Watcher in the Pine (31 page)

“I don’t know. Anything but a guardia, I suppose.”

Tejada sounded tired, and defeated. Elena squeezed his hand, longing to say something comforting without committing Toño to a career that she emphatically hoped he would not follow. “Listen to us! We’re crazy to be worrying about careers already.”

“Maybe.” Tejada heard both her peace offering and her unspoken acquiescence that Toño should not be a guardia. He squeezed her hand back, and then looked up at the towers silhouetted against the twilight sky. After a few minutes he said with an effort, “It’s really very beautiful here.”

“Yes,” Elena agreed softly, accepting the tribute to her home.

“And there are good schools,” Tejada continued. “That’s something to think about, for Toño’s sake. He’ll need a decent education.”

“We have a few years before we have to think about that yet,” Elena said, unconsciously echoing Bárbara Nuñez.

“Yes. But it’s good to be settled in a place first.” Tejada took a deep breath. “Would you like to live here? So we could be close to your parents?”

For a heart-stopping moment Elena thought that Carlos was exiling her again. Then she realized that he had said “we” and she was merely confused. “But you’re settled in Potes. And even if you could transfer, I thought you didn’t want to work with Captain Rodríguez.”

Tejada kept his eyes on Toño. “I’m petitioning for discharge from the Guardia,” he said quietly.

“
What?
” Elena stared at him. “Why?”

Tejada shrugged and snorted. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, still avoiding her eyes. “It’s only a matter of time before the maquis start up again. And when they do, what sort of man would I be if I put my family in danger a second time?”

Elena had always hated it that Carlos was a guardia, but now she discovered that she was unable to think of him as anything else. “But what would you
do?
” she demanded.

“I don’t know. I could find a job as a clerk somewhere, I suppose. Or maybe be taken on as an associate at some firm. I don’t remember much contract law, but it would come back to me.” Tejada turned his head away from his wife’s open-mouthed scrutiny, and stared at the darkening waters.

“But,” Elena hesitated, “but you love being a guardia.”

Tejada shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said honestly. “I actually dislike a lot of parts of it. It would be nice to have a job that ends when you come home from the office.”

“What about not wanting peace of mind?” Elena asked softly.

The lieutenant took a long breath that was almost a sob. The Tormes was broad and sluggish here, not like the bubbling streams of the Deva and Quiviesa, and the still waters did nothing to disguise the harsh sound. “I used to do my job because I thought it was important,” he said slowly. “Because I thought it had some meaning. Some necessity. But I’m only a man. And now I don’t care how important it is if it means that I might lose you.”

“I don’t think the maquis would—” Elena began.

Tejada gestured her to silence, one hand over his face. “I don’t mean the kidnapping,” he interrupted. “I meant . . . you agree with them, don’t you? With the maquis. And if we stay in Potes you’ll meet them again, and sooner or later you’ll fall in love with one of them.”

Elena gasped, uncertain whether to be amused or touched. “You’re insane!”

Tejada finally met her eyes. He looked longingly at her. “Elena, being a guardia—especially in a place like Potes, where we’re still at war—means violence, cruelty, all sorts of ugly things. You know that. If we go back, sooner or later I’ll do something that will make you hate me. And you might easily decide one of them was a better man, like Vargas. And from there—”

“For the last time, I am
not
in love with Vargas!” Elena cried so vehemently that Toño whimpered in her arms.

Tejada felt a knot in his chest loosen. “You never said that before,” he whispered.

“You never asked!”

The lieutenant touched her cheek. “Because I was afraid to,” he said softly. “But if you really mean it . . .”

“You won’t retire from the Guardia?” Elena asked, identifying the emotion that colored her tone as hope.

Tejada frowned. “Yes, I will. You still don’t like it that I’m a guardia.”

“If you do that you’ll regret it within six months,” Elena said flatly. “And probably hate me within a year.”

“No,” Tejada protested.

“Yes.” Elena was firm, and suddenly very sure of herself. “You won’t mean to, Carlos. But listen, I love you, and I don’t mind being your wife, but there isn’t a week since I’ve met you that I haven’t thought of teaching, or missed being a teacher. That’s part of who I am—who I was—and the Guardia is like that for you, only more so.”

Tejada frowned, struck not so much by her argument as by her example. “That’s not how most women feel. Not according to everything you hear and read.”

“Most women lie,” Elena said. “Probably because they’re not as happy as I am. Honestly, I don’t regret marrying you, and God knows I don’t regret Toño, but you’re so lucky, Carlos—” Her voice caught. “You’re
so
lucky. You don’t
have
to give anything up, not me or Toño or the Guardia. And you’ll hate yourself if you do.”

The misery of his long solitary walks through Salamanca, summoning courage to write a letter to Colonel Súarez, came back to Tejada, proving the truth of his wife’s words. “It seems like a lack of imagination,” he said slowly, but his voice was meditative now, and he spoke to Elena as he had spoken to her before Toño’s birth, like a colleague whose judgment he trusted. “It’s not even that I enjoy being a guardia. I just can’t imagine myself as anything else anymore.”

“You haven’t actually asked for discharge yet, have you?” Elena demanded.

He shook his head and noted for the first time that the evening breeze smelled of sweet grass. Elena was a profile in the twilight, and Toño was a white mummy in her arms. “I was going to ask Torres to meet us at Santander instead of Unquera on Friday and drop the letter with Colonel Súarez when we got off the train.”

“Ask him for a transfer instead,” Elena urged. “Didn’t he say that capturing Márquez was a good mark in your file? Surely he’d agree to move you?”

“I suppose. Although so much moving around in so short a period of time starts to look suspicious. But I could ask him to move me back to Salamanca, so Toño could be near his grandparents.”

