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22

Repercussions

Upstairs, he collapsed on his bed and woke up fully dressed and sweating with the morning sun pouring through the window.

How could he have slept like that? His hands shook as he tried to untie the laces of his shoes. He turned the bows into hard knots and ended up dragging the shoes off his feet and throwing them away into a corner.

And he was still trembling as his mind raced, forming a stream of questions to which he had no answers.

Had he been seen? He thought not, but he couldn’t be sure. And even if he hadn’t, might he still be named as an accomplice? By whoever had tipped off the Guardia, or by Maria or Primitivo if they had been arrested and interrogated?

Would they do that? Yes, of course, if they were pushed hard enough. Everyone had a breaking point. Theo remembered Carlos’s description of the detention center in the North, where he and Pablo had been tortured. Spain was not like England or America. The Guardia treated the Anarchists like animals and would stop at nothing to extract the information they needed.

He thought of Maria being tortured. And himself too. Rods and water and electricity. How could he have got himself into this? How could he have been so stupid?

It made him nauseated to think of what they might do, and he ran to the bathroom and vomited, kneeling by the toilet bowl as he tried to calm down.

Maybe Maria and Primitivo had gotten away. He had thrown the flashlight with amazing precision. But had he thrown it too late? He remembered how close the Guardia had been to the door. The flash of the three-cornered hat in the moonlight.

Up on the terrado , he kept craning his head over the parapet, expecting to see men in uniform coming up the road.

But nothing happened. No one came, and at lunch Andrew and his mother talked about Don Vincente’s elaborate plans for the celebration of the feast of Santa Leticia at the end of the summer, seemingly oblivious to Theo’s agitation and loss of appetite.

By late afternoon he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer and went out, retracing his steps from the night before until he got to the square, which was alive with the normal noise and bustle of a weekday afternoon. Women were washing clothes at the fountain, tousle-haired children and stray dogs were running this way and that, and the men at the café were drinking and arguing and playing cards and dominoes, shouting to make themselves heard above the sound of the radio loudspeaker on the wall. It was incredible to Theo that he was standing on the same ground where he had risked everything less than twelve hours earlier. Up on the third floor of the ayuntamiento, a piece of opaque plastic covered the window he had broken, but there was otherwise no sign that anything unusual had occurred.

Theo wasn’t reassured. Out of sight, anything could be happening. He needed answers to his questions, and he stared over at the café, willing Antonio to appear. But there was no sign of him. Only his father, who came outside in his apron after a few minutes and stood looking up at the ayuntamiento with a thunderous expression on his fleshy face.

Theo retreated behind one of the stone pillars in the arcade and was just about to give up and go home when he heard someone calling his name, and turned around to find Antonio beckoning to him from the archway where he had parted from Maria the night before.

“I can’t stay long,” said Antonio as he led the way, walking quickly up the street behind the church. “My father’s angry as a bull.”

“Where’s Maria?” asked Theo.

“At home, for now.”

“So she got away!” said Theo ecstatically. “Thank God!” His relief was overpowering, passing like a wave through his body, releasing breath that had been trapped inside his diaphragm since the night before.

“Yes, thanks to you,” said Antonio. “I heard what you did. It made me ashamed that I wasn’t there, too, to help her, but I’d gotten so angry at her that I couldn’t think straight. She won’t listen to anyone, except that bastard, Carlos, of course. She can’t see him for what—”

“Stop,” said Theo, taking Antonio’s arm and pulling him to a halt. “You’ve got to tell me what happened. Please.”

Antonio looked at Theo and took in his distraught expression. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Do you know who tipped off the Guardia? They were waiting when we got there.”

“Don Vincente. At least, that’s what my father says. It turns out Jesús’s mother has been listening to everything we said in that shop for the last month, and after Carlos’s visit, she got down on her knees in the confessional and spilled the full story to the padre. He gave her a few Ave Marias to say as a penance, walked down the road to the garrison, and repeated the whole thing to the Guardia, who then went round and put the screws on Jesús. They made him give Primitivo the keys because they wanted to catch Primitivo and Maria red-handed. But you put paid to that, and now Jesús and the old lady have fled the coop, worried that Primitivo will be coming after them, I expect.”

