The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (47 page)

“Why is this happening?” he asked. “I think the whole of Spain has gone stark raving mad. Father, I remember a time when the peasants on this land thought you were God Almighty, but as I drove up the drive tonight, I saw Ramón’s son, Carlos, walking down the drive towards the gates. He was friendly enough—he’s a good man, and I’ve always liked him—but something was different about him. He stared at my uniform as though it were the first time he’d ever seen it, and when I asked him where he was going, he said, ‘Somewhere that doesn’t have anything to do with your father’s empire’. All I see when I come home are eyes that stare with unmasked hatred and a lust for revenge.”

Ernesto shook his head and let out a tired sigh. He knew well what was in the hearts and minds of his workers.

“I know, but I can’t say I blame them entirely for what’s happening. The two-class system in this country has gone on long enough—far too long, if you ask me. Yet we have a republican government which doesn’t seem to be able to get any kind of reforms through the Cortes. Let’s face it, President Azaña and his government are weak. The country is angry, son. Everybody’s so damned angry.”

“It’s going to be war, isn’t it? As if the threat from Hitler’s growing war machine isn’t enough to contend with.”

Ernesto said quietly, “Yes, son, it’s going to be war. What do you think is going to happen now? What do you think the army will do?”

Pedro sipped his brandy and thought about the question. For weeks, he’d gone through every possible scenario in his head and had concluded that it would not be the Phalanx who would start this impending war or the republican government. It would be the high-ranking generals of the Spanish army.

“I think the generals will start an uprising,” he told his father. “I don’t see it any other way.”

“Any in particular, or are you generalising?” Ernesto asked, not looking surprised at Pedro’s answer.

“Well, I believe just about all the major players in the army have been conspiring for months, maybe even years. If I’m right, most of them will be involved. You only have to look at the government’s actions to conclude that they’re scared of the army’s hierarchy. General Sanjurjo is exiled in Portugal. General Franco was sacked as chief of staff and sent to the Canary Islands. General Goded was transferred to the Balearic Islands, and General Mola, who was my commander in Africa, is to be sent to Pamplona, and it is more than just a rumour. The government is trying to separate them, keep them far apart, but if these generals, along with all the other right-wing factions, do get together somehow and come up with a cohesive plan, then God help us all!”

Pedro stopped talking. His father was trying to decide if he agreed or not.

“This is just an opinion, Father, my own thoughts on the matter.”

“I know, son, but I think you might be right,” Ernesto said with a worried frown. “And I also think that if there are conspirators out there, and if they succeed in their plan to overthrow the government, it will be the government’s own fault. The president and prime minister continue to ignore the repeated warnings that they’re receiving about plots. Did you know that General Mola has already been implicated in one?”

Pedro nodded his head. “Yes, but for the most part, what we hear at the base is nothing more than rumours, and they change from day to day.”

Pedro stopped talking. “How did you know about Mola?” he asked Ernesto.

“I still have my sources in Valencia and in Madrid,” Ernesto told him.

He knew about a lot more than just Mola, but he wasn’t sure how much to share with his son. Maybe the less Pedro knew, the less he’d have to worry and the less he would be implicated in, he thought.

“Mola was let off the hook. Do you know why?” Pedro asked with a sly look on his face.

“No, no more than you, but I think no action was taken against him because the government stupidly believe that, as they are the legitimate government, they will be supported by all of Spain, a naive conclusion at best, if you ask me,” Ernesto spat. “They are all a bunch of blind fools!”

Pedro nodded in agreement. “They know what’s coming but refuse to see it, as though ignoring it will make it all go away.”

“What about General Franco? You’ve met him, haven’t you?” Ernesto asked.

Pedro nodded again and made a face. “Yes, in Morocco. He paid a visit to General Mola.”

“What’s he like?”

“Well, as you know, they like him down there. They’re a tough bunch of bastards in Morocco. They enjoy killing. It’s what they live for. Actually, it’s hard for me to believe that Franco was their commanding officer.”

“Why?”

Pedro smiled and then began to chuckle. “Well, imagine rough-and-ready soldiers who run for hours every day with backpacks filled with rocks… Moorish Rifian troops who would kill you sooner than look at you… And now imagine Franco. Tiny, in comparison, with his little piggish belly that makes him look like an egg. And that squeaky voice of his! He hardly fits the bill.”

“Well, he must have done something right.”

“Yes, I’m sure he did and don’t get me wrong. General Franco’s a bloody good soldier. In fact, the Moors are convinced that he’s invincible! You should hear the way they talk about him… Anyway, enough about that.”

Pedro was quiet for a moment and watched his father get up and pour them both another brandy. “What will you do here?” he asked Ernesto, changing the subject.

