza. The supreme leader would be Sanjurjo, to whom the command corresponded morally, for having been the only military officer repressed for an attempted coup d'état against the Republic. He would fly the same day of the uprising from Estoril to Burgos, where the rebel General Staff would be established.
Mola, therefore, did not count on the requetés, because Faz Conde still did not join the uprising, which delayed the date of the coup. Sanjurjo himself convinced Mola to modify his outlandish "political ideas" and to accept a military dictatorship, without further consideration, and the revision of all Republican legislation. The latter reluctantly accepted, but, in exchange, he already had the support of the Navarrese traditionalists, who had warned the Carlist pretender, Javier de Borbón-Parma, of the coup at his residence in San Juan de Luz, perhaps believing that, after the uprising, a monarchy with his branch would be reinstated. Everything was therefore conjured up and ready for the imminent uprising. Mola believed that everything would be resolved in a week or, at most, two. Such was his lack of vision of the reality of the country!
The whole of Spain was already living with its soul on edge and any communiqué or rumor of troop movements was interpreted as the beginning of the coup. But the trigger was a new and confusing act of violence, which also brought dire consequences to our people. On July 12, four gunmen, who could only act under the orders of the fascists, assassinated in Madrid the lieutenant of the Assault Guard, José del Castillo. His comrades did not measure the extent of the reprisal and chose as their victim none other than the leader of the extreme right, Calvo Sotelo, and his body appeared in the Madrid morgue.
That same day, July 14, I woke up at dawn, overwhelmed by the heat and the bad atmosphere in my house, crowded with reapers. I washed myself in the well as best I could and did not even feel like preparing myself some breakfast, such was the chaos and filth that reigned in the house. I wandered around aimlessly, enjoying the freshness and purity of the mountain air at that pleasant hour of the morning, and when I saw movement in the threshing floors, I went back to the house to eat something to keep me upright for the hard day of heat and suffocation that awaited me.
Those young reapers, dirty and untidy, did not live for anything else but for their games, which they began with their elbows and drinking long gulps of wine from a greasy wineskin in the early morning, and ended in the tavern, exhausted from work, but ready to spend half of their wages on drink and gambling. They did not seem to be interested in what was happening in the country, and, although they considered themselves sympathizers of the left, the truth was that they did it more for the labor advantages it brought them than for ideological conviction. I went down to the threshing floors and waited for the arrival of horses with spikes to start up that monstrous machine, which, for many reasons, I already detested. On another side of the wide threshing floors, the farmers of the village were starting the same work with their traditional means and the mules were pulling the wooden threshing machines with a weary step and a resigned look. The women, with those big black sackcloths that made me feel hot just looking at them, rode with skill and even grace on the boards, herding the horses, more with jacks than with the stick.

"Antón, Antón, don't lose the sound. 
Because in the alameda they say that there are 
A man in a nightgown
That to the girls it leads."

The younger ones seemed to enjoy doing that routine work, so I could understand why they looked at me and my machine with distrust and anger. At dusk, storm clouds were forming in the sky on the Aragon side, which would not be bad for a shower to calm the heat, although it would not be good for the harvest or for the threshing, so the girls looked at the sky from time to time and smacked their lips, herding the mules with more vigor, which hardly reacted at all. In the afternoon, the sky was overcast, but it did not threaten rain because the breeze blew the clouds away and the heat evaporated them, only a few distant flashes of lightning could be seen on the side of Molina de Aragón.
-Thank God we won't have a storm, which would kill us now with the threshing! -one of the peasants commented to me, who had come close to the machine, fascinated by its efficiency, but as suspicious of it as all the others.
On the road to the village I saw Juan arrive with his wife, and in front of them the child, who was already standing upright and there was no way to hold her down. They were watching the threshing of one of the villagers, and the woman asked the peasant woman to let the child climb on the threshing floor, to see if it would stay still. The Juan took the opportunity to approach where I was, not without some hesitation, because he had more than enough reasons to hate the mechanical threshing machine, and when he was next to me he commented to me with a worried expression:
-Andrés, did you hear about Calvo Sotelo, Andrés? - I had not moved from the threshing floor all day and I was not aware of the tragic news. I shook my head because with the noise of the machine he wouldn't have heard me, and Juan filled me in. Some storm troopers killed him!
I stopped the machine overwhelmed by the news, not because I felt much sympathy for the murdered man, but because I immediately sensed that this would have serious consequences for the country. Juan's wife seemed to be enjoying the ride and the child was happily waving his little hands, screaming with the excitement of the game. Juan smiled with the satisfaction of a new father at that bucolic scene and seemed to forget all his tragic forebodings.
-What did I tell you, Juan, he'll be a boxing champion in no time! -I commented, really amazed at the boy's transformation.
The family spent some time in the threshing floor and when the boy began to show signs of tiredness and boredom, they decided to return to the house. El Juan came to say goodbye and to invite me to a meeting at the Casa del Pueblo, where they would discuss what had happened and what measures to take in case there was any military uprising. I told him that I would try to come over, but late, because the machine required daily cleaning and it would take me quite some time. Then I saw how he kissed the woman and hugged the little boy who was kicking as if he was not to his liking, and the Juan left alone towards the Casa del Pueblo.
When the sun set, there was no one in the threshing floors and the swallows were roaming among frantic songs, perhaps in search of insects or because these animals feel the desire to fly that way as soon as the sun declines over the hills and they feel the coolness of the afternoon. I could not believe that on an afternoon like that, so placid and serene, with that intense smell of parched straw, the familiar song of the crickets among the freshness of the grass on the banks, and the splendor of a pleasant and welcoming sun, which had made the ears of corn ripen, something out of that beatific normality could happen.
Engrossed in those pleasant thoughts, I was startled when I saw the dust of a car, undoubtedly that of the Romanín, on the river road. I don't know why, but I felt a shiver as if a gust of icy wind had blown through me. The car entered the town and there was no longer any doubt that it was that of Don Roman's son. I thought perhaps he was coming to the threshing floor to discuss some business with me, but when he got lost among the houses and I didn't see him appear on this side of town, I became alarmed. I jumped up and ran to the Casa del Pueblo. I didn't know why but I was sure they were headed there, and with bad intentions. When, unable to avoid the anguish of the presentiment of a new tragedy, I reached the street where the place was located, my fears were confirmed. Juan was being dragged almost dragged out of the house of the Pueblo, held by his thugs, while the Romanín was pointing a gun at him. I think I shouted something, but everything happened so fast that I could do nothing to avoid this new misfortune. I could only hear the hysterical screams of the Romanín, while he unloaded two shots at point-blank range against Juan, who fell to the ground, holding his hands to his belly, in a gesture of pain and tension.
-You've run out of cockiness, you red son of a bitch, we're the only ones here who are cocky! This is because of Calvo Sotelo!
They left him lying in the middle of the street and fled again in the car, without worrying about my presence. He was still alive when I arrived and, out of my mind, I began to shout for help, but there was no one in the street, because those who were inside the Casa del Pueblo had fled in haste and no one in the town dared to leave their homes. Juan, breathing with difficulty and with a bloody mouth, because he had been shot in the lungs and another in the stomach, tried to tell me something. I pulled him up, and holding his head with my arm, I kept an eye out for any whisper.
-Andres, Andres, they have killed me..." -I noticed that his body was convulsing and he could hardly move his lips. But he made a new effort and managed to articulate a few more words. Tell Julia... that this child should not forget that his father... was killed by the Fascists... and that he should forgive me... for not having been able to live to raise him...
-Shut up, don't talk nonsense, Juan! Right now we'll take you to Sigüenza and in four days you'll be as good as new again! -I whispered to him, trying to show my integrity. But Juan could only shake his head with a gesture of denial and after a new convulsion he faded away and I felt his head weighing me down as if it were made of lead. He had died. There remained on his bloodied lips a rictus of bitterness, perhaps because he left with the thought that his life had been a complete failure and his sacrifice totally useless. And indeed it was, because for more than 70 years no one, except his wife and son, recognized his courage and his supreme sacrifice.
The burial
The burial was decided for the 17th, perhaps to give the union time to organize a real protest rally with the presence of people from all over the province. But it also coincided with the same day that the first military uprising took place in the protectorate of Morocco, one day ahead of Mola's schedule. During those two days in my town there was no talk of anything else but the assassination of Juan Valiente. The news appeared in the provincial left-wing newspapers, "Abril" and "Avante", with their corresponding eulogies, which glossed his "trajectory of committed union struggle in defense of the weakest and neediest" and which the journalists put together by asking one and all, and with telephone calls to the House of the People of Sigüenza. There would be no religious funeral, but only a public act in the town cemetery, in his homage and to vindicate the cause defended by the assassinated, presided over by the secretary of the provincial U.G.T., of the Rural Workers branch.
Few of the townspeople went to watch over the corpse at the Valiente home, where the wife and mother, mourning and devastated, did not stop crying or wailing with anguished moans of pain throughout the day. The child, frightened by the severity of the expressions of the elders, was limited to pushing a small tin sheet truck up and down again and again, without the creature really knowing what had happened to his father, whom he must have thought was asleep in his pine coffin, paid for by the union. I was watching over the corpse, and to the extent of my little capacity for these things, trying to console the two women, as well as taking care of the child, trying to participate in his simple game, encouraging him to continue when it seemed that he was already tired.
Another strange event came to join the misfortune of the Valiente family. The father, perhaps frightened by the violent death of his son, disappeared the same day of his murder. Only the tavern keeper had seen him leave the tavern, where he had been hiding during the course of events. Drunk, and no doubt already affected by senile dementia, he disappeared from the village without a trace. It is probable that he survived by begging in the region, but the truth is that his disappearance caused no pain to anyone in the family, because they had enough to suffer from without having to worry about finding the whereabouts of the poor wretch.
In the morning we still had not been able to locate any of the brothers to tell them the tragic news, so it was not foreseeable that they would come to his funeral. We could only hope that the efforts we made among some acquaintances who might know their whereabouts, both in Madrid and in Barcelona, would be successful and, at the last minute, they would appear on the afternoon mail train, in time for the burial.
As for the murderers, for once I felt proud of the Guardia Civil, because someone from the union denounced what happened and, given the seriousness of the case, they communicated the description of the vehicle to several provincial commanders and were arrested when they tried to flee towards Burgos, at the height of Atienza. What actually happened was that the roads are in such bad condition in this part of the region that the car, which was traveling faster than prudent, suffered an accident, leaving the road and they were arrested while trying to get it out of the creek where it had fallen. But instead of taking them to Sigüenza, they were taken to the provincial prison, where they were detained pending the proceedings.
At mid-morning, cars and horses began to arrive to the town carrying people from all over the region, especially from Guadalajara, most of them union members. They were passing by the corpse with expressions of circumstance and pronouncing some phrase of praise or promise of revenge. At dusk we waited to see if anyone from the family was arriving on the mail train, for which reason we had sent the buggy to the station. We saw the train from Saragossa pass by, so the train from Madrid would be arriving. Half an hour later the barouche was coming up the road, bringing Inés, but without her other siblings.
The scene of Agnes' encounter with her dead brother was dramatic but not as dramatic as I had feared, because Agnes seemed to have had time to come to terms with the idea and to resign herself. On the other hand, lately her character had hardened, as I could see for myself at our last meeting. She did not even keep rigorous mourning, but came in a dark blue dress, simple but perhaps unsuitable for attending a funeral, as she seemed to have none without large and generous necklines. She did, however, cover her shoulders with a black shawl, but with ornaments, which also did not meet the circumstances. It seemed that Agnes blamed the whole town for the death of her brother, for she did not exchange a word with anyone, and if anyone approached her to offer her condolences she ostentatiously refused. But when she saw her mother, dejected and devastated by grief, she embraced her and remained silent until the departure of the procession to the cemetery, but without showing any signs of sadness, much less crying. She gave the impression that she was already expecting it. He did not separate from his mother, whom he accompanied in her painful and hesitant walk towards the cemetery, presiding over the numerous procession, in which not all the people of the town were present, but only his comrades of the union and some old woman, more out of curiosity than out of compassion towards the relatives of the murdered man. What was happening was that at that point all the people of the town were already afraid to speak publicly about their political sympathies, because in the atmosphere there was already an air of revolt, which would undoubtedly be accompanied by reprisals and new violence.
Almost with disregard for the poor mother, a communiqué was read, more political than in memory of Juan, who did not seem to have more personal merits than those of his union and political militancy. The sister endured what seemed more like a rally than a funeral, without being able to avoid a certain tension and, when finally the brother was buried, certainly without any religious act or blessings of any kind, most of the attendees ended up in the tavern, where, between laments and oaths against the murderous fascists, the latest events in the country were commented.
By then the rumors of the uprising in the protectorate of Morocco had already been confirmed, but Casares Quiroga, speaking with the delegate of the Government, believed that there was no cause for alarm, and as was his custom, he remained indecisive and without taking any special measures against the rebels, except to order a company of assault guards to repress them, but they were easily overpowered and some were even shot.


























CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The "Rising"
On Friday, July 17, after the funeral, I returned to the seminary because I had been warned by the bishop not to sleep in my town in case he might need me. When I arrived, after dark, the doorman warned me that the prelate had sent for me and that he was not in a good mood, no doubt worried about the events. I was already tired of that tiresome occupation as the bishop's page and hoped to have the slightest opportunity to get rid of it, but it had been done in such a way to my discretion and loyalty that I saw no one who could replace me. Resigned, I repeated the usual route between the seminary and the palace, which I was already able to do blindfolded, and I timidly knocked on the windows of his office, since it was evident that he was waiting for me.
-Thank heaven you have arrived, Andrés! -He said to me as soon as he opened the door, clearly showing his excitement, "Aren't you interested in the events? You should have been back from that... political act long ago, because you'll tell me what kind of burial it had to be without a priest! I don't even know how we agreed to bury him in the cemetery! Not that I don't feel sorry for the man, but he would still be alive if he hadn't gotten into so much trouble with the Beltranes! And now, one dead and the other in jail! God and the Blessed Virgin, how will all this end!
He sat in his large armchair as if the whole country and its many calamities were weighing on his back. He tried to calm himself by clasping his hands together as if he were praying, and after a few moments of reflection he warned me:
-I had planned to leave on a trip, but at the last minute I decided to postpone it... because things are so confused that perhaps it would be more convenient not to leave the diocese now," I let him speak, waiting for him to tell me why he had sent for me so urgently. After another short silence, he continued: "Andrés, very serious events are coming that are going to change the political situation of the country!
I finally understood what he was trying to tell me and I went ahead.
-Are you referring to what is said about the uprising in Morocco?
-Yes, that's what I mean! And I want to warn you that you'd better not be seen with leftists again or I won't be able to do anything for you... when the time comes! -I was about to ask for clarifications about his insinuations, but he interrupted me, continuing with his warnings. No, no, Andrés; don't ask me for explanations now, but do as I tell you and you'd better not leave the seminary for the next three or four days, unless it's an emergency! Do you understand me?
-Not much, Don Martin, that's the truth! -I answered him bluntly.
-Soul of God, if I cannot speak more clearly! In a few days the military will take over the Government and there will be some purges... necessary, no doubt... So if you do not want to see yourself among the reprisals stay here, and when the time comes I myself will intercede for you... you have created a reputation of red that we will see if even with my intercession we can save you!
This was the feeling of most of those who were aware of the plans of the military coup, who took for granted that it would not last longer than the time it would take for the three columns, sent by Mola from Navarre and Old Castile, to reach Madrid; that is to say, a week or, at most, two. I was not so optimistic, and as soon as I heard rumors of a military coup I understood that it could become a real national tragedy, even worse than that of October. Perhaps my conviction was due to the fact that I knew well how the "reds" thought, according to the bishop's own expression, and the accumulated hatred against the military coup plotters and the values they represented, including, unfortunately, the Catholic Church itself. But it was useless to make this clear to the prelate, who was apparently fully convinced of the success of the conspirators.
-Whatever you command, Don Martin! -I answered, knowing that it was the only possible answer, that is, the same as always. Nevertheless, I would leave the seminary when I saw fit, especially to find out what was going on, because I no longer had any respect for the prelate and I didn't care if he would retaliate for disobeying him. In fact, I had been waiting for a long time for something like this to happen and for me to be expelled once and for all from the seminary. The only thing that held me back was the suspicion that the first victim of a new revolution could be the cathedral's invaluable archives, so I began to think about how to make them safe in case of a riot.
That July 18 was undoubtedly one of those days that prove that the history of a country, and of the whole world, is decided by chance and circumstances, almost always fortuitous, and not by meticulously elaborated plans and projects. If on the eve of the coup Major Romerales had been able to abort and thwart the plans for the uprising in Melilla, this would have demoralized the rest of the conspirators, who perhaps would have given up and everything would have remained a new "Sanjurjada", as I believe Azaña himself hoped it would be. But the Government did not remain inactive, as it was later believed, but did what is usually done in such cases, anticipating the events and sending the police against the rebels, without mobilizing the Army, which, given the internal divisions, would have been a worse remedy than the disease. But the assault guards were easily defeated and their commander shot, so that on the night of the 17th Ceuta and Melilla fell into the hands of the rebels, a day earlier than planned. This circumstance gave Franco "wings", and never better said, because he flew to Morocco in the "Dragon Rapid", a plane paid for by Juan March, where he had great ascendancy among the Tercios, due to his "heroic" past at the head of those troops, mostly mercenaries.
As soon as it became evident that the rebels had triumphed, the Nazi agent, Beigbeder, moved his influence in the area and convinced the Moroccan monarch to support the coup, alerting Berlin to provide support to the rebels when required, that is, Nazi Germany entered the Spanish conflict a day before it became official.
The Casares Government could do nothing but follow the events closely, and as soon as they had precise news, initiate reprisals. But the civil governors of both cities, isolated but still free, perhaps fearful of being later retaliated, kept sending messages to Madrid that there was "normality in Morocco", which, added to the President's own indecision, aggravated the situation, allowing the conspirators to go ahead with their plans with hardly any impediments.
However, the passive and prudent attitude of the Government was not seconded by the left-wing parties and trade union organizations, which saw in this new provocation by the military coup plotters the excuse to mobilize and unleash, at last and once and for all, the historic social revolution so long awaited and longed for, as was to be expected, and which, apparently, only the military rebels did not seem to understand!
The isolated city
He was still in the bishop's office when the telephone rang. The prelate was startled, tripping over an inkwell as he was about to pick it up, which shattered and fell on the tile floor, spilling the ink and splashing one of the carpets. I hurried to repair the mess, while the bishop nervously answered the phone.
-Hello? Ah, Román, is that you? No, I don't know anything about your boy... it's all so confusing! Let's see if they arrive in three or four days and something can be done to get him out of there!... What have they taken out the Guardia Civil?... Quartered in Guadalajara?... God forbid! And now what will become of the people without authority?... We all hope so and may God hear you, Román!... Poor woman, I can imagine what that saint must be going through!... I'll pray for all of you... and for the boy... Yes, yes; I'll be here, where do you want me to go? Who knows what you might find on those roads? No, Román, I'll wait for them here and may it be whatever God wants! Goodbye, and don't forget to call me if you have any news!
The prelate hung up the phone, folded his hands again as if resuming his previous prayer, raised his eyes to the ceiling as if he saw God in the lamp that illuminated the room, and after releasing a sigh of sorrow and concern, he exclaimed:
-We are in anarchy, Andrés, we don't even have the Civil Guard! Tomorrow you go to the Town Hall and ask the mayor to tell you what measures he has in mind to protect us from any outrage of the Reds, if they don't happen this very night! I would do it myself, but we are not very much in agreement for reasons that are not relevant now. But what can a couple of bailiffs who are not even armed protect?
No doubt the prelate was deeply alarmed, but it was also evident that he feared more for his own life than for that of the rest of the members of the local Church or of his most devoted parishioners. Fortunately, there were no seminarians in the house and only the doorman, the housekeeper and the chauffeur remained. Almost out of revenge for the grievances suffered by the bishop, it occurred to me to reproach him for his excitement, since he was such an important personality in the Church, whose example and fortitude was fundamental at that time:
-But Don Martin, why are you so scared?
-What a naive, not to say stupid question, Andrés! Don't you know what would happen to both of us if... if the uprising fails? I have to tell you in plain words: it would kill us both like dogs without a word!
Defeated and upset, I had the prelate in my hands and enjoyed provoking him.
-But what have we done wrong for them to kill us, just like that? I'm tired of dealing with "reds" and not one of them has threatened to kill me!
-They have deceived you well, Andrés! Is it necessary for a priest to do something bad for those... to kill us? They do it just because we wear a cassock; they hate and despise us so much!
-Then take it off and that's that, Don Martin!
-Look, Andrés, although I sense in your tone some malice against me, maybe you are right after all. Come on, get my layman's clothes ready, because if something happens tonight, it's better not to get caught wearing a cassock!
He dressed as a layman and decided to stay glued to the phone all night, smoking one of his Havana cigars and stocking up on a bottle of cognac, I suppose to calm himself down. But an hour later he dozed off on the desk table. I did not want to wake him up and I retired to my bedroom, exhausted, more from restlessness than from fatigue, because in my inner self I did not believe that those soldiers were capable of carrying out their rebellion successfully.
In spite of the fact that half of Spain was already in revolt, absolute calm reigned in the city, to the extent that the chimes of the cathedral clock were perfectly audible and, as every day, at a quarter to six o'clock, the little bell of the cloistered convent of Las Huertas rang, I believe that in those dramatic moments only the cloistered nuns were probably the only happy ones in the whole country, since they must have been unaware of what was taking place on that dark morning of July 18, 1936. When I awoke it must have been ten o'clock in the morning because the bell for the canonry mass also rang, just as it had done for perhaps hundreds of years. I had fallen asleep in my clothes and my clothes were sticking to my body from the sweat of a night that had been sultry. With an empty seminary it was nice to use the showers, so I took it easy and stayed under the cold water for a while, until my teeth were chattering. I turned off the tap and felt an almost angelic sense of well-being. The country might be in turmoil, but after that cold shower I felt able to face whatever came, and what came was the bishop again.
-And while you're at it, buy the ABC, if it arrived in town today!
He seemed calmer and more relaxed than the night before, perhaps because he had new news favorable to his wishes.
-What do you know about the coup, Don Martin? -I asked him, because obviously I was also worried.
-I don't know any more than you do, and you'd better not talk about it there! - he replied laconically, hurrying off in the direction of the seminary chapel.
The truth is that for a day when a military coup was supposedly taking place in the country, the city did not seem to realize it or ignored it, because several stalls of the weekly market had already been set up and the stores opened their doors normally. I saw the baker who had the oven next to the seminary with his cavalry, delivering his loaves door to door, as usual, and the sweeper picking up the excrement of the horses. In the hardware store they had hung buckets, grates, pitchforks, sickles and other harvesting tools on the walls, as they did every market day. Two buses of travelers had arrived, the one from the Molina area and the one from Atienza, which were already parked in the street of the Seminary, and it wouldn't be long before the one from Jadraque arrived, with farmers from the surrounding area. The harvesters were still dozing under the banana trees on the main street at that time of the morning, waiting for a contract. That is to say, the town had awakened almost like a normal day, which proved to what extent the people had already become accustomed to these shocks.
It was not easy for me to find the mayor, but I finally found him meeting with other councilors in his office at City Hall. He was not pleased with my assignment and almost dismissed me with bad manners, but he must have understood that I was not to blame and restrained himself.
-Tell the bishop that whatever the civil governor of Guadalajara says will be obeyed here, and that if he has decided to remove the Civil Guard from the town, he will know why he has done it! Oh, and also tell him that what's the point of turning to the mayor when until yesterday I was the devil reincarnated! No, don't tell him that, Andrés, we already have enough with the mess he's making to make it even worse! Anyway, whatever it will be, and here we will abide by the legality of the Republic! -This was not an answer to reassure the prelate, but I noticed that the mayor himself was confused and undecided, but it was clear that for some reason he resented the bishop. He still gave me one last message, as if he had just remembered it. By the way, Andrés, tell the bishop that if he has any firearms he should turn them in today, because we are going to issue a proclamation to requisition all the weapons in town. Whoever is caught with one, even if it is a hunting weapon, will be imprisoned, and that goes for the bishop himself! Orders from the civil governor!
Undoubtedly the situation must have been delicate because that measure seemed impossible to comply with, since almost every peasant had a shotgun in his house. I thought about the pistol and I was even glad of the bando, because I was fed up with having to carry that weapon, whose unfortunate consequences I had already experienced, but the bishop would not like it and I doubted that he would comply with it.
Perhaps because of the exceptional nature of the moment, Don Martin invited me to have lunch with him, so that he would have me close at hand if he needed me. The mistress was also restless, but, given her advanced age, surely she was no longer very concerned about the things of this world. She made us a pickled rabbit that looked as if we were celebrating something, so tasty and well presented. Afterwards there was fruit of the season and some cream cakes accompanied by an aromatic coffee. Finally I could not refuse the Havana cigar he offered me and the usual glass of cognac. Anyway, now I think that the prelate was perhaps already celebrating the victory of the insurgents, which he must have taken for granted. During the after-dinner conversation the telephone rang and he ran to the office to answer it, I remained half drowsy, leaning back in an armchair in the dining room, contemplating how the curtains of the balcony swayed and listening to the frantic chirping of the new sparrows that by the dozen nested in the two gigantic sequoias of the palace garden. Don Martin came back smiling, sucking eagerly on his Havana cigar and, after sitting down on the other armchair and taking a big puff, he commented to me, as if I were his sidekick:
-We already have almost all of Andalusia, Old Castile, Navarre and, as they say, all of Aragon, and it won't be long before Barcelona falls, since the Balearic Islands have already surrendered! What is not clear is what is happening in Madrid, but it will end up falling too, what choice is left! Franco is in Morocco at the head of the Tercios! It's only a matter of days before they arrive here and, at last we can breathe easy, Andrés, and walk without fear in the street with our cassock, that's why we took our vows! Blessed be the Lord, and may He protect those patriots! And the pistol, Andrés, don't even think of handing it over, we'll give it to the first national who enters the town!
Weapons for the people
Given the first news of the development of the coup, the bishop had good reason to be optimistic, since it seemed that the uprising was supported throughout Spain.
There is no history book that does not say that Azaña acted imprudently, and that he lost a fundamental time to stop the military coup, but I do not agree. Don Manuel did not have the mentality of a military man, therefore he did not see the crisis in military terms, but in political terms. The man still believed that a successful political maneuver would stop the coup. He could not call Gil Robles to form a new government, because that was impossible, but he believed that someone like Martínez Barrio, who was not from the Popular Front, could help calm the spirits of the rebels and facilitate a negotiated solution. Naturally, Azaña did not understand that the rebels had already gone beyond their desire to put an end to the Republic and were thinking of putting an end to democracy itself and to the political party system, whether right-wing or left-wing. This pretension was not easily understandable, when all over Europe even the fascist regimes were supported by some kind of political organization, such as the Nazi party in Germany or the Fascist party in Italy, and this was also thought by the Falangists and traditionalists, as well as, with a great deal of ideological confusion, by the very person who inspired the coup, General Mola. But the military coup plotters were determined to inaugurate European history with a new regime based on "ordinances" of barracks inspiration, of discipline and obedience to higher authority and under a permanent state of exception. In order to establish this new regime it was not necessary to think much, and the military rebels seemed determined to reserve their little intelligence to consummate their plans and carry out a profound and radical "ideological cleansing", putting communists, republicans, liberals, radicals or simply democrats in the same bag. For them they were all conspirators of the Judeo-Masonic lodges, as well as agents of Moscow, and they had to be exterminated at the root and without much consideration or complicated questions.
But this simple-mindedness was not only shared by the military, but by half of Spain, the same Spain that reinstated the absolutist monarchy of Ferdinand VII, or that "communed like a millstone", to use an expression that illustrates its religious fanaticism and deep-rootedness to the old customs of caciquismo and its corresponding consented and resigned servility. That was the Spain which on July 18 was already in the hands of the rebels and which opened its doors and even its hearts to them, swelling their ranks and denouncing its own neighbors, just for remembering to have heard him shout "Long live the Republic!" on April 14, 1931.
Therefore, while the workers' and trade union organizations were calling for arms to defend the Republic, Azaña urgently appointed Martínez Barrio to head a new Government and immediately to talk to Mola and negotiate a peaceful settlement. But the coup general thought this was a weakness and answered him impertinently and even challenged him: "You have your masses and I have mine", he said. These negotiations lasted 48 precious hours, which allowed the insurgents to consolidate their zones of influence and to make others fall, such as Cadiz and Huelva, supported by two companies of regulars transported from Africa, the first to cross the strait, or Zaragoza, where the Government delegates sent to negotiate with Cabanellas were detained. Late on the 19th, Azaña must have understood the inevitability of a generalized armed confrontation and asked José Giral, of the Republican Left, to form a new Government with the support of the workers, and, in this way, to allow the feared distribution of arms among the thousands of volunteers who crowded the headquarters of their organizations.
While that day the Madrid workers asked the Government for arms, the Barcelona workers did not wait for them to be delivered and took them themselves from a ship anchored in the port, storing them in the Transport Union, in spite of the fact that the Generalitat ordered that they be requisitioned by the Assault Guard. Thus, while Martínez Barrio tried uselessly to negotiate with Mola, the Civil and Assault Guard, loyal to the Generalitat and under the command of Colonel Escobar, supported by columns of armed workers, led by Durruti, Ascaso, García Oliver and other anarchists, managed to frustrate the uprising in this city, after a bloody street battle. Although Goded had mobilized all the regiments, the determined opposition of the guards and workers achieved their surrender.
Therefore, at nightfall of July 19, Spain was already clearly divided into two opposing and relatively consolidated sides, not without bloody resistance: rural Spain had fallen into the hands of the insurgents and industrial Spain remained loyal to the Republicans. The fate of Madrid, Bilbao, Valencia and some other provincial capitals was still to be decided.
What most distressed the bishop was not the news from Barcelona or Madrid, but the news from Guadalajara and the city itself, where no one seemed to take the initiative in one direction or the other. With the Falange disbanded and without the Civil Guard, the city remained loyal to the Republic, but with no possible defense, so it was at the mercy of anyone with weapons and the will to take the City Hall.
Since it was Sunday, the religious services had to continue to be celebrated normally. The bishop decided to dare to celebrate an evening mass in the cathedral, more than anything else to exchange impressions with the people of Catholic Action, in case they decided to strike the blow in this city.
-Get ready, Andrés, we're going to the cathedral to say mass! Don't go out unarmed, and watch out for everything that happens in the street! 
He told me, after leaving the balcony of the palace, from where he had been watching the street to make sure it was quiet. But I flatly refused to be armed, after the civil government had ordered it to be requisitioned. The bishop, reluctantly, understood that he could not force me, and gave in.
-Well, leave her here! But keep your eyes open, and while I say mass, don't lose sight of the people, and at the slightest suspicious movement, don't be in a hurry to intervene and warn me.
We went to the cathedral in the car and in the atrium he met don Román, who was talking to the president of Acción Católica. When he saw the bishop he was startled, perhaps because of the unexpectedness of his presence or because what they were discussing must have been compromising. They greeted each other with the usual ritual, and without stopping walking towards the entrance, Don Martin tried to get all the information he had about the development of the coup, taking care not to be overheard by some of the women, who upon seeing him hurried to kiss his ring and comment on the events with gestures of alarm and excitement:
-God take us by confession, Bishop, the devil has taken possession of this country! May God protect us! -And they crossed themselves repeatedly, without letting go of the hand of the disgruntled prelate. But he would shake them off without too much consideration with some "God bless you" or "Praise God", so that he could have a quiet chat with Don Román.
-What is happening in the city, Román; are you drinking or not?
-And who do you want to take it, the four old men who are left? If my boy and his men were here, this would be a national zone by now!
-What happens then? What does the mayor do?
-He has no more command than we do!
-So, how do you see it, Román?
-We are waiting for Guadalajara, if it falls there will be no more problems and we will take over the mayor's office ourselves, but... we have to wait, Martín, the situation is still very confusing!
-And what do you know about Mola and the Requeté?
-They are already on their way, they must already be in Soria or Almazán!
-Do you think they will pass through Sigüenza?
-I don't think so, Martin; Mola needs to get to Madrid urgently and he won't stop for the four of us who are here! Besides, if Madrid falls, the uprising will triumph and that's that!
The arrival of new women, frightened and upset, did not allow them to continue their conversation, and the bishop, unable to avoid gestures of annoyance and annoyance, went to the sacristy to prepare for the religious office. The truth was that there was not much to watch out for, because in the cathedral there were only the usual beatas and those of Catholic Action, because no one dared to go out on the street on an afternoon like that.
After the mass we returned to the palace, but the bishop did not open his mouth even at dinner time, because he was listening to the telephone and the news that we could tune in from Madrid radio stations.
The next day I decided to disobey him and go to the village. I knew that Inés had decided not to return to Madrid until her mother was calmer and recovered from the new misfortune, and given the location of the town, close to the borders of Aragón, practically in the hands of the rebels, I was worried that something might have happened, or that the union members might have taken the Town Hall and caused some new misfortune. However, Don Mariano had left the town the same day of Juan's assassination and had not reappeared there.
My fears were not unfounded and on Sunday they had assaulted the old parish priest, expelling him from the church with bad manners but respecting his life, perhaps because the good man had not been politically significant in any way. But, once they had expelled the parish priest, they set fire to the church. Thanks to the fact that they did not have flammable liquids to stoke the fire, only part of the main altar and all the saints burned, which were thrown into the pyre by the angry youths and were consumed in minutes as they were made of dried out wood, which may have been more than a hundred years old. No one dared to report the fire and the bishopric was unaware of the event. When I went into the church and saw the mess, I could not help my indignation and went in search of those who had burned it so that they could give me an explanation. Undoubtedly it was a reckless gesture, given the tension of the moment. I found some of the companions of the ill-fated Juan in the tavern, and without thinking twice I reproached them:
-Why did you commit this barbarity? What did you gain by burning the church? Now it will have to be rebuilt! Just because you don't like it doesn't mean that there aren't people in the village who have faith and find it comforting.
-That's why we burned it, because religion is the opium of the people!
-Marxism is out!
-But whose side are you on, pray tell! Let's see if we have to do the same with you and burn you inside! Didn't you see how they killed Juan? And who did it, eh? Devoted people of the Church!
-It's not true, it was done by Romanin, who is a spoiled son of the devil, and has nothing to do with the Church!
-Come on, don't come to us with nonsense, Andrés, it's all the same! And the talk is over, damn it! And for your sake, you'd better leave and don't come back to town, because the way things are, I don't know if next time we'll be able to have this talk! Here the Church is already in over its head, and the same goes for the priests!
I understood that it was useless to continue that conversation and, resigned by the destruction but relieved in a certain way that there had been no victims, I went to the Valiente's house. At least I hoped that I would not be treated in the same way and that they would see me for who I was and not as a seminarian.
Inés was sitting next to her mother, at the door of the house. The woman, covered by a towel, was already so wrinkled and shrunken that she looked much older than she should be in reality. Seeing me arrive, Inés stood up with a start, and I immediately understood that I was not going to be better received than at the tavern.
-What do you want now? You'll be coming to town in no time!
She did not even allow me to approach the mother to greet her, who, in fact, did not even notice my presence.
-Leave her alone, all you'll do is bring back bad memories. What do you want, let it go quickly and go to your seminary! If it's about the church, I helped set fire to it myself, and I'm sorry it's still standing! Don't you know that the fascists and beatos are already murdering hundreds of workers all over Spain?
If you had what it takes and were a real man you should already be wielding a gun to defend the Republic!
I was indignant because those accusations seemed to me deeply unjust, but I understood that the violent death of her brother and the strange disappearance of her father had changed her character. It was her right and I was not the one to judge her, nor to come with advice and moral judgments, so once again, as had always happened to me in front of that woman, I lowered my head in humiliation, turned around and, as she advised me, returned to the seminary. On the way I wondered if Inés was not right after all, because there was no right for some military coup plotters, ignorant and conceited, to abuse their arrogance and authority over the defenseless and frightened replacement soldiers, and allow themselves to kill with impunity workers, who were only defending the right to live with dignity and to express their opinions freely. It was really all too confusing and I felt that the time was coming for me to make a serious decision. But whose side should I be on and with whom should I commit myself?
The coup fails in Madrid
Dejected and more confused than ever, when I returned to the seminary I had no desire to meet the bishop, and I would have stayed in the village if I had had the key to my former home. But, on the other hand, it was not a night to be away from the radio, so I mustered what little common sense I still had left and went straight back to the seminary. Of course Don Martin had been looking for me, but he had finally retired to his quarters and never asked for me again. I asked the doorman if I could stay with him for a while and listen to the news on his radio, and the good man agreed, because for some reason we had hit it off from the first day I arrived at the house.
-Oh, Andrés, what's going on out there! -He commented to me with a gesture of great dejection and disconsolation, "With all the things I have already seen and have to see even more, and worse! To tell you the truth, I envy the dead, who are already calm and neither feel nor suffer, like your poor father, may he be in peace! What good would it have done him to go on living?
-What does the radio say, Angustiano, what a name they gave you!
-The radio, what do I know!... Some people have taken such and such a city; others have avoided it; Madrid has fallen; Madrid has not fallen...
I don't know, Andrés, let's see if you understand and explain it to me!
It was not surprising that the poor man was overwhelmed, because the situation was really confusing. All that was known about Madrid was that thousands of rifles had been distributed to the affiliates of the Unified Socialist Youth and the U.G.T., but that they were not operational, because the bolts were in the barracks of La Montaña. But General Fanjul had barricaded himself there, waiting for the coup to succeed in Carabanchel and Cuatro Vientos, so that he too could revolt. As there was no more news that he did not already know, we turned off the radio and chatted about things of his time, which Angustiano remembered as if he were fifteen years old. Afterwards, tired and with nothing more to talk about, I retired to the dormitories and I still heard three o'clock on the cathedral clock when I managed to fall asleep.
As was to be feared, the next morning I was awakened by the doorman urging me to return to the palace, for once again the bishop was calling me and he seemed even more frightened and irritated than was usual during those critical days. He did not even bother to say good morning to me and, as if trying to unburden himself to me, he said to me, making me sit down again in the armchair in the office:
-Andres, yesterday I was asking for you and nobody gave me any sign, but at the last minute I heard about the church in your town and they told me they had seen you there! What do you know about all this?
-I'm indignant too, Don Martin, but it was already done when I arrived!
-And how has the church turned out?
-Inside, it's broken, but it's standing upright.
-Well, this was expected, but that it had to happen precisely in your town... Anyway, have you had breakfast, Andrés? - I shook my head and rang the housekeeper's bell. When she appeared she asked her to prepare two coffees with milk and some muffins. When the mistress came out, she warned me sternly, "Don't even think of leaving the seminary today, Andrés! There are rumors that the railroad men are armed and are going to take over the City Hall. Don't even think of coming here!
In fact, there was already a plan to create a local militia encouraged by the railroaders and to secure the town to prevent others from attempting the opposite. But the railwaymen who were to lead the action were ambushed by the Guardia Civil at the engine depot in Arcos de Jalón, which was already in revolt there, and did not reach Sigüenza. Without any consideration, they shot them all, including the son of one of them who accompanied them. So the rebels were not far from the city.
Early in the morning we learned that in Madrid a large group of workers, armed with rifles without bolts, had gone to the barracks of La Montaña and were greeted with gunfire, so their siege began. The coup leader Fanjul was at the head of the uprising troops who no longer had help from the outside, because the other barracks that were to rise up had failed. At mid-morning the radio reported that the Republican air force was bombing the barracks. Then a confusing situation arose, since part of the besieged raised white flags, but as soon as the workers approached, they fired again. Finally, the enraged crowd took the barracks by assault and Fanjul was not lynched because he was protected by the Civil Guard and the Assault Guard. When the radio confirmed the fall of the Montaña barracks and the failure of the coup in Madrid, the bishop made the sign of the cross, and in a broken and distressed voice, exclaimed:
-Heaven protect us: Madrid has not fallen! All that remains now is to wait for Mola's troops!
I don't know why, but I was happy, perhaps because I was happy for everything that was contrary to the bishop, but I was not justified, because it was evident that if the coup failed I would also have serious difficulties.
We spent the rest of the day glued to the radio and we were able to learn that after defeating the rebels, the Madrid militias, together with some loyal regiments, were heading towards the Guadarrama and Toledo mountains with great enthusiasm and combat morale, but what most disturbed the bishop was to learn that they also intended to take Alcalá de Henares and Guadalajara, where the military commander of the uprising, Ortiz de Zarate, had not yet made a statement and the provincial capital remained loyal to the Republic.
But what worried me most was the possibility that the Civil Guards who had risen up in Arcos de Jalón might make an incursion into our region and commit a massacre in the village. Above all I feared for the life of Inés, because I had no doubt that the villagers would denounce her. I thought of looking for some lodging for her and her family in Sigüenza, but I could only think of temporarily lodging them in a convent, which Inés would undoubtedly refuse outright. I was even more alarmed when the bishop told me that, according to what Don Román had informed him, the Navarre column would arrive in our region the following day. The town was not on the route, but they could leave some in the rear and take the town, which would be even worse than if the Civil Guard took it.
I retired to the dormitories ready to think seriously about my situation in the midst of all that conflict. I urgently needed to know which side I was on, because there was no doubt that very soon I would have the opportunity to prove it clearly and unambiguously. Once in bed, I recapitulated everything I already knew and tried to draw some conclusion in order to make a decision and act accordingly.
My first thought was to ask myself if the uprising would have any chance of succeeding. But something did not fit me from the beginning, because I could not believe that those military men had had the idea of the coup d'état by themselves. I was sure I knew perfectly well their mentality and their lack of initiative. Someone, above them, must have induced them to believe that this new uprising would succeed. Then I began to tie up loose ends and remembered the trip of the royalists to Rome to meet with Mussolini and the deposed Alfonso XIII. But, for the same reason, I also did not believe that they were the ones who took the initiative to visit the Duce, because the Spaniards, out of pride or arrogance, even if they need it, never knock on the doors themselves, but wait for others to knock on theirs, in order to play with an advantage. Something like that happened with Franco, whose cunning consisted in not playing any card until, either by a mistake or by overconfidence of the opponent, he did not know his move. Moreover, he used his troops as if they were the chickpeas in a family game of brisca or tute. Such was the contempt he felt for their lives.
I thought that from Rome Alfonso XIII began to conspire against the Republic from the very day he was deposed, if not him directly, then his advisors. They must have called the Spanish monarchists to Rome to encourage them to promote a coup d'état, offering them moral support and economic aid.
This could have been the first triggering step, but new ones had to be produced to gradually make the plot thicker, involving more interests and even countries. As he was already a good reader of Hegel, he knew that when something happens in one country it is because of the needs of a different one. Since the rise of Hitler and Mussolini to power, both countries were bent on remaking their respective empires. In my opinion, only imperialist minds conceive of wars, therefore, what was happening in Spain would have to have its origin in what was happening in Italy and Germany.
I was not a great expert in international politics, but I had become pragmatic enough to understand that behind great political and patriotic speeches there were always economic interests. It was obvious that Spain was a bishop in the chess game being played in Europe. It had to be sacrificed, but in order to facilitate the checkmate that was in everyone's interest. Italy wanted to have hegemony in the Mediterranean up to the Balearic Islands; Germany needed to control the passage through the Strait of Gibraltar for its colonial plans in North Africa; England was not willing to cede the Rock nor its mining interests in Spain, but neither was it interested in a confrontation with Germany; France, after the victory of the Popular Front, was satisfied with maintaining its influence in the protectorate of Morocco and Algeria. And the feared Soviet Russia? It had made it clear in its VII Congress, its interest was to have the peace and stability necessary to carry out its "Five Year Plans", and it was not interested in imperialist or military adventures, at least for the moment. But neither did it want a fascist Germany, rearmed and threatening its borders.
In order to understand the second step of the plot, it was necessary to see what had been offered to the military conspirators to make them decide to carry out the coup. Apparently Hitler must have offered them abundant war material and, once they had invaded and conquered all Europe, he would give them Portugal in exchange for the Rock of Gibraltar, once the British had been evicted. This made sense, because the "national crusade" of the coup plotters had its foundations in the Spain of the Catholic Monarchs, so the neighboring country should be reintegrated into the national territory. The Italians must have also offered them military aid, such as airplanes and regular troops, but above all "ideology", and the fact that Alfonso XIII had been welcomed in this country also counted. England must have offered them "neutrality" in exchange for, at the last minute, betraying the Germans and keeping the Rock and its mines in Andalusia, a territory that was already under the control of the rebels. As for the French, I suppose they must have been hesitant and in favor of neutrality as long as they maintained the status quo in Morocco, because, in reality, they had nothing to gain or lose from our war. Finally, the Russians would only mobilize resources in aid of the Popular Front, but not for the anarchist or Trotskyist groups but for the Republic, because a new communist regime in Europe would make fascism grow, therefore they must have preferred a clearly republican regime.
The third step in the plot of the coup was the one that had just taken place, and which would surely have a decisive influence on all the chancelleries of Europe, which at that time most of them were already betting unreservedly on the rebels. That step had been the delivery of arms to the militias, a reason why Azaña had refused until the pressure became unbearable. It was evident that if the militia stopped the military coup, and it was quite probable, those arms would later be turned against the Republic itself, and it would no longer be possible to avoid a civil war, but not between fascists and republicans, but between republicans and anarchists. That is to say, what they were doing was "arming the revolution! And you know what this popular saying means! In Europe, including Russia, nobody wanted a new communist regime in Spain, and even less, anarchist and libertarian, because Europe, after all, and with the exception of the backward and impoverished Russia, was the "Europe of business", of liberalism and private initiative, whether Nazis, fascists or democrats! That night I understood that, after the surrender of arms to the militias, the days of the Second Spanish Republic were numbered and that the triumph of the Nationalists was inevitable. And that, in spite of the scarce capacity of the military rebels and their many errors and mistakes.
Spain would be the first step in the inevitable new confrontation between Hitler's Nazi Germany, which wanted a new empire, and the Great Britain of His Gracious Majesty, George V, which did not want to lose the one it already had. Therefore, my choice was clear, I would be with the Republic and all that it represented! On what other side could I be if not on the side of freedom, democracy, tolerance, Christian humanism and culture? That is why, from that very night, without a clear idea of action in favor of the Republic, since I did not feel brave enough to take up a rifle, I at least decided to save, at all costs, the archives of the cathedral, which also represented the "spirit of the Republic"!










