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Turning his back, he left the room and locked himself in the bathroom for the rest of the afternoon, and even though we asked him to come out, he refused and said:
“Nope, I’ve had enough upsets for today.”
It was only when Carmen had left, saying that it was getting late and that she couldn’t stay any longer, that he came out and went to his bedroom.
I ran into him in the hallway when he left, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and I could see that his eyes were bloodshot. He had been crying, so he hadn’t wanted to come out and his face was gloomy. I didn’t say anything to him and I let him go into his bedroom, where he apparently went to bed and did not want to come out for dinner.
Our mother told us that when she went in to tell him that dinner was on the table, he had answered:
“I’m for dinner!”
<<<<< >>>>>
I haven’t told you yet. My name is Manuel, I’m from Santiago de Compostela. My father is a civil servant in the Treasury Department, his father was a lawyer, I’m named after him.
I have four siblings; two brothers and two sisters. The oldest is Carmen, who’s named after my maternal grandmother, and the youngest is Sagrario, after my paternal grandmother, but we all call her Chelito. My two brothers are twins, which always surprised family and friends, because there had never been any twins among anyone we knew. One is called Antonio, we affectionately call him “Tono,” after one of my grandfathers, my mother’s father, who passed away some time ago and we never met him. The other is Carlos, or “Carlitos” to the family, after my uncle, the only one we have, my mother’s brother.
As a child I had always said I wanted to be a doctor, to heal the wounds of other kids, even though my family, and above all my grandfather, wanted me to be a lawyer like him.
“You’ll help me when you’re older and you finish your studies. I’m getting older and I need you to give me a hand in the office,” he would say whenever he had the chance.
That couldn’t be and he was disappointed, although never for long, because when he said that to me, Carmen would always respond:
“I’ll help you Grandpa and you’ll see, you just teach me what to do, and I’ll do it well.”
Although it wasn’t really the norm for a woman to study law, she was clear when deciding and choosing a career. She never doubted it for a moment, and of course nobody in the family was surprised, although my mother protested saying:
“Girl, that way we’re never going to get you married. Who’s going to want to be weighed down by a little know-it-all who knows so many laws?”
But everyone had assumed that it was truly what she wanted to do, and they always supported her.
Our life was simple, all things considered. Before I was born, my parents and Carmen lived in my grandparents’ house. Some houses were built; I think they said they were for civil servants. My father requested one, and he was lucky enough to be allocated one. It was a great delight for them, although my grandmother Sagrario wasn’t very happy about it. She asked how she would see her granddaughter grow up if they took her away from her, that they didn’t have to leave, that there was room for everyone in her house, which was indeed very large.
Those houses were a little outside the center of Santiago de Compostela, and of course my grandmother said:
“That’s why they’re so cheap, because no one can get there. That’s just a field for animals, not for people to live in.”
They were accustomed to always living in the heart of Santiago, right next to the cathedral, which of course has its advantages, but I’ve always wondered how they could sleep with the bells ringing every so often.
When I stayed in the house for the night every now and then, it seemed to me that they never stopped ringing. When I heard it I would think to myself, who cares what time it is in the middle of the night, when everyone is supposed to be asleep? Who was listening? Of course I don’t think anyone would be listening for the first bell, but surely everyone would hear the bell after it. Just being in those rooms we would already be lying there with our eyes wide open and then the bells; at one, at two, at three… Yes, we already knew that every night has those hours, and no it wasn’t necessary to remind us.
My grandmother found my protests amusing, but said:
“Young Manu, the bells are good company.”
I never understood. I always wanted to tell her that they were really annoying and that they sounded awful.
Shortly after being in the new house, my parents had me, according to what I’ve been told, because as you would imagine, I was too small to remember. It was an excuse for a big party. My father invited all of his colleagues and my grandparents also came with a friend. It was unusual for a son to have his own house, rented yes, but to own it? That was unheard of. Where would a young man get the money to pay for it?