“Where is he?” asked Theo.

“Primitivo? Released from custody, like my sister. The Guardia questioned them this morning, but they both denied it, and the Guardia can’t prove they were inside the building or that anything happened, for that matter. There was no damage except to the window, and that was from the outside.”

“So is that the end of it?” asked Theo hopefully.

“For them, yes. At least for now. But the Guardia are still looking for the person who broke the window.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they’ve already been to talk to me about it, and they may pay you a visit, too, so you best be prepared.”

“Me! Why me?” asked Theo. His anxiety had been slowly receding during the conversation, but now it returned with a redoubled intensity, bordering on outright panic.

“Because Jesús and his mother told them who was in the shop,” said Antonio. “Look, I’m sure you’ll be fine if you just deny it. That’s what I did. Unless anyone saw you, of course?”

Theo shook his head. “I was careful,” he said. But had he been careful enough? He felt a lot less confident now than he had in the morning.

“I have to go,” he said. Driven by alternating compulsions, he couldn’t wait to be alone now to think, when less than an hour earlier he’d been desperate to find Antonio and get answers to his questions.

“Me too. My father will be looking for me,” said Antonio. “But listen, there’s one other thing you need to know. He doesn’t believe my sister. Not a word. The Guardia lieutenant talked to him, and he thinks that everything Jesús and his mother told the Guardia is the gospel truth. So he’s sending Maria to a special convent in the North—somewhere up near Burgos—to learn obedience.”

“What do you mean: special ?”

“It’s like a prison. They have locks on the doors and guards outside to stop the novices running away. And hair shirts, I expect, for if they try. It’s my grandmother’s idea. My father called her on the telephone this morning. She’s been itching to teach my sister a lesson ever since Maria humiliated her in the cathedral, singing that song at the top of her voice.”

“He can’t do this,” said Theo, aghast. “He’s got no right. He’s—”

“He’s got every right,” said Antonio harshly. “He’s her father. He can beat her black and blue if he wants to. You just don’t understand this country, do you, Theo?”

Theo shook his head, feeling suddenly defeated. Antonio was right. How could he understand? Spanish women were treated no better than slaves, and he came from a country where a war had been fought to abolish slavery long before he was born.

“ Novices! ” he said, repeating the word Antonio had used. “Is your father going to make Maria a nun? Is that what he’s planning now?”

“No, she’s going to marry Pedrito, just like I told you before.”

“You said the cacique might not agree,” said Theo, clutching at straws.

“Now he will. My father has gotten richer since last year, so he can afford a bigger dowry for his daughter, and money speaks with Don Fadrique. You know that. And besides, Pedrito’s got his heart set on the idea, apparently.”

“‘Apparently’!” Theo repeated the word bitterly. “How do you know all this?”

“Because my father told her it today. Or shouted it rather, bellowing it in her ears. He broke the door open when she tried to lock herself in her room.”

“That’s terrible,” said Theo, feeling sick. “Isn’t there something we can do?”

“I can try and stop him hitting her before she goes away, although I don’t think there’s much chance of that, because he won’t want to spoil her looks for Pedrito. But you—you can do nothing. My father didn’t like you much before, but now he won’t let you near my sister. He thinks you’re the one who broke the window, so you’re as bad as Primitivo in his book. My advice to you is to forget about her. Get on with your own life.”

“Didn’t she say anything? About me?” asked Theo. He couldn’t bear that everything should end this way, without even the chance to say goodbye.

“She told me to thank you,” said Antonio. He hesitated and then reached into his pocket and handed Theo a small envelope. “I don’t know what’s in it,” he said. “But whatever it is, don’t let it give you hope. Because you’ll be wasting your time. That’s the best advice I can give you.”

Theo nodded. “What about you?” he asked. “Will you still see me? Or will your father stop that too?”

“No, you’re my friend. I got it wrong last summer, but I won’t again. I promise.” He spoke slowly, solemnly, as if he was taking an oath, and then abruptly reached out and put his arms around Theo, hugging him close for a moment, before he turned and walked quickly away.

Theo hurried home. He’d thought of opening the envelope straightaway, but he wanted to be alone when he read what was inside, away from any possibility of prying eyes.

