Books Burn Badly - Manuel Rivas [137]
‘In the time of the Spanish Republic, were you never tempted?’ Schmitt asked Samos one day when they met in Casalonga during the summer of 1962.
‘I was a rational socialist for a few hours of crazy joy,’ he replied ironically.
His attraction for Ríos lasted a little longer than that. Samos had been brought up in an atmosphere of traditional, monarchist Catholicism. A few months earlier, in April, the Republic had been declared. The swift course of events made him dizzy. To start with, he shared the other students’ joy. The Republic had arisen like spring, a creative impulse in society. In that vote in 1931, of the thirty-nine members of Coruña Town Hall, only five were monarchist. But gradually he felt the distrust that dominated in the family home, where the fall of the monarchy was labelled a disaster. There was an air of tension at home. His mother’s apprehension about laicism led her to pray for the salvation of Spain, sometimes on her own, other times with groups of female friends. His father, a Navy legal officer and historian by vocation, seemed to be distant from it all, including his marriage, though he’d occasionally let fly about the Philippines, Cuba, Puerto Rico, Morocco and the Statute of Catalonia. Whether he liked it or not, Ricardo Samos was subject at home to a constant sense of apocalyptic doom. During this time, Héctor Ríos provided a balance. It was he who embodied the charming side of current events. Ricardo was also going to study law. If they coincided in Santiago, could Ríos teach him Esperanto? Of course he could. But when that meeting took place, a year later, Samos expressed no interest and Héctor was no longer absorbed in the task of disseminating a universal language.
‘There’s one priority for which we need all languages. We have to talk about the League of Human Rights.’
Samos was unhappy about the boarding-house. Perhaps because he was a freshman, he’d been given a small, dark room with damp patches on the ceiling. He still hadn’t decided whether he was going to fulfil his promise to his mother to attend first Mass in the cathedral the next morning.
‘Why’s that?’
When he got enthusiastic, Héctor had a tendency to construct paragraphs. ‘The only way to oppose totalitarianism is to aim for a World Federation governed by just principles of universal law. These human rights, without borders, will be the framework for a common language, the real Esperanto.’
They’d known each other as children. They were neighbours in the Old City. Playing on the beach. They can’t see. It’s a game of gangsters in the Wild West. You have to crouch down, move stealthily and find your enemy without being seen. You shoot with your mouth.
‘Bang, Ríos!’
‘Where am I then?’
‘What you say about the League of Human Rights sounds Masonic,’ Samos blurted out. His mother had said his voice was finally dropping and he’d have sworn it happened on that day, at that moment.
Héctor felt the blow. Was confused. Samos’ voice, which sounded so different, may have had something to do with it.
‘Masonic? Is that good or bad?’
Samos preferred not to reply. He emphasised his silence. He knew this silence was the sign of a definitive parting of the ways. Months later, he’d come into contact with those at Acción Española. In the Law Faculty, there was also a very active group of traditionalist teachers openly conspiring against the Republic.
‘Now you’ve a voice of thunder. You’d be terrific playing the part of the Last Martian. Remember? Instead of Regent’s Park, we’ll choose Mount Alto, next to Hercules Lighthouse. That superhuman note. Ulla, ulla!’
They laughed.
‘Ulla, ulla, ulla!’
It was burning. The flames were licking at the cover. The books had been released by the blasted time machine. He hears a voice. That guy who’s taken to reading out the titles and their authors on the pyres by the docks.
‘Wells!’
He turns towards him.
‘Wells, Wells!’
Though he looks at him seriously, the guy is smiling, ‘He certainly wrote a lot!