Autumn in Catalonia (11 page)

‘Companys? That’s the name of your Catalan chief, isn’t it? The one who calls himself your president! President, hah!’ the officer spat. ‘President of a bunch of monkeys who thought they could stand up against the real Spain! Where’s the guy’s father?’

Joana clutched her uncle’s hand as one of their close neighbours was pulled out from the group.

‘So you’re a Companys, eh? Related to that cowardly bastard who’s now running for cover in France, are you? No? Well, that’s what you say now! But you’re a sympathiser, aren’t you? You all are! And you sent your son to give him a hand!’ The officer’s eyes bored into Companys, standing helpless in front of him, and suddenly he punched him, low down in the belly, with the butt of his revolver, so that he doubled up with an agonised grunt. His wife screamed, and ran forward, but the officer brushed her aside, catching her cheek with the edge of the gun without even glancing her way.

‘Take him away,’ he ordered, and from behind him two men leapt forward to grab Companys, and dragged him to the truck, dumping him in the back and jumping in beside him. Small sobs came from the ground where his wife lay.

The officer turned to Sergi. ‘That can’t be all,’ he
muttered. ‘This is the type of village that breeds sloppy anarchists who think they know better than the people who gave them their land and look after them. There must be other Republican supporters here.’

Sergi shook his head, and the officer stared him down, and then turned angrily to a man who looked like his deputy.

‘What about you? You know anyone here?’

The man shook his head as well. ‘I’m from Barcelona, sir! I don’t suppose any of these bumpkins have been near Barcelona in their lives.’

The officer paced impatiently around the crowd, his eyes raking over each frightened figure. Nobody moved an inch. Next to her Victor had his eyes fixed on the ground, but Joana couldn’t help watching the man’s angry, vengeful progress. He caught her eye, and she lowered her head in a hurry, but he stopped beside her and held out his gun to sweep her hair back from her face.

‘Well, look what we have here!’ he leered. ‘Who’d have thought this miserable region could produce a beauty like this? What’s your name, belleza?’

‘Joana, sir.’ She tried to keep her voice steady.

‘Joana? What kind of name is that?’ The anger was back in his voice. ‘A Catalan aberration, that’s what that is! Call yourself by your decent Spanish name, my girl! Juana, that’s what a decent Christian name should be! What are your family names?’

She bit her lip and answered him. ‘Vigo Garriga, sir. My name is Juana Vigo Garriga.’

She saw the deputy beside him start, and touch his
superior’s arm. ‘Now that’s odd, sir! An odd combination of names, I mean. Vigo isn’t a Catalan name, and I’ve never met another one around here, but there was a Vigo in Barcelona who worked alongside a guy called Luis Garriga a few years ago. And this girl carries both their names! They ran a filthy, left-wing newspaper, and we crushed it in ’34, when we had a right-thinking government in power. I was in the police then in Barcelona, and I remember we arrested Vigo, but we never caught the man Garriga.’

‘Is that so?’ The officer’s eyes narrowed. A smile came to his face, and he grabbed hold of Joana’s arm and pulled her forward. His face was so close to hers that she could feel the warmth in his frosted breath. ‘So, my little beauty,’ he purred. ‘Do you have a famous little revolutionary for a father?’

‘My father is dead, sir.’

‘Perhaps, but that’s not an answer! Was he this Vigo we are hearing about?’

Joana stared helplessly into the eyes that were raking hers. What could she say? A shiver shook her and her tongue wouldn’t work. Suddenly her grandmother stepped out of the crowd behind her.

‘You are talking about my son-in-law, Señor, and also about my son. My son-in-law is dead, and my daughter with him, and my son has disappeared from our lives, and probably lives some comfortable life in Paris, or London, or somewhere like that. He might as well be dead too, for all he is worth to this family. I brought this child back to the village when they were all gone, to raise her decently in the ways of the Church. I don’t care about politics, but I love
the Lord, sir, and when those Republicans started killing our priests I renounced my son forever.’

