2

Miguel and Henrique never saw each other again.

Miguel fell in the Battle of the Ebro. Another corpse in that war that took the lives of a million Spaniards. There wasn’t even a separate grave where his family could go to remember him, he was buried in a mass grave together with the other victims.

Carmiña received a short official letter about her husband’s death and, shortly after that, a small parcel in which a generous hand had gathered together the few possessions soldiers take with them and want their families to have: a medallion, a watch, a wedding ring, a letter…

The medallion was from his first communion and, while Miguel wasn’t a regular at church, he was a believer and always wore it around his neck. Carmiña hung it around her neck, together with the wedding ring, and, when she felt it beating against her own, remembered all the times they had embraced naked and their medallions had knocked together, making a sound she had thought was pleasant and joyful. She burst into tears.

The watch had been her wedding present. It was a good watch that showed the seconds and could act as a stopwatch, because Miguel was fond of sport and liked to time the races of the children at school and things like that. Carmiña took off her own watch, put on Miguel’s and was surprised she only had to tighten the strap by one notch. She thought, Poor thing, you were so thin. And burst into tears again.

But she didn’t have time to cry as much as she would have liked. The wounded kept on arriving, more and more serious, and Carmiña dried her tears and prepared to get on with her work.

As for the letter that came in the parcel, to begin with, she thought it had been a mistake: the handwriting wasn’t Miguel’s and it wasn’t addressed to her, but to one of Franco’s generals. She couldn’t understand why her husband would have a letter for a traitor. But, when she looked at the sender, she realized it was Henrique’s father and deduced Miguel must have bumped into his college friend, who was trying to do him a favour. She was fond of Chisquiño as well but, since she couldn’t see any way of getting that letter to its recipient, she decided to keep it in a safe place, in case the opportunity presented itself. She put it away among her things and forgot all about it.

Carmiña carried on fulfilling her role as a nurse but, ever since she’d received the news about her husband’s death, she’d fallen into a trough of despair. What she had feared most had come to pass. She thought the girls were safe and well looked after in Russia and wasn’t worried about what would happen to her. She preferred to die. She even thought about picking up a rifle and going to the front like another soldier. Life without Miguel seemed empty and meaningless, the way it had been before she met him. She had been a stupid girl, she thought, like her sister, who went to novenas and trisagions and thought this was enough to fulfil her responsibility to society. Miguel had talked of a better world with greater solidarity and justice, one worth fighting – and dying – for.

But we’re going to die for nothing, thought Carmiña, and they are going to win. One after the other, the strongholds defended by the Republic fell and, day by day, the loyal army was pushed back towards the border with France, which became the only way to save yourself, in the absence of anything else. Carmiña put her hand on her chest, felt the two medallions and thought she could hear Miguel speaking:

“They may be able to rob us of good fortune, but of fortitude and courage they cannot.”

When he said things like that, Carmiña would gaze at him, enchanted by how handsome and clever he was. He would laugh and explain:

“Don’t think I came up with that myself, Carmiña. It was said several centuries ago by a crazy genius with more sense than all the sane people around him. His name was Don Quixote.”

Carmiña was a strong woman, a fighter, and liked to win. She would rebel and grow bitter whenever things didn’t turn out the way they should. Miguel, on the other hand, would think you had to carry on, even if your efforts were not crowned by success.

“If things were how they’re meant to be and the good always came out on top, the world would be a paradise, but it isn’t. Our obligation is to fight so it doesn’t turn into hell.”

And my obligation is to carry on here, looking after the wounded, thought Carmiña. And, when this is over, to go and find my children and continue with them what their father started.

But it seemed that fate was against such a project: during one of the national army’s advances, the first-aid post was unable to withdraw in time, and doctors and nurses were taken prisoner and sent to the rearguard.

The shootings began immediately. One day, a soldier came to fetch Carmiña. She said goodbye to those who had been her companions in recent times with a hug and prepared to die with dignity. But the soldier didn’t take her to the courtyard where prisoners were shot, he took her to an office, where a general appeared to be waiting for her. Carmiña thought she was going to be interrogated.

“Where is your husband?” the man began drily.

Carmiña lifted her head and felt a bitter sense of satisfaction on answering:

“He died defending the cause of the Republic.”

The general adopted the same sharp tone while showing her an open envelope which Carmiña recognized at once:

“This letter you had in your possession is from my son… I am Henrique’s father. Your husband was a close friend of his and, on one occasion, risked his life in order to save him. I wish to do the same.”

In surprise, Carmiña blurted out:

“Chisquiño’s father!”

This was the affectionate name given to him by his mother, not because he was small, Henrique was a well-built lad, but because as a child he ate little and, whenever he was offered something, he would say “just a little” – un chisquiño. Even as a grown man, he still preferred small to large portions.

The general was moved when he heard this name, and Carmiña started looking at him with greater warmth. She asked:

“What happened to Henrique? Where is he now? I was sent that letter with my husband’s things when he died.”

The general replied sadly:

“He is also dead. He was killed trying to reach our lines.”

Carmiña turned to stone. Henrique, killed during the war! Chisquiño, who never got into a fight and was always trying to reconcile people!

“And Marita, and the girl?”

“Marita died in childbirth, or because of privations, the lack of medicine and medical care, the baby as well. The girl died alongside her father as they were trying to leave the city. A grenade was thrown at their car.”

Carmiña was amazed and fell quiet. The two of them remained in silence for a while, staring at the floor. The general was the first to react:

“Do you have any children?”

“Two girls. They’ve been in Russia since the war started.”

The general nodded.

“In that case, I think the best plan is the one I am going to suggest. You will stay here, in this room, which I will lock. I will come to fetch you tonight and take you to the border. In France, you’ll be safe and, after that, you will decide on the best course of action. My advice is that you do not return to Spain for the moment.”

He did what he had suggested. At nightfall, he put Carmiña in the back of a military vehicle and covered her with a blanket. In this way, he went past all the sentry posts, receiving the soldiers’ salutes. Having passed the last one, he turned off the lights, left the road and stopped on a track that wound its way up a hill. He helped Carmiña out of the car and explained:

“Behind that hill is French territory. Go carefully, keep low, but do not be afraid. If somebody stops you, identify yourself. In these parts, you’ll only come across Republicans making their way to France.”

Carmiña realized Henrique’s father was placing his own life in danger in order to emulate Miguel’s gesture. She held out her hand.

“Thank you! Please go now, I wouldn’t want you to be caught… I was fond of Henrique, you know? Miguel and he were both good people. They shouldn’t have died like that, they still had lots to offer. Henrique wasn’t even a soldier… It’s all so unfair!…”

The general nodded.

“He was a pacifist. He was against the war and never wanted to take up arms. Now he is dead, and I am alive.”

He shook his head, as if wanting to dispel these thoughts, and took Carmiña’s hand.

“I wish you all the best… and hope the girls are well.”

Carmiña knew Henrique was an only child. She thought it was sad that war had left this man, who was old by now, without any children or grandchildren. And she recalled Henrique’s mother, who would never see her Chisquiño again. She went up to the general and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I hope your wife is well, sir… Until God brings us together.”

“Good luck… Until God decides, my child!”

Text © Marina Mayoral

Translation © Jonathan Dunne