CHAPTER NINETEEN
A decisive week

The next day I got permission from the bishop to go up to the cathedral, arguing how much of a priority it was to pack up and protect the archives, at least the codices, incunabula and other books of great value. He reluctantly agreed, but warned me not to move from there, because he was finally planning to leave the city.
-I'm not telling you today or tomorrow, but if things continue in this way, we will have to leave the city and even the diocese. But if I have not already made the decision, it is because I still have some matters to settle... of great importance.
Those matters were nothing more than to save his great personal fortune, deposited in local banks, as well as the bonds and shares well kept in the safes of the bishopric and the chapter, valued at several million pesetas, and that he did not want them to fall into the hands of either one or the other. And that was the reason for the frequent visits of other priests and people linked to banks and companies in the city and who had business with the bishopric, including Don Roman, who the day before had been in the palace claiming some overdue payments. Apparently not only he but most of the more notable citizens were also discreetly packing their bags, but they feared they would not be able to return to the city, and the difficulty of securing all their goods complicated and delayed their departure.
At noon, during lunch, since it was now customary for us to have lunch together, the bishop seemed to have recovered his optimism, but without becoming triumphalist.
-Well, it seems that they have finally revolted in Guadalajara and it is already in the hands of the Nationalists! -But his lack of enthusiasm was due to the fact that he was also aware that the militiamen from Madrid had recovered Alcalá de Henares, and were already marching on the capital of the province. But it is not yet secure, they will still have to deal with masses of reds coming from Alcalá de Henares! It is a good thing that the Navarrese must already be in Atienza. But I have a feeling that they will not be enough! I do not know why that captain, García Escámez, has not sent a company to take Sigüenza, when he should know that here there is no authority or reds or anyone to defend it.
It was more like the General Staff of the rebels than the dining room of the bishop's palace. Even the bishop was drawing lines on the tablecloth with his fork and knife, marking the positions of one and the other, and giving his point of view on the best strategy to follow.
-How are we going to enter Madrid through Guadalajara, if that is a funnel that must already be crowded with Reds? Well, look at the idea of taking it through the Guadarrama mountain range! Madrid must be taken by the south; by the Jarama, arriving through the open and undefended fields of the valley of the Tagus. But what is Franco doing standing in Africa?
And he would momentarily suspend his explanations to carve a piece of roast lamb, another of the mistress's specialties, which is the only thing I remember with pleasure from that bad time.
Indeed, the column sent by Mola to take Madrid already looked like a real nonsense. Not only was it poorly armed, with only a few small artillery pieces and several machine guns, but the long march from Pamplona and its constant clashes with armed workers must have already taken its toll on the morale of the regular soldiers. The Falangists and Requetés may have kept it up, but one could not expect to take Madrid with a thousand fanatics, tired and poorly armed! Actually, even the bishop was a better strategist than the conceited General Mola.
Guadalajara was recovered after the intervention of the Republican air force and the General Staff of the threatened Republic quickly organized the defense of Madrid, creating a front, formed mostly by militias, with a perimeter of about 100 kilometers. Therefore our city was out of their influence and we remained in "no man's land". The Republican headquarters in our area was installed in the vicinity of Guadalajara, under the command of Major Jimenez Orge, who had a few thousand militiamen of the J.S.U. and the U.G.T., coordinated, with more or less loyalty and command, by the anarchist leader Cripriano Mera, in addition to the loyal Civil Guard, and above all, with the Assault, the only disciplined and knowledgeable force of military tactics.
In that situation it was no longer possible to leave the city and the bishop feared the worst, because in the middle of the week we learned that the column of the Navarrese had decided to retreat to the height of Jadraque and join those who, from Burgos and Valladolid, were trying to take Madrid through Guadarrama, which also failed!
It was not yet possible to speak of "fronts", but the "nationals" surrounded the city on the borders of Aragon and Old Castile, with the help of the rebel Civil Guard, and the Republicans were deployed along the Sierra de Guadarrama and the Sierra de Ayllon, up to kilometer 90 of the road from Madrid to Barcelona. Therefore, our city was right in the middle and threatened by both sides, without anyone within it daring to make a decision one way or the other, and remained officially loyal to the Republic.
The first circumstantial blow in favor of the Republic was the spectacular plane crash in which the planned leader of the uprising, General Sanjurjo, lost his life. His plane crashed as soon as it took off from a racetrack near Estoril, apparently due to excess baggage, since even to carry out a coup d'état the general needed his large closet of dress uniforms, sabers and other military ornaments, as well as the fatal combination of a pilot fond of drinking and his extreme obesity. Therefore, at the end of that week it could be said that the coup had failed, because the rebels lacked sufficient offensive forces to go ahead with their crazy plans and consolidate their positions. The counter-offensive, towards Zaragoza to isolate Navarre from Old Castile, as well as towards the south, from Toledo, to retake the part of Andalusia that had fallen into the hands of the rebels, was already in preparation.
It was in those crucial moments when, in my opinion, a new step forward was taken in the plot of the coup, hatched from Rome and Berlin. The German Nazis withdrew their confidence from the inept Mola and focused on General Franco, who was blocked in Africa, because the Navy, thanks to the same sailors who for the most part had remained loyal to the Republic, surrounded the cities of Ceuta and Melilla, where the General was resisting.
At that time, in the inoperative League of Nations, the issue of Spain was already being discussed and there was talk of "non-intervention", but in my opinion, and as I have already said, everything was already agreed to leave the Republic alone and allow German Nazis and Italian Fascists, who were no longer part of it, to intervene shamelessly in favor of the rebels. The Government of the Republic did not even have the opportunity to present evidence of this intervention, the British blocking any initiative in this sense.
On Friday the bishop seemed beside himself and on the verge of a hissy fit. He was taking long walks in the palace garden trying to calm down. He received several of his trusted fathers, to whom he must have given an envelope containing all the money he kept in the palace to put it somewhere safe. By mid-morning I was able to get rid of him and go, as I used to do whenever I could, to finish my work of packing up the archival funds. Passing by a hat store I fell into the banality of buying a visor cap, cheap and somewhat outdated, but not to keep out the sun of justice of that month of July, but of the ridiculous crown of my head, where the hair seemed not to want to grow, and that compromised me. Perhaps that was the first time I also feared for my life if, at least momentarily, the uprising failed and armed militiamen arrived in the city.
There were not many people on the street at that hour, I don't know if it was because of the scorching heat or because the whole city was holding its breath and people were trying not to leave their homes. The truth was that I was alone on the street leading to the cathedral when I saw a car arrive and, to my alarm, it stopped with a slam on the brakes when it reached my height. My heart skipped a beat and I feared the worst when I saw an assault guard get out of it, sweaty and excited, so much so that I thought that for some reason he had recognized me and intended to attack me. However, the guard, who understood the cause of my fears, hastened to reassure me:
-Calm down, man, we're not fascists! Where's the town hospital, but hurry, we've got a serious accident! -Somewhat shocked, I pointed to the street to follow, but the guard invited me to get into the car so that I could drive them myself. You show us the way, we're not here to guess!
As the vehicle entered I saw that they were carrying a colleague with a bloody head, badly bandaged and one arm in a makeshift sling. He started the car at full speed and followed my directions. Without asking, the guard filled me in on what had happened.
-We had an accident near here and we were told that there was a good hospital here, let's see if it's true because our colleague lost a lot of blood!
Upon arriving at the hospital, which by the way belonged to the bishopric, since it was also the local orphanage, the guard knocked so hard on the knocker of the door that it must have alarmed the nursing nuns, because no one answered. The officer became impatient, questioning me with his eyes. He knocked again with more force and after a few tense moments we heard a sister, who in a frightened voice asked who it was with that urgency. I understood that it was better that I myself told her the reason to reassure her.
-Sister, it's some storm troopers bringing a seriously wounded man! Open up, please, he's bleeding to death!
There was a sepulchral silence and the guard was about to intervene violently, when the sister answered us even more frightened:
-We can't open... to people like that without the bishop's permission! I understood that if they didn't open soon the guards would shoot the door down, so I identified myself without stopping to think about the consequences.
-Sister, I come on behalf of the bishop! Don't you recognize me? I am Andrés; Andrés Lafuente, the bishop's page!
The guard gave me a look of astonishment and I felt that I had committed a foolish act by discovering me at the first opportunity, despite my civilian suit and wearing a cap to hide my crown. But that had an effect and the moja opened up to us. They entered the wounded man and at least they were able to give him an emergency treatment. The captain, after leaving his comrade in the hospital, returned to the car and before leaving, looked me up and down as if I were a freak, and said to me in a jocular tone:
-If we meet again in a few days, remind me of this, lest I forget your face. Oh, and when you become a priest, come to my town, because priests like you are what we need in the Republic!
I smiled at the grace without hiding my uneasiness, and I was satisfied that it had all turned out to be just a scare. The truth is that the captain, whose name was Ernesto, would intercede more than once for me with the exalted anarchists. Relaxed and even satisfied with my audacity, I returned to my initial plan and headed back to the cathedral. As I entered the atrium, I bumped into the dean, who greeted me almost as a compromise, since it seemed that he too was in a hurry. I could not miss the opportunity to make a suggestion about the treasures of the cathedral, which would also be in danger if the militiamen entered:
-By the way, Don Honorio, forgive me for butting in, but now that I see you, I'm going to suggest that the most valuable parts of the cathedral should be secured, because I have the impression that it won't be long before the militiamen from Guadalajara enter the city, and you can imagine what they would do with everything!
The Dean seemed displeased and even offended, because almost without pausing, he answered me without disguising his anger:
-Andres, just because we gave you permission to enter the archives doesn't mean you're allowed to meddle in matters that don't concern you. I know what needs to be done, and when it needs to be done! So, go on your way and mind your own business!
What was happening was that the Dean and the bishop were more concerned about their personal safety than that of the cathedral's valuable funds, and, to top it off, they were also at loggerheads over the issue of bonds and stocks. So one for the other no one cared. As I entered the cathedral I had a feeling that it would not be long now with that calm and sepulchral silence, and that events were coming that could destroy what had taken hundreds of years to create and preserve.
The arrival of the militiamen
My instinct did not deceive me and 24 hours later the first columns of militiamen entered the city. But before describing that spectacular and violent irruption, it is convenient to clarify the circumstances that had led them to our city, when in fact it was not foreseen.
As I have already said, the first week of the coup was favorable to the Republic and it would have been enough to carry out the subsequent counter-offensives against the columns that tried to take Madrid to put an end to it. Therefore, several trains were organized for Zaragoza, crowded with militia fanatics, who already took for granted the recovery of the capital of Madrid, and no doubt they would have achieved it with relative ease if they had marched taking advantage of the Navarra column retreating towards Aranda de Duero. But, in my opinion, the General Staff of the Republic must have assumed that if the militiamen, mostly cenetistas, communists and radicalized socialists, close to the ideas of the anarchists, recovered the city, they would not do it for the Republic, but they would have immediately declared libertarian communism in all Aragon, because they would meet on the eastern flank with Durruti's column, which was setting out almost at the same time from Barcelona, also with the intention of recovering Zaragoza. Therefore the Republic had to defend itself on two fronts at the same time: on the outside, against the rebels, and on the inside, against the anarchist militiamen, obviously, without it being obvious. But this same problem was also faced by the military rebels with the Falangists, who as soon as they took a town, and after carrying out the consequent bloody "purge of the Reds", declared their system fascist, leaving the towns under the command of a "chief" of a squadron. Therefore, the Government must have thought that it was better to keep all these people on the Madrid front, in order to control them and ensure their defense, and postpone the march on Zaragoza until the regular Republican Army could be reorganized and have sufficient troops.
Therefore, thousands of armed militiamen were blocked in Guadalajara, indignant because the Government did not allow them to march towards Zaragoza. As they were eager to go into action, Jiménez Orge must have understood that he could not keep them in the city without doing anything, since the front was above all in Somosierra, and he must have allowed them, under the command of their own leaders, such as the anarchist Feliciano Benito, and in their own vehicles, which they had requisitioned the day before all over Madrid, ostensibly labeled with the initials of their organizations, to march towards Sigüenza to "block the Henares" and have a shock force in the vanguard, but without offering them many guarantees to come to their aid if they were in trouble. The only condition was that they be placed under the command of a Republican soldier, whose responsibility fell on the moderate and sensible Martínez de Aragón. He would arrive a few days later with a company of assault guards as his personal escort, among whom was the capital Ernesto.
Thus, the militiamen, who wanted nothing more than to get into action as soon as possible, agreed to assume the risks and must have thought that taking the city of Sigüenza, unarmed and without rebels, was not the same as the glorious enterprise of recovering Zaragoza, but it was not bad for a start. So on Saturday, July 25, which dawned a clear and bright day, ideal for a "country excursion", as the Austrian militiawoman Mika Etchebéhère, who later accompanied these militiamen with a column of the P.O.U.M., would describe these marches, got into their trucks and, excited by the prospect of a first baptism of fire against the fascists, they headed for our city. Undoubtedly the bishop must have received a call alerting him of the imminent arrival, because as soon as he heard about it he began to hastily prepare his bags to leave the palace, since he still did not dare to leave the city.
-Don't just stand there, Andrés, and make sure all the doors to the street are closed! Oh, and also tell the driver to get the car ready and make sure it has gas. God knows if we'll still have time to get out of here! -And, gesturing with his hand for me to hurry, he picked up the phone and asked the switchboard for Don Roman's number. When he had it on the machine, I heard him ask him if he could stay at his house, but the answer must have been negative, because he answered in displeasure: 
-How do you want me to stay in the palace if this will be the first place they'll attack? Yes, I understand, but I will have to hide somewhere until I see what happens, and if the nationals take Sigüenza.... And where will you go with the roads infested with reds? .... Well, well, I'll hang up, I have to make other calls... let's see if I can find a place to hide!
I reluctantly did as I was ordered, but the driver was nowhere to be found. It was likely that he had left the palace at the first rumors of the arrival of the militiamen. But I did meet the troubled doorman, who did not know whether to leave or stay, but given his age, and since that was where he lived, he chose to stay. We closed the doors and both of us retired to his home, leaving the bishop busy looking for a notable family that would want to take him in.
-If they come here, let them keep what they want, but I don't think they'll hurt me, I'm just a worker like them!
-Don't worry, Angustiano, the bishop is exaggerating. You'll see, nothing will happen!
I had not finished speaking when we heard the sound of cars driving up the street of the seminary, I looked out the window and the image seemed to me to be typical of an epic story of those that I used to read in the books of the cathedral archives, referring to the apotheosis of medieval knights and their hosts once the siege of the walled city of the day had been surrendered. Several trucks came loaded with a multitude of militiamen, among whom I could see many women with their hair blown by the wind, waving a multitude of red flags with the hammer and sickle or the fist and the rose, and red and black of the cenetistas, amidst a euphoric shouting, in which threats to the possible fascists of the city stood out. More than militiamen, they looked more like the young men of the floats of some fair or major festival, if instead of blue overalls they had come dressed in festive clothes, and instead of flags they carried the banners of their patron saints. Such was the euphoria and joy of those unconscious boys!
Feliciano Benito's car, perfectly visible by the initials of the "C.N.T.-F.A.I." and a sign that read "Comandante" (Commander), headed the procession. They advanced slowly until the lead car was in the center of the square where the market was held, where that Saturday, which was also a holiday because it was the day of the Apostle St. James, patron saint of Spain, no stalls had been set up. I could not continue contemplating that fascinating scene because I heard the shouts of the alarmed bishop from the door that connected the palace with the seminary.
-They're already here, Andrés; the Reds have already arrived! What do we do now? Blessed be the Lord, and we're trapped here like rabbits! Don't open the door, Andrés, maybe they'll pass by and go up to the Town Hall! If you see that they continue, we'll take the opportunity to go out through the garage door! Do you understand me, Andrés? We'll see what we'll do later! Oh, and don't go looking for the gun I've hidden, because if they come in and see it, we won't be saved!
Despite his hysteria, I remained calm and, by the festive air of the militiamen, I had the impression that their intentions were not as aggressive as the bishop feared. I told him that I would remain with the doorman, keeping an eye on the door, and the prelate re-entered the palace mumbling complaints and without ceasing to lament.
The trucks stopped along the street and the militiamen began to dismount, passing the heavy rifle from one to another, so that I noticed a certain clumsiness and lack of habit in using it. Most of them wore some personal adornment that had no military connection, such as a broad Mexican hat, a rabbit's foot hanging from their belts, or a red handkerchief tied around their necks or waists, especially the girls. They were grouped according to their organizations and called each other more by nicknames than by names. There were some who were nicknamed "Ladrillo", "Stalin", "Chata", "Calzones" or "Garbancito", nickname of a boy who was not even fifteen years old, and whose rifle was bigger than his own. The truth is that they were more scary than scary, and I felt like opening the doors and going out to greet them, but the doorman didn't have it all his own way, so we remained waiting to see what their first move would be.
When they regrouped, a certain commotion formed in the square, where Feliciano Benito apparently gave the first orders. One of them was, precisely, to come to the palace and bring the bishop before a revolutionary committee! This committee was being formed at that moment in the Post and Telegraph office, presided over, of course, by the anarchist leader of the C.N.T.
Long live the Republic!
When I saw that a large group of militiamen, with more or less marching order, were heading for the palace, I understood their intentions, and then I was really frightened. Instinctively I withdrew from the window and closed it violently. The bishop must have been already looking for a place to hide, and the poor doorman turned pale and asked me in anguish:
-They're coming, Andrés, and now what do we do?
-What do I know! We'll see what their intentions are!
When they were concentrated between the steps and the door of the palace, one of them, surprised to find it closed, knocked loudly using the heavy knocker at the entrance. I did not know how to react, but following the bishop's instructions, I did not answer. One of the militiamen suggested that perhaps because it was summer there would be no one in the palace, but someone from the town shouted from the street that they had seen the bishop enter the day before and that we must be inside, but that we did not answer. The militiamen responded with a confused shouting demanding that we open the door.
-Open up at once or we'll break the door down!
From the aggressive tone of that militiaman I feared that the bishop might be right after all, and the intentions of those people were not as peaceful as I naively believed, so I remained silent, but aware that the situation could not be maintained for long. A militia woman, who was nicknamed the "cartucheras", because she carried a pistol and two large cartridge cases with ammunition hanging from her belts, shouted angrily:
-Let's not wait any longer, if they don't open, we'll break down the door, and if they don't give in, we'll set the whole palace on fire!
A militiaman lost his temper and hit the door with the butt of his rifle, but he must have had it loaded with the bolt, because it went off and from the commotion that arose and the groan of pain that we heard, must have wounded some of those present. Then tempers flared and from the new shouting I deduced that they were trying to set fire to the thick door of the palace.
-Hide where you can, Angustiano, I'm going to open the door, because sooner or later they will come in and it will be even worse! - I warned the terrified doorman. I was no less frightened, but I understood the absurdity of such an unequal situation and, whatever happened, I decided to open the door and look for some excuse to calm the militiamen's spirits. When they heard the bolt I had the impression that all the rifles would be pointed at me as soon as I opened the door. And so it was! But even so, I had enough courage to make my excuse to them:
-I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I couldn't get here earlier because, as there is no one in the palace, we closed the door and..." I couldn't continue because the militiaman pushed me out of the way and angrily shouted at me:
-Fuck the delay, we almost killed one of our own because of you! Where is the bishop?
The question was expected, but there was no point in bluffing, because sooner or later they would find him, so I told them that I thought I had seen him in his quarters.
-Take us there, and no more bluffing or nonsense or we lose our patience!
They all entered in droves, but behind the one they called "cartucheras" and a companion of hers, no less armed and determined. Along the way they commented on everything they saw as if it seemed to them an excess and an obscenity, with comments that left no doubt of their contempt, such as: "What a saint and how much ostentation!"; "While the people live in huts, this wretch lives in a palace for himself!
It was not worth knocking to enter his office, where I expected to find him, so I opened the door and, indeed, Don Martin was waiting for them sitting at his desk, holding a rosary and with a disjointed expression, and so pale that it seemed that he had no blood left in his body. The militiaman who was leading the march, who seemed to be a person with a certain education and even with good manners, given the anarchy that reigned in the group, asked if he was the bishop, who confirmed it with a nod of his head, as if he believed that this was the last thing he would do in this world, but the militiaman simply reproached him for not having ordered the door opened earlier and asked him to get ready because he had to appear before a committee to decide what was to be done with himself. Not that the prelate was happy at the prospect, but it was better than a summary execution, as he must have expected would happen. The "cartucheras", who apparently had been thirsty since they had set out on the march from Guadalajara, even asked the prelate to bring her a basin of water, to which the bewildered but now relieved bishop responded, as if the woman were one of his regular visitors:
-Wouldn't you rather have a glass of cognac, miss?
The militia woman looked at him in bewilderment and even smiled at the incident, but asked again for the basin of water. I myself went in search of the mistress to serve them a pitcher of cold water, because most of them were also thirsty. When I returned, I could not believe the scene I was witnessing. The bishop, who had caught his breath, was trying to appease the militiamen, offering them cognac and even a Havana cigar from the box he had on his desk table. The young man in charge of the group took as many cigars as he could fit in his hand and handed them out to the others, putting one in his monkey pocket. When everyone had quenched their thirst, we set out for the market square.
How can I describe the spectacle? The bishop looked like Louis XVI led to the guillotine, amidst the feverish cries and insults of the people of Paris, thirsty to see noble blood flow until the Seine turned red. Most of the people who sympathized with the militiamen took to the streets and hurled some insult or expletive at him. In those dramatic moments, the prelate must have realized that he was not as well liked in the city as the beatas had led him to believe, and he had to listen to stronger and more obscene words than the usual pious phrases of his co-religionists. Frightened but amazed that he was still alive, he walked the fifty meters of the route escorted by the two militia women, who with cynicism and even unnecessary cruelty, commented among themselves, but knowing that the prelate was listening to them:
The bishop can be condemned to death for my sake, but it would be a pity for the servant, for he is not bad-looking and I would still go to bed with him tonight! -And they laughed at the mischief, while the bishop shuddered with terror.
Finally we were taken to the post office, before Feliciano Benito himself, a person with a rough and shrewd look, with a beard several days old and disheveled. He must have had precise orders to respect the bishop's life, because that was more an absurd masquerade than a trial about his fidelity to the Republic. But the anarchist leader did not want to miss the opportunity to humiliate the prelate and told him bluntly:
-If you swear loyalty to the Republic, you save your life, but if you refuse, we will have to execute you! So, you decide!
The prelate could only articulate an "I swear" without giving it much thought, so the anarchist understood that the only thing he wanted was to save his life at any cost.
-Then go out there and say loudly, for all the people to hear, "Long live the Republic!"
The bishop allowed himself to be led by the anarchists to the balcony of the post office, which overlooked the square, crowded with militiamen and townspeople, who had already lost their fear of the militiamen. When they saw him appear, the clamor was unanimous, because they believed that they intended to throw him off the balcony.
-Come on, raise your arm and clench your fist, and shout out loud!
"Long live the Republic!" -the anarchist repeated to him again, showing him himself how he should do it.
I have never seen anyone in all my life more frightened and docile at the same time, not even during the fiercest combats that I unfortunately had to attend. The prelate, awkwardly and with his face unhinged, followed the indications of the anarchist, raised his arm without much vigor and clenched his fist, as he was instructed, but his voice failed him and he could hardly pronounce what was asked of him. The people in the square seemed to be attending a circus show and shouted all kinds of insults at him, demanding the cry of loyalty, loud and clear, so that everyone could hear it. The man tried once more, and this time, in a shrill and broken voice, he finally uttered "Long live the Republic!". Red and discomposed, he was allowed to leave the balcony and the leader of the anarchists still allowed himself to humiliate him with a new comment:
-That's the way I like it, Bishop, that the Church is with the Republic and with the workers!
After that humiliation, which in other conditions and in another country would not have been necessary or even humiliating, we were allowed to return to the palace, leaving a guard posted at the door, with the absolute prohibition that the bishop could not leave it, and the prelate could finally catch his breath and even, I think, his conscience, because during the time that pantomime lasted he was not really conscious. As for me, no one gave me precise orders, so they must not even have considered that I was a seminarian. As a precaution, I covered the top of my head with that old-fashioned but useful visor beret that would serve me so well in those critical moments. Free to move, the first idea that crossed my mind was to go immediately to my town, to see what had become of Agnes.






















