Antonio Skarmeta - The Days of the Rainbow

“Seriously, Minister?”

“Seriously, Captain.”

“So I let him go? Just like that?”

“Just like that. Now, if you feel like it, make yourself happy and kick his ass.”

Once he hung up, Carrasco, thoughtful, scratched his left temple. He made the car keys clink together once again and then threw them to Bettini, who caught them in the air.

“Poet, you can go.”

“May I take my car?”

“Yes, take your fucking car, asshole.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Bettini walked to the door and a young officer waved him off by lifting a couple fingers to his kepi.

“Eh, you!” Carrasco shouted at him suddenly. “That stuff you wrote about the No being your beautiful lover … You’re a fag, aren’t you?”

Bettini dropped his head between his shoulders. He didn’t answer. For a second, he thought that it wouldn’t have been so bad if Captain Carrasco had kicked his ass.

He fully deserved it.

THE FIRST CHAPTERof the No campaign will be broadcast tonight.

Professor Paredes’s funeral will be held this morning.

On our way to the cemetery, some people come near to put flowers on the coffin. A delegation from the Scuola Italiana arrives in a yellow bus. Young girls and boys, all in their uniforms.

Walking behind the group, Patricia Bettini’s carrying a wreath of chrysanthemums.

This morning, the press has reported the assassination on their front pages.

For the first time this month, it’s sunny.

Our philosophy teacher, Professor Valdivieso, delivers a eulogy for Professor Paredes, remembering his pedagogical and artistic achievements.

He played in Fuenteovejuna, Peribáñez, Life Is a Dream, Mother Courage , and Macbeth . He directed Death of a Salesman and The Caretaker by Pinter.

He doesn’t say that Professor Paredes was about to present Mr. Galíndez by Pavlovsky.

He mentions that Don Rafael Paredes died under tragic circumstances.

He doesn’t say that agents of the National Center of Intelligence slit his throat.

Today we would’ve had our Shakespeare test.

My copy of his Complete Works is all underlined.

The school chorus sings “Rest in peace. May the earth cover you with love.”

Patricia keeps her head down. She shouldn’t have come. Everything that hurts her, hurts me. Everything hurts me twice. There I see our teacher’s widow. Doña María looks very pale. It seems that her tears have smudged the makeup they put on her. As Valdivieso speaks, she looks at the sun.

I’m supposed to be tough, but I can’t.

I look at the sun along with Doña María. Valdivieso was chosen to read the eulogy because all the older teachers are devastated. All feeling like shit.

I miss Dad. At least Doña María has Professor Paredes’s body, but all I have is my father’s absence. No, that’s not all. I also have hope.

Will I see him again, with his black tobacco and the ash falling onto his lapel?

I sniff. My father’s not a missing detainee.

It couldn’t be wrong, the Baroque syllogism. There were witnesses. More than thirty students in the classroom.

Logic. My dad is a genius at logic. The cops cannot deny that they arrested him. They have to give him back to me.

The phone calls I made were no use whatsoever. The men keep telling me that I have to be patient, that they’re working on it. There’s one called Samuel, although he told me that’s not his real name. Samuel says that my father’s case is priority number one. That he’s doing everything he can. But Lieutenant Bruna did everything he could for Professor Paredes, too.

I’ve been authorized to speak on behalf of the students. Especially the actors in The Cave of Salamanca .

The four main characters in Mr. Galíndez have left their homes.

We’re not going to present Cervantes’s skits anymore. Nobody feels like it. On opening night we still had hopes that Don Rafael would appear. We have certainties now. And rage. And no enthusiasm.

Tonight the campaign for the No will be shown on TV. I’ll watch it at Mr. Bettini’s home. They’re going to cook spaghetti alla puttanesca, Florentine style. That is, with tons of olives and olive oil. I cannot cry now. I shouldn’t be weaker than the widow. I can’t break down in front of Patricia Bettini, who holds the wreath of chrysanthemums without raising her eyes.

Valdivieso finishes his speech. He folds his sheets of paper. He puts them in his jacket and makes a gesture with his left hand, asking me to approach the podium. I’m carrying Shakespeare’s works in one hand, and in the other, an eraser that I squeeze and release, squeeze and release. I look at the audience. There are more than a hundred people. Most of them are adults. Five teachers.

There are some students, too, the few who were allowed to come by their parents. In the delegation of the Scuola Italiana there are seven young women. A tall, slim man I’ve seen before in Patricia’s house comes with them. He’s the consul, Mr. Magliochetti.

Everyone has a diplomat friend nowadays.

Just in case.

I have no idea who the others are. Relatives, I suppose.

I should’ve brought a small bottle of water. I’ve been clearing my throat for a while.

Patricia looks up. Her brown eyes. Her chestnut hair. John Lennon’s “Imagine.” John Lennon was killed. The guy who killed him was holding a copy of Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye . There’s only one photo of Salinger. He was a recluse.

Professor Paredes taught me a speech technique. First of all, “plant” yourself in front of the audience. With authority. Even if you’re just a boy, you have to look like a giant.

Take a deep breath, hold it, and release it very slowly. Try to keep some air in the abdomen so that you don’t run out of breath in the middle of a word. And before saying anything, take all the time you need to look at your audience. Not a quick look, like the quick flapping of a scared bird. Look at the audience as a whole, but also at each individual. Look them in the eyes. Don’t rush and don’t take too long. Avoid introductions and commonplaces. If you say, “I’ll be brief,” you’re already unnecessarily lengthening your text. A speech is made of words and silences. Those silences, Professor Paredes said, are meaningful. Sometimes it’s necessary to say words in order to hear the silence. There are different ways to be silent.

“Sometimes it’s necessary to say words in order to hear the silence,” I say aloud now. “There are different ways to be silent. There are ways to say something by remaining silent. And sometimes, the only way to say something is by not saying precisely what we all know should’ve been said.

“Dear Professor Paredes, today we were supposed to have a quiz on Shakespeare. Hamlet, Julius Caesar , and Macbeth . I underlined those Uncle Bill’s speeches that caught my attention the most. I could’ve gotten a B. I’ll read only one for you:

“ ‘I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech to stir men’s blood; I only speak right on. I tell you that which you yourselves do know, show you sweet Caesar’s wounds, poor poor dumb mouths, and bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, and Brutus Antony, there were an Antony would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue in every wound of Caesar that should move the stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.’

“I apologize for not translating it, but I don’t want to go to jail.”