We’ve been a family like so many others, very close, but also like many other Galicians, we’ve had an emigrant; my uncle Carlos, my mother’s only brother. He said one day that he was leaving and there was no way to convince him otherwise. That’s what my mother told us, when any of us asked her about why he had left.
I have a memory from those happy years of my distant childhood. When I was little, “Evita Perón,” at that time the wife of General Perón, who was the leader of Argentina, was going to come to Spain. At school they told us how after the war, she had insisted that meat be sent from her country to Spain, and it seems that thanks to that, many people were saved from starvation.
Because of their visit, they showed us where Argentina was, and I still remember those old pictures the teacher showed us. Depictions of gauchos with those big pants, mounted on their horses with their bolas in hand, those cords with the little ball at the end. Even though Don Juan, the teacher, explained to us how they used them, none of us could understand how they could hit their target from a running horse. What an aim they must have had.
He also showed us pictures of the Argentine pampas, those enormous plains without a single mountain, something that really fascinated all the children in my class, accustomed as we were to seeing mountains everywhere.
We could not imagine that there was a place without mountains and we told the teacher that surely someone had erased them from that picture.
What our teacher told us that day became etched on my memory, that it didn’t matter what you believed in, that you just had to always be a good person and think about helping others.
How did those two things relate to each other? At first I didn’t understand it, but I think it clicked in time.
That lady, being an artist, because I think she did theater, must not have been viewed very positively at that time by the Church, but in spite of that she persisted, and had helped to stave off famine for people so far from where she lived and so unknown to her.
I was remembering all of this now that I was so involved in the search for answers. Why are people compelled to perform a task, like helping others in a distant country? What would it matter to them? While others, who are nevertheless nearby, don’t bat an eyelid when they see someone at the side of the road with a problem, and they continue on with their lives as if nothing happened.
They had always taught us at home to help, to listen and, above all, not to believe ourselves to be better than others.
I remember that very well, that’s why on that long ago day when I told my mother that I was an atheist, I had also added when she had calmed down and I could continue talking:
“Mom, relax. I’ll never forget what you’ve taught me since I was little, to be good to others, but I feel that having faith is something different. I have to experiment for myself, and see things from my own point of view. I don’t know what I want, it’s something, but I don’t know what it is yet. There was a day when I was having a chat with Carmen about these matters,” I went on telling my mother, “and she told me that she’d had a discussion with Don Ignacio (our parish priest) and he’d replied that the important thing was to be a good person, regardless of your beliefs. I think that answer is very wise, I’ve always liked that priest, but since that day, I tell you I’ve liked him more. That doesn’t mean I’m going to go see him. I don’t want to be his friend or anything like that, but I liked his answer, because it coincides with my way of thinking.”
After waiting a few minutes to give her time to absorb what I’d said, I continued saying to my mother:
“Listen, one day at the university, some girls were talking. They were saying that when us boys left our parents’ house, we forgot everything, and in order to make ourselves seem tough, we would say that we didn’t believe. I interrupted them and told them that it wasn’t like that. What happened was that there came a point in our lives when we raised issues that we didn’t know how to respond to, and that lead us to distance ourselves from everything we knew, to clarify our ideas.”
“And how did they respond to you?” my mother asked me, and it seemed to me that she was interested in what I was saying.
“Nothing, they were silent, and they continued walking down the corridor, then they went into their class which was about to begin.”
“And you, what’s gotten into you that you’re now leaving me with the idea that you’re an atheist? To tell you the truth, it sounds like you’re a communist, a Russian, or I don’t know what. Of course, call it what you will, I don’t like it at all, I don’t think it’s a good thing,” she was saying a little angrily.
“Mom, they’re completely different things. A Russian is like a Spaniard, a Spaniard was born in Spain and that’s why he’s Spanish, and a Russian was born in Russia and that’s why he’s Russian. If I had been born in France, I would be French, and so on for all of us just because of the place where they were born.”
“Why do they call them communists?” she asked interrupting me.
“Look, that’s a different matter altogether, why are you Catholic?” I asked.
“What a nonsensical question, what else am I going to be?” she asked half irritated.