Ernesto didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he crossed his legs, shifted in his chair, and stared out the open window. He’d asked himself this question many times in the last few months. What would he do? If the right took control of Valencia, he and his family would be safe, but his entire estate would be under the rebels’ control. If the republican government stayed in power, his estate would be dismantled piece by piece, with radical reforms derived from communist notions. Neither of these options sounded very appealing to him.

“I’m going to wait and see what happens. I’m not going to do anything I might regret at a later date,” he finally said. “When the situation becomes clearer, I’ll make a decision. I can’t imagine what Valencia will do at the moment, should there be a rising, but one thing is certain: I won’t put our family in danger. So don’t worry about us, son. You’ve got enough to deal with.”

Hours passed. They spoke about Miguel and about what the Phalanx was doing. They both worried for his safety, but he had already chosen his side; his allegiance was clear. They discussed at length the political and military situation, and although nothing was said directly, they both knew that soon a decision would have to be made regarding where their own allegiance lay. Finally, they spoke about Marta, about how much they missed her and how they would both like to go and get her out of the convent before anything happened.

They said goodnight at the bottom of the stairs. Pedro shook his father’s hand and then drew away. “Father, I’ve never told you this before, but I want to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“Yes, I want to thank you for adopting me and for giving me your name. Maybe I’ve had too many brandies, but I just want you to know that I’m proud to be your son. I love you, Papa, and whatever you decide to do, I’ll be behind you every step of the way.”

Chapter 45

M
aría parked the car on the grassy verge at the side of the road that ran past the Martinéz estate. She switched off the lights and then waited for the signal—three quick flashes of torchlight. She opened the window and looked up at the starlit night. The moon was full, and the air was silent and breathless. The orange groves were to the right, and every now and again, she heard the sound of foxes crying into the pale Blue Mountains behind her. She heard a rustle of leaves within the thick density of the groves and pointed the torchlight in that direction. It was not Carlos arriving—just some small animal that dominated the darkness.

María went there often to wait for Carlos in the dead of night. The only time they could be together was when all around them slept, and their only witnesses were the animals that dominated the dark. It had not been an easy night, and she had thought about giving up on the idea of meeting Carlos altogether. Dinner had gone on longer than usual, and because of her mother’s mood, it had been impossible to slip away unnoticed. She sighed, opening the car door in an attempt to find a tiny breath of air that might cool her down. Her mother was looking tired, and Pedro’s news had only managed to lower her spirits further. She’d felt compelled to escort her to the bedroom and give her what comfort she could. First Marta and Miguel had gone, and now Pedro would be leaving too. She could only imagine the pain that her mother must be feeling. She felt it too. Every day she felt the terrible void that Marta’s departure had left in her life. It was almost as though her right arm had been severed and part of her would never be able to function properly ever again. Carlos understood. He was the only one she could talk to about it, and because of that, he would also understand her need to see him tonight.

Three flashes. María opened the car door and flashed back with her own torch. Carlos walked briskly out of the shadows of the trees and took her in his arms without saying a word. They kissed greedily for a long time and then pulled away reluctantly to sit side by side on top of a small stone wall.

“Was it very bad tonight?” Carlos asked María.

“It was terrible. I had to pretend that I didn’t know a thing about it. Mother was a wreck, and father, God bless him, tried to talk about everything and anything that might take mother’s mind off things. It was really awful to see Mama like that, but I’m glad Pedro came. It would have been even worse if he’d told her on the telephone.”

Carlos nodded his head in agreement. “You have to be strong for them, María. You’re all they have left now. None of the others will be home anytime soon. In fact, if this all kicks off like we believe, your brothers could be gone for a long, long time.”

María thought about this and agreed with him. There would be a conflict soon. Her mother refused to believe what she read and what she heard on the radio, but her father was already preparing the hacienda for the disaster that was going to befall them.

“How long until it all starts?” she asked Carlos.

“I don’t know. All we hear are rumours and opinions, but I think—”

“What will you do?” she interrupted, deciding she didn’t want to hear the answer. She dreaded the moment he’d tell her that he was leaving too. Carlos was a peasant, the horrible term landowners called anyone who didn’t own anything, although it was not a term she deemed appropriate for him. He was proud and probably the most dignified man, apart from her father, that she’d ever known. He was everything that the aristocratic, pompous, arrogant young bullies that owned half the country were not. But he was a peasant all the same, and between them was a deep chasm that could not easily be crossed. She waited for his answer, knowing that he didn’t want to give it.

“I’ll fight… I know that’s not what you want to hear, but that’s what I’m going to do.”

He looked into her eyes. She knew what he was thinking. There was no need for him to say more. Very soon, they would be enemies on opposite sides of a conflict that would no doubt witness the death of thousands and cause even more resentment and hate between the rich and poor.