Around her Joana could almost hear people holding their breath. She herself cast her eyes to the ground, holding herself completely still as though she could make herself less conspicuous. What would Sergi do? Would he betray them? He knew fine well that her mother was alive and in the group, and he knew that whatever old Aina may have thought of the Republicans she would never really renounce her son.

The officer hadn’t moved, and he still held Joana by the arm. She heard a movement next to him, and a voice, speaking low. She risked a glance up and froze when she saw Sergi talking into the officer’s ear. But whatever he was saying, his words had an unexpected effect. A slow grin came onto the officer’s face, and he spoke out almost jovially to Sergi.

‘Is that so, you young dog? Well, we’ll leave her to you, then!’

He leered one more time into Joana’s face and let her go.

‘Go give their house a special check, though,’ he said to his deputy. ‘Olivera, you can go too, and take the girl and the old woman with you. Lover boy or no lover boy, I want them to show you all their correspondence.’

Joana looked round for her grandmother. Poor Aina looked as though she was about to faint, so Joana took her arm and supported her as they followed Sergi and the other man to their house. There she and Aina huddled together in a corner as the officer searched cupboards, and pulled out drawers and threw every item of their belongings on the
floor. Sergi stayed by them, and when the officer had gone up the wooden stairs to the bedrooms he turned to Joana.

‘I told them we were engaged,’ he said, with a smile of satisfaction. ‘I could have lost my job, there! See what I do for you, Joana?’

‘You let them take Joaquim away! Poor Joaquim Companys!’ Grandma Aina was crying now, distressed tears for her neighbour, for the terrible lie she had told against her son, for the violation of her village.

‘Yes, but that was necessary, don’t you see? They wanted someone, and they wouldn’t have gone away without taking someone with them, but old Companys’ son is a nobody, and they’ll soon realise it and let the old man go in a few weeks! What I didn’t do, little Joana, is shop the family of that old boyfriend of yours! They’ve got a son fighting as well, haven’t they? Well, I made sure no one found out about him!’

Joana could only stare. Did he know about her and Alex? Had it been that obvious even last year when Sergi was here? She caught a breath, more like a sob, and stammered, ‘Boyfriend?’

‘No boyfriend, sweetheart? Well if you’re no longer with him, all the better. Will you be grateful to me, little one, when I come back here in a few weeks’ time? I’ll get away from the regiment for a while, you’ll see, and I’ll come up to see you. I hope the whole village will be suitably grateful, but you, Joana, you especially!’

He pulled a lock of her hair as he spoke, bending her head back a little so she looked straight into his eyes. What he saw there made him frown.

‘Don’t be afraid of me,
belleza
. You are so beautiful I want to kiss that soft mouth of yours, but I won’t until you ask me to. I don’t mean you any harm. I want you to belong to me, so remember that and forget anyone else you may have been flirting with.’ He lowered his voice to a caress. ‘Didn’t I just save you, sweetheart? Trust me, and all will be fine.’

‘T-thank you,’ was all she managed to say, but he seemed satisfied. The officer came down the stairs. He had her mother’s delicate gold necklace in his hand, the one which Papa had given her. It was the only thing of value in the house. He pocketed it without a blink, and with a gesture to Sergi to follow him he left the house.

Carla sat in the back of the car with Grandma, in silence, while Martin made semi-awkward conversation with Toni in the front. Toni still didn’t entirely trust Martin, it would seem. Was it because he seemed overly friendly with Mama?

She wondered what had happened at the hill house this afternoon to bring about such a change of heart from Mama. ‘She didn’t know you were pregnant. She didn’t know any of what your father had done,’ was all Martin would tell Carla.

‘And she cared?’

‘Yes, she cared. She wants you and the baby safe.’