He opened the door and climbed the stairs, and was about to go on up to his bedroom when he heard his stepfather calling to him from the salon.

Something was wrong. He could tell from Andrew’s insistent tone of voice, shorn of its usual courtesy. He thought of pretending he hadn’t heard and creeping back down the stairs, but he dismissed the idea, knowing it would just make things worse.

He cursed his stupidity. Antonio had warned him to expect trouble, but instead of preparing for what lay ahead, he’d run home like a schoolboy, clutching his letter. He pushed it deeper into his pocket and breathed slowly, trying to summon up his depleted reserves of courage before he went in to face the music.

His worst fears were confirmed when he saw a young man in a handsome blue uniform sitting on the edge of a chair opposite his stepfather. His back was straight, his expression severe, and he was holding his three-cornered hat in his hands. The sight of the hat reminded Theo of his close encounter the night before and unnerved him even more than the fat pistol resting in a shiny black holster on the man’s hip.

“Sit down, Theo,” said Andrew, pointing to an empty chair beside him. “This is Lieutenant Robledo of the Guardia Civil. He has some questions for you about an event that occurred in the main square last night.”

Theo’s mind raced. Deny everything! That had been Antonio’s advice. Antonio had denied involvement and escaped arrest, and if Antonio could do it, then surely he could too. But Antonio had been innocent, he remembered. Whereas he, of course, was guilty.

“Do you know Maria Alvarez?” asked the lieutenant. He fired the question like a bullet, staring hard at Theo as he answered to assess his veracity.

“Yes,” said Theo. There was clearly no point in denying a known fact.

“Primitivo Moreno?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know that they are Anarchists?”

“Yes.”

“Are you an Anarchist?”

“No.”

“Do you know that they were plotting to burn the ayuntamiento?”

“No.”

Theo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unable to meet the lieutenant’s gaze. He felt hot and was sure his cheeks had flushed red.

“Were you involved in their plot, acting as a lookout while they went inside?” The lieutenant’s voice was savage, demanding the truth.

“Really, Lieutenant, this is absurd,” said Andrew. “My stepson has already said he did not know of the plot, so how could he be involved in it? And knowing an Anarchist may be unwise, but it’s not a crime as far as I know, is it?”

“You will please let me ask my questions,” said the lieutenant, turning sharply to Andrew.

“Very well,” said Andrew, undaunted. “But please make them sensible.”

The lieutenant paused, and Theo felt grateful to his stepfather. His interruption had eased the pressure, at least for a moment, and the lieutenant seemed a little less sure of himself than he had been before.

“Did you throw a flashlight through the window of the ayuntamiento at half past two last night?” the lieutenant asked, turning back to Theo.

“No,” said Theo, looking the lieutenant in the eye this time. If you’re going to lie, lie well, he heard an inner voice in his head telling him.

“I should think not,” said Andrew, stirring in his chair again. “The boy was in his bed asleep.”

“Can you vouch for that?” the lieutenant shot back.

“Of course not,” said Andrew, sounding exasperated. “I was asleep too. Really, Lieutenant, I think you had better tell us if you have any evidence against my stepson. Coming here and making baseless allegations seems like harassment to me, and I shan’t hesitate to make a complaint to your captain if the circumstances warrant it.”

Now it was the lieutenant’s turn to look nervous. He began to speak but thought better of it, getting up instead and putting on his hat. “This matter is under continuing investigation,” he said officiously. “We will let you know if we have further questions.”

“Of course,” said Andrew, getting up too. “And my stepson stands ready to answer them, don’t you, Theo?”

“Yes,” said Theo faintly. He wished he could have made his voice sound more resolute, but the lieutenant had rattled him, and now he was reduced to counting down the seconds until he was gone, like a battered boxer waiting on the bell.

“I will show myself out,” said the lieutenant, clicking his heels together and bowing slightly to Andrew. He shot a last look of dislike and disdain at Theo and was gone.

As if by mutual agreement, Andrew and Theo remained where they were, standing and sitting, saying nothing, until they heard the sound of the front door closing down below, whereupon Theo sighed heavily. Looking down, he saw that his hands were shaking again, and he felt a terrible stiffness in his neck.