CHAPTER TWENTY
A revolutionary trial
While the events of the market square were taking place, groups of militiamen had received orders to control all the accesses to the city, and some, on their own, moved in several cars through the surrounding villages to check what their situation was and if there were any rebels. One of these groups had reached our town and, unfortunately for Don Román and the mayor, Don Mariano, the group had intercepted them in their cars, when, loaded with suitcases, they were about to leave it by the almost impracticable road that leads to Aragón. Once again their desire to save their patrimony had lost them, because they passed through the town to collect documents from the Town Hall with which they could later claim their properties, once the area was retaken by the Nationalists, which they believed would happen in a few days. Also traveling in the car were his wife, Doña Virtudes, and their youngest daughter, Rosarito, because after the arrest of Romanín the wife had returned to visit her son in the provincial prison. The vehicle was so loaded that it got stuck on the road and they could not continue their escape. The militiamen had been alerted of the escape by the villagers themselves, who did not hide their satisfaction when they brought them back and locked them all up in the Casa del Pueblo, awaiting a "revolutionary trial" to decide their fate.
When I arrived at the village, panting and sweating, and was able to refresh myself in the fountain by putting my head in the basin up to my neck, a tumult had already formed in front of the Casa del Pueblo, which was guarded by several armed militiamen. No sooner had I approached to ask the cause of that commotion than someone shouted behind me, "That's a priest too!". I turned around indignantly and saw that it had been the same one who had denounced Damian for robbery in my house and for spitting on his own son, after killing Don Gregorio and being led away by the Civil Guard. The whole town reacted, because then I could see that most of them had sympathy for me, and almost in unison they accused him in turn: "He really is a fascist! You should put him in with those guys in there!". The informer was frightened and tried to slip away, but the villagers blocked his way. A militiaman approached him and grabbed him by the lapel and said to him:
-You must be a fascist, for snitching! Come on, get inside! -and forced him to enter the People's House.
I wanted to make my situation clear to the militiamen, and without any further precautions, I told them the truth:
-Yes, I am a seminarian, but a Republican!
I said it with so much decision and courage that the militiaman, disconcerted at first, ended up patting me on the back and considering me one of his own. With the agitation of my arrival and the confusion of the first moments, I did not realize that Inés was in the crowd, but I felt the strength of her gaze and instinctively I turned, and we met face to face, in a magical and happy reunion, because Inés seemed to smile shyly at me, as if, at last, after so many years of doubts, ambiguities and cowardice, I had just met the Andrés she had desired since that happy Republican spring. I understood the meaning of her smile and it seemed that the whole town had vanished around me, because for a few moments we exchanged our thoughts, feelings and even desires with the unmistakable language of glances. There was no doubt, Ines was finally proud of my behavior!
I was able to convince the militiamen to let me visit the detainees, especially Doña Virtudes and her youngest daughter, who would have been terrified. Not very convinced, they allowed me to enter and the spectacle could not have been worse than I expected. The militiamen had beaten Don Román, who was bleeding from the head and trying to contain the blood with a handkerchief, Don Mariano did not show any wounds, but was sitting with his head down, totally dejected. Doña Inés, with more fortitude than I expected, was hugging her youngest daughter, and was looking at the militiamen as if she were facing Lucifer himself, but, for some reason, she must have had a clear conscience, because she showed no fear and the only thing that worried her was the suffering of the Rosarito, who, bewildered and horrified, looked from one side to the other, opening her eyes as if she was astonished but could not understand what was happening. It was evident that the poor creature was unconscious of what was happening.
When Doña Virtudes saw me, her expression changed as if in the middle of hell an archangel had appeared in person, God's messenger, to save her from torture, and she told me without being able to hide the emotion of the encounter:
-Andresito, my son, for the love of God, tell these young people that I have never wronged anyone!
And it was true, but I doubted that the anarchists saw it that way. I tried to reassure her, and turning to the one who seemed to be in charge of them, I dared to ask:
-What will you do with them?
-We are going to judge them, and if they are guilty we will shoot them all! -he said, without the least prudence for the terrified detainees. Don Román gave me a vague look, somewhere between pleading and contempt.
-But who is going to judge them? -I still dared to ask.
-A revolutionary committee! But who the hell are you to ask so many questions? -The militiaman, nervous and tense, violently pulled me away from Doña Virtudes and ordered me, without good manners, to leave the room and not to talk any more with the detainees. Then I had one of my witty ideas again, with the only intention of delaying the execution and avoiding, above all, that they could commit a barbarity with Mrs. Virtudes and her daughter. So, addressing the group in general, I made a suggestion:
-This man is a big shot from Sigüenza and must know many things, besides the names of other fascists like him, which will surely interest your commander. Take him there and after he speaks you can judge him.
The suggestion did not seem to please them, because I had the impression that the militiamen were thirsty for revenge, and had caught someone who had very little chance of proving his innocence, because the whole town, on one side and the other, accused him without regard. However, my suggestion must have seemed sensible to them, because, after exchanging impressions among themselves, they decided to take him to Sigüenza. But the mayor did not have the same luck, and they decided to give him a summary and improvised trial. Better luck had the peasant who had betrayed me, with whom they were condescending because he was the father of someone who had executed a priest, and they let him go free. The militiaman who was in the lead improvised his arguments against the mayor:
-We have seen in the car that this man was taking important documents from the City Hall, causing damage to the property of the workers, so he is guilty of treason, and I ask that we execute him right now... Does anyone want to defend him? - he asked, making it clear that this was an unnecessary formality, because no one from the improvised committee was willing to do so. It seemed to me an absurd and illegal trial, and with the unconsciousness that was already habitual in me, it occurred to me to raise my arm, implying that I was willing to try to defend him, because the mayor could not be said to be deserving of that radical punishment. But the anarchist indignantly replied: "Who the hell are you, if I may ask? How are you going to defend him if you are not a member of the committee! -And without further ado, he put the sentence to a vote: "Raise your hands, all those in favor of the death penalty!
The decision was unanimous and all arms were raised in unison. Don Mariano looked at me in terror, expecting me to intercede for him again, but the decision had already been made. He jumped to his feet, and out of his senses rushed into the street, knocking down one of the militiamen standing by the door. The latter, caught by surprise, could only alert those in the street of his escape. The poor man had barely passed through the door when he was shot by several shots from the militiamen, who with difficulty and clumsiness were barely able to arm the rifle to shoot him. The good man fell on his face in the street and the militiamen who came out after him, on seeing him shot, only thought of commenting: "He was already condemned, so we saved ourselves all the trouble of executing him! Then they took out the other detainees and, before they put them in the cars, I approached Doña Virtudes, who continued without losing her composure in spite of the violent death of the mayor, and I tried to console her:
-Don't worry, Doña Virtudes, I'll see what I can do to get you two released. What can they have against you, let alone Rosarito!
She gave me a kindly look of thanks, but without hiding her grief, because she was convinced that her husband would no longer get out alive from the place where he was taken. What the poor lady did not know was that, by then, they had already executed her son in the provincial prison, for whom there was no mercy as soon as the militiamen who occupied it learned of the crime he had committed. He started the car with the detainees and the townspeople began to clear the street. In the end a group of militiamen who were traveling in another car remained, and they chatted animatedly with Inés. She had told them who she was and the young men treated her as if she were a real heroine.
-I want to join the militia, and today if possible! -she said decisively.
-In which organization?
-In the one where my brother Juan was; in the socialists!
-With the Unified Socialist Youth? -She must have liked the name, because Agnes nodded vigorously. Then come with us to town and we'll introduce you to the delegate.
They were about to get into the car, as if nothing had happened there, while the body of Don Mariano remained in the street without anyone indicating what to do with it, when the "Tejero" suggested that the mayor's office could take care of it and have it buried at the municipality's expense.
-Do what you must, comrade, the town is in your hands! -They answered him, and then they left the town hastily accompanied by Inés, whom I would not see again dressed normally, but with the regulation blue overalls, a cap with the insignia of the J.S.U., belts, a rifle on her shoulder and two cartridge cases with ammunition. In spite of everything, I could only admire her, because she was the most beautiful and graceful militia woman in the whole battalion!
The execution of the bishop
Little by little the image of death was becoming more and more familiar. Not that it was strange in a country where cemeteries had a section dedicated to children, who died by the hundreds from any kind of diarrhea, tetanus infection, smallpox, mumps or typhus. Death was not unknown among them, but that was another death, not the one sent by God, but the one brought by the violent hand of man. But it must have had some kind of fascination, because the young men joined the militias without it crossing their minds that bullets killed, as one of their revolutionary propaganda signs read: "Militiamen! Neither the noise of the shots nor the bullet, whose whistle can be heard, kills!
They were blinded by a revolution, which was more of the consciences than of the archaic economic and political structures, as shown by the names of their organizations: "Eclectic Athenaeum", "Iberian League of Anti-State Esperantists", "Association of Penthalic Naturists", "Student Federation of Free Consciences", etc.
That of the militiamen was the Spain that dreamed, sung by Rubén Darío, Machado or García Lorca, and not the one that slept the deep sleep of intransigent history. Each militiaman carried his particular dream to the front, and fired bullets as if shooting illusions, each one more utopian and crazy, but so full of future that there was no place for the present, and even less to think about death. Meanwhile, on the other side, the bullets were of lead, cold and metallic; the soldiers spoke in Arabic or in an incomprehensible Spanish, purely old and worn out. Each volunteer or mercenary soldier carried gall in his canteen, and fanaticism in his cartridge cases, and no illusion or future in his mind. They were neither hopeful nor eclectic, nor did they like free consciences, but rather ties, chains, shackles and gags. In those days, while one side loved, the other raped; while one side recited verses of García Lorca, the other sang patriotic marches, arm in arm, blinded by the sun, opening their chests to death, caressing their pistols thinking of the extermination of half of Spain. It was, undoubtedly, the Spain that slept against the Spain that dreamed?
But that was not the time for nostalgia, because those were two days of great violence and desire for revenge, because not all the militiamen were as I have tried to describe them, but unfortunately some of them could have joined the other side if circumstances had forced them, and they would have acted in the same way, but against the "others", without stopping to think about who they really were. They were nothing but pure hucksters and opportunists, scavenger crows who, as soon as they got that dreaded "Spanish temperament", which some have mistaken for bravery, turned into simple and vulgar assassins without conscience. Fortunately, when the first military tribunals were created within the militias, many of them were shot by their own comrades, accused of being traitors to the revolution, for their unnecessary cruelty, for the viciousness with which they indulged in pillage and wanton destruction of civilian property. But during the first days of the coup, these nefarious characters were on their own and brought the negative image that the militiamen were all heartless, which was undoubtedly not the case. One of these groups was responsible for the execution of the bishop. But, although it pains me to say it, the prelate also did his part to provoke such an unjustified crime.
I returned to Sigüenza on foot and without haste, because I began to realize that I was playing with fire and in one of those unconscious interventions I would be the one executed. But there was nothing I could do to restrain myself, so I considered myself dead, it was only a matter of time. If they didn't kill me, it would be the others later, but I was beginning to have the feeling that I would not come out of it alive. My spite for life must have been caused by the feeling that my life had been a complete mistake and, to make matters worse, I had just seen how Inés was happily and smilingly getting into a car with militiamen, ready to get herself killed at the first opportunity, because it was obvious that, like the others, she was blinded by the desire to fight for the world her brother was defending.
That twilight seemed to me to be the twilight of the world and, at last, my horsemen of the Apocalypse were making their appearance and the end was near. So I wanted to savor those last hours, relieved, moreover, by the fresh mountain breeze, with fragrances of lavender and thyme. This somber image was pathetically present in the fields, where the ripe and laden ears of corn were folded on themselves, with no one to reap and harvest them. That, undoubtedly, would be a year of hunger, pain and death for all Spaniards!
That was a city taken by assault without any reason and without visible enemies, but already from the mountain one could see the smoke of some burned houses, especially those of the notables, who had abandoned them leaving the city in haste. In the streets there was nothing but the bustle of trucks moving from one place to another, carrying beds and mattresses to the improvised barracks that had been chosen by each organization. Unfortunately for the religious sisters, including the cloistered ones, most of them chose convents as their headquarters and the first thing they did was to burn the saints and tear down the images on the facades, smashing them to smithereens when they hit the ground. The second thing they did was to daub the walls with revolutionary phrases, acronyms of their organizations, or any other idea that came into their heads. One of these groups ransacked all the houses they found abandoned on Mayor Street, throwing the furniture and belongings out of the windows, then making a pyre with all of them, until they finally settled in the Franciscanas convent, which was on the same street and which served as headquarters for the communist column "Pasionaria".
The sisters forcibly evicted from the convents then proved that fear destroys all virtue and human values, because no one in town offered to give them lodging and the poor women had to wander from one place to another, to finally be distributed among the two or three guest houses, which in those circumstances were empty for lack of reapers, some even had to spend the night in the prevention of the Town Hall. And that was thanks to the intercession of the Republican mayor, because otherwise they would have had to stay in the street. Only a few families who had nuns among their own members dared to open their doors to them, but still with misgivings. This, in a mitred city, with five hundred years of absolute dominion of the Church, seemed a grotesque contradiction, but to such an extent the local Church had not helped to create civic conscience among the population, concerned only with its privileges.
In the seminary it had been decided that it would be occupied by the J.S.U. socialists, most of whom would arrive with Martinez de Aragon two days later, and the hustle and bustle was the same as in the rest of the city, but here they had more facilities, because everything was already installed to be occupied immediately. Luckily for history, they did not touch anything in the Church, because it was at the end of the building and they had no need to go through it. Anyway it is fair to say that these guys were not as fanatical as the anarchists, and did not feel so much aversion and hatred for the religious.
When I entered the seminary I went directly to the doorman's house, because I was worried that something might have happened to him. But the man was there, dumbfounded and saddened, without any work or occupation, because the door was guarded by militiamen.
-Oh, Andrés, how much destruction and how much violence, how will it all end! -he said without looking away from the window, perhaps fascinated by the incessant coming and going of vehicles and militiamen.
-What about the bishop? -I asked him, because the man had become a habit for me.
-He must be in the palace, they have him well guarded!
-And what else is new in town, Angustiano?
-They killed the president of Catholic Action and the dean! The first one seems to have been caught with a gun, and the poor dean they say he refused to give them the key to the room where they keep the cathedral's treasure and other compromised papers. But they kill them because they are priests and they will do the same to the bishop, Andrés!
I was shocked by the death of the dean, whom, despite our differences, I sincerely respected, because he was also an excellent organist.
-But who's in charge of all these people? -I asked myself out loud.
-They say that tomorrow or the next day a soldier from the Republic will come to take over the command of the city, but if he doesn't come soon, he will find nothing but rubble and corpses everywhere!
I could not return to my dormitory and had to settle in the porter's house until I could see what I was doing or if I could find a safer and quieter place to stay. As soon as I relaxed and was able to get a general idea of the situation, the cathedral and what could have happened inside came to mind. The dean, unfortunately, had not followed my advice and at that hour the catastrophe I feared most could have happened. But it was useless to try to go out into the street, much less go to the cathedral, so I resigned myself and prayed that those first outrages had not seriously affected its extraordinary artistic collections.
I had not yet fallen asleep when I heard shouting at the palace door. It must have been two or three o'clock in the morning and the voices sounded more like drunks than militiamen. I got up with a start and woke up the poor porter so that he would be ready in case we had to rush out of the seminary. As quickly as I could, I went to the palace, where there was still a commotion at the door, which, it seemed, was due to the fact that the militiamen guarding the entrance did not allow the other companions, who were determined to see the bishop at that hour of the morning, to pass through. I wanted to alert the prelate so that he would be ready for any eventuality and we crossed paths in the anteroom of the Provisorato. The man was terrified because he sensed that that visit, at that hour of the morning, could only have the intention of doing to him what they had done to the dean. Those militiamen would surely have gone from tavern to tavern celebrating the "success" of their first military operation and they should not be very happy with the idea that the bishop, whom they had to make responsible before history for all the ills of the country, was still alive, because when the Republican military arrived it was likely that he would be taken out of the city. Panic-stricken, the prelate warned me:
-Andrés, if they ask for me, you haven't seen me and you don't know where I am!
-Won't you try to leave the palace now, Don Martin?
-Don't ask questions and do as I told you!
And, without further conversation, he disappeared through the door of the cloister, where there were no militiamen or guards at that time. After a few moments, and after a struggle, the group of rioters entered the palace and I did not have time to hide because when they saw me they forced me to lead them to the bishop. I did what they asked me to do, but without informing on the prelate, I accompanied them back to the palace where I knew that Don Martin was no longer there. They were upset because they had not found him, and after searching the whole house, they threatened to kill me if I did not tell them his whereabouts, but I could only tell them the truth.
-I don't know where he is, and I don't even know if he's still in the palace!
-He hasn't left the palace because it's guarded!
I insisted, with the conviction of one who tells the truth, that I had no idea of his whereabouts and they must have been convinced, but they were not resigned to not finding him. I had to accompany them to search the palace from top to bottom and, to their misfortune, the doorman and the frightened mistress also had to accompany us, since she had the keys to the rooms that we searched one by one without finding Don Martin.
Tired of searching and increasingly upset, they gathered among themselves to try to find a way to get him out of hiding, and they did not think of anything else but to threaten to shoot the three of us if we did not tell them where he was hiding, because they did not believe that we did not know where he was hiding.
-Come on, go to the courtyard with them and shoot them all, you'll see how they talk!
Neither the mistress nor the doorman knew what to say and could not believe that they were going to commit such a crime, knowing without a doubt that we were unaware of their whereabouts. But they violently took us out into the courtyard, put us against the only lighted wall, formed a platoon, and without us even having time to react, one of them began to shout orders to shoot us. Then I understood that my presentiments of that afternoon were coming true much sooner than expected and, for some reason, I went from a first alarm and despair to a certain resignation, because it was evident that I already took for granted that something like that would have to happen to me, but I did not imagine that I would die in such an undignified and absurd way, without the least act of heroism, without testing myself in that supreme moment, nor having the opportunity of some noble act to calm my remorse and my conscience. So I forgot my own fate and thought of that of the poor mistress and the unfortunate porter, and tried to console them in the way I thought they would understand.
-Courage, brothers, that in a moment we will all be at our Lord's side, because none of us have done anything wrong and we can die in peace!
I do not know if they heard me, because I noticed that panic contracted their faces and, undoubtedly, had collapsed their consciences, but I did what I had to do and prepared to die in peace. Then we heard the shouts that are customary in every firing squad, but perhaps I thought they were louder than necessary for the firing squad to hear:
-Platoon... charge... aim... fire!
I heard the shocks and was surprised that death was so painless, and I only hoped that something supernatural would happen, since I must no longer be in that world. But nothing happened and we heard the laughter of the militiamen and the curse of the one who had ordered the firing squad.
-Nothing, that bastard won't come out of hiding, not even if we shoot the Pope!
I immediately understood that he had used blanks. The poor mistress fainted and the janitor had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing, while his belly was rotting. But we were still alive!
Frustrated but determined to find the bishop, even if it took them all night, they devised another, more subtle stratagem that the frightened prelate would fall for. Some of them left the palace in search of one of the fathers they had arrested the day before. One of them was the same one to whom the bishop had entrusted his money a day before his arrival. When he arrived at the seminary, in silence and threatened by the militiamen, they forced him to go calling the bishop everywhere, as if the priest was alone and safe and would come to take him out of the palace to flee from the city towards the Nationalist lines, which were already in Calatayud.
The bishop fell into the trap and came out of his hiding place, an improvised refuge well hidden between the roof and the vaults of the church, from where he could undoubtedly hear our simulation of the firing squad. As soon as he appeared, the indignant militiamen arrested him and, without a word, took him out into the street and put him in a car that sped off. As soon as they passed the outskirts of the town, they executed him with two shots and left his body abandoned by the roadside, returning to the town no doubt satisfied with their action, having gotten away with it, and because with this new execution they had succeeded in decapitating the local Church.
The next morning, when his own companions learned of the event, they returned to the place of the murder and did not think of anything else but to cremate his body, so that no trace of him would remain and the causes of his death could not be established.
I do not know what became of the assassins, but that same day Commander Martinez de Aragon arrived in the city, but marked by this tragic event, which no doubt he would have wished to avoid.


























CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST
Preparations
In spite of all those unfortunate events, there was still no talk of "civil war", but rather of a military coup that was reaching alarming proportions. The inept General Mola was on the point of ordering his troops to retreat to the Duero River, because the militiamen of the mountains had practically defeated them at the Alto de los Leones. But he received new reinforcements from the two Castilian capitals and from Navarre, and in this way the first front of the war was stabilized on both slopes of the sierra. Nor did they successfully complete their offensives on Bilbao and San Sebastian. As is well known, this general did not stand out for his heroism in the battlefields, but for his repressive ferocity in the rear. He was not only merciless with the workers or militiamen who fell into his hands, but also with his factories, because he justified the bombing of the industrial zone of Bilbao by arguing that without factories there would be no more workers, that they were all communists.
It was in these crucial days when, in my opinion, the Spanish civil war was really unleashed, which, as I have said, must have already been in the plans of the Nazi General Staff. Thanks to a diplomatic ploy, supported by France and the United Kingdom, the Republican fleet was forced to lift the siege against Ceuta, and Franco was finally able to organize the crossing of the strait. Only he alone had sufficient offensive capacity to continue the coup and turn it into a long and bloody civil war; the other generals had failed, because they launched themselves into the adventure without measuring their forces or counting on the enthusiastic and combative reaction of the militiamen. If Franco had not received in those crucial moments German and Italian transport planes to carry his troops to the peninsula, the coup would have been over in a week. But, as I have already suggested, in my opinion the militiamen would not have laid down their arms, but would surely have taken advantage of the situation to make their revolution, without the Republic having the capacity to prevent it, with the Army divided and humiliated. This must have been, undoubtedly, the reason why the supposedly democratic Europe, and in some cases also republican, did not try to prevent that decisive foreign intervention. So, if by then there was already in Spain any agent at the service of foreign powers, it was undoubtedly General Franco.
Thus, while Franco took his troops to Seville, Mola, who appointed another military officer to command the operations, had to decide that Madrid could be taken through Guadalajara, for which he needed to occupy our city, halfway between Zaragoza and Madrid, and on the railroad track that linked both cities. For this purpose he mobilized some battalions, once the Somosierra front had been consolidated, to join the division that was leaving Zaragoza at that time with the same intention. As Jiménez Orge must have known about these new plans, he started a column from Guadalajara, formed by militiamen, to which would be added the Trotskyites of the P.O.U.M., and several companies of assault guards, to take Atienza, stop the column of García Escámez, and cut their communications with Navarra. At that time in this city there was only a company of civil guards entrenched in its rocky castle and some local Falangists, but they were able to repel the first attempts to take this city by the optimistic militiamen of Sigüenza. So Atienza was going to be the real baptism of fire of those boys, who barely knew how to gouge their rifles and shot partridges and rabbits for target practice.
To my misfortune and alarm among them was already Inés, who had been accepted into the J.S.U. militia and was staying, with other girls from her company, in the same seminary. The first time we met, already dressed as a militia woman, she was leaving the seminary in the company of other girls, and when she saw me she saluted me with her hand on her forehead in a military attitude, and with the same determined and martial air, she said to me:
-I can't dawdle, Andrés, we're going to target practice!
I noticed that she was holding the heavy marker with difficulty on her shoulder and that she must have already been resentful of the first practices with that huge weapon for her. It was pathetic to see her so happy and cheerful, when she would be nothing more than a beautiful target for the civil guards as soon as she came within range, which could unfortunately happen in a few days, before she even knew how to use her weapon. But the other girls didn't seem to have any more fluency than she did, there was even one of them, called "Emma", whose butt was grazing the ground because of how short and petite the girl was. How could that army of innocent creatures take on the hardened legionnaires or the fanatical and well trained requetés? How could those little girls launch themselves to take a position defended by the cold and professional civil guards? I tried to smile and wish her good luck in her practices, but no smile came out, because I was already seeing Inés bleeding to death in the middle of those barren and arid wastelands, as were the mountains near Atienza. She must have sensed my dismal thoughts, so she continued on her way without saying goodbye. Perhaps Inés already feared that something like this could happen to her and could not allow herself to be demoralized, because if she sacrificed herself, she owed it to the memory of her brother.
I could not leave Inés alone, but I had neither the courage nor the conviction necessary to enlist myself with the militiamen. Again I managed to join them without taking up arms. By then Martínez de Aragón was already in town, accompanied by the captain I had helped in the hospital, and I asked him to allow me to accompany the militiamen as a nurse, liaison or any other mission without having to take up arms or participate directly in the fighting. The captain must have understood my misgivings about my being a seminarian and got the medical officer of the Red Cross to take me into his service. He made me take accelerated first aid classes: how to stop a hemorrhage with a tourniquet, suture a wound, disinfect it, splint a broken arm, move a wounded man with internal bleeding, etc., and I even assisted in several cures of accidental gunshots of some of the militiamen during shooting practice, until the military doctor considered that I was ready for my new job. At least, if Inés fell, and she was only wounded, I could attend to her myself and thus save her life!
The preparations for the offensive against Atienza made the militiamen nervous and created situations of great tension and violence among themselves. The tension was due to their misgivings about putting themselves under the command of a Republican officer and obeying his orders, because they wanted to be commanded by those leaders freely elected in their committees or assemblies, and not by military men whom they considered "bourgeois".
It was foreseen that a mixed column, formed by companies of all the organizations, and the assault guards, would leave Sigüenza in several vehicles, some conditioned as "armored" with simple metal plates that would not withstand the first mortar shell, and would join the main one from Guadalajara, almost at the gates of Atienza, to, once grouped and under the orders of Jiménez Orge, begin the offensive. At that time neither Inés nor I knew that her brothers were coming with the P.O.U.M. column, nor did they know that her sister was a militia member of the J.S.U. The day before the march I tried to give Inés some advice in case she was wounded, which I had learned from the military doctor, but with all the commotion at the seminary it was not possible to reach her.
It was an extraordinarily clear and starry night, undoubtedly ideal for a romantic stroll through the alameda or along the paths of the Henares River, where, as always, nightingales were singing in the leafy groves. Worried about the fate of those creatures, I could not get to sleep and I kept telling myself that fate could not be so cruel as to allow Inés to fall in her first baptism of fire. I tried to be optimistic and convince myself that it was so, but despite the bad omens, they were stronger and I could no longer get the lifeless image of Inés out of my thoughts, which tormented me. Although I finally fell asleep, I woke up again, startled and sweaty, just at the moment when a civil guard pointed his gun at me, while I held in my arms Inés, who, bloodied, seemed to be already dead in my nightmare. There was nothing to do and I could not fall asleep again until dawn, when the commotion of the militiamen woke me up for good. I was tired and deeply depressed when preparations began to be made for the Atienza offensive.

The reunion
This was not a day for going to war, but for a picnic, and these boys were not the right ones to take part in a bloody battle, but in a country party, judging by their enthusiasm, at least what they seemed to have, because it was evident that this uproar was nothing more than the consequence of their fears. It was clear from their expressions that they could not get the image of what awaited them out of their minds, but they seemed to fight against those evil thoughts and compensate for them with jokes, banter and bravado against their future enemies. The column formed when it was barely dawn and the street still remained in that gloomy half-light of dawn. I don't think that most of them could have slept better than I did and that they had not also had their nightmares, because it seemed as if they had washed their sleep away under the water tap, for most of them had their hair still wet. As always happens, in each group there was a natural and spontaneous leader, capable of raising the spirits of his companions, with his optimism, generated in some hidden and inexplicable place of his spirit.
The truth was that those boys believed that Atienza would not be defended, and that they were so superior and numerous that taking the town would be child's play. Only if they were taken care of by a group of the bravest and most determined, they would fall practically without a fight. With this mistaken idea the trucks left amid shouts, cheers and revolutionary songs. I met with the military doctor in a vehicle fitted out as an ambulance, which was nothing more than a delivery truck belonging to one of the people, with which he used to go as a messenger between Sigüenza and Madrid, and with a red cross painted with little trace on the sides and on the roof. But you could smell the formaldehyde and you could see that it had been carefully disinfected. What surprised me was the optimism of the doctor, who thought he had enough with that vehicle in which, at most, we could evacuate four or five wounded, and in bad conditions.
We started up and got in the tail of that noisy column and already in the first slope some trucks had difficulties to go up it, such was their age and the state they were in. As we headed up the straights of the valley of the Salado River we had our first shock, because we saw a small plane appear from the west and the militiamen took it for the enemy. They stopped the trucks and jumped onto the road, throwing themselves to the ground and into the ditches, and they were about to shoot at it when they recognized the "Negus", the small plane that used to deliver "El Socialista" every morning, launching it from low altitude. The pilot, who had the cockpit open, saluted the militiamen on his low flight and they responded with enthusiastic "Viva la madre que te parió!", "Viva el Negus!", referring to his condemnation of Mussolini's invasion of Ethiopia. There was no doubt that the timely flight of that small plane, which this time instead of newspapers had planned to drop bombs on the enemy positions, raised the morale of the militiamen, who the rest of the way already did it singing loudly revolutionary songs and refrains:

"It drops bombs that spit shrapnel.
It does not matter that our blood stains the stones of our path.
Up with the poor of the world!"


"With reality we don't want king,
we want a president who governs well.
Down with the clergy, nuns and friars. Down with all the generals.
Down with anyone who is a rascal.
Up with the revolution!"


To finish with the one that was most chanted by all:


"Oh, Maricruz, Maricruz, marvel of a woman!
O Trinity, Trinity, Trinity, she of the Royal Gate!"


In this good mood, we arrived at the junction with the Guadalajara road and contacted Jiménez Orge's column without, for the moment, any encounter with the rebels. The trucks stopped and once again there was enthusiasm among the militiamen, who, seeing that line of vehicles and cars, some small artillery pieces and machine guns installed in vehicles, must have thought that the mere presence of so much war material and personnel would be enough to surrender the city.
I accompanied the military doctor to present himself to the commander of the column and we drove with our improvised ambulance through the line of trucks in the direction of the command car. In one of the trucks, labeled with the initials of the P.O.U.M. I thought I saw Benjamin, but I was reluctant to believe that it was him, so changed he was, and who was in Durruti's column, at that moment heading towards Caspe. But he was so similar that I shouted at him:
-Hey, buddy, aren't you Benjamin Valiente?
When the Benjamín recognized me, he jumped out of the truck and stood in front of the ambulance, shouting at me in surprise and, no doubt happily, because of this unexpected reunion.
-Andrés Lafuente! But what the hell are you doing here?
I asked the doctor for permission to greet the Valiente brothers and jumped out of the vehicle, hugging him as tightly as possible. Behind him was Damien, but also so changed that I was not able to recognize him at first. The Benjamin had a bushy beard and looked even older than the Damien, no doubt because he had suffered more hardships than him.
-Benjamin, you look like a general!
-Where is your cassock, Andrés? Don't tell me you're going to be a doctor now?
In the midst of the excitement of that fortuitous meeting, I did not know how to tell them that Inés was in the Sigüenza column, because I knew they would be happy to see her, but, at the same time, they would suffer as I myself did for the fate that might befall her in that dangerous offensive. So, while they anxiously waited for me to update them on the things of the town, of the mother and sister, I thought of a way to tell them the truth. I didn't give it any more thought and told them without thinking about their reaction:
-Inés is here, in the Sigüenza column!
The two brothers looked at each other in astonishment and I could immediately see from their expressions their deep concern.
-Has this girl gone crazy? Is she trying to get herself killed? Where is she, Andrés? Come on, we have to convince her to go back to town right now!
I was pressured in such a way that I did not even have the opportunity to ask the doctor for permission to leave, and we hurried back along the long column towards the crossroads, where ours was parked. Inés, still in a truck, saw us coming, but did not seem to react, because, as happened to me, she did not recognize her two brothers at first either. When she finally realized it was them, she shouted at them, waving her arms in the air like crazy, so that we would see her:
-Benjamin, Damian, brothers; I'm here, here!
The Benjamín was the first one who jumped on the truck and, still with his rifle on his shoulder, embraced his sister, without either of them being able to hold back their tears. Then Damien did the same and the three of them remained hugging each other in silence for a long time. Their companions watched the scene without being able to avoid being infected with emotion, because they immediately understood the extraordinary nature of this reunion in such dramatic circumstances.
The three brothers were still in each other's arms when the whistles began to blow indicating that the march was resuming. Orders and shouts were heard everywhere calling the militiamen to get in their trucks and prepare for the advance. I had to return to my ambulance, and I watched as the two brothers, agitated and confused, did not know what to do. Finally, they had no alternative but to rejoin their units, and Benjamin, hugging his sister again, jumped out of the truck and shouted to her from the road, marching back to his column:
-Inés, for our poor mother's sake, don't take any risks and don't do anything crazy, you don't have any experience!
Inés, still in tears, tried to force a smile and nodded her head, implying to her brother that she would listen. She started the truck and swayed awkwardly, clinging to her companions. The two brothers waved to her one last time, as they ran to their respective vehicles. I, too, rejoined my ambulance, and the Benjamin, as if fearing the same thing I did, pleaded with me in anguish:
-Andres, if you can, don't let her out of your sight! Don't let her take any risks... let her stay in the rear until she has more experience! But she can't even handle the machine gun!
Baptism of fire
The sun was already shining brightly when our column headed the last stretch of the route before the battle. We overcame the winding curves of the hillside and soon we were in sight of the plateau, from which the castle and the misty peaks of the Sierra de Ayllón were dominated. There, too, the wheat fields were unharvested and the ears of corn were broken and fallen. Jiménez Orge stopped the column, placed the few artillery pieces available and after exchanging impressions with Feliciano Benito, of the C.N.T., and Martínez Vicente, of the P.O.U.M., he ordered the militiamen to advance and deploy. But due to their lack of experience in military tactics, they did not understand the meaning of that order, and after getting off the trucks each group did what they thought best. They began the advance without even taking the elementary precaution of looking for an appropriate terrain to take cover in case they were attacked from the rebel positions. These were not only located in the city, but, warned of the offensive, they had placed several machine guns on a nearby hill, from where they also dominated the plateau and in the foothills of the mound where the town is located. They had barely begun the deployment when the "Negus" appeared again and dropped several bombs on the supposed enemy emplacements, which again provoked enthusiasm among the militiamen. Then Jiménez Orge ordered artillery fire to be opened to prepare the ground for the militiamen, who, practically in the open, advanced optimistically because not a single enemy shot had yet been heard, except for the machine gun bursts against the Republican plane, which managed to escape unharmed. We saw the explosions of mortars at various points on the hill, but they did not seem to have made any important target.
I did not lose sight of the J.S.U. truck where Inés was going and I could see that they were deployed on the western flank, not towards the town, but towards the hill that divides the plateau, where the road to Aranda de Duero passed. At least, I thought, that that was a more protected terrain and there would be a place to take shelter, but I did not know that that was the place where the machine guns of the Guardia Civil were stationed, waiting for the unsuspecting militiamen.
Our artillery continued firing on enemy positions and a shell hit the castle itself, where the civil guards were entrenched. Only the companies of assault guards still remained in the rear, perhaps because Jiménez Orge did not trust the militiamen and had them in reserve to present the real battle, once they knew where the main points of resistance were. I was not far from the commander and I could hear him, with a deeply worried expression, commenting with one of his officers:
-This is going to be a slaughter! These guys don't even know how to deploy! Look how they're going, without covering the flanks; without securing the rear! As if this were their town's heifers and the fascists were the steers! Go and prepare two companies of Assault troops to cover the flanks and the retreat, because it won't take five minutes for the party to start! And get the doctor and the nurses ready, they're going to have work to do!
The commander was right, and in a moment the plateau became an inferno. Machine guns began to fire from the hill and the slopes near the town and shells began to fall everywhere, fired by the rebel artillery stationed somewhere in the town. It was not easy from my position to really see what was going on, but it was evident that the militiamen were surprised and tried to take cover wherever they could. My first reaction was to think with alarm about the fate of Inés and I hurried to urge the medical captain to come to the aid of the possibly wounded. The doctor did not hesitate, because it was evident that some of them must have already been wounded in the face of that unexpected enemy fire.
Two stretcher-bearers to the west and the others, with care, on the plain, but let two guards accompany each of them!
Without hesitation, I chose the area where the Inés had been deployed, and without being able to contain my anguish for what I might find, we walked with difficulty, so as not to be exposed, the rough terrain covered with gorse, broom and tough thistles, in the direction of the militiamen. As we got closer we could hear the explosions of the shells fired from Atienza and the machine gun bursts coming from anywhere on the hill.
It was not easy to move under that fire and we had to stop and take cover on more than one occasion when we heard the whistling of the mortars, which were already falling fifty meters from where we were and we had not yet contacted the militiamen.
In one of the few moments when there were no shells falling, I thought I heard the broken sobs of a possible wounded person. I almost crawled along the ground towards the small watercourse where the crying was coming from, and there was Ines, huddled up, covering her face with her hands, panic-stricken and unable to avoid a hysterical cry, startled by every moving explosion. She didn't seem to be hurt, but it was obvious that at the first explosion, panic had overcome her good spirits and she had collapsed, unable to move from the hole in the ground where she had taken shelter. I thanked God that she was still alive and tried to reassure her.
-Inés, it's me, Andrés! You're not hurt?
When she saw me, as if she were a lost and frightened child reuniting her mother, she clung to me tightly and I noticed that she was burning and her whole body was trembling violently, and that she was not even able to articulate words. At last she opened her eyes, and terrified she could only exclaim:
-I'm afraid, Andrés! Get me out of here; get me out of here!
But since she was not injured, the partner and the guards accompanying us did not agree to evacuate her, so I tried to reassure her and promise her that we would do it as soon as possible.
-Calm down, Inés, I'll get you out, but you have to wait until we come back with some wounded! Don't move from here, and may God protect us both!
She seemed to be calmed by my good spirits, but she was still terrified and covered her ears and face with each new explosion that came near. With all the regret in my heart, I had to leave her in that place and we continued advancing with difficulty, approaching the militia lines and we came across a group that was arguing among themselves about the tactics to follow. The one who seemed most determined shouted to the others:
-What a mousetrap this bourgeois general has got us into!
How are we going to take Atienza with rifles if they shoot with machine guns?
Suddenly, we heard a burst of gunfire violently hitting the stones of the ground where we were sheltered and one of the militiamen, who was in the open, was hit in the chest, collapsed and died on the spot, because the bullet had hit him in the heart. It was so fast that we were barely able to react. I approached the body and can only confirm that the poor boy was already lifeless. Then the dreaded Spanish temper came out, and the one who was in the lead, red with rage, began to shout like a madman:
-Sons of bitches, murderous fascists, now you will see how a communist fights!
And out of his mind, he left the slope and rushed out into the open towards the place where the shots had been fired. But his comrades, prisoners of the same anger and blindness, imitated him and raised such a hue and cry that those with the machine gun abandoned the post, although it is most likely that their weapon jammed, because they were a safe target even for an inexperienced child. In their suicidal assault they were still able to shoot down one of the civil guards in their hasty flight, which became a clamor of triumph.
-We have already killed one, comrades! This is the first one, but we are going to hunt them all down like rabbits! Long live the revolution! -they shouted euphorically, without the slightest concern for cover.
I regret to admit that I was waiting for someone to fall wounded so that I could return as soon as possible and have Inés accompany me, but, fortunately, this still took a long time to happen, because it seemed that the enraged militiamen took over the hill and took over the machine gun posts. Finally a mortar explosion hit one of them in the arm, giving him a terrible tear that went all the way to the bone. I gave him a tourniquet and splinted him as best I could, because he was practically hanging, and we evacuated him, returning for Inés, who was still huddled in the same place where I had left her, fortunately safe and sound.
Not without difficulties and risks due to the shells that did not cease to fall, we reached the aid station and were able to attend to the first wounded. The other stretcher bearers had not been so lucky, since the terrain was open, they had had difficulty in evacuating them and, although they had already brought several, it was possible that some more were left unattended.
Inés, shattered and ashamed of her cowardice, tried to compensate by attending to the wounded according to my and the doctor's instructions. The most serious were the shrapnel wounded and we had to evacuate them urgently to the hospital in Sigüenza or they would bleed to death right there. Poor Inés found the strength and the little courage she had left after recovering some courage, so as not to faint in the face of those terrible wounds.
In spite of everything Jiménez Orge was hopeful of taking the city, and at mid-morning he was already preparing the advance of the assault guards. But unexpectedly four airplanes appeared from the east side and the commander must have immediately understood that, contrary to the reports he had been given about the situation of the rebels of Atienza, they had several pieces of artillery of the 15 ½ and, above all, with that aircraft, which would have taken off from the nearby airfield of Barahona. Later we learned that at the beginning of the battle, a company of requetés stationed in Medinaceli left hastily towards Atienza, with more than half a dozen pieces of 15 ½ artillery, but in the midst of the heat of combat they could only place two pieces. As for the planes, they were the first German "Heinkel" bombers that Hitler had sent to Franco, circumventing the "non-intervention" agreement. When they appeared in the sky, the militiamen believed that they were Republican planes, but when they saw the first bombs being dropped on them, they understood that they were enemy aircraft.
The planes not only bombed the advanced positions but also the defenseless rear guards and Jimenez Orge's own command post, since we had no anti-aircraft weapons. Some bombs destroyed part of the transport trucks and the few artillery pieces still available, which were also disabled. Finally, in the early afternoon, without any possibility of continuing the offensive and with most of the militiamen in disbandment, surprised by the bombardment of the air force, Jiménez Orge had to order the retreat, but not without being violently answered by the militiamen, who had practically taken the hill near the village.
The offensive had failed spectacularly! To make matters worse, we would have to suffer the humiliation of having to return to Sigüenza on foot, because there were not enough means of transport, which was a hard blow to the morale of the shattered militiamen. In the fields of Atienza there were at least a dozen corpses, and in the available trucks we evacuated about fifty wounded, some would not make it to the hospital alive. I returned in the ambulance and got Inés to accompany me as well, with the excuse of attending to the wounded we were transporting. We did not speak a single word the whole way, not only because of the desolate frustration in which that euphoric march on Atienza had ended, but also because we should both be thinking that that had been the first act of a civil war and in our first baptism of fire we had been able to see its bitter and bloody face. 















CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Retaliation

After the disaster of Atienza, it can be said that civil war broke out in the city, and the desire for revenge was practically the only motivation of the defeated and humiliated militiamen. In vain Martínez de Aragón tried to calm tempers, and no less futile were the efforts of the municipal authorities to avoid excesses and to protect the interests of the clergy and the notable families. Already on the way back from Atienza, the militiamen thought of nothing else but to take revenge for the bitterness of the defeat with what each one considered to be guilty of the uprising. From those days on, the conflict was radicalizing the people and, little by little, they began to forge in their minds the fratricidal idea that for the future to be as they wished it was necessary to exterminate half of Spain that did not think the same way. Unfortunately, this thought was not only common in the national side, but it was beginning to be felt with the same irrationality in the republican side, especially among the anarchists and the most extreme communists and socialists.
In this way all opportunity for dialogue and understanding was broken and two sides, grotesquely valued, were created, destined to eliminate each other. But to tell the truth, this was already a common feeling on the national side. The Falangists, in charge of the ideological cleansing in the rearguard, murdered hundreds of people a few meters away from the prisons, from where they were taken out and their bodies were abandoned so that their own relatives, almost in secret in order not to be reprisalized, managed to bury them, when they were not buried in common graves. On the Republican side, the commanders and even militia delegates, soon made an effort to put a stop to this type of behavior, creating more or less equanimous tribunals, but which at least curbed the anger and the orgies of death that took place among the Nationalists.
But while the reprisals against civilians were relatively contained, those against the Church and its members were not so lucky and the clergymen were persecuted and accused of "sedition and complicity with the rebels" for the simple fact of being part of the Church, which they considered to be the inducer and cause of all the evils of the country, as could be read in the anarchist newspaper "Ruta": "The oppressed people set fire with their torch to as many dens of obscurantism and deceit as they found in their path: churches, convents, prayer centers, everything that smelled of incense and darkness was the pasture of the flames". Or this one, even more significant: "The Catholic dens no longer exist. The torches of the people have reduced them to ashes".
This was the same thing that the day after the defeat the most exalted militiamen of the city proposed to do, and after recovering after the defeat and the long walk they began their task with real enthusiasm. But it was not exempt of certain theatricality, because to such an extreme they hated everything related to the Church that it was necessary the greatest possible scorn and mockery to demystify what could be sacred in its symbols.
Thus, from the early hours of the morning an enraged group of militiamen began to ransack the church of the convent of Los Huertos, of Visigothic origin, tearing down saints, altars, icons and exhuming tombs, putting their skulls on sticks that were exhibited in a grotesque procession among all kinds of insults and obscenities against the symbols of the Church. Then they tried to do the same with the small hermitage of the Humilladero, which, being in ruins, they soon abandoned, and then went to the church of Santa Maria, of a simple baroque style, and here they lingered longer, because the church had a large number of ornaments, images and altars, and to top it off, it was the depository of some of the most venerated Holy Week steps in the city. They entered the sacristy and ransacked cabinets, showcases and took from the tabernacle the monstrance itself, a beautiful piece of silver, embossed with gold ornaments and some precious stones.
One of the militiamen, one of those that on another occasion I described as simple "rowdies", dressed in religious clothing and, taking the monstrance in his hands in a theatrical and even obscene attitude, wanted to parody the Pope himself. He climbed on top of one of the pasos and proposed to his companions to perform a grotesque profane version of Holy Week, walking through the city from Santa Maria to the cathedral, making clear in this way his mockery and contempt for everything religious. The idea was unanimously approved and they set out on the grotesque march, after completely ransacking the church.
But first, to heat up the atmosphere a little, they set it on fire. Martínez de Aragón tried by all possible means to put an end to that grotesque buffoonery, especially because he feared that in the course of it there would be even more regrettable events and that, once in the cathedral, the same idea would occur to them and they would also set it on fire. Fortunately the commandant himself had put the cathedral treasure in safety and had kept it in the safe of a local bank, but there still remained in it, not only my books, but countless works of religious art, some because of their quality in themselves and others because of their antiquity. But the same commander could do nothing but collaborate with the townspeople to put out the fire in the church, who made a long chain from a nearby fountain, once the militiamen began their peculiar procession.
I was so depressed and tired that, for a moment, I forgot about the fate of the cathedral. The only thing I wanted was to rest and put my ideas in order, because, little by little, I was clearly taking the side of those enraged militiamen, and I would not have minded being so had it not been precisely for those attacks of vengeful, absurd and gratuitous fury, with which they only succeeded in gaining the enmity and antipathy of the entire population. Although they did not attach any value to it, every thing they destroyed, whether religious or civil, they considered it the property of the city and the patrimony of all. For this reason, from that very day the population stopped appeasing the militiamen and secretly wanted nothing more than to see the nationals enter. Little did they know that the repressions of these would not be so grotesque and against religious objects, but merciless and against people and for the simple fact of having sold a chicken or a ham to the militiamen.
But I could not enjoy any leisure time either, because I had created for myself the responsibility of helping the medical officer. This was a colonel of health, a slim member of the International Red Cross, who, unfortunately for the Republican side, his name alone provoked repulsion on the Nationalist side, and they bombed his hospitals as "Reds" and "Internationals", such was the irrationality of those times. Tall, bespectacled, with a sober and calm expression, he seemed to be on the fringes of the passions of the moment and had the special virtue of calming the wounded as soon as he laid his hand on them, as if that gesture alone would alleviate their pain. He never lost his temper or raised his tone of voice even in the most critical moments. He was, of course, a republican at heart and believed with absolute faith that that war would be won by the Republic, for being the side of reason, common sense and history, sufficient elements to win all wars.
He had managed to install a hospital in a palace called "Infantado", which was the headquarters of a religious community of Italian origin, and where at that time the children of the cathedral choir lived and rehearsed. It was a baroque style building, sober and balanced, and with no more ornaments than those of the facade, and in a short time we managed to improvise relatively efficient facilities, although the lack of blood was pressing, although there were many militiamen who volunteered to offer theirs for their comrades. As for the people, it goes without saying that they did not even come to the new hospital when they needed it, but continued to go to the one in the bishopric.
So that day, while the militiamen were acting out their grotesque comedy all over the city, I was already in the hospital doing what I was told to do, assisting in emergency operations, removing wounded or destroyed organs, even amputating an unrecoverable arm or leg. I do not know where I got the courage for that job, but the truth is that the human being does everything, and soon I considered it as a routine, without letting myself be carried away by passions, but to imitate the medical colonel and behave at all times with the same sobriety and professionalism.
In the early afternoon the hospital was quiet and most of the wounded were stabilized and sedated, so relative calm reigned. As the hospital was adjacent to the cathedral, which could be accessed through the door leading to the cloister, I wanted to check that everything was in order and that the militiamen would not dare to commit the monstrous barbarity of setting fire to it.
I have always sinned of optimistic and I have trusted too much in the good faith of the people, because when I arrived they had already looted part of the chapel of the Virgen de la Mayor, removed its images, benches and the Holy Week statues that were in it and they were preparing to make a pyre with all of them in the atrium. Horrified, I could not avoid to interfere and to put my life at risk again, because it was evident that that would not be more than the beginning and later they would finish for plundering the whole cathedral. One of them was about to set fire to the pyre when I pushed him violently, preventing him from doing so. The militiaman, who had seen me with the medical colonel in Atienza, was confused at first, but the violence with which I knocked him down made him indignant, and getting up from the ground he rushed at me with the intention of hitting me. Thanks to the fact that the Benjamín was with the group and came to my defense I was able to prevent that indignant militiaman from hitting me.
-There must be no quarrels among us here! And you, Andrés, you'd better leave... what we are doing is what must be done... We must do away with the Church and its symbols or there will never be justice or peace in this country!
I myself was convinced that the Spanish Catholic Church had not acted as expected of a community that should promote peace and harmony, but that was no reason to raze history and its works to the ground. That is why I felt inspired and courageous enough to improvise a plea for the pardon of those objects.
-Years from now no one will remember any of you as people, but you will be remembered as the ones who burned the cathedral of this city. By then this madness will be over and its wounds will have healed and grudges forgotten, and people will return to this place and see nothing but a pile of rubble, where there were works of art of incalculable value... I have faith that someday, as is already happening in other more civilized countries, religion will be a personal feeling, that each one will understand as his conscience dictates and that no Church will take advantage of the naivety and good faith of the people to use it to their advantage. No one will use religion as an instrument for political or economic ends. All these images that you want to burn have no value for the people they represent, who are nothing more than myths and legends, but they are important for the reasons for which they were carved, and it is necessary that they are there to remember them and not forget them. We do not remember men, saints or illustrious, for what they were but for the works they left us. You can destroy all the images of Jesus Christ, but this will not put an end to his example or his message... and do not doubt that Jesus Christ himself would have been on our side!...
I could not continue my plea because the mood was so heated that someone interrupted me, shouting that I was a priest disguised as a militiaman.
-This is a fascist in camouflage, let's shoot him and get him to stop giving us that crap!
I was so upset that the rifle was pointed at me threateningly. At that moment again the Benjamin had to come to my defense or else I would certainly no longer be in this world. He stood in front of me covering me from the excited militiaman and shouted at them:
-Come on, that's enough for today! We'd better save this same fury for killing fascists! Everyone back to their barracks and let's get this party over with!
The Benjamin must have had great ascendancy among the militiamen of his group, because they all obeyed and the others also calmed down. Finally, and without ceasing to swear and blaspheme against the Church and all its saints, they left the atrium and retired to their barracks. Benjamin was displeased and perhaps angered by my intervention, but our friendship outweighed his revolutionary principles. Nevertheless, he warned me without being able to avoid a certain tone of reproach:
-Next time stay out of it or I won't be able to do anything for you! You don't understand our point of view, Andrés! History can also be manipulated. Cities are full of statues of bandits, thieves and murderers that preside over public parks where children play.... We must not only do away with saints, but also with heroes! We must erase history and not think about it anymore, just live and that's it!
I did not agree with his point of view, but I did agree that, indeed, history, like religion, could also be used as a battering ram against reason and progress, and they knew more about that on the national side than on ours!
The execution of don Román