“Yes, you call yourself a Catholic,” I went on, “because you profess the Catholic Religion, you’ve been baptized and you go to Church.”
“And them? Why don’t they?” she asked with a certain tone of curiosity.
“Look, that’s why some people are labeled Communists, because just like here in Spain, there will be some people who aren’t Catholic…”
“But son,” she interrupted, “that’s impossible. Well, there will be some who have come on a journey from another country, but here we’re all Catholics.”
“Okay, you’re right,” I gave in to her so as not to get deeper into something that I saw was starting to bother her.
Turning around, I was going to cut the conversation short, as we began to hear Chelito calling. She had woken up and did not want to be alone, although we both noticed by her voice that the fever had gone down and she was feeling better, especially because we heard her say:
“Mom, Mom, aren’t you going to give me lunch today? I’m starving, have you forgotten that I haven’t had breakfast?”
Smiling, the two of us headed to her room, with what I’d said having settled that talk that I’d been delaying for a while for fear of how she would take it.
Now I had to tell my father, but he was more understanding, and now that Mom knew, I’m sure she would tell him as soon as he arrived, so it would make things simpler for me. It would also be made easier because Carmen would also be coming home with him, and I knew she was on my side, because we’d talked very seriously about it, in fact, it was she who told me:
“Tell him and don’t let more time pass, it’s best for everyone.”
I hadn’t yet decided to share it with my parents because, as I said to Carmen, I wasn’t ready, but she, who has always been very prudent, made me see that every day that passed with that secret would make it harder for me to tell them, and that’s what helped me to decide.
<<<<< >>>>>
Finally, it’s summer. The anticipated moment has arrived. We anxiously turned to our new work. The year has passed quickly, the days seemed to have wings and they flew away, well the day before an exam not so much, those were very difficult, “Endless,” you might call them.
This will be the last year I can devote to this for now. I have to start the University Militias next summer, which I am not looking forward to, but it is preferable to do it this way than to leave it and do military service when I finish studying.
“Son, it’s more comfortable, you don’t know what it’s like to be on sentry duty in the winter, out in the open all night,” my father used to say to me whenever I protested, because I didn’t want to do it.
“Don’t exaggerate Dad, nobody’s died of that,” I answered. I was still undecided and didn’t really know what I wanted to do, which made me a little uncomfortable.
“Listen Manu, military service is hard, any way you look at it and the University Militias have been made to measure for you. If only I could have landed such a sweet deal back in my day,” he said with a face of resignation.
“What are you talking about Dad?” and since I didn’t want to remind him of the hardships of the past, I tried to change the subject, but he continued.
“On top of that, I’m sure all your friends are going to do it, you won’t be left high and dry,” and he insisted that it was the best, and the most comfortable way.
What he’d said about not going alone had just convinced me, but I said:
“Well, I’ll decide when the time comes.”
When she heard us talking about it, Mom would intervene saying:
“Yes, that’s enough of that, I really don’t want you to go so far.”
“Sweetheart, the University Militias are held in the summer. If I’ve not been misinformed I think they’re from June 20th to September 15th. Think of it like going on vacation and that’s it, it’s only a few days and then you’re home again, and if you’re lucky, you’ll be taken to the ‘El Robledo’ camp, which is near the Palace of La Granja de San Ildefonso, in the province of Segovia, surrounded by pine groves called Valdesain.”
“Where’s Manu going? And how do you know that?” asked Chelito.
“Wherever they send him, like everyone else, but the son of a friend of mine from work was sent there and when he got home he said that they’d had a great time, that they went down to the town on weekends to dance and that they did marches or something through the pine forests, singing that little song that’s become popular, called ‘Margarita,’ you know, young folk stuff, so I don’t think it’s going to be so bad.”
And with that, the conversation was over, seeing that my mother was starting to pout. Cautiously, he approached her to give her a kiss and to calm her down.
“Yes, of course, everything is very easy for you,” she told him. “You don’t even realize that they’re slowly growing up and we’ll be more and more alone every day, and before we realize it, we’ll be at home on our own, just you and me.”