“I don’t care who you fight for. I will be with you by your side,” María blurted out.

Carlos smiled. “Darling, if only it were that simple. If only you knew the half of it. María, your family are the masters of this land. We can’t be on the same side. We shouldn’t even be in love with each other. That’s why we sneak around in the darkness and sit on a stone wall at the side of a road.”

María protested. “But we
are
in love! And I don’t care when or where we meet, so long as I can see you. You still love me, don’t you?” She closed her eyes and snuggled into his chest. Carlos caressed María’s face with his fingers. She raised her slightly opened mouth to meet his, and he kissed her tenderly.

“Of course I do. I’ll always love you,” he told her as one would a child.

“Then why can’t we just tell everyone?”

Carlos sighed, jumped down from the wall, and led María into the groves. He leaned against a tree and pulled her against him.

“We can’t make this public
because
we’re so different—not you and I but our backgrounds, our families, our statuses in life,” he told her.

“But why does that matter so much? Just because you’re poor and I’m rich… Don’t be such a snob.”

Carlos laughed at the irony and kissed her again. “Do you remember when you used to ride with your father and you always waved to me, high on your horse, looking down at me whilst I picked the oranges from your father’s trees until my fingers bled?”

María nodded.

“You sat there on a horse that I always thought was far too big for you, and you looked like a princess. I remember that you sometimes brought me bread and cheese because you thought I was starving.”

She nodded again, remembering.

“And since your father allowed me to come to your schoolroom to read and write with Pedro and Miguel, I’m the only person in my family who can read, write, and speak English. Thousands of others have not been so lucky. Men just like me have been killed for raising their voices in protest against the inhumane treatment by landowners and the Church. Peasants have worked the land and died in the process, leaving children with no chance of survival and wives who have starved to death trying to keep their young alive. My own family have never been to Valencia, and our house is a tin shack! This is why we are so different, María, and I assure you that it has nothing to do with snobbery.”

“But you’re my equal in every way!” María protested.

“No, María, I’m not. Not in the eyes of Spain. I’m beneath you by birth, and that is why we will not be able to fight this war side by side.”

“But I don’t understand. We love each other, and I’m sure my parents would accept you into the family with open arms. I just don’t understand.”

“Then understand this: my kind hates your kind. My people will take revenge for all the cruel and unjust laws that your kind have made us live by for years. I do love you, I adore the ground you walk on, but very soon we will have to sacrifice everything for Spain. You will have to distance yourself from me because it is you who will not be accepted. Not in my world.”

María turned her back on him, close to tears. He was being deliberately cruel, she thought just for an instant, but she knew him better than that; he didn’t have a cruel bone in his body. He was trying to push her away for her own good, but it wouldn’t be good. It would be a disaster.

“Carlos, I don’t care what happens or who hates whom. I love you, and I will not lose you. I won’t. Do you understand me? I can’t lose you! Tell me what to do… please?”

“Go home, María, and be with your family.”

Carlos saw María to her car, gave her a hurried kiss, and then made his own way home, taking the shortest route through the dense orange grove in the lower fields. He ran some of the way and tried to banish María from his mind. There was no air tonight, and he stopped every now and again to catch his breath. María… He’d said goodbye to her tonight. She knew nothing about his life any more, about the work he had to do for his country, and he would not put her in danger by telling her, for he loved her too much.

He sat on a rock a short distance from his home, a small two-roomed stone walled shack with a corrugated iron roof that years ago housed nine people. He’d been born, there and he’d watched his family grow in number until the four walls, bursting at the seams, could hold no more bodies. He had four brothers and two sisters. Three of his brothers had died young of influenza, and his sisters were married. At least now he had a bed to sleep in.

His old grandmother, who always sat in the corner of the living space in a straw chair that permanently rocked back and forth, was his father’s mother. She had outlived so many in the village and had lived on this land when peasants’ homes were nothing more than caves and rough sheeting. He had been taught from a young age to make do with what little the family had, and he’d learned that in order to eat, he had to do the master’s bidding just like everyone else. He hated even thinking about the word master. Master was what everyone called Ernesto Martinéz, because that’s exactly what he was.

His father, Ramón, had always been a favourite of the master. He had gone many times to the big house that sat on top of the hill and had eaten at the master’s table. He remembered that his father would often return from these outings carrying meat and potatoes, sponge cakes, and freshly cooked vegetables. He’d been lucky as a child to have Ramón as a father.

He began to walk again, and as he grew closer to the house, his thoughts turned once again to María. She wouldn’t understand why he had to leave. She would be outraged and hurt, for he had not told her tonight that he was going to join the very people who would try to take everything from her.