“Thank you,” he said, looking up at his stepfather. “I was all over the place and you saved me.”

“From your own foolishness,” said Andrew harshly. “I assume you did throw that flashlight?”

Theo nodded. It didn’t occur to him to lie. He needed his stepfather and instinctively realized that Andrew wouldn’t be able to help him if he didn’t know the truth.

“So why did you do it?” Andrew demanded icily. “Because you’re an Anarchist now? Is that it?”

“No.”

“No? So you told the lieutenant the truth about that, even though the rest of what you said was lies?”

“I understand why they’re so angry about the exploitation and the injustice, but I don’t agree with what they want to do about it.” Theo spoke slowly, trying to get his words right, refusing to be provoked by his stepfather’s angry sarcasm into a reflex response.

“The burning and the violence, you mean?” asked Andrew. “Is that what you don’t agree with?”

Theo nodded.

“So why did you try to help them burn down the town hall?”

“That wasn’t why I was there. I tried to stop Maria, but she wouldn’t listen. And then I went with them because I didn’t want her to get caught. I threw the light because that was the only way. The soldiers were so close ...” Theo stopped, remembering the terror of that moment.

“How do you know this Maria?”

“She’s Antonio’s sister.”

“Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

“And does she love you back?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not,” said Theo. He’d found this answer harder to give than all the others. He was admitting that Maria might not love him not just to his stepfather but to himself. He dropped his head, feeling the knowledge as a darkening of all that was bright inside him. It hurt, almost more than he could bear.

“Was she the girl that came here yesterday?” Andrew’s voice was softer now, as if he sensed Theo’s pain.

Theo nodded.

Andrew stood, thinking for a moment, and then went over to the side of the mantelpiece and pressed the bell that connected the salon to the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Theo asked nervously.

“Wait!” said Andrew, holding up his hand.

A minute later the housekeeper appeared in the doorway.

“Constanza, you remember the young lady that visited the house yesterday asking to speak to Master Theo?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, she didn’t. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” the housekeeper answered evenly, without any change of expression.

“Have you spoken of it to my wife?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way. As if it never happened.”

“Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you, Constanza,” said Andrew, smiling. “I appreciate your understanding.” But his smile was fleeting, put on for the benefit of the housekeeper, and it vanished as soon as she had gone.

He went over to the cocktail cabinet and poured himself a double measure of whiskey and then sat back down in his chair with a sigh, nursing his drink as he gazed into the firelight.

“We’ve been here before, Theo,” he said at last, and there was a pained weariness in his stepfather’s voice that Theo had not heard before. “In London, remember? And I really thought you’d learned your lesson. But it seems I was wrong. There’s a recklessness inside you that I just don’t understand. You don’t show it to me, but I think it’s there all the time, driving you to make bad choices. People impress you with their personality or their beauty or their arguments, and you follow them blindly over the cliff. Communists before, Anarchists now. You have to start thinking for yourself before it’s too late.”

Andrew looked at Theo, expecting a response, but Theo didn’t know what to say. It was all true. Life pulled and pushed him in different directions, as if he was forever walking in a buffeting wind, and he’d ended up the night before a hairbreadth from being arrested. It scared him how easily it had happened, and how quickly too. “I want to be in control,” he said. “It’s just hard sometimes.”

“Yes, I can see it’s not easy,” said Andrew. “Everywhere you go you are new, and so you try to fit in. But you must grow up and learn to be your own man. I’m not going to pretend to you that this is a good situation you’ve got yourself into. I was bluffing the lieutenant about making a complaint. I don’t have the influence here that I have in England, and what little I had has gone by the wayside since I fell out with the cacique. The Guardia captain will have no sympathy if he decides you’re an Anarchist, and he could well call you in for further questioning. I think you need to get out of here now while you’ve still got the chance.”

“But isn’t that like admitting I did it if I run away?” asked Theo nervously. He was frightened of the Guardia, but he also found it hard to accept the idea of leaving if it meant he would never be able to return.