We all laughed and my father scolded us:
“Don’t treat it like a joke when your mother is suffering.”
And turning to her, he said:
“But honey, what are you saying? They’re practically still babies, we still have to put up with them for a long time yet, you’ll see how before you know it they’ll all have completed their military service, or the militias as it’s called now, that they’ll go off and do whatever it is that they do and you’ll have them back here again in no time.”
“I’ll ask them to let me do them here in Santiago, so I don’t have to leave home,” Tono said.
“Yes,” said Carlitos, “and you can also ask them to let you do your duties lying on the sitting room sofa, so you’re more comfortable.”
My mother, seeing that we were all more relaxed, was more content.
<<<<< >>>>>
I’m anxious to see what they’ve assigned to us, the guy who acts as the coordinator told us that, like the last time, we did such a good job that this time it’s going to be a bit more complicated, but we’ll surely have a good time. During the year, I’ve gone to see the elderly couple on two occasions, on each of their name days, when we celebrate with all those named after a particular saint, and I took a little something special for them, something small. I saved a little of what they give me at home for my meager expenses, and I bought them two chocolate candies on both occasions, which I know they both liked very much.
I also met with some of my workmates there, and we had a fun time recalling the variety of incidents that happened to us while we fixed up their house.
The old man, Rafael, reminded us of the fresh novice faces we had on the first day, afraid that they wouldn’t give us their approval, but how could they not agree with some people who were going to help them? He did not imagine for a second that those inexperienced students, who were surely doing what they were doing because someone would have punished them if they didn’t, and who wouldn’t return when they ran into their first difficulty and leave everything worse than it was before, if that were possible, would fix it up and leave it as they had when they were finished.
The old man apologized for having thought that about us, but that was indeed what he’d thought after seeing our faces. It was our hands, pretty much children’s hands, with clean fingernails, hands that had never done anything. At best, they had held the enormous weight of a book, but how were they going to make cement? That was unthinkable and he was close to telling us to leave, that they were not a joke and they would not be putting up with anyone who came to mock their needs in their own home.
But he’d restrained himself and thought, “I’ll give them one day, I’ll watch them and see what they do, and when they leave, I’ll tell them not to come back here again,” but seeing how eagerly we started and the interest we put into what we were doing, he was convinced that we were good people, and he gave us another day.
“Yes, because today, as there’s no trust, they’ll be behaving themselves, but let’s see who returns tomorrow. They’ll be destroyed from the effort and their muscles will be sore,” he told us he had thought.
And he continued, “Because when you left, I saw you were all so tired that I said:
‘When they fall into bed, these boys will tell themselves it’s over, that summer is for resting and having a good time,’ but I was wrong. The next day you arrived on time, I would even say early, and although I saw different hands on some of you, what I really noticed was on your faces, they were happy faces. That surprised me and I said to myself, ‘Rafael you were wrong, they’re committed.’”
We all laughed when we heard that, and then his wife Rosa, who was listening, said:
“So exaggerated! But I must admit that I was also fearful when I saw you arrive, four strong young people. What if they came to harm us?”
“Don Simón had already told us that you would come, but we didn’t expect you to be so old, you’re all so tall, and I was fearful all day.”
“‘If one of you were to push us, we’d go flying, because we’re very small next to you all,’ I thought, then I told myself, ‘but what are they going to want from us? We have nothing.’ What’s more, they would have done it when they arrived. Why would they have stayed here if that was the case? My fear began to subside, and when you left and Don Simón came to ask me how the day went…”
“Is that why you started to cry?” Simón interrupted her at that point.
“Aah! Are you Don Simón?” we asked surprised. “We hadn’t realized.”
“Nana,” said Simón, “I’ve already told you many times not to call me that, it makes me seem much older than I am.”
“Alright son, sorry. I couldn’t contain myself today, you saw that I’ve managed on the other days they were here, and at no point did I call you that,” she was saying.
He got up and approached her and giving her a hug he said:
“Yes, you did very well, relax.”
