Antonio Molina - In the Night of Time

“Do you know where they’re holding Professor Rossman?”

“Not so loud, Abel, slow down. Slow and steady wins the race, says the Spanish proverb. You’re compromising yourself and compromising me as well. It’s imprudent to go around asking about someone who sounds a little shady. I have some information, not much. It’s not a good idea for either you or your friend to make too much noise about this case.”

“They detained him by mistake, I’m sure.”

“You can’t be sure of anything these days. Our Soviet friends were sure of Bukharin and Kamenev and Zinoviev, and look at the monstrous conspiracies they were plotting and eventually confessed to. We’re facing an enemy without compassion who unfortunately isn’t just on the other side of the frontlines. They’re active here in Madrid as well. You know what General Varela says on insurgent radio: he has four columns ready to attack Madrid, and a fifth that will conquer the city from within. They’re among us and with impunity take advantage of the confusion they themselves created when they rebelled, and the moral scruples and bureaucracy that paralyze us—”

“What are you talking about, Bergamín? A few minutes ago, on my way here, I saw several bodies along the fences of the Retiro. They’re loaded into garbage trucks like trash, and people laugh.”

“Don’t you wonder what they might have done to end up like that? Don’t you read the papers, don’t you listen to the radio? They believe their people are about to arrive, and they want to make the conquest easier. They shoot from terraces and the bell towers of churches. They speed past barracks in cars and machine-gun the militiamen on duty and whoever is in front. Their planes bomb working-class neighborhoods, and they have no misgivings about women and children dying. I told you the other day and I’ll say it again: it wasn’t the people who began this war. We can’t allow ourselves any weakness or carelessness. We can’t trust our own shadows. Do me a favor and do the same. I don’t have time to explain too much because I have to be at the airport in half an hour. Risking a great deal and out of consideration for you, I’ve made inquiries and can assure you your friend is in no imminent danger.”

“Tell me where he is, what he’s accused of.”

“You’re asking too much. I don’t know.”

“At least tell me who’s holding him. Is he in a Communist cheka ?”

“Be careful what you say, Abel. I’ve been assured he was detained because of an accusation that seemed well founded but turned out to be not too serious. The normal thing would be for them to let him go tomorrow or the day after. Maybe today, who knows? Our side doesn’t act as blindly as you imagine, man of little faith.”

“Tell me where to go and I’ll make a statement in his favor. Negrín is also prepared to answer for him.”

“Negrín has just been named minister in the new government… Didn’t you listen to the radio this morning?”

“I’ll call Professor Rossman’s daughter. She hasn’t slept in two nights.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Abel, only where I tell you to. They called me this morning from the Committee for the Restoration of the Artistic Patrimony asking for a favor, and I thought of you. They’re swamped with work, as you can imagine.”

“They wouldn’t be if they hadn’t burned so many churches.”

“You always blame everything on our side, Abel. You see only our errors.”

“The entire world sees them.”

“The entire world sees what it wants to see!” Bergamín’s voice grew shrill. “They have eyes and do not see, ears and do not hear, says Scripture. The entire world refuses to acknowledge that it was the insurgent planes that bombed the palace of the duke of Alba, and the people’s militias who risked their lives rushing into the fire and rubble to save artistic treasures that a family of landowning parasites has been usurping for centuries.”

Bergamín looked at his watch. He was uncomfortable and in a hurry. His pale face tinged by the colors of the stained glass, he watched the flow of people between the great staircase and the courtyard and grew uneasy when he saw André Malraux, who would accompany him on his flight.

“Speaking of treasures, you’ve probably heard about the retable on the main altar of the Capilla de la Caridad in Illescas. It has no less than four paintings by El Greco. The Committee asked for our help in rescuing it.”

“The enemy has already reached Illescas?”

“Don’t be alarmed, Abel. Someone will hear you and think you’re a defeatist.”

“If it’s not one thing it’s another. It’s obvious I don’t strike you the right way, Bergamín.”

“Don’t get angry. I’m alarmed by your political naïveté and would like to make you more aware or at least protect you. As you know, the militias are forcing the enemy to retreat on all fronts, including Talavera. If the Fascists haven’t been able to take Talavera with forces much larger and better armed than ours, how will they approach Illescas, which is much closer to Madrid? This is a different problem. We’ve been told that in Illescas those rather wild-eyed boys from the Iberian Anarchist Federation have seized power and decided to proclaim Anarchist communism. For the moment they’ve eliminated private property and money and converted the Capilla de la Caridad into a warehouse for collectivized foodstuffs. A Socialist councilman managed to call the Committee for the Patrimony yesterday from the only phone in the village. In the commune they’re debating what to do with the altarpiece — sell it and collect funds to buy weapons, which is the position of the more moderate members, or burn it in a bonfire in the middle of the town square. Don’t look at me like that, Abel. We can’t reproach the people for not appreciating what they haven’t been taught to appreciate. With the help of our friends in the Fifth Regiment, we’ve prepared a small rescue expedition. Discreet but effective. A few well-armed militiamen were provided with a decree from the National Directorate for Fine Arts authorizing them to remove the El Greco paintings from the retable and store them temporarily in the basement of the Bank of Spain, which is what we’ve been doing with many other endangered works of art. You’re the person chosen to direct the operation. Don’t protest. I’ve told you on various occasions: make yourself visible, make yourself useful. Make your loyalty to the Republic known with actions and not just words. Though words are also a good idea. Why didn’t you sign the intellectuals’ manifesto of loyalty to the regime?”

“No one asked me to.”

“Everything has a solution. Write something for the next issue of The Blue Coverall. A few pages on whatever subject you like, architecture in the new society, or something along the lines of what you gave me for Cruz y Raya that everybody liked so much. The masters of popular architecture, as anonymous as the authors of the old ballads. And please leave right away for Illescas, an Alliance truck will be waiting at the corner of Recoletos. Time is of the essence, Abel.”

“Give me your word that nothing will happen to Professor Rossman.”

“I can’t promise anything. I’m not in charge. Do as I advise and no promise will be needed. If you hurry, you can be back with the paintings this afternoon. Ask Mariana. She is in charge. She’ll have a message for you.”

This time Bergamín didn’t offer his hand when he said goodbye. He saw a tall man with an arrogant profile going down the stairs in a leather jacket, breeches, and riding boots, and in a hurry to meet him Bergamín forgot about Ignacio Abel, but not without first telling him who the man was.