“I thought the corps didn’t like to have officers serving in their home regions,” Elena said heroically.

Tejada laughed, not because Elena had said something funny, but because the evening stars were beginning to twinkle over the dome of the cathedral, and the breeze smelled good, and he was happy. “I don’t know if in-laws’ homes count,” he said wryly. “But I don’t mind working in Salamanca. Or I could just request a transfer to a place where the maquis are less active, because of you and Toño. Somewhere with good schools for Toño and other children he could play with.”

“And a pediatrician,” Elena agreed. She sounded happy as well.

Tejada put his arms around her and the baby, and squeezed gently, unable to articulate his relief. “I’ll tell the colonel that if he doesn’t move us to civilization, I’ll leave the corps.”

Elena laughed, and kissed him. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “If we have to stay in Potes for a little while, we’ll stay. Ortíz isn’t experienced enough to command the post yet, remember? And Father Bernardo was going to help me get a school set up.”

“That’s true.” Tejada took a deep breath and all of the things he had been trying to avoid thinking about over the last week poured happily out. “I’ve been wondering if maybe we should do something about the way we buy provisions. The system we have is fine if the entire force lives and works in the barracks, but with so many men spread out it’s inefficient. I thought maybe I’d talk to Fermín about some way of having him handle the distribution and letting the ration coupons go through him. Or maybe I’ll leave it to Ortíz, since they know each other, and Ortíz could use some practice dealing with administrative issues.”

“What about letting guardias use coupons in the Monday markets?” Elena asked.

“Hard to regulate,” the lieutenant said thoughtfully, shifting position. “But we could talk to the mayor and see what could be done.” It was full dark by the time the Tejadas left the riverside, still discussing the mundane details of the lieutenant’s command.

Their last days in Salamanca flew by, speeded by Tejada’s sudden desire to talk to Hernández and Jiménez as much as possible, and by Elena’s hour-devouring browses through the bookstores of her childhood, searching both for entertainment for herself and instruction for Simón Álvarez. She ended up taking one of her parents’ old trunks for the books and stationery she had bought, and the extra space in the trunk inspired Tejada to buy a small radio he hoped would lessen her sense of isolation in Potes.

They left early on Friday morning, and the flurry of last-minute preparations and crises combined to make the whistle that signaled the train’s departure a sign that brought intense relief. Elena leaned out the window as the train pulled out of the station, holding up Toño and making him wave good-bye to his grandparents with one hand. Impelled by the instinct of all rail travelers, Tejada forgot his reservations about his in-laws and leaned out the window to wave also. As Salamanca finally dropped from sight behind them Elena sank back into her seat and relaxed. Tejada sat back opposite her and smiled. “At least there’s nothing more to remember for a few hours,” he said.

“Thank goodness!” Elena agreed. “What time is Torres supposed to meet us in Unquera?”

“I told him five o’clock. So we should have time to have lunch and walk around a little.”

“That will be nice.”

Tejada grimaced. “Assuming the train is reasonably on time.”

The train was not even close to on time, due to mysterious mechanical delays outside Zamora that made the lieutenant grind his teeth and mutter that things were better managed in various other parts of Europe. In fact, it was well after six when they finally reached Unquera. Tejada saw that their luggage was all off the train, and then began to wonder with a sinking heart whether he could leave Elena and Toño with the bags and find the Guardia post to call Potes and explain their delay. Elena agreed to this plan, and he stepped out of the dingy waiting room into the summer afternoon with a slight sense of guilt. The air smelled of lindens, and the distant sea. The loud honk of a horn made him look to the left. He was both startled and pleased to see a guardia vehicle sitting patiently at an intersection some twenty meters up the street. As he moved toward it, the truck purred to life and rolled up to him. It stopped as he drew level with it, and he saw that Guardia Torres was at the wheel. “Good to see you, sir,” Torres said as he swung himself out of the truck. “Where’s your lady? And the little one?”

In less time than Tejada would have believed possible, his family and luggage were safely settled in the truck and rolling away from the coast into the narrow gorge that led to Potes. It was a warm evening, and Torres drove with the windows rolled down. The roar of the rapids in the gorge was audible even above the hum of the motor, so the guardia had to raise his voice as he said, “I’m glad you’re back. A lot has happened.”

“Oh?” Tejada spoke sharply. “Have the maquis been active?”

“Oh, no, sir.” Torres was apologetic. “I didn’t mean anything like that. Just that Fermín had a shipment of soap, and Carvallo thinks that Araceli Caro is throwing herself at Ortíz now that he’s a corporal, and Father Bernardo is talking about setting up a checkers tournament for the whole valley.”

“The mayor’s daughter, Araceli?” Elena said, startled. “Doesn’t her father have something to say about that?”

“Real soap?” Tejada asked at the same moment. “Is there any left?”

“I told Fermín to save some for you. And it’s not as if Ortíz has done anything. They’ve just talked during the evening
paseo
a couple of times. Father Bernardo asked if you’d be interested in the tournament, Lieutenant.”

Tejada declined politely, but the conversation lasted until the steep walls of the gorge fell away into the green fields of the Liébana. Carvallo helped them unload their luggage when they reached Potes, and then drove the truck back to the post, promising to return to help move the trunks if he was needed. As it turned out, the guardia’s aid was not necessary. Father Bernardo had been waiting at the
fonda
for them, and volunteered to help with the luggage. “I wanted to invite you to dinner,” the priest explained, when Tejada thanked him for his assistance. “I thought Señora Fernández might be too tired from traveling to prepare anything, but it’s always nice to have something to eat in the evening if you’ve had a busy day.”