A Dawn in Seville

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© 2014 by Marie Anne Zammit. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

All characters in this novel are fictitious and do not correspond to any character or event in real life.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/07/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-7980-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-7981-8 (e)

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

CHAPTER 1

Spain 1936

I WATCHED THE shining stars casting their tears as they too watched the country full of hills, and with the passion of Flamenco being ruined by war. Even, the sun has lost its radiance and its magical light. Now, the rays hit the soiled ground afflicted by pain and blood. It is so different now from the way I knew it, and from the memories etched in my childhood.

Yet, it was one dawn which has changed everything and shaped my destiny and of those around me.

For these last months, Spain was plagued by turmoil and it really grieved me to see the once beautiful and delightful country being overshadowed by winds of civil unrest.

This strife and war know its origin in 1931 when after the elections the Republicans won all over the cities in Spain. Yet, the Republicans s’ government was not destined to be plain sailing as there were many issues to be dealt with. Amongst the issues there were the regions of Catalunya and the Basque which demanded independence, along with the financial depression which was hitting the industry and the agriculture.

Under the Republican government, Catalunja did receive some form of self government. Then, the Republican government aimed to attack those who were considered as having many privileges in society to the detriment of angering these sectors. These sectors were the church, land owners, the military and industrialists. There was hostility from the Roman Church and which was also reciprocated by the Republicans

As days and months passed, the obstacles seemed to increase for the government. It was in 1932 when a number of army officers tried to overthrow the government which was being led by Prime Minister Azana. The attempt was therefore without success. This was followed by the set up of a new right wing party called the Ceda with the aim of protecting the authorities of the Church and landlords. The Government led by Azana was also losing support both from the right and even from the left wing political parties.

There were powerful trade unions and left wing parties who criticised the government for being in the middle as they wanted a more Communist State. They considered the Azana government as betraying the working class. As a result the extreme left organized strikes and riots in an effort to de-stabilize the government.

The culprit was on 25 th January 1933 when people were killed by the troops after attempting to catch some anarchists near Cadiz.

After losing all the support from the government, Prime Minister Azana resigned and elections were called again in November of the same year. The right wing won with a majority of support in Parliament often referred as the Cortes. The Ceda was led by Gil Robles.

The Right wing government changed all that the government of Azana brought about. This move has angered the Catalans who also had their privileges withdrawn. As an answer the Left wing parties joined forces to form the Popular Front where they organized strikes, riots and took part in acts of violence leading to a general strike.

Tension escalated in 1934, when the coal miners in the Asturias went on strike, but they were ruthlessly put down by the army led by General Franco.

Following this, a general election has been called and in February 1936 the popular Front won the election and Azana became prime minister once again.

By time the Socialist withdrew their support and this led to more public disturbances. Further on, in 1936 a leading right wing politician Soledo was murdered and the right wing politicians put their faith in military dictatorship.

Then the military prepared to take over Spain with General Fransisco Franco taking control of the military. This was after he took control of Spanish Morocco. General Franco s’ target was to invade Spain and establish a military government and eliminate all those who were involved in left wing politics.

Now the left had to fight leading to civil war in July 1936.

From then on, our lives have changed and we lived day after day in suspense and fearing the worst. It felt like living in an endless nightmare where souls travelled in dark tunnels without hope of any light. Shootings and threats by the Military were a part of normal society and no one knew exactly when their turn would be.

No one was spared from the murky shadow overthrown over us. Unknowingly I have been heading to one dark episode.

As expected at this time of the year, Summer was very hot and humid and one day in August of 1936, I found myself in Montserrat joining my father, a senior doctor on a trip to Barcelona.

When I look back at that time, I think that it must have been the most dangerous time of my life. Seville, my home town lies in the midst of Andalucia, flourishing with traditions and architectural beauty.

It also played an integral role in the civil war taking place.

And that day, for some unknown reason or because it had been concealed from me, my father decided to come in this monumental place in Montserrat, Barcelona. The Benedictine monastery of Santa Maria de Montserrat lies about 45 km northwest of Barcelona. Though abandoned and neglected by today s’ events, the Basilica still stands erect surrounded by gigantic mountains in the brilliant August sun. Looking at the mysterious place, I felt mystified as if God or something divine stood behind the mountains.