But the reprisals were not limited to churches; the fury unleashed by the failure also reached individuals.
After those disturbances were over, I went back to the hospital through the cathedral and out through the cloister, and in the nave I met Doña Virtudes and her daughter Rosarito. There were no masses in the cathedral, but she and some other blessed women continued coming and praying there in solitude and almost in secret. Since the arrival of the militiamen, Doña Inés feared for the life of her husband, who was still being held in the local jail, and the truth is that I myself was surprised that he was still alive. The reason was the stubborn resistance offered by the prison official, a man of irreproachable integrity, who would not consent to hand over the detainee without a court order.
That same afternoon, after leaving the atrium of the cathedral, the same militiamen who had arrested Don Román went up to the jail determined to execute him, whether the official opposed or not. Doña Virtudes had been alerted by some neighbors and ran in search of me in case she could do something for him. He was certainly not a person for whom I would risk my life, but in some of my readings on philosophy, perhaps by Hume or some other English philosopher, I had read that true democracy consisted in risking your life to defend the right of your political enemy to speak freely. Encouraged by this utopian principle, I told the good woman that I would do everything in my power, but the truth was that I did not give her the slightest hope.
-Mrs. Virtudes, it pains me to tell you this, but your husband has made many enemies in the village, and those who could help him have fled or are dead... It is better not to have too many illusions because these boys are very upset.
The woman, who seemed really resigned, commented without being overheard by her youngest daughter, that on the other hand with all those events her mental state had deteriorated.
-The truth is, and God forgive me for what I am about to say, it is not that I wish him dead, but even I have always been treated like a servant... And between us, and take this as a confession, Andresito, he has not respected any of our poor maids! But, still, he is my husband and I have a sacred duty to help him.
So, I had not gotten out of one mess and I was already preparing to get into another. I went up to the jail and, as Doña Virtudes told me, the militiamen were struggling with the official to hand over all the prisoners, among whom there were two priests and some other notable person of the city that I did not know.
-No prisoner is handed over without a judge's order, that's the law! -The official argued again and again, even though he knew that with his attitude he was risking his own life.
-We are the law now! These people are guilty of treason against the Republic and we have to try them and shoot them!
-What a trial if you have already condemned them! -the good man protested.
-That will be seen; you will have your trial, if that worries you, but revolutionary! And that's enough talk, either you give us the prisoner or we set fire to the jail with you in it.
The man realized that he would have no chance of asserting the rights of the prisoners, and resignedly had to give in and hand them over.
-But I have a clear conscience that I give you the keys because of threats, not because of my will!
They entered in droves and minutes later Don Román appeared, emaciated, with a beard several days old, disheveled, but above all terrified, for he must have been aware that there was nothing and no one who could save him. Not even I dared this time to mediate for his life, in spite of my convictions, because that man was already a corpse that only lacked the pantomime of the trial, and there would even be a queue of volunteers to execute him, such was the hatred they had for him.
Right there, in the square, the trial took place and to my astonishment Benjamin himself was in the lead, who no doubt saw the moment of his revenge had finally arrived.
-In the name of the workers and of the revolution, I accuse this man of having robbed the people, deceived, defamed and... raped poor innocent girls! -No doubt this last accusation referred to his own sister, so he himself was ashamed to make it public. I noticed that he was burning with the desire to finish it as soon as possible and end his life by executing him himself. The evidence is well known to those of my people and to those who are unfortunately dead because of him and can no longer present it, like my poor brother Juan. I say he should be condemned to death... Those in favor, raise your arm!
Again the condemnation was unanimous and Don Román must have felt the shudder of death, because he looked like a cornered vermin, with his eyes wide open, looking towards one and the other, as if trying to find a way to get out of the corral that surrounded him.
Without further ado, Benjamin drew his pistol and was about to execute him, when suddenly Inés appeared in the middle of the crowd and shouted at her brother:
-I'll kill him, Benjamin, it's me who has been hurt the most by this vermin!
At first I confess that I was fascinated by the transfiguration of Agnes and by that scene, but I could not allow that execution to fall on her conscience, no matter how justified it was. I left the group and, again making use of my proverbial unconsciousness, I shouted at her:
-No, Inés, forgive him; don't burden your conscience with a crime! The shouting was unanimous and everyone was calling for his death at the hands of Inés herself, perhaps fascinated as I was by that unforeseen scene. The Benjamín held me violently and forced me to be quiet at gunpoint.
-Enough, Andrés; don't keep meddling in our affairs! -and he threatened me with his pistol. But he angrily holstered it again, pushing me out of the corral, "You're nothing but naive and ignorant, and you know nothing about life! Let her execute him if she wants to, she has plenty of reasons! This is not a crime, it's a legal execution!
La Inés faced the rifle, pointed it at his head and I felt as if I were the executed. But a few moments passed and La Inés did not seem to be able to shoot against Don Román. Murmurs began to be heard, while the heavy rifle trembled in her hands, but she still could not pull the trigger, then I realized that she was sobbing, prey to the same attack in which I found her in the fields of Atienza. I don't know what went through my mind, but I tried to take the gun away from the Benjamin and execute him myself, but he avoided it by pushing me violently again. I looked at him begging him to put an end to his sister's suffering, and he must have thought the same as I did, because he drew his gun and, without hesitation, approached the terrified Don Román and executed him himself. The murmur of the militiamen showed their disappointment, but at the same time their satisfaction that the sentence had been carried out. In the midst of that confusion, Inés was about to fade away and I stepped forward to hold her. I held her rifle and tried to console her, because she was not only dejected, but again humiliated and ashamed of her cowardice.
-It is not cowardice, Inés, it is humanity! Jesus forgave his murderers while he was dying on the cross... You did what you had to do!
I don't know if that argument shocked her but, hiding her face with her hands, she rested her head on me, crying inconsolably in silence. The militia woman, whom they called Emma, approached us, took Inés by the shoulders and pulled her away from me, as if giving me to understand that she would be more consoled with her than with me, and said, barely audible, so that only the three of us could hear:
-It is not easy for a woman to take a person's life, when we are the ones who give it to her, but this was justice, Andrés!
Both women embraced each other and remained silent, in the midst of the commotion that followed the execution. Benjamín and Damián also watched the scene without intervening, and asked me to notify his wife of Don Ramón's death, because they knew I had a good relationship with the family. When I returned, I took courage and went to visit Doña Virtudes to inform her of the execution. The wife accepted it with resignation because she was already expecting it, but Rosarito did not seem to understand what had happened to her father, so I almost thanked heaven that, given the violent times, it had given her the "quality" of being able to live isolated in her personal world.
Resistance
After those days of revenge and reprisals, in which several more civilians and at least three priests were executed, accused of possession of weapons, that is, hunting shotguns, and other charges without much foundation, Martinez de Aragon gathered the delegates of the militias and told them the situation in which the city was.
Undoubtedly the culprits of wars are those who start them, but once started, other erroneous decisions make them even more bloody than they could have been. That was undoubtedly the decision of the militiamen to resist in a city that was doomed to fall into the hands of the Nationalists without possible defense because of its strategic location, in a hollow of the upper Henares valley and surrounded by mounds, which once taken made it impossible to leave the city.
After the victory in Atienza, the column of García Escámez, supported by the reinforcements both of artillery and of troops and armament coming from Zaragoza and Navarra, took without hardly resistance village after village, until arriving at the valley of the Salado river, only 15 kilometers from the city, threatening to take the heights of the northern part of the Henares, and dominating this way the railroad. For its part, in mid-August another division of rebels advancing from Zaragoza was already in Medinaceli, thus controlling the other side of the railroad and threatening to reach the very gates of the city through the extensive pine forests that separated them. In this way the city would be caught in a pincer from which only a narrow corridor along the road to Madrid would remain free, which they would not have too much difficulty to cut with the help of artillery pieces or aviation. Jiménez Orge had already given up the defense of the city and decided to concentrate all his forces, especially the assault guards, in fortifying the national road at kilometer 100, right in the small town of Almadrones, which would go down in the history of our war after the disastrous defeat of the Italians, in March of the following year.
The meeting was attended by the Valiente brothers, Feliciano Benito, Martínez Vicente, Mika Etchebéhère, the colonel of the Red Cross, and some others whose names I do not remember. As expected, the meeting was tense and there was no lack of insults against the Republican military, whom many militiamen already considered a traitor because he had not been able to get more reinforcements, ammunition and artillery pieces of higher caliber, not to mention coverage of the Republican aviation with more than the small "Negus" plane. Martínez de Aragón must have been aware of the situation, but he was determined to defend the city and had no doubt that he would convince Jiménez Orge to provide him with the necessary reinforcements.
-We can't count on more armament than what we have, and apart from the few machine guns scattered around the columns and four artillery pieces, which you have already seen what they are good for in Atienza, we only have rifles, and of three different calibers! If they enclose us in this well and attack us with artillery and aviation we will not have much chance of resisting, but our mission is to contain the rebels and prevent them from taking the city, because from here they can organize their attack on Madrid, which we have the obligation to prevent! -Martínez de Aragón tried to argue. But the militiamen had another point of view.
-If the position is so important, why don't they send us more weapons and more reinforcement troops? -commented Feliciano Benito.
-Because they are necessary on the Madrid front! -replied Martinez de Aragon, who in his heart I think agreed with this leader of the C.N.T.
-Here what we have to do is to take the City Hall and declare libertarian communism and force the population to mobilize to defend it," argued Benjamin. With courage we can defend the city and resist until Durruti enters Zaragoza, and in another week we will have them here. This is how Madrid is defended and not with these bourgeois military tactics!
-But what kind of bourgeois military tactics? - replied Martinez de Aragon, no doubt irritated by that crazy suggestion, "You can't win a war with courage and bravery alone, but with strategy and discipline! What do you think we military men do in the academies, study piano and dance?
-What libertarian communism do you want to impose in a city that is a nest of fascists! -his own brother replied.
-We are not here just to win a war, but to make a revolution! Anything less than fighting for the revolution is a betrayal of our cause! -the Benjamin replied again.
Martínez de Aragón must have understood that it was useless to continue with that meeting, because it was evident that those delegates had not yet accepted the Government's point of view.
The meeting ended with a vote by which it was decided to remain and resist, but freedom was given to those militiamen who wanted to leave the city, which many of them did, rejoining their organizations in Madrid or wherever they had left from.
Franco y Yagüe was already advancing through Extremadura, and had it not been for the decision to liberate the besieged in the Alcazar of Toledo, and because his advances were too fast and he had no fresh troops, he would have reached Madrid by the end of August, before the city had time to prepare itself for an iron defense, and he would have taken it in all probability. It was evident that the coup general feared that the war would become internationalized and that international brigades would arrive for the defense of the capital. In fact, already on the Aragon front were such well-known characters as the anarchists Rosselli, Scotti, Angeloni and Nino Nanetti. Also around this time other groups of foreign fighters were formed, such as the German "Thaelmann", the French of the "Commune de Paris", and the aviation squadron led by the Frenchman André Malraux was already operating. Even in the city there was an Austrian militia woman affiliated to the P.O.U.M., Mika Feldman, wife of an Argentine doctor, Miguel Etchebéhère, fallen in Imón, and who was a woman of strong personality, cultured and firmly convinced of the Trotskyist ideology she defended.
Martínez de Aragón, until the last moment, was negotiating with Madrid and with Jiménez Orge to provide reinforcements for the defense of the city. So the decision was made to resist in the hope of these reinforcements, and that Durruti's offensive would be successful and enter Zaragoza, which did not happen.
From then on there were constant outings in the form of guerrillas, to stop the advance of the nationals, and to try at all costs to prevent them from taking the hills that formed the perimeter of the city. Each militia was assigned the defense of one of them, and with crude and unprofessional methods, trenches were improvised by piling up stones or in the cattle pens. In the hospital we did not lack work, because after each skirmish in the hills numerous wounded arrived, mostly shot, because the aviation was not used again until the end of August, and the artillery was not effective for that type of guerrilla warfare. In reality what happened was that neither side was pressing because neither side still had enough weapons and forces to ensure victory. That caused a certain relaxation in the fronts and the militiamen generally limited themselves to the guards, in which, also generally, they slept, and the rest tried to pass the time almost as if they were one more of the usual vacationers in the city at that time.
During the whole month of August it did not seem that a civil war had already been declared in the country, and with their 10 pesetas of salary they bought the best that was offered in the city. Not a single one tasted the rancho of their barracks, but they fed on ham, cheese, chorizo, bacon and good and abundant wine, which they no longer brought from Aragon but from Valdepeñas. Undoubtedly, if the measure of arming the militias favored a possible communist revolution, that of granting them a salary of 10 pesetas favored a bourgeois counterrevolution.
Trucks of the Republic's quartermasters continued to arrive in the city from the eastern zone, but also from local merchants, who, never better said, "made a killing", loaded with wine, rice, oil, cookies, melons and no shortage of cod and sardines in oil from the Cantabrian Sea. On the other hand, to this abundance of food had to be added the sexual facilities that their libertarian convictions facilitated, since most of the militia women were convinced of the new ideas of free love, and if there were any professionals, they accepted the vouchers of the militia as a form of payment for their services. It was not difficult to see vouchers running around the barracks, signed and stamped by the corresponding militia, which read: "Vale por una noche en la cama con fulanita de tal" (Voucher for a night in bed with so and so"). I do not know if Inés would also be in favor of free love, because girls raised in the rural environment were more reluctant than urban girls to free themselves from their ancestral moral ties, but she was no longer a woman with taboos or, no doubt, worried about her virginity. A militiaman of taciturn and intellectual appearance, perhaps younger than her, and probably a university student, used to frequent her, who, in addition to his rifle, always carried a book in his hands, which he used to read to Inés during the time he spent resting with her mother. But the truth is that she did not seem to be very affectionate with him, at most polite and courteous, so it did not make me jealous.
So the hardships of the night watches and the eventual armed skirmishes were amply compensated by the good life they were living, at least during that strange but tense month of August of 36.
The other aspect that would also change life in the city was the masses of peasant refugees, who fled from the towns that were about to fall, because they already knew of the viciousness with which the Falangists and Requetés were used when they entered them. The massacre of Badajoz was already in everyone's mind, where the bloodthirsty General Yagüe shot in a few hours more than 3000 militiamen and civilians, held in the bullring of the city. In declarations to a foreign newspaper, the military said that he could not allow himself to take prisoners or leave them alive so that "they would go back to their old ways", which made clear the extermination policy of the Nationalists. So the streets were crowded with disoriented and anguished people. Entire families, on mules or donkeys, carried everything they could carry with them, even bringing with them their cows, goats or rabbits, and wandered from one place to another looking for a place to stay. Martinez de Aragon, faced with the humanitarian catastrophe that was being created in the city, enabled the cathedral itself and its outbuildings as a temporary shelter for these peasants, and the chapels became improvised dwellings, where goats ruminated and rabbits were kept in improvised cribs on the alabaster tombs of the historic bishops, or there were even some cows in the cloister, nibbling on the grass in the courtyard. In the hospital the first cases of summer diarrhea began to arrive, because even the water, which had always been abundant and healthy in that city, began to be scarce and, to make matters worse, some unconscious militiamen bathed in the municipal reservoirs. August, therefore, was a chaotic month for the city and its inhabitants, who no longer hid their animosity against the militiamen, whom they considered unconscious youths, whose only concern was to have fun and enjoy life, the little or much that they still had left. The truth was that they had nothing better to do, but it was always better that than for them to dedicate themselves to other more violent and bloodthirsty activities, as was already frequent in those days on the national side.
Among the refugees was the mother of the Valiente family, with her sister-in-law and child, for whom I myself had found lodging in the abandoned houses of the canons, where I was staying myself, and who had managed to flee or, unfortunately, had been executed. So in those days I often met Agnes in the courtyard of the enclosure, because in the evening she used to sit in the cool to chat with the dejected mother or to play with her nephew, who had finally outwitted nature and was getting stronger and healthier every day, besides being a laughing and good-natured creature; that is to say, a really charming child. But Agnes did not seem to show much affection for the child, though she laughed at his graces and patiently endured his tiresome games, as if she wished to prevent the child from becoming too fond of her and fearing to make him suffer if any misfortune should befall him.
In those days we all lived giving thanks to heaven every evening for still being alive, because death was already beginning to be familiar to us. In addition, little by little Inés was also becoming accustomed to the violence of the war and strengthening her character, and it was already common to see her returning from a guard duty and commenting with her comrades on the incidents of a shootout with the rebels. The only thing I asked was that, if one day something happened to her, they would bring her to the hospital alive, that was enough for me!

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Autumn of '36
After the first rains of September, the nights were cool in our region. A humid wind swept violently over the hills of the hills and got so deep into the body that even the shepherds, despite their thick cloth blankets, had to protect themselves in improvised shelters built with piles of stones forming a wall, under the shelter of which they used to make a fire with dry oak branches. In these conditions the guards were more and more painful and the militiamen, still with the aftertaste of that placid summer, refused to do them.
At that time important political changes were taking place on both sides, because the civil war was about to move into a new, so to speak, "more professional" phase, especially on the Republican side, where anarchy among the various militias seemed to be the cause of their slow but progressive defeats on all fronts.
Azaña had to call Largo Caballero to form a new Government with ministers of the Popular Front, including communists, which should favor the "militarization" of the militias and establish as a priority the victory over the rebels above other political or revolutionary considerations. At the end of that same month the decree of militarization of all the militias would be signed.
For their part, the Nationalists found themselves with three separate military zones: the north, controlled by Mola; the east, by Franco; and in the Andalusian rearguard, by Queipo de Llano, who had turned it into a new despotically governed "kingdom of Taifas".
It was then when, in my opinion, once again the Nazi or Italian diplomacy must have suggested to the civilians of the coup plot, who managed the financial framework of the uprising, the need to unify the command, not only military but also political, at a time when the contact between the two generals was about to take place. Franco was undoubtedly the favorite of the German Nazis because Mola had long since been removed. After several meetings, in which all the generals were opposed to Franco's candidacy, something must have influenced Mola, because he finally changed his mind and supported the general. But the situation was skilfully exploited by his advisors, who managed to concentrate all the powers in him, making him "Generalissimo" of all the armies, and moreover, in the absence of a significant political force, since the Falangists were not even invited to these meetings, head of the State and of a provisional government junta. So Franco, as Hitler had done in his time in Germany, assumed all the powers of the new "national" State, which already had control of more than half of Spain.
It was also at that time that France's diplomatic weakness became evident, and Léon Blum had to refuse to sign the order authorizing the sale of airplanes to the Republic. Finally, European diplomacy, in the midst of a deep crisis caused by the rise of fascism throughout Europe, came to an "official" agreement not to "intervene" in the war in Spain. This agreement was signed by Germany and Italy, but also by Russia. From that moment on, the Spanish war officially became an "internal affair", but neither Hitler nor Mussolini stopped supporting the rebels. If they signed it was simply to prevent the other countries from supporting the Republic, although, as I have already mentioned, everything must have been agreed beforehand.
Neither Feliciano Benito, of the C.N.T. nor the then local captain of the P.O.U.M., Mika Etchebéhère, agreed with the militarization of the militias and threatened to abandon the front or, simply, not to obey the orders of Martínez de Aragón. But the J.S.U. and the Communists, who had two ministers in the new Government, were in favor of militarization, and began to consider them traitors, for playing into the hands of the Fascists. The suspicions were more evident against the Trotskyists of the P.O.U.M., the most radical in terms of their libertarian ideas, in which there was no room for the possibility of any other commanders than those chosen by themselves, but above all because of their frontal opposition to Stalin's policy in Russia. The C.N.T., reluctant at first, did not oppose the decree, but in practice it did not willingly obey the orders of the professional military either.
In these circumstances the situation of the Valiente brothers became critical and even dramatic, since the two brothers were accused of being traitors by the communist militiamen, while Inés did not know what to do or which side to be on. This confrontation could have been violent, as it already was in Catalonia, had it not been for the fact that the reactivation of the fronts forced the militias to forget their ideological differences and get back to defending their respective positions.
At that time I had stayed in what used to be the Dean's house, right between the hospital and the cathedral, to be closer to the two places that were of interest to me. Sunday, September 27, dawned a windy and unpleasant day, typical of the beginning of autumn in this area of the Alcarria highlands. Early in the morning I was on my way to the hospital as usual, but wrapped up to my ears, because that wind was getting into my bones. As I crossed the courtyard I came across a group of assault guards from Martínez de Aragón's escort, among whom was Captain Ernesto, who were on their way to the commander's residence to fulfill their mission and relieve their comrades. When he saw me, he approached me and with a certain confidential air made an alarming confidence:
-Be prepared at the hospital, today could be a busy day!
-Why; what can happen? -I replied, trying to reassure myself. As far as I know, there are no major operations planned, at least we are not informed at the hospital.
-Airplanes, Andrés; they can come and bomb some place, maybe the barracks! I can tell you no more. Well, to speak plainly: we have reports that there are German bombers in Barahona, so be on the alert in case they come.
When I arrived at the hospital, I could not avoid discussing the information with the medical colonel, who could only nod his head and confirm the fears of a possible bombing, of which he had also been alerted. Not only that, but he immediately summoned all the auxiliaries of the hospital and the sisters who were helping us, by the way disguised as civilians and protected by the same military doctor who was hiding them, to make with pieces of red cloth a large cross to place on the roof, not only in our hospital, but also in the bishopric hospital, which now only served as an orphanage and hospital for the local sick, because the war wounded were admitted to ours.
We immediately got down to work and left for the upper part of the city with the intention of placing those symbols as soon as possible, which according to the international Geneva conventions on war should protect from bombing, but on the way one of the comrades commented with derision:
-What a cross we're going to put on them so they can aim where to drop the bombs!
I thought like the medical colonel and was sure that, even in war, those humanitarian conventions were respected, and I treated my companion as skeptical and ill-considered. As best we could we perched on the roof of the hospital, a beautiful palace, which kept in its pharmacy historic and valuable opaline jars, neatly labeled with the names of the herbs and medicines they contained, and unfolded the huge red crosses that would undoubtedly be perfectly visible from the air. We finished the work and returned to our hospital across the main square. Under the arcades the refugees who had not found lodging were still dozing.
Since it was a holiday, a large number of people were gathered in the square trying to trade what little they had, exchanging anything of value for blankets for the impending winter, or trying to sell some horses to get some money and be able to survive. The Beltranes' house remained with the shutters closed and I assumed that Doña Virtudes had locked herself in after what had happened to her husband and was not supposed to go out except to buy what she needed, because masses were no longer being celebrated. I took the opportunity to enter the cathedral and check on the situation of the refugees, many of whom had already gone out to the square to warm themselves with the first rays of sunlight, since inside the cathedral that peculiar and humid cold, typical of that huge mass of stone, poorly ventilated and poorly lit, had already settled in. As I entered, I met a girl coming out of the cathedral, whom I recognized for being from my own town, and who was nibbling a piece of bread from her frugal breakfast.
-Girl, don't you know me? -I asked her, because everything that came from my town continued to interest me. I'm Andrés; Andrés Lafuente! Uncle Lafuente's son!
The girl looked at me with a distrustful air, and shook her head. I understood that, given her age, perhaps ten or twelve, she was too young to remember a seminarian who helped at Mass with the unfortunate Don Gregorio. I didn't want to bother her any more and she went on her way, browsing through the crowd in the square, with nothing better to do.
Inside, one could hear the hustle and bustle of families trying to wake up the many children and prepare them some breakfast. Most of them had received from the hands of Martínez de Aragón packages of powdered milk, flour, oil, salt, rice, cookies and something else as they received the supplies that were still arriving. The transept and the naves smelled of stews and columns of smoke rose from the improvised bonfires set up inside the millenary chapels of illustrious families and bishops. Many of the children were dressed only from the waist up, because they had no clothes to wear if they had to relieve themselves. So the smell of the stews was joined by the smell of the defecations of the poor children, who did it in any dark corner.
We crossed the cloister and were already going out to the courtyard that communicated with the hospital when the sound of engines, undoubtedly airplanes, made us fear the possible bombing.
-The planes are here! -We all shouted almost in unison, running towards the hospital to take cover.
-It could be the Negus," commented a colleague, "that's when he usually delivers the newspapers.
That possibility reassured us, but the buzzing became more and more intense and we soon realized that it was not one but several planes approaching, so we resumed our race to the hospital. We managed to get inside before they arrived, and alarmed and confused we went in search of the medical colonel so that he could tell us what we should do, for at that moment all the wards of the hospital were overflowing with wounded. Calm and composed, confident that the planes would respect the crosses we had placed on the roof, the medical officer gave us our first orders:
-The wounded who can walk should go down to the first floor until the alarm is over, the rest should be covered with mattresses in case something comes loose from the roof... and may God have mercy on us!
The sisters sanctified themselves, confident because they knew that the colonel was also a believer, for it is a mistake to believe that in the Republican side everyone was an atheist, but those were not the best circumstances to manifest it publicly, but only in those critical moments, in which it was undoubtedly unavoidable.
The first bombing
Following the orders of the medical colonel, we went through the wards as quickly as possible, warning those who could get up to go down to the first floor, but some could not do so without our help. I took two militia men with wounds in their arms and face, and supported on my shoulders we hurried down the stairs to the first floor. I had barely managed to bring them in when the whole building shook and we heard the roar of engines, as if airplanes were skimming the roofs of the building, but they passed by without bombing the hospital. We breathed a sigh of relief and continued on our painful way. Moments later the building shook again, but this time from the shock wave of several violent explosions, and we thought it would not have been far away. I assumed that the first bombs would have fallen on the cathedral itself, and I was alarmed at the damage it might have caused among the innocent refugees. We continued our bumpy march, and even before we reached the first floor we heard again new and more numerous explosions, this time they must have occurred in the neighborhood called "Travesañas", where the humblest people of the city lived. I left the wounded on the first floor, and as quickly as I could I went back for more, while I heard the complaints and cries of some militia women, who asked me for help to clear the floor, but because of their wounds they could hardly move. I tried to console them by telling them that bombs would not fall on our hospital, and they seemed to calm down.
The noise of the airplanes was intense again, as if they were returning from their first flight over the city, and I feared that this time they would descend on our hospital. Without thinking I threw myself on the bed of one of the wounded and covered her with my own body, while whimpering in panic. The noise became shuddering and I heard the hiss of falling shells and, immediately afterwards, three violent explosions, which fortunately did not hit the hospital, but somewhere nearby. The glass shattered and some pieces must have hit my arm, because I felt an intense pain and saw that there was blood on the bed. I was relieved to see that it was a simple cut. The wounded were shouting for help and we nurses kept moving from one place to another to calm them down or evacuate them if possible. The colonel himself was also helping and I noticed that almost in a low voice he was saying to himself in anger: "Murderers, Nazi murderers!
In effect, those were again German Nazi bombers, who, so to speak, were "practicing" in the war in Spain, with the consent of Mola and Franco, and they were bombing us indiscriminately, without respecting international conventions or the civilian population. They returned to make another pass, but on their way back they went further west, unloading new bombs on the upper part of the city. Before returning to their base, in the improvised airfield of Barahona, they made two more practically low passes, because the militiamen did not have anti-aircraft defenses and they had also been surprised in their barracks, and they attacked them with their rifles, coming out in the open and shooting from the same street.
When we understood that they were retreating, we breathed a sigh of relief and were happy that they had not been able to hit the hospital, but someone shouted to us from the street to go urgently to the Plaza Mayor, where a real massacre had taken place. Precipitously, the colonel took everything he thought we might need and we went through the cathedral again, to go out through the door of the transept. When, blinded by the light, I entered the square, the spectacle was so overwhelming that I felt my stomach shrink and I was retching with nausea, because in the middle of the square lay, in a real river of blood, horses and people, shredded and destroyed by shrapnel. It was difficult to accept that a human being, no matter how fanatical and cold he was, would have been capable of bombing with impunity a public square on a Sunday morning, full of innocent people, mostly unfortunate peasants ignorant and incapable of understanding the real causes of that irrational violence.
Neither the doctor, horrified like the rest of the medics, nor we knew who to attend to first, because there were so many wounded asking for help that it was impossible to know where to start. But my composure collapsed when I saw, a few meters from the door of the cathedral, the body of the same girl from my village with whom I had crossed paths just a few moments before. She was still holding the piece of bread in her hand, but her face was half shattered by shrapnel and bloodied, and she lay probably dead. Dejected, I fell to my knees over the little girl to check if she was still alive, but unfortunately she had already passed away. I took her in my arms, and without being able to avoid a bitter cry of deep rage, I looked up as if questioning God Himself for that unjustifiable death. At that moment, her mother appeared and upon seeing her, she immediately understood what had happened. I placed her in her arms and confirmed with a gesture that there was nothing to be done. The poor woman contracted in pain without being able to say a word or even shed tears, she only looked at the poor creature out of her mind, and looked at me as if asking me why she had been killed. Obviously I didn't have the answer, nor could there be anyone in this crazy world who could have the answer. The world had simply gone mad!
Fortunately, the colonel of the Red Cross, with more fortitude than I, was attending to other wounded and called me to assist him. I reacted, and as if I were throwing earth on the fire that was burning in my heart, I tried to calm myself and at least try to do something for those who had survived that monstrous and indescribable atrocity, not only against those innocent people, but against all humanity.
Militiamen from all the barracks came to the aid of the wounded, indignant and without ceasing to blaspheme against those who had committed that massacre, and we were able to evacuate the most seriously wounded to our hospital, which unfortunately no longer had sufficient means to treat them all.
But the atrocities of that first bombardment did not end there, but were even more irrational and savage in another part of the city. The militiaman who warned me that the red crosses we had placed would serve as targets was right, because they bombed precisely the hospital and orphanage of the bishopric. As soon as we considered that the situation was under control in the square, we rushed there, and on the way we were warned by excited militiamen that what awaited us was even worse than what had happened in the Plaza Mayor.
-They have killed all the orphans and even the sisters, colonel! The Catholics have killed all the children and the nuns!
This is not a war, it's a slaughter!
It was not easy to reach the hospital, because the access roads were cut off by the still burning debris of some old houses that had been bombed, and also from them we could hear cries for help and wails of the wounded, but we wanted to reach the hospital, because the colonel, already visibly affected, could not believe that the planes had not respected the building, visibly marked with red crosses.
It is difficult to describe what we found there, but despite the years that have passed, it is an image that I will never be able to erase from my mind. Anyone who has seen something like that, like me, will never regain faith in human beings. I have always believed that if the same conditions in which our country found itself were to be repeated, it is possible that we would commit the same atrocities again, that is why I have decided to recall them with as much crudeness as possible, because the only way not to repeat the same mistakes is not to forget them.
Twenty-five orphaned children, cared for in that bishop's orphanage by eight sisters, lay without survivors buried under tons of rubble and wooden beams still burning. Walking through the wreckage, it was easy to step on a body or what was left of it. The one whose face remained still wore the terrified expression with which he was caught, probably playing in the beautiful cloister courtyard of the once noble building. Some were clinging to the body of a sister, who would surely try to protect them, others appeared outside the building, on the street, with all their small bodies bloodied by the shrapnel. Some girls remained hugging their rag dolls, also bloodied, and their little bodies were not whole, the rest had been buried. The militiamen had already tried to find survivors before we arrived, but, apparently, only a small cat seemed to have escaped unharmed, which, frightened, snorted at me when I tried to pick it up. The colonel sat down on one of the ashlars detached from the sober columns, and deeply dejected, perhaps the first time he had collapsed in his entire professional career, he told us disconsolately:
-I am sixty years old and I have been in the Moroccan war. I have seen the horrors committed by our own armies against the innocent Rifians, but I could never believe that we Spaniards could also kill other Spaniards, and what's more, poor nuns and orphaned children! This is no longer a war, it is an extermination camp! The same one that all Europe will become when the Nazis, with our consent, finish testing their weapons in Spanish hospitals and orphanages!
We left the militiamen in charge of recovering the bodies of the children so that at least they could have a dignified burial, and dejected and depressed, we continued with our desperate task of trying to rescue the wounded and to provide them with at least one analgesic, because there was practically nothing left of the rest. Much of the stock of antiseptics and other medicines had been destroyed by the bombardment.
Years later I learned that the planes had the mission to bomb the hospital, believing that it would be full of wounded militiamen, because their reports must be old and they did not know that these had been transferred to the new hospital. When, upon seeing the crosses, they understood, they had already unloaded their deadly cargo on the orphanage. Luckily for our hospital, they missed with the only three bombs they dropped on us, which landed in the courtyard of an adjoining house without causing personal injury.
The last train
After that bloody bombardment, the Nationalists must have thought that the militiamen would abandon the city without further struggle, and perhaps they would have done so had it not been for the perseverance in their defense of Martínez de Aragón and Feliciano Benito. I do not know which of the two came up with the idea that if they surrounded the city the best way to defend themselves was to lock themselves in the cathedral, because the rebels, fanatical Catholics, would not dare to desecrate it, much less bomb it. The Republican commander was convinced of obtaining reinforcements and Feliciano Benito should already be seen as the "Moscardó" of the Republican side.
That first bombardment had not affected the barracks either, except for the P.O.U.M., located in a house of several floors next to the railroad station, in whose courtyard several shells fell, but no one was killed or seriously wounded. Unfortunately that first bombardment only affected civilians and nuns. On the other hand, the railroad track had also been bombed, but it was possible to repair it. By the way, at that time the famous anarchist doctor Vallina, who would be the protagonist of the anarchist uprisings in Seville, was in the city. It was he who, together with his son and other C.N.T. militiamen, turned the convent where they were staying into an authentic secular barracks, burning everything they found that had any religious connotation, including some pieces of religious clothing of extraordinary artistic value, and, surprisingly for the place where they were, also of great material value, since they were embroidered with gold thread and had gems and stones of great value set in them. Those were some of the works that, by order of the bishopric, the sisters of the convent carried out. Many of the militiamen were surprised when they were on guard duty or patrolling the nearby hills and were horrified to see the evolution of the planes without being able to do anything but shoot them with their rifles, more out of indignation than because they believed they could shoot them down.
Upon returning precipitously from the hills, they gathered again in front of the headquarters of Martínez de Aragón to shout at him and with bad manners to demand the promised reinforcements or that he give the order to evacuate the city. The guards of his escort had difficulties to prevent him from being assaulted when he appeared on one of the balconies of the house where they had installed the headquarters. He tried to placate them with bold arm gestures, and finally got their attention.
-Comrade militiamen, it is our duty to stay here and fight in the city! -he harangued the skeptical militiamen, who kept muttering and making derogatory gestures against him. If necessary we will defend it street by street, and when the last inch of ground has been lost, we will enclose ourselves in the cathedral, which is an impregnable fortress. Look at the fascists who have resisted in the Alcazar of Toledo, the prestige that this gives them for their cause -the mere mention of the Alcazar upset the spirits even more and whistles and insults were heard, but the commander, with even more enthusiasm, continued his harangue-. Our page of glory will be the cathedral of Sigüenza! Within its walls we will await the troops that Madrid will send to save us -he raised his fist with the communist sign, because although he was a moderate republican he must have known perfectly well the moralizing effect that this symbolic gesture produced among communists and anarchists, and concluded-. Confidence, comrades! Long live the Republic!
Perhaps it should also have ended with a "Long live the revolution!", which would have prevented a veritable scattering of militiamen towards Madrid.
That same afternoon the commander himself had arranged for the only train available on the route between the besieged city and Guadalajara to arrive for the last time to bring ammunition and, on its return, to evacuate the civilians who, fearing reprisals, wanted to leave the city. In the early afternoon, hundreds of people, mostly refugees from nearby towns, were already crowded on the platforms, because, according to the rumor, this would be the last train that would run before the imminent fall of the city. At the hour when it was scheduled to arrive, such a tumult was formed that it was evident that not everyone could be evacuated, and the scenes of violence began to become generalized. The strongest pushed and shoved their way through, without caring whether they were women or children. I was at the station with the Red Cross colonel, trying to organize the evacuation, but it was clear that we had already been overwhelmed, and since we were not armed, we could not impose ourselves so that women and children would have priority. The train had not yet entered the points when a crowd of militiamen who had decided to evacuate the city appeared with their knapsacks and rifles at the station. Understanding their intentions, the colonel confronted them and warned them:
-This train is for the evacuation of civilians, by order of Commander Martínez de Aragón, so not a single militiaman is to board it!
But the person being rebuked, with impertinence and aggressiveness, shouted at him:
-Neither that one nor any other military officer is in charge anymore, so we are going back to Madrid!... By hook or by crook! The colonel tried to get in the way but they pushed him away with a violent shove and he would have fallen to the ground if he had not been held down by a colleague from the hospital. The poor man could only mutter indignantly, "How can we win the war if the enemies are also among us!
When the train appeared we were all overwhelmed by the crowd that desperately tried not only to get into the cars but even to hold on to their stirrups. But the militiamen were not to be taken seriously and, pushing and shoving and with the occasional blow from the butt, they all boarded the train, and they still had the cynicism to argue that they were more necessary in Madrid than the civilians. Threatened by the militiamen themselves, the engineer had to start the train amidst the screaming of the poor women and the disconsolate weeping of most of the children, who were probably crying more from the terror they saw on the faces of their mothers than anything else. So the last train left for Madrid, leaving all the frightened civilians in the city, for whom we had to think of a way to protect them from the repressive violence of the Nationalists if they took the city.
The Valiente brothers decided to stay in the city and Inés had no choice but to stay too, because her mother, too weak and broken, refused to leave the city, even if they killed her. By then our town had already fallen into the hands of the Nationalists and the consequent cleansing of the Reds had been carried out, but not only that, but they set fire to the Valiente's house, indignant for not having found any of its inhabitants. It was in our same town where they installed a large caliber battery with which they had been periodically cannonading us since mid-September, without caring where the shells hit. So we immediately began preparations for the encirclement in the cathedral. In total there were about five hundred militiamen left. But the worst thing was the numerous civilians, mostly women and children, who, unable to evacuate the city, had to take refuge together with the militia inside the city. I had to work hard and with dedication and at the risk of my life to protect not only the archive but everything else from destruction. But, in spite of everything, the artistic funds of the cathedral would suffer great damages during those days, not only because of the express intention of some militiamen but also because of the preparations to organize the defense.




















CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH
Preparing for the encirclement
The day after the bombardment, Martínez de Aragón himself directed the preparations for the encirclement in the cathedral, and from the early hours of the morning all the trucks loaded with provisions, ammunition or anything that could be useful for the resistance, were arriving and forming a long line from the entrance that gave to the square next to the cathedral. They even thought of putting inside the vehicles requisitioned from the militiamen themselves with the intention of making them serve as lodging, more comfortable without a doubt than the hard stone of the pavement. It was also decreed that all the food stored in the barracks be delivered, especially hams, sausages and cheeses, of which there was an abundance. But the menu of the ranch was to be almost daily rice with cod, where water was scarce!
Little by little, the big trucks were entering the central nave and parked on the sides, amidst the roar of the engines and the unbreathable smoke from the combustion of those old armatostes. Everything that was in the way of the vehicles was cornered and piled up to make room for them. Finally, the three wide aisles and part of the transept looked more like a garage than the interior of a cathedral. Many of the trucks contained useless items, such as Czech rifles without ammunition. But the most prized cargo was the dynamite cartridges that some militiamen, miners from Pozoblanco, from the "Pasionaria" column, had arranged to be transported, and which would be essential for the resistance when the inevitable siege came. I made an effort to be present in all the maneuvers and to avoid irreparable damages as much as possible, but it was evident that this was not the concern of the militiamen, so from the beginning serious damages of all kinds were inevitable.
Shells fell at regular intervals, fired from my own town, but they hit the outskirts of the city, on the meadows where we seminarians used to play soccer. The militiamen had already become accustomed to them, and when they heard the impacts they would comment with derision: "Nicanor is already playing the drum!
But what worried us most was the possibility of a new and unexpected bombardment. The militiamen of the guards in the hills managed to create a system of signals so that we could be warned in time and take shelter, so that it would not happen like the other time, when we were surprised practically in the streets. With great difficulty due to the narrow access, the P.O.U.M. militiamen installed their only machine gun in the bell tower of the clock tower, which overlooked the square and from where all the adjacent streets were dominated. Apart from that machine gun there was no other armament than rifles, pistols and dynamite. But undoubtedly the most dramatic thing was that, after the bombardment, in the hospital we had practically finished with all the gauze and bandages, and almost all the painkillers, and in the last supply train not a single box of medical supplies came, perhaps because the commander must have thought that it would not be necessary. So we were going to lock ourselves in the cathedral, confident that there would be no wounded, because there would be nothing to treat them with.
In the midst of this hustle and bustle, you had to be careful not to run over a creature, because they kept sticking their noses everywhere. For them, even though the older ones were aware of the danger, running after the trucks and climbing on the davits was certainly a fun game.
It took us two days to accommodate so many vehicles, organize the ranch, station the militia staffs in the most sheltered chapels and go through every corner of the cathedral to decide its possible defense. In this task I myself was of great use, since I knew perfectly all those complicated rooms, lined with corridors, half-secret rooms, forgotten passages full of cobwebs or even the latrines and their drains. Despite the militiamen's confidence in their resistance, we studied places where we could evacuate them, in case they broke through our defenses.
Several times we had to rush into the cathedral and hastily close the doors when we heard the sound of airplanes, but it was the small "Negus" that distributed "El Socialista". But it would have been better if it had not, because it reported the fall of Irun and San Sebastian, and the dramatic exile of thousands of refugees towards the French border. Unfortunately we did not have that extreme possibility.
On the third day, someone suggested that with the tanks of the trucks full of gasoline, a single spark would be enough to kill all of us inside, and a macabre operation was started to get rid of the fuel. With picks and crowbars they lifted all the graves of bishops and other prelates buried in the ship and poured the fuel into them, which was easily absorbed by the sandy soil at the bottom. Thanks to my suggestion, the remains were put in sacks and rudimentarily marked, to reincorporate them in their tombs once the site of the cathedral was finished. The worst thing was that in some of them rings of great value appeared and there was no grave left without desecration, not only in the nave but also in the chapels. I don't know why but I had the intuition that someone might try to do the same with the tomb of the "Doncel", and when I reached the chapel I was able to stop a militiaman who, armed with a pickaxe, was about to unload the first blow. I shouted at him so angrily that he stopped in fright, as if he feared that when he unloaded the blow he might explode. With as many arguments as I could find, I made him see the atrocity he was about to commit, but the militiaman replied with "He is only a priest, like all the others! The "Doncel" was saved from the pickaxe, but all the other tombs were desecrated. With the slabs removed, they erected parapets in front of the most vulnerable places, such as the door of the transept that communicated with the Plaza Mayor, right under the altar of Santa Librada, patron saint of the city, where the relics of the saint were supposed to remain. Another one was erected in front of the door of the central nave, the most vulnerable and in just one day the interior of the cathedral looked like a trench.
The civilians remained all day huddled among their miserable belongings, doing nothing but dozing and contemplating the hustle and bustle of the militiamen. As if there were not enough of us in the cathedral, in addition to the peasants' animals, they put inside several military horses with guns of no use, which were placed in the cloister, together with the cows and hens that were still laying eggs, although the problem was to know where they were. This was the panorama that the cathedral presented when all the defense was finished. The rebels showed no signs of attempting an assault on the city, and we continued entering and leaving with a certain normality. Especially the civilians, who in this way could stock up on the essentials.
But everything changed the first week of a cold and wet October. Undoubtedly, there is no more melancholic month in that land than this one. The swallows have already migrated, the fields are barren, the fruit trees are bare, the first frosts are whitening the shady areas and the first icicles are appearing on the banks of the Henares. It is time to gather, accumulate oak wood before the rains dampen it and repair the leaks in the roofs, in many cases produced by the stubborn work of the blackbirds among the old and brittle tiles.
In this sad and apathetic atmosphere, the nationals took the first measures to assault the city. The first was to cut the supply of electric energy to the city, since they had already reached the place where the power station that supplied it was located, the second was much crueler because it affected the entire population. They had no other idea than to salinize the waters of the Henares River, throwing hundreds of sacks of salt from the nearby salt mines of Imón, so that the population was forced to use the wells that, in general, were in most of the corrals, but of precarious salubrity, which meant a new wave of diarrhea and an attack of typhoid fever. On the eve of the eighth of October, the barracks were still discussing whether to resist or evacuate the city, most of them decided to remain. That was their last chance because the next day the final offensive would be unleashed.
The first attack
That bitterly remembered October 8 dawned a rainy and cold day. Throughout the night it had not stopped drizzling and sometimes with some intensity. My room was still dark when I was awakened by Captain Ernesto, of the assault guards, knocking loudly on the door, who as every morning came to the Martínez de Aragón barracks.
-Andres, wake up, we're going to Madrid! -Half asleep, I went downstairs and opened the door for the officer. He held out his hand without at first knowing what the reason was, but he immediately made it clear to me, "Well, seminarian, goodbye and good luck, the commander is evacuating the city and we are leaving for Guadalajara right now!
-Just like that, out of the blue, and without telling anyone!
-Things up there! -But I think he wants to ask for reinforcements personally, because it seems they are not very convinced of the usefulness... Well, what I said, Andrés, I'm in a hurry. Take care, and let's see if one day, when we have won this fucking war, we meet and have some wine and we can laugh about all these sufferings!
I shook his hand without being able to hide my astonishment at the precipitousness of the decision, precisely on the day when he himself probably already knew that a new and bloodier bombardment of the city would take place. It was not that I considered Martínez de Aragón a coward, who fell on the battlefield of the Madrid front months later, but simply that I was surprised that he left the city without any authority, abandoning us to our fate and with no other commanders than those of each militia, increasingly resentful and suspicious, even among themselves. I still do not understand why that same day, knowing that everything was already lost, the militias did not also abandon the city, instead of doing that madness of locking themselves in the cathedral.
Before going to the hospital, I wanted to see what the situation was like inside, and I went back in through the cloister door, where the beasts were dozing and a rooster crowed on the well's curbstone. Inside, an almost eerie silence reigned, broken only by the broken cry of a baby and the mother's whispers to comfort it and put it back to sleep. The militiamen lay wrapped in blankets in the cars and trucks, or on the carpets of the altars. Some of them, the ones on duty, could see their bearded and tired faces every time they took a puff on their cigarettes. In the air there was the stench of urine and defecation, together with the dangerous vapor of gasoline, which was still coming out of the open pits of the bishops, which now served as trenches. It was hard to believe that such a dramatic situation could have been reached, especially because of the uncertainty that weighed on all of us, even more painful than the physical suffering it caused.
I wanted to make sure that in the sacristy of the Cabezas, the place we had reserved as an infirmary, there was still the scarce medical equipment that I had brought from the hospital. There were also militiamen dozing there, who protested my presence at that time of the morning, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening there. Fortunately, all the equipment was still in place and ready, in case it was needed. Before leaving, I contemplated with the same astonishment as always the dozens of heads that decorated the ceiling vault, without understanding what could have been the intention of those who made it. It seemed as if they wanted to tell me that they were the mute witnesses of our new present errors, for having forgotten theirs in the past. But what overwhelmed me the most was to meet again the image of the enormous Christ, roughly carved and of little value, hanging on one of the walls of the sacristy, in a place that did not belong to him. It was as if the Catholic religion was obsessed by the cult of images, and it could have no other explanation than the little religious conviction of its believers, who seemed to need the suffering image of Jesus in every corner, in every corner or on every wall, as if they feared they could forget it and crucify it again. In spite of its grotesque workmanship, the image gave me a shiver of foreboding of death or misfortune, such was the pathetic expression of its badly carved face, half illuminated by the pale reflection of the light that was beginning to enter through the narrow window of the sacristy.
Suddenly, all that silence turned into an enormous shouting, because a militiaman had warned from the clock tower of the arrival of a wave of airplanes, maybe eight or ten, or even more. In an instant everyone was on their feet or trying to find shelter. Half asleep the militiamen ran to the tower to prepare for defense from the cathedral balustrade. The civilians did not move from their places, because they thought it would be safer than taking refuge in the chapels. I ran out towards the hospital crossing again through the cloister, but when I went out to the courtyard I met the Valiente brothers, who came panting from their barracks to help the mother, the sister-in-law and the child, forcing them to lock themselves in the cathedral as well. When Inés saw me, she screamed in horror:
-Run, Andrés, take shelter with us in the cathedral, because planes are coming!
The mother resisted, but finally she was almost dragged to the cloister door. When we arrived, someone had locked it. We banged with all our might on the thick door, but no one seemed to hear us. There was no other solution but to go outside and try to enter through the atrium door. At the moment we still could not hear the noise of the planes, so the alarm had been effective, but it would not be long before they appeared. We ran out into the street carrying the mother almost in flights and when we came out into the open, the first planes appeared. They were not bombers, but Junker fighters, which in almost low flight strafed the militiamen who were running towards the cathedral from their barracks. We saw shrapnel hits in the center of the cobblestones, which raised sparks and granite splinters from the pavement, but God willing they did not hit us. Finally, with our mother already practically fainted and carried on our backs between the three brothers, we were able to enter the atrium and shout for help to the militiamen who were at the door, who came to our aid. The fighters again strafed the militiamen in their frantic races towards the cathedral, hiding in the doorways so as not to be hit. Finally, they could not all enter and many had to take shelter in other buildings, unable to reach the cathedral and opted to try to leave the town by the road to Madrid, the only one that until that moment was still free of rebels.
When the last of those who had reached the cathedral alive had entered, we hurriedly closed the great doors of the entrance and, in this abrupt and hasty manner, our confinement began.
The first victim was the mother of the Valiente family. When they were able to lay her down on an improvised bed that one of the refugee families had given us, her face was livid and disjointed, and her lips were bruised. The unfortunate woman, just as I had foreseen, could not overcome this new shock and had died of a heart attack!
Agnes hugged her mother's body and wept in silence, because she had learned to bear suffering with serenity and resignation. The brothers, crestfallen and disoriented by the unexpected death of their mother, wondered among themselves if it would not have been better to leave her outside the cathedral, but they were consoled by the realization that she would have been the first victim of the repressions of the Nationalists. Benjamin, turning to me, commented without hiding his grief:
-Although it's cruel to say it, I'm almost glad he's dead and spared all this suffering! Now he can rest in peace wherever he went, because if there is a God, he can only go to heaven!
With a gesture of resignation, he finished his heartfelt condolences and walked himself towards the defense positions assigned to his militia. Damián followed him and Inés, when she finally separated from her mother, wiping her tears with the red handkerchief she always wore around her neck, begged me to find a suitable place to bury her. I suggested to make a place for her among the canons, for no doubt she deserved such a place, as much or more than the prelates who lay there. But we had to wait for the bombing to stop before we could bury her.
The siege
Once again Hitler's aviation had the opportunity to practice over Spanish soil, as if that city was nothing more than a training camp and human beings did not live there. This time there were not three Heinkel bombers but waves of at least eight or ten planes, which followed the fighters, after these "swept" the streets of militiamen, although the reason was to protect the bombers from the possible defense of the non-existent Republican aviation, which could not acquire planes and those it had could not face those modern German fighters.
I hastily climbed the balustrade of the cathedral, because even at the risk of my life, I could not avoid being a witness to this new atrocity that was looming over us. The day had barely lightened and the clouds, dense and dark, were still covering the sky, when I could see the gleaming shapes of the planes, no doubt new and brand new, approaching in formation with apparent slowness due to the distance. The ghoulish hum of the engines grew louder and louder, and I just waited to see where they would drop their deadly cargo.
From my hiding place, which would not resist a first impact, I kept an eye on the large cross of the hospital, which was still on the roof, and I tried to identify the rest of the most significant buildings, such as the bishop's palace, the seminary, the Franciscan convent, the Ursuline nuns or the convent of Los Huertos, in case they dared to bomb them. One of the planes was coming straight towards the cathedral and I feared that it would also unload its bombs on it. It passed so low that the militiamen fired a heavy fusillade amidst insults and shouts of despair and hatred, but they did not unload their bombs but did so, once again, on the punished neighborhood of Las Travesañas. I could not believe that Commander Marzo or Moscardó, as bloodthirsty as they were, could have ordered a new bombing of the civilian population, so I thought that this was nothing more than an "exercise of total destruction", a foretaste of the future tactics of German aviation for the imminent Second World War, and that it would be repeated in other Spanish towns with increasing efficiency and destructive power. The eight or ten planes in unison dropped their projectiles and the roar of the explosions shook even the foundations of the millenary cathedral. Flames of fire rose from between the old houses, accompanied later by dense columns of black smoke. The planes went up the village and turned in the direction of the Madrid road, the only evacuation route still free, and unloaded their bombs again on the same road, destroying a small viaduct that saved a torrent and leaving it impassable. They then turned back to their base in Barahona.
But they had not left the perimeter of the city when a new wave of airplanes appeared over the hills, with the same intentions, and they returned to unload with studied organization their bombs in the same neighborhood, that after this new wave was already a dense ball of fire and smoke and surely there would not be many houses left standing. New successive and uninterrupted passes followed and each one bombed a part of the city, but the Nazi pilots must have had more love for history than for human lives, because, even knowing that the militiamen were enclosed in the cathedral, only one bomb hit it and by mistake, probably destined to the houses that served as barracks for the assault guards.
By mid-morning, after successive and constant passes, I had the impression from the flames and the dense black smoke coming from any point of the city that the destruction had been truly apocalyptic and that hundreds of bodies were lying wounded or lifeless under the rubble, especially in the upper part of the city, which must have been completely destroyed. From what I could observe from my vantage point, they had also completely destroyed the seminary, the Franciscan convent, whose Romanesque church was burning violently, the Ursuline convent was severely damaged, but the hospital remained miraculously intact, where I knew that the colonel of health, with his assistants, was resisting, taking care of more than 150 wounded, some of them extremely seriously. They had not only thrown heavy shrapnel bombs, but they were accompanied by incendiary bombs, cylinders with holes through which flames came out once they hit the ground, with the intention of destroying what had already been hit.
That same tactic and with the same bloody results would be repeated months later in Guernica, but the Basque town would go down in history because of the presence of international war correspondents. In our city there were no journalists or witnesses, only a certain Mauro Bajatierra, a self-taught chronicler, who only told the victories of the militiamen and hid their defeats, so the world did not know about that first atrocity of the Nazi aviation in our country, and no Picasso would dedicate a masterful and sadly commemorative work to it.
It was twelve o'clock on the cathedral clock when the last planes disappeared over the hills and never came back, no doubt that there was little left to destroy. But that was only the beginning of the offensive, because with binoculars it was already possible to see the rebel forces deploying in the city and taking up positions among the first houses near the railroad station. They entered a devastated city, where there was no more resistance than that of the militiamen locked in the cathedral. Those who remained outside, some made forts in the houses near the road to Madrid, but most of them, unable to contain them, fled precipitately through the pine forests or the valleys free of rebels, with the intention of reaching the front lines of Madrid, only a few kilometers away.
I went back down to the nave, because if the dreaded assault on the cathedral occurred I would be more useful among the civilians and tending to the possibly wounded. What I found was a desolate scene. The hysterical and weeping women were hugging their children in panic, and clinging to the militiamen, screaming for them to surrender or else they would kill everyone. But the militiamen violently shook them off and ordered them to remain still and quiet in their places, and that nothing would happen because they would resist until reinforcements arrived. Agnes herself tried to calm them with arguments that, although not reassuring, were convincing:
-We must resist because if they take the cathedral they will not respect your lives either, they will consider you accomplices of the militiamen and these people do not respect neither women nor children!
Only an elderly woman, of great spirit and serenity, dared to support her:
-Yes, daughter, I know how those bandits, who I don't know why they call themselves Catholics, do it! They have told me that in my town, Imón, they have shot women and children, just because they sold hams to the militiamen!
Somewhat calmed down, the women went back to huddling among their belongings and, holding back tears, kept cursing their bad luck and claiming their innocence.
Upon entering the city the rebels, requetés judging by the red color of their berets, as well as Falangists and regulars, were deployed from the first moment with the intention of encircling and assaulting the cathedral. Although they were harassed from the tower, where the militiamen of the P.O.U.M. fired bursts of machine gun fire at everything that moved through the streets, they managed to place several pieces of artillery of large caliber, aiming at all the flanks of the cathedral. Two were located at the entrance of the alameda, guarded by the two large obelisks at the entrance, which pointed against the main facade, but especially against the tower where the machine gun was emplaced; another on the access road to my own town, from where the north side of the transept was reached; another on the same Main Street, from which they could reach the tower of the Holy Sacrament, the transept and the access door to the main square. To avoid any possibility of escape, they had installed small pieces and machine guns in the adjacent streets and in the rear, on the other side of a watercourse, covering any escape on this side of the cathedral. There was, therefore, no escape possible, we had to resist at all costs!










CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH
A sleepless night
At dusk a persistent and cold drizzle continued to fall, which helped, within the sinister state of the city, to put out the fires, but apart from sporadic gunfire and machine gun fire heard in other parts of the city, the rebels did not seem determined to take the cathedral that same day. By then they were already feverishly engaged in their usual massacres of cleansing "reds", with all the ambiguity and generosity that this label had for them. They were executions contrary to the most basic human dignity and to all international humanitarian conventions, even in times of war.
The first victim was the honest and brave medical colonel and his assistants, except for the sisters, who, upon identifying themselves, saved their lives, not without pleading uselessly for the officer's life to be spared, who had never been armed nor, to be sure, killed anyone, but quite the contrary. This time they did not use the usual method of machine-gunning the wounded militiamen in their beds, as they did in Toledo, but forced them to get up and walk with the help of each other the fifty meters that separated our hospital from the nearby Ursuline convent, which had been the headquarters of the C.N.T. Once there, after forcing the strongest to dig their own common grave, they machine-gunned them against one of the millenary walls of the convent.
The second atrocity was to execute without regard all the peasants who were taking refuge in the guest houses, perhaps to make room for their enraged and exhausted troops, who were also previously forced to dig their own common grave. But throughout the rest of the day it was a hustle and bustle of "suspects," shamelessly denounced by their own neighbors or, unfortunately for the town, by members of the summer colony, usually of conservative tendencies, who had come with the rebels to free their relatives, trapped in the town when the uprising began. These were even more ruthless than the natives, because they despised them just like the militiamen, especially the most humble of the upper quarter of the city, which had been severely punished by the aviation. In that first emergency cleaning they did not even allow the relatives of the executed to recover their bodies and give them burial in the cemetery, because, being property of the Church, this one considered that they did not deserve to lie in "holy ground", but in any pit, opened with haste by all the orchards of the city, or thrown to the wells, or simply abandoned in the ditches, as they were executing them.
Perhaps it was because they were so busy with this first orgy of blood and repression that they decided to postpone the assault on the cathedral until the following day, and nightfall arrived without us noticing any movement or signs of the rebels. Needless to say, the atmosphere among the civilian population inside the cathedral was pathetic, but nevertheless the militiamen seemed to have grown up after believing that if they had not already started the offensive it was because they must have made the decision to respect the cathedral. That same night there was a general meeting of the militias to study the situation and Feliciano Benito seemed convinced that they had done the best thing.
-These Catholic fanatics won't dare touch the cathedral! If the planes have not already bombed it, it is because they do not want to condemn themselves by such an action!
However, this optimism was not shared by all. Mika Etchebéhère argued that the siege could not last more than a week, because the water reserves would be exhausted, so he proposed sacrificing the animals, which were happily watered without thinking about this possibility.
-We won't even be here for three days, Martinez de Aragon must already be on his way! replied the leader of the C.N.T. with that irrational and short-sighted optimism of our people. The Austrian did not insist, but I believe that from that moment on she understood that the revolutionary cause in our country was not as pure and consistent as the romantic idea she must have had to decide to come to Spain, after having participated in all the failed revolutionary revolts in Vienna and Berlin.
No one seemed to be sleepy that night, nor did they dare to doubt our early liberation so as not to demoralize us. Agnes had made great friends with the Austrian, to the point that she had gone over to her militia, where her own brothers were, because in her barracks she was treated with discrimination for being a woman, and more than once she had had to discuss the orders that obliged the women to do the militiamen's laundry or to darn their socks.
-These guys are very revolutionary, but if there are women involved, they forget how to fry an egg or wash a pair of underpants. It will take many revolutions in this country before they treat you as equals! -commented the Austrian with her Spanish companions.
Animated by the jokes and the lack of sleep, between glasses of wine, of which at least there was no lack, a lively conversation took place around the candles, which burned in a beautiful silver candelabra, taken from the main altar.
-And how are you treated in your country, if I may ask? -asked Inés curiously.
-Not much better than here, but we no longer believe in enchanted princes or fairy tales!
Inés must have been trying to imagine something because she was staring in abstraction at the flickering candles as if she was seeing it in them.
-If I get out of this cathedral alive I won't go back to Madrid, I'll get a rich and handsome boyfriend and I'll travel all over the world! But what am I saying, I already have a boyfriend, don't I, Andrés, that you and I are sweethearts? -And he took me by the arm, giving me to understand that I should not take it seriously, but as a game. I followed her joke and nodded with an emphatic "Of course, woman!", and Inés continued talking about the future with the same enthusiasm. If you invite me, I'll go to your country! What's your country like, Mika, is it nice?
The Austrian militia woman seemed surprised by that unexpected question. She pondered the answer for a few moments and with a certain melancholy, she answered:
-It's funny, when I left there, after Dollfus, I told myself that Austria was the most horrible place on earth, and now, suddenly, when you asked me that question, I felt nostalgic for Vienna, for its aristocratic palaces, its bourgeois streets, its opera houses for the rich, and even for the waltzes of the Strausses! How can I tell you now that I long for all that I have always fought against? The truth is that I don't know how to answer you, Inés, because sometimes things get so confusing! And let's not say about the mountains! I don't know what I would give to be lying on the freshly mowed grass of one of our meadows, listening to the cow shearing or some local polka, and I always found them ridiculous and boring!
The woman looked embarrassed, so I dared to intervene.
-Perhaps countries have something that is above their own inhabitants, their flags, their heroes and myths; something magical that lies in their remote and millenary past.
-How beautiful the opera is! -Inés suddenly exclaimed, sighing almost with emotion. Once in Madrid, a rather cocky young man, but a good person, paid me to accompany him to the opera. I thought it was a place where some women shouted nonsense and other gentlemen answered them other nonsense, but bigger. It was entitled... "Madam... I don't know what!"
-Madama Butterflay, by Giacomo Puccini! -interrupted the Austrian.
-Yes, that! What a beautiful thing! What a sacrifice that Japanese woman made! What realism and how that woman sang! And the sailor, what a manly and harmonious voice! With what character he embraced her! I felt as if I were floating in the air! Imagine that at the end I cried and got angry because it was over. When I went out I gave the money back to that little gentleman and I still gave him a penny. "Here, I told him, I'll pay you my ticket, it's not fair to give me money after what I've enjoyed!" And we say that these things are "bourgeois"!
How could that woman with that voice be bourgeois, or the other singers, who did so well?
The question hung in the air with no one really having an answer, but someone in the corral dared to answer the first thing that came to mind:
-It's the damned religion that corrupts everything!
-Religion? -replied Inés, who seemed to be inspired for any reflection. The kindest and most charitable woman I've ever known was Doña Virtudes, a very pious woman! She never missed a rosary or a Stations of the Cross, but she never treated me with scorn or contempt, and she never allowed anyone, neither her fussy daughters nor her brute of a son, to laugh at me or make fun of me. It's not religion, it's the nature of each person! You're either a good person or a devil! What's religion got to do with it? If I were a priest, I wouldn't preach love for God, who you don't even know exists, but for people, who do exist and are the ones who need love!
There was an emotional silence, as if those last words of Agnes echoed in the cold vaults of the cathedral, shaking even its millenary foundations, after denying God in her own house. Little by little the conversation began to wane and, to try to get rid of the fear and anguish that did not leave us, we played a hand of cards by candlelight. We still managed to doze for a few hours until dawn came the next day.
Perhaps if the sun had come out instead of that persistent and leaden drizzle I would have woken up in better spirits, but the dampness and cold got into my bones and I got up numb and terrified, foreshadowing new misfortunes.
Unconditional surrender
The Valiente brothers took over the clock tower and the balustrade. Inés had been assigned to the parapet they had erected next to the altar of Santa Librada, in front of the door to the Plaza Mayor, and I was walking around the improvised civilian camp, in case there was any need. In that darkness, nothing could be seen but lumps where human beings were supposed to be huddled, trying to get rid of the cold and the humidity. In the midst of that tense calm we heard someone shouting from the atrium: "Open up, comrades, I have a message from Comandante Palacios! The militiamen who were stationed on the parapets, along with piles of dynamite cartouches in case they needed them, asked each other in wonder who it could be and what would be the message from the one they already knew to be the new rebel commander who had entered at the head of the rebel troops in the city. Someone recognized from the voice of the messenger that it was a militiaman of the "Pasionaria", probably taken prisoner by the rebels, who must have been entrusted with some negotiating mission. Preparing for an eventual trap, they opened the door and we could see, in fact, one of the captured militiamen, waving a white flag, trying to enter the cathedral. When he saw that we opened the door, he decided to come out in the open and run towards us. He entered as fast as he could and they barred the thick door behind him. The militiaman, excited and frightened, for surely he did not believe he could get through the atrium and stay alive, immediately communicated the commander's message to them:
-He said that if you surrender unconditionally you will save your lives! - He gulped, caught his breath and to the surprise of the militiamen, who already distrusted the good intentions of the rebels, continued, "But I don't think they will forgive you; you don't know the carnage they have done in the city! They have shot all the wounded in the hospital! I don't even want to leave here! The best thing to do is to hold out until reinforcements come, and from what I have seen, there are not so many and it is not so difficult to dislodge them if Martinez de Aragon keeps his word.
-No surrender! Let's go, as long as we have dynamite left, they won't come in here! Open the door and I'll give them the answer! -said one of the miners, while he put a stick of dynamite in a sling. The comrades opened one of the doors and after lighting the fuse, he rushed out into the open and threw the cartridge, but the rebels must have been prepared to execute the first one who came out, even the messenger himself, because a discharge of rifles was heard, then a great explosion, and they rushed back to close the door, confirming the unfortunate death of the suicidal dynamiter. The spirits were exalted and from the tower the militiamen of the machine gun opened fire against the places from where the shots had been fired, and in a moment the first violent exchange of fire took place, without any of them really knowing where they were firing. Inside, as expected, the women screamed in terror, not knowing what to do or where to go.
The militiamen fired from wherever they could see the street: over the balustrade, from the windows of the towers or from the balcony of the clock that overlooked the square. Those who remained in the nave took up positions in the improvised trenches, fearing that they could make use of the artillery and shoot at the doors, the most vulnerable, which is why the parapets had been erected.
For a moment the shooting stopped and I held my breath, because I had the feeling that the next sound would be that of a howitzer, and indeed it was. From the batteries located at the gate of the alameda, they fired a first shell at the cathedral tower, where the machine gun was located. We heard the explosion that made the ground rumble and, instantly, the terrifying noise of the detached ashlars of the tower falling on the atrium, as if the whole tower had collapsed. Again there was the hysterical screaming of the women and the disconsolate crying of the children, but nothing had happened inside and no one had been hurt. Then I thought of the Valiente brothers, who must have been in the tower and I supposed that they might have been injured. I went to the sacristy in search of the medical team, and as I crossed the trench where Inés was, sheltered against the slabs and tombstones, she looked at me in anguish, but I could not say anything to her, because I was also unaware of what could have happened. As I entered the narrow spiral staircase that communicates with the tower, a dense cloud of dust made access impossible and I feared that, in effect, the entire tower would have collapsed with them inside.
With extreme difficulty I managed to ascend, until a breath of fresh air dissipated the dust and I could reach the access door to the balustrade, which had not been affected by that first shell. So strong was the tower that only a small part of the corner had broken off, but the rest was still standing. I peered over the balustrade and saw Damien, who was leaning on one of the supports of the railing, protected from the shots, and shouted to him if he was all right. But at that moment the machine gun fired again in the direction of the alameda, where the first shot had come from, and I assumed that he could not hear me. I did not understand why he did not take cover against the possibility of the tower being re-shelled, so without thinking of the risk to myself, and taking cover as best I could, I approached him to warn him. When I grabbed him by the arm to force him to take shelter, he collapsed to the ground; he had a shrapnel splinter embedded in his forehead and he was leaning grotesquely on the balustrade! I dragged him into the tower and all I could do for him was close his eyelids: he was dead on the spot. I didn't know what to do, but it was obvious that I had to take cover myself or with the next shot I would be the victim too. In those moments of extreme violence there is not even time or anything left in the conscience to feel the death of a friend, and now I remember that Gabriel Celaya, in the same circumstances, knew how to capture that desperation in one of his war verses:
"I saw that he felt neither grief nor horror.
I saw how my mind
I looked to the facts for justification. I saw the cancer of hatred
I saw that it was no one.
I saw as the war burned furious as much in me could be a heart."


In fact, at that moment I did not even stop to mourn my dead friend. I ran to take shelter, and as soon as I was under cover, a new shell hit the tower again. Again the great and millenary ashlars of sandstone jumped through the air and fell with an indecipherable roar on the atrium, because no one can describe how history sounds when it is attacked by the barbarism and fanaticism of some fanatics, who believed themselves exculpated by God himself to destroy their house with cannon fire. I took the risk again and, overcoming the sadness and despair over the death of Damien, I put his body under cover from further cannon fire and hurried up to the tower to see how the situation was there. Luckily the bullets had hit below the embrasures and the tower was sturdy and thick enough to hold. Inside, Benjamin himself was manning the machine gun, helped by the Austrian militia woman and two others, one of them the little girl they called Emma, who, together with Inés, had also joined the P.O.U.M., and they kept firing while the cannon smoked from the overheated gunfire. I didn't know if this was the best time to tell the Benjamín about the new misfortune that had befallen his family, but there was nothing to be gained by hiding it. It was not easy to get close to them, because the rebel bullets were hitting everywhere and it was a miracle that none of them were hit. Something must have dawned on the Benjamin when he saw me appear by the pained expression on my face and the look we exchanged that seemed to say it all. In a breath, while the militia women were putting a new belt of bullets in the gun, he asked me as if guessing the death of his brother:
-The Agnes?
-No, Damien, he was killed by the howitzer! -I said, feeling like a messenger of death, since it seemed that this was my only mission in this world. The Benjamin said nothing. He looked at the sky, no doubt challenging God himself, gritted his teeth and when the militia women, who were too busy to listen to our conversation, reloaded the gun, it seemed as if he was not firing bullets, but anger rising from the darkest depths of his soul. In this way, the pain of his brother's death was being removed, until, exhausted and shattered, he collapsed and could not avoid a bitter sobbing, covering his face with his hands, perhaps ashamed of his weakness. The militia women then understood what had happened and relieved him at the machine gun.
A howitzer against the Virgin
After the unexpected death of Damian, the attack on the cathedral intensified. They continued firing at the tower and had no choice but to abandon the machine gun, because there was no possibility of continuing firing without risking their lives, or hitting the battery that was firing at them from the avenue. When the machine gun was silenced, the cannonade of the tower also ceased, because perhaps they believed that they had been hit and destroyed. They stayed in the tower, stationed on the balcony of the clock, watching the movements of the rebels in the Plaza Mayor, in case they tried to take the cathedral through the door of the transept, but they did not try anything. What we could not see from that position was that another artillery piece, also of large caliber, was ready to fire on the door leading to the square.
The first shot hit the door itself, which was blown to pieces. When I saw the dark smoke coming out of it, a shiver of terror ran through my body, because I thought that the Agnes was defending that position and deeply alarmed I decided to rush down. I was still contemplating the dense smoke coming out of the interior when a new shot was heard and the whistle of the howitzer, which this time entered inside the cathedral, exploding inside. Something blinded my mind, as if a flash of lightning had pierced it, because I could not avoid seeing Agnes mortally wounded and bleeding to death, just as I had imagined her so many times and now I refused to believe that it could have really happened. I don't know why, but the night before, when I saw how excited she was about her fascinating future, I thought that this optimism would save her from any harm. But to her misfortune, as well as to mine for the rest of my life, it did not. Dazed, and about to kill myself rushing down those horrible stairs that seemed to deny me the way and prevent me from going to the aid of the people I loved most in this world, I went down to the ship and someone warned me before arriving:
-She has a leg shattered by shrapnel! The shell has hit the altar of Santa Librada!
Naively I was glad that she was still alive, because, no matter how serious the wound, there was always a chance of saving her. But with what, if in the cathedral there were only four pieces of gauze that were only good for healing a scratch?
On the way a woman grabbed me by my jacket and screamed hysterically:
-Tell the militiamen to surrender or they will kill us all in here!
I had lost my temper and responded rudely:
-They're going to kill us anyway, ma'am!
The poor woman let me go, terrified, holding her hand to her mouth, not knowing what to say, already in a panic. I, like a madman, ran to the place of the impact and saw only two mangled and bloody bodies on the remains of the destroyed altar, but the Inés had already been taken to the sacristy of the Cabezas.
I had never been so afraid to walk through a simple door because something inside me refused to believe what could be on the other side. I stood paralyzed in front of the entrance, refusing again and again to accept that Inés could be there, bleeding to death. It was evident that my courage fell apart when the moment of truth came, those moments when you realize that a serious event will completely change your life, even if I could live for a hundred years. That was my case and I had to accept it. At last destiny seemed to be fulfilled and my fears were coming true: Inés would fall wounded, just as I had seen a thousand times in my nightmares. But it had happened and there was no remedy, the only thing left to do was to resign myself and face reality. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down so as not to worry her any more if she was really badly hurt.
When I finally entered, Agnes lay half fainted, sitting on the wooden platform and leaning awkwardly on the drawers where the devotionals and clothes for the Eucharist were kept. Her face was contorted with pain, and from one of her legs there was still abundant blood flowing, but the scorched and tattered clothes of the monkey did not allow me to see the seriousness of the wound. She was accompanied by the two militiamen who had evacuated her from the improvised trench, and when they saw me they could not help but make a gesture of great concern.
-It almost cut his leg off! It was the shrapnel!
I approached her, but she didn't seem to recognize me, because she was still twitching from the intense pain. I removed the scorched cloth from the overalls and almost could not contain a nausea of disgust at the tear that the shrapnel had produced in her thigh. I immediately asked my comrades to find me something to give him a tourniquet or he would bleed to death right there. They found some white shirts that they tore into strips and at least I was able to contain some of the bleeding. When Inés felt my hand, she opened her eyes and looking at me with a deep expression of sadness rather than pain, she whispered to me:
-And he closed his eyes again, because he should be in terrible pain, and we didn't have a single painkiller!
I was not a doctor and I did not know what to do in the face of such serious wounds. While I despaired, not knowing what to do, in the cathedral a hard battle was already being fought, because a group of requetés, taking advantage of the confusion after the explosion, tried to assault through the demolished door. But the militiamen repulsed them with dynamite, thrown with slingshots and inside boats with nails and screws, from behind what was left of the parapet. Surprised by the violent explosions and the effects of the improvised shrapnel, the rebels retreated and the first assault failed, allowing the militiamen to regroup and fortify the entrance again.
Mika Etchebéhère had also rushed down from the tower and gone to the sacristy of the Heads to inquire about the fate of Agnes. Like me, she also understood that the wound needed more than gauze and the little disinfectant we still had left. The Benjamin, too, was already at his sister's side, and all we could do was try to give her as much affection and warmth as we could, but none of us had what she really needed. No one dared to tell her that her brother Damien had fallen moments before, but Agnes seemed to have had a premonition of her brother's death, because she opened her eyes again, looked around and, not seeing him, asked us:
-Where is Damian?
With haste and even clumsiness the Benjamin rushed to find a quick excuse:
-He's in the tower, Inés, safe and sound!... Don't worry about him!
But she, between winces, insisted:
-They killed him, didn't they, Benjamin?
The brother could no longer hide the truth, because it seemed as if she had sensed it, so she confirmed it with a resigned nod of her head, totally depressed by the pain of all those misfortunes. Agnes closed her eyes again and must have sobbed for her dead brother, but among so much suffering it was difficult to know why she was doing so.
Mika held her in his arms and tried to calm her down, stroking her hair and wiping the sweat from her forehead. Agnes, with a grimace of bitter smile, told him:
-I won't be able to go to your country anymore, Mika! Where am I going to go with one less leg!
Gangrene
After failing in his first attempt, Commander Marzo had to make the decision to avoid at any price that the siege of the cathedral became the new Alcazar of the Republican side. Moscardó himself must have given precise orders to the colonel to do whatever was necessary to force us to leave the cathedral, even if the price was to demolish it with cannon fire. Martinez de Aragon, who had pledged his word, kept looking for reinforcements from office to office without much success. It was evident that the Nationalists had orders so that the encirclement would not be prolonged. But they did not know that in the cathedral there was already a total demoralization, and most of them understood that we could not endure many attacks like that one. In addition to poor Inés, the sacristy was already full of wounded and we had nothing to do but boiled shreds of cloth to soothe the pains with hot cloths, in wounds that were getting worse and more infected with each passing hour.
Between the Austrian militia woman, Benjamin and I took turns to be always by the side of Agnes and the other wounded. Since we could not calm their pain, we tried to distract them with any topic of conversation. Inés, due to the intensity of the pain, would lose consciousness from time to time. When she regained it, the first thing she would do was to call me, as if she was afraid that I had been killed too. I would return from wherever I was, usually attending to the civilians or arguing with the militiamen to give the little powdered milk that was still left to the starving infants, whose mothers had interrupted their nursing because of the state of excitement and panic in which they found themselves. When I returned to the sacristy, Agnes would reproach me for always worrying about others, leaving her abandoned, but then she would apologize to me. The day after the attack, while I was taking care of her, she looked at me melancholy, but without looking frightened, and said.
-Andres, although it may seem to you that I'm talking nonsense because of the fever, I think I'm starting to get used to the idea... I know we have no way out and that I'm going to die in here, that's why I want you to stay by my side... In reality I don't give a damn... My mother is dead; God knows where my father is; Juan is dead; Damián is also dead and the Benjamín will get himself killed any day now... It must be the fate of our whole family... that we all die in this filthy war! -I listened to her in silence, because the truth is that I had no right to give her hope, because I also knew that if we were not rescued soon, none of us would leave that cathedral alive, so I was almost glad that she had that strength of spirit. Andrés, for God's sake, be careful not to die before me! I know it's selfish, but for me you are... you are like a son; I love you as if I had raised you..., but I also love you as a man... Well, you don't know how we women are!... I have always loved you, even when I hated you! But it's not like you think... It's as if we women were born to belong to only one man... as if we were lame or one-armed, and damn the comparison, if we lack a man... but not just any man, but the one destiny has prepared for us... And that was you, Andrés, until you became a priest. What a job you did for me! -And now, this war, look how things are, has brought us together again... And you are by my side and without a cassock; and I am talking to you not as a priest but as a man. You have become a real man, Andrés!... If you come out alive, you will be raffled off by women. But when I die, you can go on as a priest, and I won't give a damn!
I was right, I had stopped thinking like an adolescent, much less like a seminarian. After contemplating the true face of suffering and death, everything I had learned in the seminary seemed to me of an inconceivable frivolity: as if it were possible to penetrate the interior of a human being's conscience with only Our Fathers and Hail Marys! As if there were any repentance possible to forgive all those sins that were being committed against all humanity, and not only against those hundreds of unfortunate people who were locked up in that cathedral, which really seemed to be made for war and not for prayer!
What was the use of all those crucifixes, richly ornamented and beautifully decorated, if they would soon fall on our heads and serve as our burial place, violently torn from their crosses by the Catholics themselves? And what sin had we committed to deserve that heavenly punishment? A thousand times that Jesus Christ returned to the world, a thousand times he would be crucified again! There had to be another form of religion, without crosses, without Our Fathers or Hail Marys; without creeds or prayers; without flagellations or humiliations. A religion as simple as a sunrise and the joyful song of a nightingale; a religion of life and not of death, and with a God of peace and not of war, as all the gods of this world seemed to be!
On the third day of the siege, one of the wounded died and the smell of the dreaded gangrene could already be felt when entering the sacristy. Agnes' wound looked alarming, with signs of gangrene by the color of the clots and the smell it gave off. Agnes must have known this, for she was the first to feel it. She endured the pain with astonishing fortitude and the fever would rise in the evening until she was delirious. In those moments she would cry out to me, but also to her two dead brothers and her mother, to whom she desperately asked for water. Precisely the water was the biggest problem, as the Austrian militia woman had warned us, because as the ranch was based on codfish that could not be conveniently desalinated, people were thirsty all day and a militiaman had to be put on duty at the well in the cloister.
But this was not the most serious thing, but in the early hours of the third day, Colonel Marzo's patience must have run out, and he ordered a suicide attack with the two trucks that the same militiamen had armored for the assault on Atienza. As soon as they appeared in the atrium, the shots from the Mexican rifles of the militiamen pierced the plates and killed the poor soldiers, who were regulars, and many of them surely would have been mobilized at gunpoint.
Once again, the wrath of failure was paid with the cathedral and we were fired the first shell destined to destroy it completely, hitting one of the vaults of the transept, which collapsed shockingly. I was with Agnes in the sacristy and when we heard that horrible roar of stones and broken glass falling to the ground I had the impression that the whole building was coming down. In the sacristy the hundreds of heads of the craftsmen looked as if they were going to fall on us. But I immediately thought of the families dozing in the nave and feared that a new massacre had taken place among the poor civilians. A few moments later the Austrian militia woman entered the sacristy, out of her mind, which was unusual for her temperate character, and filled me in on the situation:
-But have these Spanish fascists gone mad? How can they so barbarously cannonade a cathedral full of women and children? Thank heaven there are no wounded, Andrés, they were all in the nave and only part of the vault of the transept has fallen! What madness of war! How can they reach such extremes of barbarism and dehumanization!
At least he managed to get the civilians to leave the nave and decide to close themselves in the chapels, because the next shell hit the roof and knocked down part of the vaults of the nave. Throughout the morning that infernal cannonade continued, and at noon the rain fell freely on the main altar, without a roof to cover it. The whole interior of the cathedral was an unbreathable cloud of dust with the smell of gunpowder and millenary mold, from the altars removed and the old formworks set on fire. The beautiful stained glass windows were also shattered. Piled among the rubble lay images of virgins and saints, and even the sacred relics of St. Librada must have been scattered among the smoldering debris. But what I did not know yet was that the archive, the one for which I had worked and cared for with infinite care, had been partially destroyed and all my work was useless. Those Spanish fascists did not bother to make a pile with their books and set them on fire, as Hitler or Cardinal Mendoza had done before, but here they simply destroyed them with cannon fire, and not just any books, but books of inestimable cultural and historical value. But history no longer worried them, because they were rewriting it by cannon fire!






