Luis Leante - See How Much I Love You

They drank three glasses of tea, and they would have continued drinking if a light had not appeared at the top of a hillock. The legionnaire stood up, a bit shaken, and alerted the two Saharawis.

‘It’s all right, my friend. Stay here.’

San Román obeyed. He couldn’t do otherwise. The number of lights doubled. Presently he could clearly make out the headlights of two vehicles. They must have seen the fire. They approached slowly, dazzling them with the full beam of the headlights. Sid-Ahmed neither moved nor said anything. The vehicles stopped by the Land Rover of the Nomad Troops. Three or four men came out and walked very slowly toward the acacia. As they proceeded they recited the customary series of greetings, and Sid-Ahmed replied to them casually.

‘Yak-labess.’

‘Yak-labess.’

‘Yak-biher. Baracala.’

‘Baracala.’

‘Al jamdu lih-llah.’

Suddenly, when they were near the fire, Santiago’s heart jumped. The man leading the group was Lazaar. He was dressed as a soldier, but not in the Nomad Troop uniform. He was smiling broadly. Corporal San Román couldn’t muster the strength to stand up. Lazaar greeted the old man respectfully, placed his hand on the man’s head, and then helped Santiago up. He gave him a heart-felt hug.

‘My friend. I knew I would see you again. Thank you.’

‘Why “thank you”?’

‘For looking after my family. They’ve told me everything.’

‘Told you? What have they told you?’

‘I know you were taken prisoner for collaborating with us. Andía is very proud of you.’

‘Andía? How do you know what Andía thinks?’

‘She writes to me and tells me everything. Besides, Sid-Ahmed is a good source of information.’

Santiago did not inquire further for fear of sounding stupid. Sid-Ahmed remained calm, as if the encounter were perfectly normal. He set about making more tea. No one seemed to be in a hurry that night except Santiago, who grew frantic in the face of the men’s laidback attitude. For hours they discussed the cold, the wind, foxes, potholes, sheep, goats and camels. And for the first time he felt acknowledged, since they did so not in Hassaniya but in Spanish. Sid-Ahmed’s father slept through the conversation. The cold became very intense, yet no one complained. When all topics of conversation seemed to have been exhausted, Lazaar addressed Santiago San Román.

‘You’re here for a reason, it was not only to drive Sid-Ahmed and his father. I asked him to bring you along.’

Santiago knew that asking questions only meant delaying the answer, so he didn’t interrupt him in spite of his curiosity.

‘I need to ask you a favour, San Román: I’d like you to get my family out of El Aaiún and take them to Tifariti. We’re gathering everyone we can there.’ The legionnaire still refrained from asking any questions. ‘They’re invading us from the north, and, if certain reports are true, the Mauritanians want to enter the territory as well.’

‘And you want to take them to Tifariti? All of them?’

‘Yes, my friend, all of them. My mother, my aunt and my brothers. Sid-Ahmed’s wife too. His children are already with us.’

Santiago thought this would be quite a mission. For the first time he realised how serious the war was. An array of possibilities crowded into his mind, and he felt a considerable weight on his shoulders.

‘I’m not even sure how I’ll get back. The tank is empty,’ he said naively.

Lazaar did not stop smiling.

‘We’ll take care of that.’

‘And will I know how to get to Tifariti?’

‘Allah will help you.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be asking you.’

The legionnaire did not sleep a wink that night. He felt the cold in his bones, and his stomach was tied into a knot. The Saharawis cleared everything up with utmost calm, and then filled the tank of the Land Rover, using a hose to transfer diesel from their vehicles. When it was time to say goodbye, Santiago felt the need to be frank, even if it meant looking pathetic.

‘I don’t think I’ll be able to find the way back. All the bushes look the same to me. Besides, I couldn’t see a thing last night.’

‘Forget about last night,’ Said Sid-Ahmed. ‘We took a short cut, but you can go back following the river.’

‘What river? There’s no river here.’

‘Look, do you see that hillock over there? Go over it and carry on facing the sun. You’ll come to a dry riverbed. You can recognise a dry riverbed, can’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Follow it towards the north. Do not veer off. After some ten kilometres you’ll see water, which will take you to the Saguía. Follow the current and you won’t get lost.’

‘What about Tifariti? Won’t I get lost on the way there?’

Lazaar cut an acacia branch and placed two stones on the ground. He traced a line and gave him directions.

‘Don’t take any roads. Always drive across the desert. If you bear east you won’t get lost. Carry on towards Smara, and as soon as you come across tracks going south east, follow them. Always keep to those tracks. All the people who are escaping to Tifariti leave their marks in the desert. Everyone’s going that way. We’ll see you in three days. Also, don’t enter into any villages, however small they may look: they might be already occupied, which would be very dangerous.’

Santiago drove away in the Land Rover, keeping an eye on the rear-view mirror. Once the vehicles were out of sight he focussed on the hillock. Not even when he’d been caught carrying the explosives had he been as frightened as he was now. He carefully followed Sid-Ahmed’s directions, trying to drive as confidently as the Saharawis. He thought that the men had placed too much trust in him, but after two hours driving, when he made out the white houses of el Aaiún, with their eggshell-like roofs in the distance, he knew that nothing would prevent him from reaching Tifariti with Lazaar’s family.

They welcomed him as if he’d been gone for months. Santiago recounted the encounter with the eldest brother in detail. Lazaar’s mother and aunt listened without even blinking. As soon as they were told they had to leave, they started preparing themselves. In the main room, boxes containing clothes, food and all manner of utensils started piling up. Sid-Ahmed’s wife came into the house too. The legionnaire tried to organise the escape as if it were a military operation. He first reviewed the troops. Three adult women, four girls, and six young men. The youngest girl was about three, and the oldest boy over eighteen. Fourteen people, in any case, was a lot for one vehicle. He told Andía, trying to remain calm, but the girl did not think a detail like that mattered.

Santiago decided to go down to the city and steal a car. The eldest of Lazaar’s brothers went with him. This time, however, it wasn’t so easy to move freely in the streets. There were legionnaires posted on the pavements, as if they were about to start a parade. The Territorial Police stopped any vehicles which contained more than two people or looked excessively loaded. Few cars circulated along the main roads, and there were even fewer parked by them. Some had broken windshields or busted locks. Others had been robbed of spare parts and their dead engines were clearly to be seen under their open bonnets. At a junction Santiago stopped dead and made the Saharawi take cover round the corner. A few metres from there, at a street control, they were searching a group of Saharawis, whom they had ordered out of their car. The Spanish soldiers, with their Cetme rifles slung over their shoulders, had them against the wall with legs and arms apart. Santiago froze on hearing a painfully familiar voice. It was Baquedano. Santiago experienced both fear and a crise de conscience . The sergeant was furious. He shouted at the Saharawis as if they were dangerous animals. Suddenly he slapped the youngest one of them and threw him onto the floor. The lad tried to escape, but Baquedano placed his boot on his face and then started kicking him. Santiago San Román wished he had a loaded gun. Anger replaced fear.