It seemed an odd way to feel safe, to be going up to her parents’ home, where her father might turn up at any time, but even Toni seemed to concur that it was the last place Sergi would visit at this time of year. There was to be a major conference in Girona next month. There was talk
of some changes in leadership. Toni had heard from Sergi’s other driver that Sergi was having to fight hard to keep his position. He wouldn’t leave Girona just now, and certainly not to visit his wife.

Carla wanted to know more. Why was Mama up in the hills? Was there a problem, then, that Papa didn’t want to see her? Toni just grunted non-committally. Ask her, was the reply. But Carla struggled to imagine asking her mother anything of the sort.

She leant into Grandma. Thank God Grandma had come with her. But it must be even harder for Maria than for herself. Maria and Joana hadn’t met for how many years? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty? The last time they’d really needed a favour and only Maria could ask it? When would that have been? When Uncle Victor had lost his land she knew they’d gone to Joana, but it had done no good. Had Grandma seen her daughter then?

They drove through Sant Galdric in the dark, without stopping. Carla watched Grandma intently, trying to follow her eyes, but there were so few lights on anywhere. Were the houses all empty, or did people just go to bed early here? Grandma’s face gave nothing away, and when Carla reached for her hand she gave it a quick squeeze but said nothing.

From the village they snaked through the dark up the hill, to where Mama was waiting. By the time the house came into sight Carla was rigid with nerves. You could see the lights on the veranda from far down the hill. Trees surrounded the house on three sides, but the run up to it had been cleared, so that it was visible for many kilometres
from the valley below. It had been built of stone, to look like a landowner’s hunting lodge of yesteryear. And yet it was a latter-day folly of her father’s, this absurd edifice built deliberately above the village that had spurned him, in imitation of all the people he wanted to be.

The car swung around the house to park at the rear, and there, almost rigid to attention, stood Mama, looking anxious, and apparently just as nervous as Carla. Toni stepped out of the car first, and Joana almost jumped on him.

‘Did it go all right?’ she asked him. ‘You weren’t seen? You’ve been an age!’

‘No, we weren’t seen, I’m sure of that. But I had to park a long way from the apartment, to be sure, and we waited for Victor to come home, so that he would know what was happening, and that Maria was coming with us.’

There was an understandable stress in Toni’s voice. This must be the first time he had acted for Joana in something that could get him sacked by Sergi, if ever he found out. It made Joana an accomplice whom they needed to trust – a new role for them all.

Toni opened the rear door for Maria to get out of the car. Carla sat still for now, just watching. She registered what might have been shock in Joana’s eyes. It had been a long time since Grandma and Joana had met, and Grandma had aged.

‘My daughter,’ Maria said, in her usual gentle tones, and Joana reached forward and kissed her cheeks, punctilious but awkward.

‘How are you mother? And my uncle?’

Then Toni came round and pulled open Carla’s door, and she had to get out of the car herself. She moved to the front of the car, stiff, edgy, fingers clenched by her side, aware of her gaunt face, her over-thin arms, her huge belly, her worn-out eyes, and stood waiting for Joana’s reaction. To her surprise Joana’s face twisted, and she came forward in a rush to put her arms around Carla’s shoulders, avoiding crushing the tight bump.

The last time I saw her, she wouldn’t even look at me, and I could have gone to the devil for all she cared, thought Carla. She stood unyielding, and after a moment Joana withdrew her arms. But she didn’t move away.

‘Dear Carla,’ she whispered. ‘My poor child. Come inside.’

They sat in near silence at the dining table as Paula served them, watching Carla with slightly horrified eyes as she heaped far too much stew on to her plate. Grandma sat close to Carla, her eyes scanning this house, which she had never seen, appraising the antique furniture, the gold leaf framed paintings, the thick brocade curtains, which a government official’s salary should never have been able to buy, and brought her gaze again and again back to Joana, with grave questions in her eyes that she would not speak.