Not that I was a believer but this sacred place was overpowering. It felt like being transported back in other times, even in other dimensions which were undisclosed to my awakening reality. Yet, while admiring this spectacular masterpiece there were other mysteries which were yet to be revealed and discovered.

For a short while, I felt like escaping to another world away from all that has been happening in Andalucia, from where I originated. I watched my father stopping to watch the panorama from below the monastery, another overwhelming scene. His face appeared relaxed but still there were many thoughts crossing over his mind and which were not related to this place.

Then I saw my father heading towards the Basilica.

‘Rosella, let us go in to see the Black Madonna.’

Rosita is my proper name but everyone calls me Rosella and I have adopted it.

I sighed. Finally, I was going to see this mysterious statue so revered, so discussed by many and yet, so enigmatic. There were many interpretations and accounts of the Black Madonna. Some, say that the statue was carved by the evangelist St.Lukes around 50 AD and then brought to Spain. Later it was hidden from the Moors in a cave known as the Santa Cova, where it was later discovered in 880. Others claim that it was discovered by shepherds who saw a bright light and heard heavenly music coming from the Grotto. Other versions claim that the Black Virgin in reality was an Egyptian Goddess and worshipped by the Knights Templars. Strangely, I felt more inclined to believe this last version. For sure that what was behind this Madonna would remain uncovered to humanity or else revealed to the few.

We walked in the Gothic Basilica but I could also notice that there was Byzantine influence in every part of the Basilica. And here I was, admiring the immense beauty of the Basilica almost feeling lost in different worlds. Every day, the Basilica is visited by hundreds of people who come to pray to the Madonna some hoping for a miracle, others out of devotion. What was certain was that the Black Madonna was mysteriously powerful. It was then my turn to get a glimpse of this mystical devoted Madonna and I felt being overwhelmed by this powerful energy. It seems this feeling was also shared by my father who appeared also taken by this statue. Slowly we walked out of the Basilica and headed towards a large yard. Then, my father s’ words astounded me.

‘There must be a secret.’

‘What secret?’ I promptly asked him

My father looked at me thoughtfully.

‘I was just wondering, nothing else.’

His words remained evasive but he knew quite well to what he was referring. It was not yet the time to uncover the truth even if my father has always been open in matters regarding the real origin of our existence. It occurred to me that the knowledge of my father extended more than that of Medicine.

I was proud to be his daughter and he was the most important man in my life. At that period in time, I had just turned twenty one but being exposed to all these political conflicts and events, I felt as if I have been for more on this earth. Away from the mystic statue and the mystery of the Madonna, another heavy situation was brewing and descending upon us like an unexpected storm. This came without warning.

No matter how we hated it, we had to live in its daunting circumstances.

The Basilica managed to divert my thoughts but only for a while but as I walked away I could feel the heavy air entering in my nostrils. Something was happening and it was near. I was to learn later. My thoughts have been confirmed as then, a man who must have been in his late fifties approaching us.

‘Diego, you are here too. Good to see you,’ my father exclaimed.

‘It is the only place where we can talk.’

‘Yes, sure.’

He must have been a friend of my father and then we walked away from the crowd and Diego spoke again.

‘Antonio, I bring you bad news.’

My father appeared suddenly serious and then looked at me as if approving my staying there and then I heard everything.

‘They have killed Lorca,’ Diego said in a low voice.

My father was silent for a while and then I heard him ask.

‘When did it happen?’

‘Two days ago, he was taken under arrest and then shot. It has been announced by the Republican newspaper.’

‘So, they killed him. They got him but he has not been involved.’

I shuddered and a shiver ran all over my spine.

Federico Garzia Lorca was the famous young poet and dramatist and success was imminent wherever he went. Now, we have lost him.

Diego went on saying that they justified their acts by condemning him for his homosexual relationships, but my father interrupted.

‘No, it is not the case. Lorca favoured the economically depressed and did not like the traditionalist s’ mentality. That made him a good candidate for being considered a Socialist.’

‘Lorca was disliked by the traditional Catholics. He was talking like a real Socialist even in his writings.’

‘His writing,’ echoed my father, ‘Federico was liberal and had no intention of becoming a politician.’

