Part 38 (1/2)
”They're really giving it to them,” Florry said.
He turned back to the firing squad. The sergeant was clearly bewildered, not sure where his duty lay. But the boys of the little unit weren't: they were at the point of panic with the gunfire so close.
Florry watched as the sergeant struggled with his indecision. And then he said, as if having at last conquered himself, ”No! La hora de su muerte esta aqui!” ”No! La hora de su muerte esta aqui!” He pointed at Florry melodramatically. He pointed at Florry melodramatically.
”Muerte!” he said, raising the pistol. Then he slumped forward with a spastic's drool coming from his inert face and thudded heavily to the earth. Behind him, the boy who'd crushed his skull stood in shocked horror for just a second before pitching the rifle into the brush and heading out at a dead run. His compatriots studied the situation for perhaps half a second, then abandoned their weapons just as resolutely and fled just as swiftly. he said, raising the pistol. Then he slumped forward with a spastic's drool coming from his inert face and thudded heavily to the earth. Behind him, the boy who'd crushed his skull stood in shocked horror for just a second before pitching the rifle into the brush and heading out at a dead run. His compatriots studied the situation for perhaps half a second, then abandoned their weapons just as resolutely and fled just as swiftly.
Florry rushed to the rifle with the bayonet, bent to it, and in a few seconds of steady sawing had himself free. He slipped the bayonet from the gun muzzle and ran to Sylvia to cut her free.
”Come on,” he said, picking up the sergeant's automatic, ”we've got to get out of here.”
Up top, the shooting had at last died down. Florry and Sylvia pushed their way deeper into the forest, away from the trucks, and found the going nearly impossible for the bracken and the undergrowth. In time, they were swallowed up by the trees and seemed far away from everything. And soon after, they came to the rusty tracks of the disused funicular, by which in calmer days Barceloneans had traveled to the amus.e.m.e.nt park and the church up there. Descending its gravel bed was easier than trying to fight their way down through the undergrowth, and by noon, they had reached the base of the mountain. The houses were spa.r.s.e at first, but within a bit they found themselves in what must have at one time been a fas.h.i.+onable district, on a serpentine street flanked by great houses that now seemed deserted.
They forced the gate on one of these and went out back. The house was secure against the return of the owners in some distant, better future, but in the servant's quarters, a door gave way to Florry's shoulder and they were in and safe.
36.
TIBIDABO.
BY THE TIME COMRADE COMMISSAR BOLODIN AND HIS men arrived at the top of Tibidabo Mountain, the fighting was over. As Ugarte pulled the big Ford to a halt by the a.s.sault guard trucks a few hundred feet below the gate of the amus.e.m.e.nt park, Lenny could feel his rage beginning to peak; it seemed to be replacing itself with some other feeling, odd and sickening. Lenny felt as though he might vomit. Suppose, he wondered, the ache in his stomach watery and loose, suppose they were dead? Suppose his deal was all f.u.c.ked, shot dead by gun-happy a.s.sault guards from Valencia ”protecting” the revolution from traitors. men arrived at the top of Tibidabo Mountain, the fighting was over. As Ugarte pulled the big Ford to a halt by the a.s.sault guard trucks a few hundred feet below the gate of the amus.e.m.e.nt park, Lenny could feel his rage beginning to peak; it seemed to be replacing itself with some other feeling, odd and sickening. Lenny felt as though he might vomit. Suppose, he wondered, the ache in his stomach watery and loose, suppose they were dead? Suppose his deal was all f.u.c.ked, shot dead by gun-happy a.s.sault guards from Valencia ”protecting” the revolution from traitors.
”Ah! Comrade Bolodin,” someone said with great smug cheer. Lenny turned to discover a gallant young Asalto officer, his arm in a sling, a cigarette in his mouth, cap pushed back c.o.c.kily on his head. The youngster looked sunny as a valentine: he couldn't wait for the compliments to come raining down on his handsome head.
”Captain Degas, of the Eleventh Valencia Guardia de Asalto,” the young officer introduced himself, snapping his heels together with a flourish and coming to a kind of mocking attention. ”You'll see, comrade commissar, that the problem of the Fascist traitors, chief among them the notorious Steinbach, has been solved.”
”Any prisoners?” Lenny demanded in his rude Spanish.
”I regret to inform the commissar of the Servicio de Investigacion Militar that resistance by the traitors and spies was formidable, and that the taking of prisoners proved imposs-”
Lenny smashed his stupid, smart young face with the back of his hand, watching the man spin backward and drop, a look of stunned surprise and sudden shame running quickly across his brilliant features.
”Stupido,” Lenny barked. ”Idiot. I ought to have shot.” Lenny barked. ”Idiot. I ought to have shot.”
He was aware of the Asaltos going silent all around him. He felt their curious and shocked eyes.
”Explanations,” Lenny barked.
”We're stationed down the mountain in Sarria. An informant told us a band of POUM traitors was hiding up here and agreed to lead us to them. We were acting under the strictest revolutionary orders issued by the government and signed by the commander of the Servicio de Investigacion Militar, that is, Comrade Commissar Bolodin himself.”
”Bring this informer.”
”Ramirez,” the captain shouted.
A second or so later, a seedy-looking Spaniard in a black jacket was brought over. He held his cap nervously in his hands. Lenny listened as he explained: he was the caretaker of a nearby estate. With the people gone, he got by as best he could and was out late the night before when a truck pulled into the park and he realized that it was being used by traitors. He'd seen a tall man in a suit and a girl get out of the truck.
”Ingles?”
”Yes, perhaps ingles.” ingles.”
”With a mustache?”
He was not sure. But the man had a dark suit and blondish hair.
”Pay the man,” Lenny said. ”He did his his duty. You should have contacted us. It's you who didn't duty. You should have contacted us. It's you who didn't do yours.” do yours.”
”My apol-”
”f.u.c.k your apologies. Now get rid of this man, and take us to the bodies.”
”This way, please, comrade. We brought them out for burial.”
Degas led him across the yard to the shed. Lenny saw that it was splintered and ruptured by gunfire, one window blackened with flames where a bomb had gone off. The smell of smoke still hung in the air.
The dead, about fifteen, lay in a row in the sun outside the garage. Most were chewed up rather badly by the machine gun and the bomb and they had the scruffy, ragged indolence of corpses. Flies buzzed about. There were puddles of blood, thick and black, all over the ground.
”That one was the leader,” said Degas. ”The old man in the turtleneck. He yelled that we were Stalin's killers. He's the one with this.”
The boy held up a gla.s.s eye.
The little marble sparkled in his gloved fingers, the pupil open wide and black and blue.
”Throw the f.u.c.king thing away, sonny,” Lenny said.
He went to look at Steinbach. The old man had been shot in the throat and the chest and the hand. His gray sweater was the color of raspberry ice.
”We found this, too, comrade,” said Degas. ”It is in English. No one here can read it.”
He handed Lenny a sheet of paper covered with a blue scrawl: I, the undersigned, take full responsibility for that which I am about to receive and wish to establish that I was acting under orders from the highest authority. I acknowledge that I have taken from the revolution its most precious treasure and that I, and I alone, am responsible.
It was signed, Robert Florry (British citizen) Robert Florry (British citizen).
Lenny looked at it for a long moment, breathing heavily.
”Is it important, comrade?” asked Degas.
”It's nothing,” said Lenny, putting it in his pocket. ”And this was all?”
”Yes, comrade commissar.”
”And n.o.body escaped?”
”No, comrade.”
”And so what has happened to the tall man and the girl that that fellow told you about?”