It was Joana who asked the questions – brisk, commanding questions to fill the silence. They hadn’t been visited at the apartment that day? All had been well? They’d brought enough clothes? Maria answered, the briefest of answers to each question, until finally Carla spoke, tense and watchful.

‘Martin said you’ve got some kind of idea of how to
help me, something you want to tell me. Are you going to get Luc out of gaol for me?’

It cut through Joana’s small talk, and silenced her for a moment. When she answered, it was equally directly. ‘I don’t know. I have some information that I’ve been keeping, and which could damage your father. I’m not sure how to use it, or what effect it might have. I need to think. We can talk about it tomorrow.’

So Mama had already thought she might need some ammunition against Papa? What on earth had brought about such a change of heart? What had happened to that lovely life in Girona? To the dinners and the soirées the Oliveras always graced together?

‘Why are you here?’ she shot at her mother. ‘Why have you stayed up here at the hill house all this time? Martin wouldn’t tell me anything. He just said father wanted you to stay here, and told me to ask you about it myself.’

She kept her eyes on Joana, who shifted her gaze, but then looked first at Grandma and then at Carla, and seemed to decide to tell the truth.

‘Your father is tired of me, Carla. He has mistresses, and I get in the way. So he leaves me up here.’

‘And why do you accept it? You must be bored to tears.’ Carla couldn’t feel pity. All she felt was a flat kind of curiosity. Joana seemed to be scrutinising the question, turning it over in her head as though she too was looking for the answer.

‘Something has gone wrong in your father’s life in the last couple of years,’ she said at last, ‘and he seems to be losing his grip politically. Younger men are coming in, and
Sergi is worried, I know. He’s more and more angry at home, and he’s becoming increasingly unpredictable. He wants to control everything, even more than ever, as though he needs to prove something to himself. And when he gets angry, he directs it at me. I became frightened of him, to tell the truth. I’ve been sitting up here for the last few months trying to decide what to do. And feeling sorry for myself, and drinking too much, if you must know.’

She looked an appeal across at Carla and Maria. It was an appeal Carla rejected.

‘I’ve not been having the greatest time myself in the last few months, Mama, if the truth be told.’

Joana flinched, and Martin, who’d been sitting silent on the other side of the table, got up and moved round behind her. He laid a hand on her shoulder.

‘You’re both his victims,’ he said quietly, looking over at Carla. ‘And at least you know now just why Sergi has been so obsessed with keeping you under his control.’

Carla watched him. So you’re her champion now are you, she wanted to throw at him, but she knew it was unfair. Martin had the same quality as Grandma – he was intuitively caring, and wouldn’t refuse anyone his goodwill. Keep your anger for Sergi, she told herself.

She nodded agreement as she answered Martin. ‘If my father’s political career is under threat then I can see why my relationship with Luc was so worrying,’ she said. ‘If his adversaries got wind of it they could have a field day using it against him. But Mama, if he’s become even more volatile and violent, what will he do to you if you use your information against him?’ She shivered involuntarily as she spoke.

‘Who said it will be me who uses it? Leave it until tomorrow, my love. As I said, I have some thinking to do, but I am beginning to formulate a plan.’

Grandma rose from her chair looking worn out and frailer than usual.

‘I think we should all leave everything until tomorrow,’ she said. ‘This old lady is tired, and going to bed, if Paula will show me where I’m going.’ She turned towards Joana, and placed her hand on her shoulder where Martin’s had been just a few minutes earlier.

‘We mustn’t let you take any risks, though, Joana. I have no idea about your life with your husband, but it seems to me that you already pay a very high price for all this.’ She waved her free hand around the ornate dining room. ‘The highest price being that you nearly lost our Carla, of course, and your grandchild. But there must be no more prices paid, not by anybody.’

Her voice was as measured and gentle as ever, and Joana hesitated, and then reached up her own hand to cover Maria’s, very briefly, before Carla came forward to take Grandma’s arm and lead her out to Paula.

‘You’ll be tired yourself, child,’ said Grandma, as Carla leant into her for an embrace.