‘They considered him as one,’ went on Diego, ‘Antonio, the situation is aggravating and we need help in Seville.’

My father gripped Diego s’ hand and said.

‘Thank you, Diego, I will. Again I recommend you, take care of yourself.’

Diego then left us alone in that silent place disturbed by quavering events which later had to play an important role in the country s’ destiny.

My father turned to me and said.

‘Rosella, we need to go back now.’

What did this mean? I did not ask but accepted to leave.

Without doubt, there was a reason for leaving this sacred place in such haste. I looked at my father apprehensively but dared not ask him and I just followed him out of this place. The death of Federico Garcia Lorca was already a serious situation and I knew it had upset my father. We threaded on grounds of war and the mysterious magic of Montserrat has been interrupted and the world has turned suddenly cold.

Something beyond me compelled me to return to Barcelona. We got on the funicular which was to take us back to the main train station.

My mind whirled into a world of thoughts and I let myself drown in the beauty of the mountains peering at me. Such mystical beauty and yet so brief!

Like me, my father was lost in his thoughts and did not utter any single word and remained silent throughout the whole time. Certainly, he was not thinking of the mysterious mountains of Montserrat.

Every step took me away from the Basilica and the mystical energy but I would be coming again. That was a promise to be kept.

It took us about three hours to reach Barcelona and to the Plaza Catalunja which was close to the famous Ramblas and nearby the Pension where we stayed.

The Ramblas was famous for its activities, a long plain ground leading to the port was always active and full of energy, surrounded by restaurants and sellers of all sort.

Our pension, not far from this famous spot was rather a humble one, situated in the narrow streets. Our rooms were situated in fourth floor and we had to go reach them by steps. The place was rather dark and there was a kind of odour which instantly invades the nostrils. However, the rooms were modestly clean and well kept.

When we reached the pension we were already feeling exhausted and worn out by the latest news, but when we arrived there were noises and loud voices all over. As we climbed up the steps, I could see two military officers, wearing green and with those hats which instantly make you tremble from head to toe.

They knocked on the door of one the apartments in second floor and a young woman opened the door but the officers forced themselves in. I kept climbing the steps but kept looking down at that apartment and then I saw the officers forcing a young man out of the apartment.

His voice pierced my heart like daggers.

‘No, I have nothing to do with them. Leave me.’

The woman s’ pleads seemed to have no effect on the soldiers and I could see them hitting the young man brutally and with no mercy. Then they dragged him down the steps. The woman s’ screams and the man s’ groaning remained with me as we reached our floor and headed towards our rooms. I looked at my father and he looked ghastly pale.

He then escorted me to my room and said in a low voice.

‘Rosella, pack all your things, we are leaving now for Seville.’

‘So soon, papa?’ I asked him, hoping for a clear answer but it did not come.

I longed to remain in Barcelona and to go around the city of Catalunya. Something has been happening and it has decided for me.

There was something wrong going on and we were in danger. My father then decided to say something. He tried to smile and uttered in a calm voice.

‘My dearest, it would be better if we leave now.’

My father thought of protecting me from the harsh realities which were confronting us. He tried to conceal the gravity of the situation but I knew and the only way was to obey him and prepare to leave. Our journey was suddenly interrupted like the events in our lives which were to follow.

Our journey home was going to be a long one as first we had to get the train to Madrid and then to Seville. Yet, in due course there were more journeys which followed. Above all, there was the journey towards understanding and that has all commenced with my journey back to Seville. What followed afterwards was not only crucial for my country but also revealed to me many aspects of my family which were kept hidden from me.

After long hours travelling we reached Seville fully exhausted but I managed to get some rest and then joined the rest of my family for supper.

I was proud of my family and considered myself blessed to be the daughter of such parents. They always made sure that we meet at all as family, at least once a day. This was a rule by my father and no matter how hard it was, he always kept his appointment with his family, my mother Pilar, my brother Ernesto who was two years older than me.

My mother came in the dining room and embraced my father.

‘I missed you, Antonio, I am glad you decided to come,’ she said and her eyes glistened with tears as she stroked his cheeks.

My father smiled and kissed her on her cheeks. Then my mother turned to me.

‘And you Rosella? Did you enjoy your stay in Barcelona?’

‘Yes, mama it was fantastic, we have been to Montserrat.’

