María Dueñas - The Time in Between

“And you think I’m in one of those files.”

“We don’t think it, we know it with absolute certainty,” he said, fixing his eyes on mine. “We have collaborators who have infiltrated them and they’ve told us that you’re there among the Germanophiles. Right now you’re still uncompromised, as we might have suspected: you have copious clients related to the Nazi high command, they visit you in your workshop, you sew beautiful clothes for them, and in exchange they don’t just pay you, they also confide in you, so much so that when they’re in your house they speak absolutely freely about things they shouldn’t speak about and that you pass straight on to us.”

“And Alvarado, what does he have to do with all this?”

“He’s also in their files. But he’s on the opposite side, on the roster of citizens supportive of the British. And we’ve received news that there’s been a German order for maximum surveillance of Spanish people from certain sectors who are connected to us: bankers, businessmen, liberal professionals—citizens with means and influence who would be prepared to help our cause.”

“I imagine you know he’s no longer working, that he didn’t reopen his firm after the war,” I pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter. He has excellent relationships with members of the embassy staff and the British colony in Madrid and allows himself to be seen with them frequently. Sometimes even with me, as you will have learned yesterday. He’s very familiar with Spanish industry, which is why he advises us disinterestedly on a number of related matters. But unlike you, he isn’t an undercover agent, merely a good friend to the English people who doesn’t disguise his sympathies toward us. Which is why if you allow yourself to be seen with him too much, it might look suspicious, given that you appear in opposing files. There’s actually already been a rumor about it.”

“About what?” I asked, a little rudely.

“About what the devil someone so close to the wives of the German high command is doing letting herself be seen in public with a loyal friend to the British,” he replied with a thump on the table. Then his tone became gentler, as he immediately regretted his reaction. “Forgive me, please; we’ve all been very nervous lately, and besides, we knew you weren’t informed of the situation and couldn’t possibly have predicted the risks in advance. But trust me when I tell you that the Germans are planning a very powerful campaign to put pressure on British influence in Spain. This country is still crucial to Europe and could join the war at any moment. Actually the government is continuing to help the Axis shamelessly: they allow them to use the Spanish ports freely, they authorize mining operations wherever they please, and they’re even using Republican prisoners to work on military construction that could help with a possible German attack on Gibraltar.”

He stubbed out his cigarette and was silent for a few moments, concentrating on what he was doing. Then he went on.

“In the current circumstances we are at a clear disadvantage, and the last thing we want is to complicate matters even further,” he said slowly. “Months ago the Gestapo launched a series of threatening actions that have already borne fruit: your friend Mrs. Fox, for example, had to leave Spain because of them. And regrettably there have been several other such cases: to take one close-to-home example, the old embassy doctor, who was a very good friend of mine. From now on, things are looking worse still. More direct and aggressive. More dangerous.”

I didn’t interrupt, I just watched, waiting for him to end his explanations.

“I don’t know if you understand the extent to which you’re compromised and exposed,” he added, lowering his voice. “Arish Agoriuq has become a very well-known figure among the German women living in Madrid, but if they start to see some wavering in your position as was almost the case yesterday, you could find yourself implicated in highly undesirable situations. And that’s no good. Neither for you, nor for us.”

I got up from my seat and walked over toward a window but didn’t dare approach it all the way. With my back to Hillgarth, I looked through the glass into the distance. The branches of the trees, filled with leaves, reached the height of the second story. It was still light—the evenings were already getting long. I tried to consider the implications of what I’d just heard. Despite the grim outlook, I wasn’t afraid.

“I think it would be best for me to stop collaborating with you,” I said at last without looking at him. “We’d avoid problems and live more peacefully. You, me, everybody.”

“Not at all,” he protested firmly behind me. “All I’ve just said was merely by way of prevention and as a warning for the future. We have no doubt of your ability to adapt when the time comes. But under no circumstances do we want to lose you, especially not now when we need you somewhere new.”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, astonished, turning around.

“We have another mission. We’ve received a request to collaborate, coming directly from London. Although in the beginning we were considering other options, in view of what happened this weekend we’ve decided to assign it to you. Do you think your assistant could take care of your workshop for a couple of weeks?”

“Well… I don’t know… perhaps…,” I stammered.

“I’m sure she can. Put the word out among your clients that you’re going to be away for a while.”

“Where do I tell them I’m going to be?”

“There’s no need to lie, just tell them the truth: that you have some business to attend to in Lisbon.”

The Lusitania Express left me at the Santa Apolónia Station one morning in mid-May. I was carrying two huge suitcases with my best clothes, a handful of detailed instructions, and an invisible supply of aplomb; I was trusting that this would be enough for me to make it through this tricky situation without too much trouble.

I’d hesitated for a while before I was able to convince myself to go ahead with this assignment. I’d reflected, weighed my options, and evaluated alternatives. I knew that the ball was in my court—only I could choose between continuing with that murky life or leaving it all behind and returning to normality.

The latter would probably have been the more sensible of the two options. I was fed up with deceiving everybody, with not being able to be straight with anyone, with complying with inconvenient orders and living in a constant state of alert. I was about to turn thirty. I’d become an unscrupulous liar and my personal history was no more than a pile of deceits, inconsistencies, and falsehoods. In spite of the apparent sophistication with which I lived, at the end of the day—as Ignacio had insisted on reminding me some months earlier—all that remained of me was a lonely ghost living in a house filled with shadows. And when I’d left the meeting with Hillgarth I felt a burst of hostility toward him and his people. They’d entangled me in a strange, sinister adventure that was supposedly in my country’s interests, but as the months passed nothing appeared to straighten itself out, and the fear that Spain would enter the war continued to hang in the air on every street corner. All the same, I kept to his conditions without venturing from the rules—they’d forced me to become selfish and insensitive, to stick to an unreal side of Madrid and be disloyal to my people and my past. They’d made me fearful and unsettled; I’d spent nights lying wide awake, through hours of infinite anxiety. And now they wanted me to leave my father, too, the only presence who brought a speck of light into the dark passage of my days.