‘Exhausted,’ Carla admitted, rubbing her heavy belly. She could barely keep herself upright. ‘I’ll be up myself in a couple of minutes.’

She returned to the dining room, where Joana was picking up her bag and her evening shawl, preparing to go upstairs. Martin was standing by the door, like an usher in attendance on them all, Carla thought.

‘Carla, tell me,’ Joana asked, as soon as she came into the room. ‘When did your grandmother start wearing that headscarf? Was it after old Aina died?’

Carla nodded. ‘I think so.’

Joana sighed. ‘It’s such a curse, the old habit of going into blacks like that. The old ladies never come out of it once they’re there.’

‘She doesn’t always wear a black scarf, though,’ Carla replied. ‘She has some flowered ones and white lace ones she wears as well. She just put the black one on today.’

‘To come and see me!’ Joana sighed again. Carla stayed silent. ‘Tell me,’ Joana continued, ‘how is Uncle Victor? Has he settled in Girona? Does he like his job there?’

Carla thought before replying. ‘He never talks about it. I think it’s his way of coping. He just comes home each night and shuts the door on Girona, apart from going to the bar sometimes with a few cronies, and I think they’re all from the hills around here too, originally.’

She pulled her oversized cardigan around her shoulders. ‘Grandma says he only moved to Girona because he lost his land. It was a huge blow to him, she told me. How did he come to lose it? Did Papa take the land away from him? Is that another thing he was responsible for?’

Joana shook her head. ‘No, poor Victor lost his land to a company building a quarry. Your father wasn’t involved with that project, but he could have helped Victor, perhaps. He always said not, but he couldn’t really be bothered, and even back then I’d already lost most of my influence over him. Sergi just said Victor could never make any money on the land anyway, and should do like everyone else and
move to the city. There are jobs for everyone now, that’s what he says, and everyone can prosper if they dump their old ideas and move with the times.’

‘He despised them.’ Carla’s words were a statement, not a question. ‘I remember listening to him when I was a child, talking about the villages as if the people in them were little better than mules.’

‘He came from Sant Galdric himself, or at least his father did!’

‘Yes, and he wanted it forgotten! And so did you, Mama, so did you, with your city friends and fine clothes and shops. When were you last in the village? What do you know about anyone who lives there now? Oh, it’s not an accusation – we’ve had all those. But Luc used to say that Franco wanted everyone to idolise the old country values, but actually saw the rural poor as sheep to be led by the nose. And because Catalans are rebellious, and still can’t be trusted to be his sheep, the government has allowed all the new business partners to walk all over us and our country, from the new seaside playgrounds to our poor, empty villages.’

Carla waited for Joana to disagree, but in fact she smiled at her, wearily, but it was a smile.

‘Maybe your Luc is right after all. He talks like Uncle Luis, and like my own father. I used to believe every word they said at one time. Their ideas didn’t work, though, and their great Republic fell into chaos. Shall we leave the big issues for tonight, my daughter, and get to bed? We have some more personal battles to fight at the moment, and I need some sleep if I’m to figure out what’s best to do!’

They mounted the stairs together, all three of them, and at the top Joana turned and continued their conversation.

‘You know, between Uncle Victor and my mother I think it’s her I feel for most. Victor led most of his life in his own happy world, and even now that he has to work in Girona his sister has followed him to take care of him. But Mama, well after my father died she spent the rest of her life, all of it, looking after her mother, her children, her brother, scrimping and managing and making everyone’s home. She never did anything that she chose for herself. And now she’s old …’ she added, her voice trailing off. ‘And wearing that damned scarf …’

Carla was astounded. She’d lived over twenty years with her mother without ever hearing her talk about Grandma, not even her name, let alone any compassion. Where were all these confidences coming from?

‘But you left her to it!’ she answered, indignant. ‘You abandoned them all there in Sant Galdric! You never did anything to help her!’