Winter in Madrid

‘Yes.’ Harry glanced over to where Francisco sat looking at them stonily, then put his hand on Bernie’s shoulder. ‘The car’s a few miles away. Outside the town. D’you think you can make it? It’s all downhill.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll try. Yes. If we go slowly.’

‘You look human again.’

‘Thanks.’ He looked up. ‘Is it true England’s still holding out?’

‘Yes. The bombing’s bad but we’re holding on. Bernie, we ought to go,’ Barbara said.

‘All right.’ Bernie stood, wincing as he rose. He’s completely exhausted, Harry thought, burnt out.

‘What were you saying about a priest?’ Bernie asked.

‘Sofia and Barbara met him on their way to the bridge. Then he came into the church to pray, but I managed to get the watchman to get rid of him. It was a nasty moment; I’ll see him kneeling there praying for the rest of my life I think, his black sotana and red hair.’

‘Red hair?’ Bernie thought a moment. ‘What was he like?’

‘Young, tall. Fattish.’

He took a deep breath. ‘God, that sounds like Father Eduardo. He’s one of the priests at the camp.’

‘Yes, that was his name,’ Barbara said. ‘Good lord. He didn’t seem the type.’

‘He isn’t, he’s a sort of holy i

Harry took the empty rucksack and they headed for the door. He felt an overwhelming relief at leaving the building. He looked back at the old man; he still sat on his bench, his head in his hands, a tiny figure among all the gigantic monuments to faith.

Chapter Forty-Eight

THEIR PROGRESS back down the steep, badly lit streets was slow. Bernie felt exhausted. The few people they passed turned to look at them; Bernie wondered whether with his unsteady gait they thought he was drunk. He felt drunk, intoxicated with amazement and happiness.

He had wondered how he would feel seeing Barbara after so long. It was a tougher, more sophisticated woman who had appeared on the cold hillside but it was still Barbara, he could see that all the things he had loved were still there. It felt as though it was only yesterday he had last seen her, that the Jarama and the last three years were all a dream. But the pain in his shoulder was all too real, while his feet, which had swollen into every crevice of his cracked broken boots, were an agony.

Halfway down the long hill they came to a little square with a stone bench under a statue of a general. ‘Can I sit down?’ Bernie whispered to Barbara. ‘Just for a minute?’

Sofia turned and looked at them seriously. ‘Can you not go on?’ She glanced nervously at a bar on one side of the square. The windows were lit and voices came from within.

‘Just five minutes?’ Barbara pleaded.

Bernie slumped on to the bench. Barbara sat beside him and the other two stood a few paces off. Like guardian angels, Bernie thought. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I just feel a bit dizzy. I’ll be all right in a minute.’

Barbara put her hand on his forehead. ‘You’re a bit feverish,’ she said. She took out her cigarettes and offered him one.

He laughed. ‘A proper cigarette. Gold Flake.’

‘Sandy used to get them.’

He held her hand, looked into her face. ‘I tried to forget you,’ he said. ‘In the camp.’

‘Did you manage it?’ she asked with forced lightness.

‘No. You have to try and forget the good things or they just torment you. But they keep coming back. Like the glimpses of the hanging houses. We used to see them sometimes on the way to the quarry. Hanging above the mist. It was a sort of mirage. They looked so small when we passed them earlier.’

‘I’m sorry about Sandy,’ she said. ‘Only – when I thought you were dead I was so broken up. And he was kind at first, he seemed kind.’

‘I should never have left you.’ He gripped her hand tight. ‘When Agustín told me it was you arranging the escape, when he said your name, that was the best moment, the best.’ He felt a rush of emotion. ‘I’ll never leave you again.’

The bar door opened, letting out a smell of stale wine and cigarette smoke. Two labourers came out and walked up the hill, glancing in surprise at the quartet by the fountain. Harry and Sofia came over.

‘We mustn’t stay here,’ Harry said. ‘Can you go on?’

Bernie nodded. When he stood up it was as though he put his feet in fire; but he made himself ignore it, they were nearly there.

THEY WALKED slowly on, saying little. Bernie found that despite the pain from his feet he seemed to notice everything with newly heightened senses: the sound of a dog barking, the sight of a tall tree looming up in the darkness, the smell of Barbara’s perfume; all the thousand and one things that had been kept from him since 1937.

They cleared the town, crossed the river, then walked down the long empty road to the field where the car was. It began to snow again, not heavily, little flakes that made a tiny pit-pit noise in the silence as they landed on the grass. His new clothes kept Bernie warm, their unfamiliar softness another new sensation.

‘We’re nearly there,’ Barbara whispered at length. ‘The car’s behind those trees.’

They turned through the gateway and on to the rutted track, Bernie gritting his teeth as his boots slipped on the uneven surface. Harry and Sofia walked a little ahead, Barbara was still at Bernie’s side. He saw the dim shape of a car ahead.

‘I’ll drive,’ Barbara told Harry.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. You drove us out. Bernie, if you go in the back you can stretch your legs out.’

‘All right.’ He leaned against the cold metal of the Ford as Barbara opened the driver’s door. She threw in the rucksack and slid into the passenger seat, pulling the catches that unlocked the other doors. Harry opened a rear door, smiling the old solid reassuring smile. ‘Your car, sir,’ he said. Bernie squeezed his arm.

Then Sofia raised a hand. ‘I heard something,’ she whispered. ‘In the trees.’

‘It’ll be a deer,’ Bernie said, remembering the one that had disturbed him in his hiding place.

‘Wait.’ Sofia stepped away from the car and walked slowly over to the stand of holm oaks. They sent long black shadows over the grass. The others watched her. She stopped and squinted into the branches.

‘I can’t hear anything,’ Bernie whispered. He glanced into the car. Barbara was looking over her shoulder at them questioningly.

‘Come on,’ Harry called out.

‘Yes, all right.’ Then Sofia turned away.

A SEARCHLIGHT BEAM lanced from the trees. The crashing rattle of a machine gun spat from the copse and Bernie saw little branches flying into the air as Sofia, caught in the searchlight, jumped and jerked as bullets tore into her. Gouts of blood flew from her small form as it crashed over and hit the ground.

Harry began ru

Bernie found himself unable to breathe. He gasped as he tried to suck in air, still holding Harry by the shoulders. The older civil went and prodded Sofia’s head with his foot, grunting with satisfaction as it lolled back lifeless. Harry tried to move again but still Bernie held him, though it hurt his shoulder.

‘It’s too late,’ he said.

He turned to look into the car. Barbara was still leaning over the seat watching, her expression terrified. The civiles stood at a little distance, covering them, as two men in army uniform stepped into the open. One was Aranda, a smile on his handsome face. The other was thi