I stopped at once as I saw my father watching me intently.

‘And what else?’ my mother promptly asked.

‘It was a wonderful experience,’ I retorted.

‘The Black Madonna is miraculous. I went there once and soon after I got pregnant. Then you came.’

I smiled and my father took a deep breath. Then my brother Ernesto came in the room and ran to embrace me.

‘Hi, sister, so you came from Barcelona, how I miss the city,’ he exclaimed.

I was fond of my brother who was now twenty three and in his fourth year of Medicine following my father s’ steps. Ernesto was exactly like my father with dark curly hair and dark penetrating eyes on olive skin. My father must have looked like him at a younger age.

That same evening we all sat together, but there was a strange atmosphere peering at us as if something was going to blow from one moment to the other.

The death of Lorca has disturbed us all. Federico Garzia Lorca was a great poet coming from Granada, part of our region Andalucia. The southern earth producing pure wine and weaved the steps of Flamenco. If they killed Lorca then who was next?

What was taking place in our country tarnished the light scent of Mediterranean magic. The air was heavy and the skies clouded by doubts and apprehension of what would be next. At least we remained together and as we all sat down for dinner, I longed for the traditional tortilla, a Spanish traditional food also, my mother s’ masterpiece. No one cooked it like her, the mixture of eggs and vegetables, potatoes and spices. At least it I managed to feel at home again, going to the old days of happiness when we were free and untroubled.

As if nothing has changed, yet, deep down I knew it was a lie for in my mind the scenes of the apartment kept coming to haunt me. Scenes of the Military officers dragging the young man kept coming to haunt me, while the screams hammered in my ears like continuous sounds.

I thought these moments will never fade and it seemed that my father wanted to bring up the subject.

‘Things are changing for the worst,’ he said with a firm voice.

While my father was speaking my mind was whirling into endless circles. Suddenly, it dawned upon me that my father might be favouring the Reds and though admiring him for his courage for speaking his mind, I feared for his future.

‘Antonio, please, it is supper time,’ I heard my mother say. She hated the topic of politics especially while we had dinner.

‘I know, Pilar, but our children need to know the facts which are taking place in their country. They ought to be proud of their country and fight for it if the need arises.’

My mother put her arms around his shoulders.

‘Antonio, they know. Rosella and Ernesto are at University, and they read and know what is taking place around them.’

My mother looked at me and smiled.

‘Now, what about the tortillas?

‘Great mama,’ I said, ‘The best tortillas in all Seville and my father is the best doctor in all Seville.’

My mother looked at my father tenderly.

‘A doctor with love for his country and his family. That is why I love my Antonio.’

My mother kissed him on his cheeks.

This was one reason why I longed for these moments when we all gathered for supper. My mother and father were still in love after thirty years of marriage. My father was still handsome though in his late fifties, smart, tall with curly grey hair which once was raven black.

My mother was a beauty with dark hair and big hazel eyes on pale skin. Now, in her early fifties, she still retained her looks but it was more a kind of serenity which enhanced her features. People always remarked that I looked more like my mother and that made me proud.

It was not destined to last and that evening too I had this uncanny feeling which could not leave me. These evenings together were not for long. Little did I know how right I had been.

While it lasted, I thought I was happy with my life and my blessed family even though my environment was full of turmoil. No one knew what would be next and every moment together had to be cherished.

After dinner, I remained alone in the kitchen while my mother went to rest and my brother went to his room.

My thoughts wandered in circles, mostly about the reminiscent scenes of Montserrat, along the short glimpse of Barcelona which had to be interrupted by the turn of events.

I hoped to go again when all is cleared, but the sudden shooting close to our place disturbed these thoughts. The shots were even closer now. The revolts have started again, I thought and I could not remain inside.

There was more shouting and my feet trembled. The shootings must be coming from the street nearby and something serious was going on and was coming even closer.

I put a shawl around my shoulders and walked slowly out of the house passing through the garden, then at the entrance till I reached for the gates which were overlooking the streets. The scene before my eyes horrified me and my feet felt tied to the ground. I saw a military officer shooting a young rebel. One, two shots and the young man fell to the ground and soon the young man was drowning in a pool of blood.

I shuddered and my heart felt like coming out of its place. Never have I ever witnessed such