EPILOGUE
The escape

Two anguished days of terrible uncertainty passed and there was no sign of the promised help, Inés's wound was getting worse, and although it was an idea I was desperately trying to banish from my mind, I knew that her only salvation was to amputate her leg. But, not only was there no one with the courage and knowledge to do something like that, but we all knew that it would not do much good, because the nationalists would kill her as soon as they entered the cathedral. In this state of generalized pessimism, the idea of trying a desperate way out spread. I myself had suggested to the militiamen that by jumping at night over the high wall of the cemetery of the canons and skirting a second fence that limits the watercourse, they had some chance of escaping towards the pine groves, if they were not discovered. On the other side of the watercourse the rebels had emplaced a machine gun and a small caliber artillery piece, but with the darkness closing in on those cloudy nights there was always a chance of getting lucky and reaching the pine groves. After that, it was just a matter of getting around the patrols and reaching the Republican lines.
They called a meeting to discuss whether to try to flee or to resist to the last man, to which they did not allow the civilians to attend, who desperately asked them to surrender, even insulting them and even assaulting them, but we knew that in those circumstances we could not ask them for much understanding.
More than frightened, the militiamen seemed tired and frustrated, but for the most part they were determined to resist.
-If things get really bad, we'll shoot it out with dynamite! -commented one of the miners, wielding one of the cartridges threateningly.
-We wouldn't even reach the sidewalk in front of us! They have us surrounded on all sides! There are only two alternatives here: either we try to escape or we resist, because we must not get our hopes up that they will come to our rescue. At this hour the city will be fortified and reinforcements will not stop arriving. Martinez de Aragon would need a whole division to drive them out!
The militiaman was not wrong, but what they did not know was that, in spite of everything, the Republican commander had kept his word and was making preparations to come to our aid with a company of the Pasionaria battalion, along with two companies of assault guards, supported by artillery of various calibers and two tanks, and that they were to arrive in Sigüenza on October 17, four days after that meeting.
I suggested that we allow the civilians to leave the cathedral, but the militiaman who had brought us the message of unconditional surrender commented that the Nationalists would only accept the total evacuation of the cathedral, in order to force the militiamen to surrender, and that they would not admit any other condition. I asked myself again and again why the Catholic Church did not mediate in favor of the civilians, as it had done in Toledo? Why that inhuman abandonment to their fate of more than two hundred innocent people, among whom there were dozens of children? To make matters worse, we had even had one born in the cathedral itself! Where were the journalists of the international media who did not lose any detail of what happened in Toledo or later in Guernica? We were abandoned by the world to our fate, which was already minimal!
No one spoke of surrender and it was approved that every night a group of about twenty militiamen would try to escape, until as many as possible managed to escape. When the meeting ended, Mika, Benjamin and I returned to the sacristy, together with the wounded, but on the way we asked ourselves anxiously what we could do with Agnes. There was no possibility of reaching the watercourse by carrying her on our shoulders, nor could we leave her there alone, at the mercy of the fury of the Nationalists when they took the cathedral. In any case, I was determined not to leave her and suffer the same fate.
-I will stay with her. When they find out that I am a seminarian, I'm sure that if I ask them, they will respect her!
From their expressions I understood that it was hardly certain that I could be saved, as to expect them to leave alive someone who still had the mark of the rifle butt on his bruised shoulder.
-They will kill her without mercy, but first they will humiliate or torture her!
-Anyway, I'm not going to leave and stay with the wounded, because I'll be able to do something for them!
When we entered the sacristy someone had anticipated us, and everyone already knew that from that very night the militiamen would try to flee in groups from the cathedral, because, after giving her some water, Agnes asked me:
-Are you leaving too, Andrés?
-Are you crazy, Inés? How could I leave you here alone?
-I knew it, Andrés! I know you wouldn't abandon me because you're a good person... but it's silly that if you can save yourself you don't go with the others....
-They won't do anything to me, Inés, because it must be worth something to me to have studied to become a priest!
He smiled with difficulty, because his face was increasingly pale and contracted. The sweat of fever kept soaking her forehead, and the dark circles under her eyes, deep and bluish, brought out her green eyes, sad, but serene, as if the only thing she felt was that she had to remain prostrate and not that she was wounded and even hopeless.
-Benjamin, you're not going to leave, are you? You're not going to let them kill you in here? -he asked his brother, making a futile effort to sit up and get a better look at him.
-Yes, Inés, I'll try! I still have to settle a few accounts with those people out there, for your sake and for the whole family! Mika approached her to let her know that he would also try to leave, but that he was confident that if I stayed they would respect his life.
-Go and tell your country and the whole world what you have seen in this war, so that they may see these horrors and there will be no more wars!
After that new effort, he remained silent again and we all looked at each other, as if to make clear what our decision was, and to make preparations for our escape as soon as possible.
Mika and Benjamín decided to flee the next day, after the first group, including Feliciano Benito himself, tried to escape and see if it was really possible as we had planned. The last hours passed with Inés, but we no longer knew what to talk about, because she no longer seemed to have the strength or desire to talk. It kept drizzling and the cathedral had become a real quagmire. The sacristy was almost always in darkness, illuminated by a single candle next to the rough crucifix, which seemed to contemplate our own passion, and we could only hear the sporadic wailing of the wounded and the bustle of the militiamen carrying the ladders and everything they needed to prepare for their escape. Undoubtedly that rain would help them to escape because the visibility from the other side of the watercourse must have been scarce.
Around three in the morning Mika and Benjamin left us to help those who escaped in that first group. When we were left alone, Inés seemed to be waiting for that opportunity because she reopened her eyes and whispered to me in a tired, breathy voice:
-I have been thinking, Andrés, that this life lasts so little that it must not be the real one... the real one has to be the other one, the one I am going to live soon... and where we will all meet again... forever, but in another way... I don't know how, but in another way. -I noticed that his mouth was dry and he had difficulty to continue speaking. I approached her a glass of water, but she rejected it-. I don't know why priests say when they marry you that "until death do you part", if what it does is to bring us together... -she closed her eyes again, tired and in pain, and when she opened them again she made an extraordinary effort to make me hear what she wanted to tell me-. Andrés, I thought that if I don't die before the nationals come in... take my life yourself! -The mere suggestion produced such anguish in me that I instinctively put my hand on his lips, so that he would not continue saying such crazy things, but he made an energetic gesture to get rid of it and continued speaking. Let me speak and don't be afraid of what I am going to tell you! I am not afraid of dying... but I am afraid of being condemned... If the nationals kill me I will surely have bad thoughts of hatred against them and I will not be able to die in peace, but if I die by your own hands, in your arms, I know that I will be saved... because I will die happy and without grudges against anyone... Andrés... now I understand: the important thing is not how you live, but how you die! You have to do what I have told you; please! Don't you see that it is the best thing to do? My death will not weigh on your conscience, because I have begged you for it!
She could no longer speak, but still kept her eyes open, waiting for my answer. What could I do but fulfill what was the last will of a dying man? How could I refuse? Without thinking if when the time came I would have the courage to do so, I nodded my head and the Agnes smiled slightly, squeezing my hand until it faded away again.
The first group was lucky and managed to escape without the Nationalists, stationed on the other side of the watercourse, noticing the escape, because they did not expect that the militiamen could try to escape from their siege, so the next day preparations were made for the next group, but this time things did not go so well.
The last kiss
The next day the rain stopped and it was threatening to clear, so it would be a clear moonlit night and the escape would no longer be so sheltered. However, instead of the expected twenty, everyone seemed to want to leave that night, after how easy the previous escape had been. Mika and the Benjamin were also still determined to try, even though the conditions were not the most favorable, but from the embrasures of the tower we could see troop movements that foreshadowed a new attempt to storm the cathedral, and this time it would be difficult to stop them. I did not know how to tell her brother what the last will of Agnes was, but I had to count on his consent and even his forgiveness to do something like that, if I had enough courage.
I took advantage of an opportunity when we went out to the cemetery of the canons to prepare the long stairs for that night's escape, and in front of the improvised grave of the mother I dared to talk to her about it.
-When all is over and I have a chance, I will have your mother's body exhumed and taken to town, as I am sure would be her wish..." he waited for some appropriate response to introduce the subject, but the Benjamin didn't care where it lay.
-What does it matter to her where she is buried?
-And where shall I bury Inés? -I suddenly thought of telling her.
-Is he dead? -he asked me, startled.
-No, she's not dead, but she will be... because she wants me to take her life myself! -Benjamin looked at me, frightened and horrified, then he pretended to prop the ladder up on the wall, as if he hadn't heard what I had said or didn't have an answer. But I insisted: "Benjamin, did you hear me? Your sister asked me to take her life myself, and I said yes! I need your forgiveness! -He leaned on the ladder, because Benjamin had never been a person of many words, and he remained undecided and silent for a while, as if he was already suffering the death of his sister, and without saying anything he drew his pistol, turned and gave it to me. Then you forgive me!
But he did not answer, because anguish must have prevented him from doing so, he only nodded his head and pressed his lips together in anger, perhaps to avoid crying. I took the pistol as if he were handing me an executioner's axe, and felt the cold metal burn in my hand. I pocketed it quickly and disgustedly, as if in my gut I thought that at the last moment some miracle would happen and I would never have to use it. Then we parted and I returned to the sacristy, feeling with despair the weight of that weapon that I had committed myself to use against the only person I cared about in that maddened world.
Indeed, the night was clear and a bright crescent moon appeared on the horizon, pale illuminating the watercourse. Only silence and surprise could prevent a new misfortune, but there were so many who were ready to leave that already in the first moments a real commotion arose to decide who would be the first. Since Feliciano Benito was not present, there was total anarchy. Benjamín managed to impose his criteria and they would leave in separate groups of the twenty planned, every half hour interval, but they decided to leave earlier than planned, to avoid the moon being at its zenith and completely illuminating the place. At least in the early hours they would be protected by the long shadows of the poplars, whose leaves were already withering, leaving this part of the cathedral even more visible.
Agnes was unconscious all the time. The fever was still burning in her forehead and she felt her shivering, which must have given her the sensation of cold for which there were no blankets that could soothe her. It was time to flee, and the Benjamin, who had been sitting silently beside us in the sacristy, unable to say a word, as if he were already watching over the lifeless body of the sister, slowly stood up, approached her, took her by the hand and kissed her on the forehead. He said nothing, only looked at her with a desolate expression of sadness, but in those moments Agnes opened her eyes and said to him, in a faint whisper:
-He kissed her again and, as if someone was pulling him, he let go of her hand and left the sacristy as quickly as he could so that she would not hear his sobs. Mika also said goodbye to her and promised her that he would live to tell of her death, to serve as an example and even an inspiration, as she wished, and also left the sacristy without being able to hold back his tears. When they all left, Agnes closed her eyes again and whispered to me:
"Poor Benjamin!" for he must have sensed his death on the other side of the cathedral wall barely an hour later.
In fact, already at the moment of climbing the wall, the first conflicts arose, because everyone wanted to be the first. The first group to jump was not him, but Mika and other militia women of the P.O.U.M. But one of them lost her footing when descending the ladder on the other side of the wall, falling on one of her companions, which must have alarmed the nationals who were on the other side of the watercourse. They ran to take shelter, but the mud of the meadows stuck to their feet and prevented them from walking. At that moment they heard several bursts of machine gun fire and the screams of pain of some of them who must have fallen wounded or dead, stuck in the middle of the road, between the wall of the cathedral and the small stone wall that would have served as a parapet. Benjamin faced the wall to see what was happening on the other side and at that moment he was hit by the machine gun, falling to the other side, already lifeless.
Mika managed to get to safety and flee to the pine forest, but in that muddy meadow three militiamen, including Benjamin, were left lifeless. The rest did not dare to leave.
Finally they lost all hope and decided to surrender at dawn. The miners protested because they were willing to resist, but the pressure of the civilians and the disaster of the escape had put an end to all their courage. Crestfallen and frustrated, they prepared themselves for whatever they wanted to do with them and spent the night huddled in any corner, smoking the last cigarettes by the dim light of some candelabra. They were already defeated, and Martinez de Aragon was only twenty kilometers away!
In any case, no one came to tell us that Benjamin had fallen during the departure, so the sister would not have known about it, perhaps only sensed it. It was the sister-in-law, who had not entered the sacristy to prevent the child from seeing his aunt in that state, who came to tell us that the militiamen had decided to surrender the cathedral at dawn and that the civilians were already preparing to evacuate it, collecting their miserable belongings.
I don't know if Agnes heard it, but at a moment when she seemed to regain consciousness I told her, without being able to avoid feeling a pang of pain, because the final moment was near and I didn't feel brave enough to keep my word. But she must have understood my anguish and to my surprise she asked me:
-Can you see the stars, Andrés?
-Yes, unfortunately it has cleared up, just when it should have been cloudy!
-No, Andrés, it must be like this... Take me to a place where I can see them!
It was not difficult to fulfill that wish because the vault of the transept no longer existed. I took her in my arms and we went out together to the place where she had been wounded, at the foot of the destroyed altar of Santa Librada, and I laid her down on what was left of a dais, resting her head on my arm. She opened her eyes and smiled as if she had had a heavenly vision.
-Look Andrés, they are the same stars as on the night of San Juan! -Indeed, cut out between the remains of the formwork and the vaults destroyed by the shells, appeared a piece of starry sky, so clear and clean that it seemed as if it was really the vault of an enchanted cathedral, without walls, and in the middle of the universe. Inés, encouraged by that sublime spectacle, continued, "I am no longer afraid of the dark, because if it were not for the night we would not be able to see the stars... Do you remember that night of San Juan, Andrés? It was not so long ago that it happened, for me it is as if it had been yesterday... no, as if it had just happened... Are you ready, Andrés? -I shook my hand on the gun and trembling as if I were the one who was going to die, I nodded my head. Time doesn't exist, it's nonsense; you live and die in an instant and you hardly realize it... Andres, hold me tighter, like in the river the night of San Juan! It's as if I were living it all over again and I feel so happy! You're still by my side, I see the stars and I feel you kiss me, and it's as if... as if God were kissing me! Andrés, keep on kissing me, don't stop kissing me, I beg you! Kiss me, and then... then... then!...
I didn't let her continue talking and I did what she told me, because I couldn't let that fleeting happiness fade away. I kissed her as if I had never stopped doing it before, took the gun, pointed it at her forehead and fired. Her head tilted sharply with the impact and fell lifelessly on my arm. When the dim light of that clear, starry night allowed me to see her face, I saw that it was serene and relaxed, and she still had an angelic smile on her lips. No doubt God had kissed her and not me!
Surrender
I do not know how long I remained embraced to the body of Agnes, but I only know that already at dawn I heard a horrible voice that seemed to emerge from the bowels of hell, and that shouted from the door of the main nave, wide open: "Hands up and weapons away or we shoot! I could not resist this new violence and did not pay the slightest attention to the orders. Deep down I felt like a coward for not having turned the gun on myself after ending Agnes' life. I laid her body on the platform, covered it with a blanket and got up with the pistol still in my hand, because I only wished that that barbarian, or any other, would carry out his bravado, and when he saw me armed, would shoot at me. I saw a large number of regular soldiers enter in droves, accompanied by requetés and Falangists, threateningly wielding their rifles against the poor civilians who, with their hands raised, shouted that they were not militiamen. It was still dark and it was not easy to distinguish one from the other. When they confirmed that they were militiamen, they showed no mercy and with blows with their butts and kicks they forced them to stand with their arms up against the wall or the sturdy columns of the ship. I kept walking towards them, holding my pistol, but pointing it towards the ground to avoid losing my head and shooting any of them. Suddenly from behind one of the columns emerged a young replacement soldier, perhaps a teenager, haggard and sweaty, still with a bearded face, as if he had not been able to sleep for the last few nights. He must not have expected anyone to be able to resist, and at first he made an energetic gesture with his rifle for me to stand against the column, as I had been ordered to do, but I stayed still in the same place, which confused the boy.
-Come on, against the column or I'll shoot! -he shouted nervously, but I still did not obey. When he saw that I had the pistol in my hand, he hastily faced the rifle and shouted at me again, tense and bewildered: "Damn it, I told you, against the column, and drop the gun or... I'll kill you!
That poor boy reminded me of the unfortunate Inés when she tried to execute Don Román, because he didn't seem to have the courage to kill another human being coldly either. He was trembling from top to bottom and it must have been because he was ashamed of himself, so he finally plucked up courage and shot me. But fate wanted me not to die in that war, after tempting him so many times, and once again the unforeseen would happen. Just at that precise moment, the company's father, who had entered with them, pushed him and shouted at him:
-What are you doing, crazy man, he's a seminarian!
In fact, he was my professor of "Fundamental Morals" in the seminary and he had recognized me. The bullet, which would have freed me and allowed me to join Agnes that same day, grazed my face and I saved my life. Then the páter approached me, and putting his hand amicably on my shoulder, he asked me:
-Aren't you Andrés Lafuente? -It was useless to go against destiny, and I nodded with a resigned nod of my head, "My God, what you must have suffered in here! It's a miracle that these red devils haven't killed you! -Then he contemplated the state in which the cathedral was, and with a long and deep sigh he said to me: "God knows it was necessary to destroy it, but soon we will raise it again, and for his glory, even higher, a new and higher tower in the transept won't be bad for it!
In fact, four years later the town was still in ruins, but Franco himself was able to attend in his "First Victorious Year" the new consecration of the cathedral of Sigüenza, completely rebuilt and with a new tower higher than the original one in the transept, as the páter had suggested.
The seminary was also rebuilt, and two years after its reopening, I was ordained a priest. In this way I buried myself in life and removed from me all temptation that could make me forget or profane the memory of Agnes and her brothers. I was given the parish of the village, also rebuilt, and there I did what Agnes herself suggested: I tried to preach love to the people without speaking about God, except when protocol or ritual required it.
When everything had calmed down and Franco was celebrating his "Tenth Victorious Year", I got the bodies of the mother and Damian exhumed, as I promised the Benjamin, and I buried them in the town cemetery, next to that of my parents. As for the body of Inés, it was buried in some common grave, as well as that of Benjamín, and even today I do not know its whereabouts, but wherever it is, it is only her body, because her soul, which undoubtedly dwells in Heaven, must be present in the souls of all of us who believe in tolerance and respect, and, judging by myself, that life is too short to waste it fighting against each other, when the greatest and most powerful of kings, politicians or potentates does not have a longer or happier life than the humblest of human beings.
If we stop to look peacefully and calmly at the sky on a clear starry night, we will easily feel the presence of the Inés. But what we would really see is all those people who died during our Civil War, and in so many other wars, convinced that they were defending their right to be themselves and to shine with their own light, as the stars shine in the firmament, just as Inés Valiente and her brothers did!

FIN



























































NOTA DEL AUTOR
This novel is not the exclusive fruit of my imagination, but is largely based on facts and circumstances that really happened. In order to give the reader a precise idea of the relationship between the real and the fictional, I offer a summary of the coincidences, both of the characters and of the circumstances:

Inés Valiente: Inspiring character of the whole work and to whom it is especially dedicated. The only thing I know about her is that she was a militia woman who arrived from Madrid with the J.S.U., of whom I only know her nickname "La chata". The only thing that coincides with the character in the novel is her fatal wound in the thigh and her death at the hands of her own comrades, before leaving the cathedral, the rest is fiction. The circumstances of his death are magnificently narrated by Mika Etchebéhère, in his extraordinary book "My war in Spain", which I highly recommend.
Juan Valiente: In reality he was a letter carrier of Sigüenza, affiliated to the PSOE and president of the Casa del Pueblo of this city. He was small and short because he was nicknamed "El carterillo". Married with three children, he was actually killed by the fascists on the eve of the Civil War at the door of the Casa del Pueblo of Sigüenza.
Andrés Lafuente: A completely fictional character. However, the idea of making a seminarian the axis of all the action was inspired by a priest who was forced to lock himself up with the militiamen in the cathedral, called Galo Vadiola, and who by his fortitude and bravery, not only saved his life, but also negotiated the surrender of the cathedral. The other inspiring character was the real page of the bishop, but whose personality and history do not coincide at all with those of this fictional character.
Román Beltrán: In real life, he was a local businessman named Román Pascual, opposed to the Casa del Pueblo, and author of the murder of the president of the Casa del Pueblo. However, I have recreated the circumstances, making a fictitious son of his the author of the crime. As this first edition goes to press, his name still presides over a street in this town.
The brothers Damian and Benjamin Valiente are fictional characters. The recreation of the circumstances in which the historical characters I quote with their real names were involved, are the result of my own research, carried out for my historical essay "The Battle of Sigüenza". It was precisely this research that allowed me to learn the dramatic anecdote of "La chata", and, from that very moment, I promised myself to vindicate it in a new novel, which the reader now has in his hands.
As for the bishop, whose real name was Eustaquio Nieto Martín, I have recreated the character according to statements of his own page and surviving witnesses, so I assume responsibility for my own assessments of his character and personality, as well as his political ideas, favorable to the rebels. The circumstances of his death are those described in the book.
The historical foundations of the Republican period are based on the books by Manuel Muñón de Lara, "Spain in the 20th century" and Paul Preston, "Franco, Caudillo de España" among others, and whose complete bibliography is in my historical essay cited above. Those of the war in Sigüenza are based, above all, on the account of the last surviving witnesses, among whom I wish to highlight and warmly thank for their testimonies, the result of an extraordinary almost photographic memory, despite their almost ninety years, the local militiaman, Ignacio Costero, and the communist, son of the new president of the Casa del Pueblo after the murder of "El carterillo", Carlos Arjona.
Finally, I feel morally obliged to thank the city of Berlin for having allowed me to enjoy the calm and peaceful atmosphere necessary to carry out this work, for its deep respect and interest in Spanish-American literature and culture in general, and especially the "Instituto Iberoamericano" of this city, which offered me the opportunity to make a first public reading of this work.

Berlin, Sunday, June 4, 2006







BRIEF BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE HISTORICAL FIGURES MENTIONED ABOVE

Alcalá Zamora, Niceto (Priego de Córdoba, Spain, 1877 Buenos Aires, 1949) Statesman. Minister on different occasions in the government of García Prieto and representative of Spain in the recently created League of Nations, he confronted the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera and participated in the agreements of the San Sebastián pact to reinstate the Republic. After the elections of April 1931, he was elected provisional president of the Second Republic, but his opposition to religious legislation soon became evident and he resigned. The importance of his party, the Progresista, guaranteed the support for the Republic of broad conservative bourgeois strata, so he was elected president again. As the first constitutional president of the Second Republic (1931-1936), he clashed with the left in the first biennium, and with the right in the second stage of the regime. With the dissolution of the second Cortes and the triumph of the Popular Front, his attempt to articulate a neutralist group failed, and the new Cortes decided to dismiss him.
Alfonso XIII (Madrid, 1886 Rome, 1941) King of Spain (1886-1931). Posthumous son of Alfonso XII. Declared of age in 1902, on May 17, at the age of 16, he swore the Constitution. On May 31, 1906 he married the British princess Victoria Eugenia of Battenberg. Cornered and lacking political support, he favored the coup d'état of General Primo de Rivera, who took over the government in September 1923. The polls showed that the country preferred the republican option, so, fearing a civil confrontation, he went into exile, first in Paris and later in Rome, although at no time did he abdicate, but merely "suspended the exercise of royal power". In 1936 he supported General Franco's uprising and, two weeks before his death, he renounced the throne and ceded his rights to the Crown to his son, the Infante Don Juan.
Azaña, Manuel (Alcalá de Henares, Madrid, 1880 Montauban, France, 1940) Politician and writer. In 1900 he received his doctorate in Law from the University of Zaragoza. He was a member of the Republican ranks and participated in the founding of Acción Republicana. He collaborated intensely in the advent of the Second Republic as a member of the revolutionary committee of 1930. After the abdication of Alfonso XIII, he formed part of the government presided by Alcalá Zamora. As Minister of War he reorganized the Army, and as a parliamentarian he influenced the secular tone of the new Constitution, which limited the influence of the Church in the country. He was imprisoned without any evidence, under the accusation of having intervened in the confrontation of the Generalitat of Catalonia with the central government. He founded Izquierda Republicana. After the dismissal of Alcalá Zamora, he assumed the presidency of the Republic. In 1939, shortly before the end of the civil war, Azaña went to France, where he took refuge in the Spanish embassy, where he resigned from his post.
Ascaso Abadía, Francisco (Almudévar, Huesca, 1901 Barcelona, 1936). An anarcho-syndicalist militant of the C.N.T. Baker and waiter, he was a member of the action group called "Los Justicieros", around the C.N.T. He arrived in Barcelona in 1922, where the group, which also included Durruti, Ricardo Sanz, Antonio Ortiz, Juan García Oliver and Gregorio Jover, became known as "Los Solidarios", confronting the gunmen of the Catalan employers. In 1932 he was deported to the Spanish colonies in Africa. In 1934 he was appointed secretary general of the Regional Committee of the C.N.T. of Catalonia. He died during the assault on the Atarazanas barracks in Barcelona.
Besteiro Fernández, Julián (Madrid, 1870 Carmona, 1940) Socialist leader. In 1912 he joined the socialist ranks. Successor of Pablo Iglesias. Elected president of the constituent Cortes of the Republic, he came to represent the more moderate and reformist postulates of socialism, against the rise of the radicalism of Largo Caballero. At the end of the civil war he supported Colonel Casado against the government of Juan Negrín and his policy of resistance at all costs. He refused to go into exile at the end of the conflict and was sentenced to thirty years in prison. He died in the prison of Carmona.
Calvo Sotelo, José (Tuy, Pontevedra, 1893 Madrid, 1936). Politician and lawyer, Minister of Finance in the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera 1925. Founded CAMPSA in May 1934. Member of Parliament for Renovación Española. He would soon stand out as one of the most prominent right-wing politicians in the country. He founded the National Bloc. In retaliation for the assassination by the fascists of Lieutenant Castillo, he was assassinated in Madrid on July 13, 1936, by the assault guards and members of the Socialist Youth led by the Captain of the Civil Guard, a personal friend of the assassinated, Condés.
Casares Quiroga, Santiago (La Coruña, 1884 Paris, 1950). Galician politician and lawyer. Leader and founder of the Autonomous Galician Republican Organization (ORGA). A personal friend of Azaña, he participated in the Pact of San Sebastián (1930). Imprisoned for his alleged participation in the Jaca insurrection. Minister of the Navy and Interior in the provisional Government. President of the Government when the military uprising of July 18 took place. Resigned due to his refusal to arm the militias. He died in exile in France.
Companys, Lluis (El Tarròs, 1882 Barcelona, 1940) Catalan politician and lawyer, leader of Esquerra Republicana de Catalunya. He was one of the founders of the Unió de Rabassaires in 1922. In 1931 he was elected deputy for Barcelona. Spanish Minister of the Navy (1933). In 1932 he was elected first president of the Parliament of Catalonia, one year later of the Generalitat. He promoted the controversial Law of Cultivation Contracts. In October 1934 he led an uprising against the Republican legality as a result of the entry into the government of the Spanish Confederation of Autonomous Rights (CEDA) and proclaimed the Catalan State within the Spanish Federal Republic. He was arrested and sentenced to 30 years and released after the military uprising. He confronted Negrín during the Government's stay in Barcelona. In 1939 he went into exile in Paris. Arrested by the Gestapo, he was extradited and executed at Montjuïc Castle on October 15, 1940.
Domingo, Marcelino (Tarragona, 1884 France, 1939) Politician. In 1911 he founded the Republican Nationalist Union. In 1917 the Partit Republicà Català and in 1929 the Partido Radial Socialista. He went into exile after the failure of the Jaca insurrection. Minister of Public Instruction (1931) and Agriculture (1932). Founded with Azaña and Casares Quiroga, Izquierda Republicana (1933). In 1936 he returned to occupy the portfolio of Public Instruction. He died in exile in 1939.
Durruti, Buenaventura (León, 1896 Madrid, 1936). Syndicalist and revolutionary anarchist. Mechanic-fitter. He participated in the revolutionary general strike of 1917. In 1920 he moved to Barcelona, where he joined the C.N.T. He took part in the insurrections of 1932 and 1933. At the outbreak of the war he was one of the protagonists of the defense of Barcelona against the rebels. At the proposal of Lluis Companys, he participated in the "Committee of anti-fascist militias". He formed the "Durruti Column" to recover Zaragoza, but it failed due to the boycott of the Generalitat and the central government, declaring, however, "Libertarian Communism" in the liberated towns. He died of a gunshot of dubious origin.
Etchebéhère, Mika (Vienna, Austria) Austrian militiaman affiliated with the P.O.U.M., wife of the Argentine revolutionary Miguel Etchebéhère (née Feldman), stationed in Sigüenza at the beginning of the Civil War. Promoted to captain in the front of the "Ciudad Universitaria", during the defense of Madrid. Author of "My war in Spain".
Franco Bahamonde, Francisco (El Ferrol, 1892 Madrid, 1975) Military. Stationed in Morocco, he took part in various military actions. In 1917, with the rank of major, he returned to Spain and took part in the repression of the Asturian miners, under the orders of General Burguete. In 1926, he was promoted general (the youngest in Europe). The following year, Primo de Rivera appointed him director of the General Military Academy of Zaragoza. In 1934, the Lerroux government entrusted him with the repression of the revolutionary strike in Asturias. After the electoral triumph of the Popular Front (1936), the new government appointed him military governor of the Canary Islands, where he was at the beginning of the Civil War. After the military uprising and the accidental death of General Sanjurjo, the rebel military junta installed in Burgos named him generalissimo of the armies and head of state of the so-called national Spain (September 29). Franco led the rebel army to victory, which ended on April 1, 1939.
Gil Robles, José María (Salamanca, 1898 Madrid, 1980) During the dictatorship of Miguel Primo de Rivera he was secretary of the Confederación Católico-agraria. He was deputy for Salamanca in the first elections of the Second Republic (1931). In 1932 he founded the Confederación Española de Derechas Autónomas (CEDA), with which he triumphed in the 1933 elections. He was part of the government until October 1934, without becoming president. The entry of three members of his party into the Government provoked a revolutionary movement (October Revolution of 1934). In 1935 he was Minister of War. He named Franco chief of the Army General Staff. When the Popular Front won the 1936 elections he became head of the parliamentary opposition. During the Civil War he recommended his followers to support Franco's side and gave his party's funds to general
Lafuente, Aída (1918-1934). Nicknamed "The Red Rose of Asturias", Asturian libertarian communist militant. Fallen in the church of San Pedro de los Arcos de Oviedo when she was only 16 years old, defending almost alone with a machine gun the entrance to the city against the legionary troops of General Franco. Symbol of youthful revolutionary impetus and Asturian revolutionary heroine.
Largo Caballero, Francisco (Madrid, 1869 Paris, 1946) Politician and trade union leader. A stucco worker by profession, he joined the U.G.T. and was a member of the PSOE. He advocated a policy of understanding with the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera. Once the Second Republic was proclaimed, he was Minister of Labor in the government of Manuel Azaña, in confrontation with Julián Besteiro. Once the civil war had begun, he presided over the Popular Front government until May 1937. Exiled in France since January 1939, he was arrested by the Vichy government and interned in the Nazi concentration camp of Oranienburg, from which he was released in 1945.
Lerroux, Alejandro (La Rambla, Córdoba, 1864 Lisbon, 1949) Politician. Lawyer and journalist. He directed "La Publicidad" in Barcelona, anticlerical and populist, as well as anticatalanist. After several scandals he loses support in Barcelona and manages to be elected deputy for Cordoba in 1914. He took part in the San Sebastian Meeting. In 1933 he made a pact with the conservatives and assumed the presidency of the Government. He resigns as a result of the "Estraperlo" gambling scandal. He fails in the 1936 elections and goes into exile in Portugal at the beginning of the Civil War. He returned to Spain in 1947, reconciled with the new regime.
March, Joan (Santa Margalida, 1880 Madrid, 1962) Mallorcan politician and financier. Son of a cattle dealer, he married Leonor Servera, daughter of a politician from Manacor linked to banking. In 1906 he started in the tobacco smuggling business in Algiers and in 1911 he obtained the monopoly in Morocco, from where he started smuggling to the peninsula. In 1926 he founded Banca March. He was one of the main financiers of the rebel side, and who paid for the plane that transported Franco from the Canary Islands to join the uprising.
Martínez Barrio, Diego (Seville, 1883 Paris in 1962). Politician. Member of the Radical Republican Party. Minister of the Interior with Lerroux. Founded Unión Republicana. Interim President of the Republic, in May 1936, on the occasion of the dismissal of Alcalá Zamora. On the night of July 18-19, 1936, Manuel Azaña commissioned him to form a government to try to stop the uprising that would give rise to the civil war, but he failed in his attempt. His government lasted only 3 hours. Exiled in France, he was named president of the Republic in exile.
Maura Gamazo, Miguel (Madrid 1887 ?) Son of the politician Antonio Maura y Montaner. In 1916 he was a deputy in the Cortes for Alicante. Supporter of the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera, he evolved towards a moderate republicanism. In 1930 he was part of the first republican revolutionary committee and signed the San Sebastian Pact in August. When the Second Republic was proclaimed he was Minister of the Interior in the provisional government. He resigned in October 1931 due to the approval of the articles of the Constitution contrary to the Catholic Church. At the beginning of the civil war he went into exile. He returned to Spain in 1953.
Mola Vidal, Emilio (Cuba, 1887 Pamplona, 1937) Military man. He was one of the main instigators of the 1936 rebellion. Director of Security in 1930. In 1936 he was appointed military governor in Pamplona. Mola rose up against the Republic on July 19, but the coup failed in its objective of controlling most of Spain. After Sanjurjo's death in Portugal, Mola was appointed head of the Northern Army. He died on June 3, 1937 when his plane crashed during a storm returning to Vitoria. The Chilean poet Pablo Neruda dedicated to him one of his most ferocious verses from his book "Residencia en la Tierra", entitled "Mola en los infiernos" (Mola in hell).
Moscardó Ituarte, José (Madrid, 1878Id. 1956) Military. At the time of the Uprising, of which he was aware, he locked himself in the Alcazar of Toledo, then Infantry Academy, taking several civilian hostages, along with a garrison of civil guards, where he resisted from July 22 to September 28, 1936. General Varela forced the Republican militiamen to lift the siege. During the war he commanded the Soria armored division. In 1948 Franco granted him the title of Count of the Alcazar.
Prieto, Indalecio (Oviedo, 1883 Mexico, 1950) Politician. At the age of eight, after the death of his father, he moved with his mother to Bilbao. Elected deputy for Bilbao in 1918, he held several ministerial posts throughout the years of the Second Republic. Under the government of Alcalá-Zamora, Prieto was appointed Minister of Finance; later he would also hold the portfolio of Public Works, Navy and Air and Defense. A convinced leftist, Prieto rebelled against the return of the right-wing government in October 1934. He went into exile in Mexico, where he organized the Spanish Liberation Junta (Junta Española de Liberación).
Primo de Rivera, José Antonio (Madrid, 1903 Alicante, 1936) Politician and lawyer. Son of the coup general Miguel Primero de Rivera. In 1933 he founded Falange Española (F.E.) and obtained a deputy seat. F.E. unified in 1934 with the Juntas de Ofensiva Nacional-Sindicalista (JONS) and together with Ruiz de Alda and Ledesma Ramos formed the triumvirate that directed the designs of the movement. Under the climate of violence of 1936, José Antonio was arrested and transferred to the prison of Alicante. Tried by a popular tribunal, he was condemned to death and shot on November 20.
Romanones, Count of (Madrid 1863 Madrid 1950) Álvaro de Figueroa y Torres was the second son of the Marquis of Villamejor, from a family with roots and possessions in Guadalajara. He belonged to the liberal party of Sagasta and Canalejas, and was Mayor of Madrid, President of the Senate, 17 times minister and 3 times President of the Council of Ministers with Alfonso XIII. In 1893 he was named first Count of Romanones (a town in Guadalajara).
Sanjurjo Sacanell, José (Pamplona, 1872 Estoril, Portugal 1936) Military man. Main conspirator of the military uprising of July 1936 that led to the civil war. After the disaster of Annual (1921), he was promoted to general. After the 1931 elections, he placed himself under the orders of the Republican Revolutionary Committee and was confirmed as Director General of the Civil Guard. Opposed to the military reform and the autonomy statute project for Catalonia, he prepared, with some Carlists of Manuel Fal Conde and the Count of Rodezno as well as other military officers, a rebellion in Seville on August 10, 1932. After the failure, his death sentence was commuted to life imprisonment, which he served in the El Dueso prison. He was amnestied after the conservative triumph of 1933. After the fall of Lerroux he went into exile in Portugal. On July 20 the aviator Juan Antonio Ansaldo went to Estoril to pick him up with his light aircraft to take him to Burgos. The plane crashed on takeoff and Sanjurjo died in the accident.