However, on this point, his stepfather was more reassuring. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Nobody has told you not to leave. At least, not yet. And by next year it should all have blown over. But for now you must concentrate on your schoolwork. Your reports from Saint Gregory’s have been excellent, and you have a great opportunity to get into Oxford if you work hard next term. That is how you will be able to make a difference in the world, as you say you want to. Not by fighting the Guardia Civil.”

“What about you and Mama?” asked Theo. “Will you be going back?”

“No. Your mother is determined to stay here. She says it’s her home now, and she refuses to go to England. Not even for a short visit. She worries about the traveling and thinks that if she leaves, she’ll never come back.” He sighed. “It isn’t what I had planned at all. I’ve explained to her that London is my base and that staying here all the time causes me serious difficulties, but then she says that she’s happy for me to go there on my own. But I can’t do that. I can’t leave her. Not after what happened before. So we go round and round, getting nowhere. It’s a mess.”

“She thinks God is here,” said Theo. “That’s why it’s home for her.”

“God and the Devil!” said Andrew bitterly. “This country is breaking apart. I tell you, I can feel the tide running out beneath my feet.”

“But surely the government can do something to stop it,” said Theo hopefully. “That’s what they’re there for, aren’t they?”

“In England yes, but not here. The problem is that Spaniards aren’t political. They’re religious. The Left just as much as the Right. They all think they’ve got God on their side. Or Marx or Bakunin or history. It doesn’t matter. What does is that they believe the people on the other side are the Antichrist or the class enemy, not human beings but rabid dogs. And you don’t talk to diseased animals. You shoot them, particularly if you have a taste for violence like the people here do. Violence is where all this will end. Asturias was just the beginning.”

“If you think that, you should leave. It doesn’t matter what my mother says,” said Theo, alarmed by the picture his stepfather had painted.

“I can’t,” said Andrew. “Your mother is fragile. You of all people ought to know that. She mustn’t be upset or crossed. It’s another reason why you should leave now, so that she doesn’t get to hear about your escapade.”

“Won’t Don Vincente tell her? He’s the one who warned the Guardia. Not about me, maybe, but about the plan.”

“How did he find out?” asked Andrew, looking surprised.

“The mother of Primitivo’s friend went to confession and ...”

“And Don Vincente waltzed down the road to the Guardia and violated the sacramental seal without so much as a backward glance,” said Andrew, laughing grimly as he finished Theo’s sentence. “Dear God, he’s a terrible priest, but his immorality also makes him susceptible to bribery, which is a blessing. Don’t worry. I can keep him quiet.”

In spite of the awfulness of everything his stepfather had been saying, Theo smiled.

“Don Vincente’s ridiculous, but this situation’s not funny,” said Andrew sharply. “You need to take this seriously, Theo.”

“I am. It’s just the irony I was thinking of. About us, I mean.”

“What irony?”

“It used to be me on the outside looking in, hating you for taking my mother away from me, and now we’re the ones working together to try and keep her safe. And not just that—you’re the one who seems to be looking out for me. I wouldn’t have expected that either,” said Theo, finishing his thought.

“Well, I guess stepfathers aren’t all bad,” said Andrew. He got up and held out his hand. “Make us proud,” he said as Theo took it.

“And now go and pack and leave me to my whiskey. Things will look better in the morning.”

Upstairs in his bedroom, Theo took out the envelope Antonio had given him, crinkled now from having been pushed down in his pocket.

Inside there was a note folded over a lock of Maria’s hair. “Please don’t forget me,” it said. Just that. Not even her name.

He held the hair to his face, brushing it across his cheek, imagining, before he replaced it carefully in the envelope.

He couldn’t forget Maria, but he had to live without her. She was going where he could not follow, and he had to start thinking for himself. What had happened in the square had been a warning. His stepfather was right. He had to learn to be his own man.

He went over to the open window. The shadows were lengthening across the roofs and everything was still, but from somewhere in the distance he could hear the faint sound of a woman singing. A lament like the one he’d heard on the morning he left the inn the previous summer. Malaguena, Antonio had called it. A song of loss, falling through the octaves and filling him with that same tinseled melancholy he’d felt with his father on Coney Island years before.

And he felt in that moment as if the song had always been there, playing on the edge of his consciousness like an underground river running through his life.

He closed the window and pulled his suitcase out from under his bed and began to pack.