Partners in crime

            I do not remember now how it was I met up Alfonso Romero for the first time, it was I suppose in Xinzo de Limia, he will tell me when we meet up again, but I do not know where, whether in the cinema, at doña René’s classroom, at his house or in mine, or in another in the village, the case is I knew him already when my mother said to both I was going to kill a man who had abused of her, what I did after the three of us got on a truck’s cabin, where the man was at the steering wheel.

            I also remember my father giving us instructions to both so that there would be a common link between us, we seated on a stone bench just beside the church in Xinzo de Limia. My father told us then we would see everything red colour, and later asked us if we were seeing everything red colour, and we had no other but to say to him we were seeing everything red colour. When we went to live in Ourense, Alfonso and his family was there also, I remember him at the roller hockey matches on Sundays at Jardín del Posío and when we were vaccinated at the same hospital.

             I was six and a half years old when we came to live in Madrid, in Almendrales, Usera. Alfonso and his family came here too. We went to the same school, Daoíz y Velarde, in our quarter, Usera. In our classroom we had a mate who was after comrade of both, to whom by then they nicknamed El Loco and to who people was rather afraid of. To impress him standing the three of us at the school’s door I said to him Alfonso and I had killed a man in the village. Alfonso said quickly: It was you.

         Like it has been always in quarters we grouped in gangs, neighbour's, school's mates, youngs' associations for sports, mainly football, gymnastics and swimming, and others let us say poorer to be precise whose families could not afford the expenses of any activity mentioned but had to work instead. People in their twenties grouped in cars and motorcycles semiprofessionals and amateurs races gangs.

          By that time Spain was under the rod of cruel shit dictator Franco. When I was eight my father took me to Plaza de Cristo Rey in Madrid. In the plaza was standing the cruel shit dictator Franco himself with I would say from 60 to 80 officers and soldiers and many military vehicles. My father squatted beside me and touching my chest tenderly with one hand told me Franco and all the officers and soldiers were celebrating a fussillade of a communist father. He said to me he was everyone's father. I began to weep uncontrollably. My father still squatted beside me told me to run straight to them to make all them run away from there shouting as loud as I could Out from here! Sons of a bitch! You have killed my father! You hear? Go away from here! Live Christ the King! As I was running towards them I was watching them getting on hurriedly into their military vehicles and escaping from my fury. When I saw the plaza had emptied, I stopped weeping uncontrollably and heard my father's voice calling me: Poldo!, Poldo!, Poldo!, here!. I saw my father seated at the steering wheel of the old Vauxhall he had in the village and I went to him. I stood by my father. He told me to stop weeping and to get on the car by the copilot's door. I did and bit by bit a little I calmed down and asked my father: Have you brought the car from the village? He said to me only for that day. By that epoch I began to meet up many neighbours my age to play football and also many friends of who I became a comrade. At home we used to listen to the radio dialling always URSS's, East Germany, Cuba's and communist exiled Spanish people radio stations in Spanish, from where we extracted much information about the real facts of cruelties and abuses of Franco's regime. Apart from my place's neighbours gang of daily playing and having fun, my common friends then were also Alfonso Romero, Pablo Cabo, Jorge Olivas and Enrique Martín Guillén (Kike), who lived in Usera too, and who since very early in life became my partners in crime. Jorge Olivas had said to me once I would be a god some day. I remember I laughed and I thought he was joking. I'm telling you the truth, he said. Don't you believe it? I'm telling you you will be some day. But, I asked him, how is it I will become a god? Yes, he answered, a god, a powerful presence in the world. Everyone shall have something yours. You are necessary.

         Being only ten Pablo Cabo and I shot against a group of fascists attendants on a July 18 in a passage of Plaza de Oriente, being the place full of fascists and fascists flags and Franco giving a speech. Next day the newspapers mentioned two people dead and some injured. Our calculus was from 10 to 12 fascists dead of 16 bullets. That same year 1968 Pablo and I went to several workers and students demonstrations where everyone was risking their lives facing policemen. To these we went together, Pablo with a gun and he killed I do not how many.

         I had reached a ten in all subjects and my parents had told me my uncle Leopoldo and my aunt Maruja promised to take me with them to Ourense in Summer, to Baños de Molgas and Xinzo de Limia. That Summer was unforgiveable, for the reasons following: I killed an aspirant of the Portuguese throne, a Coelho de Portugal, throwing him down a precipice when he was showing my aunt and I with pompous gestures what should be his lands; I shot up a glass big window standing with someone with a gun, responding to him I had never shot nowhere before and hiding my father's, my mother's and my own shots beside Pablo it had been a few days ago only; I saw a man with a suitcase running along a subway platform shot dead by Elliot Ness's people in an original film; I watched a Felix the Cat's complete collection of movies my cousin Darío had; I learned to swim.

      From Daoíz y Velarde School my parents took me to Nuestra Señora de Fátima's College, of the San Viator's priests. Vague memories I have of Alfonso of the two years I studied at the religious college, because he studied at another. We met up several times, anyway. One time Alfonso, Pablo and Jorge came together to see me at Nuestra Señora de Fátima. But when the two years passed my parents took me to Latino College and Alfonso was my classroom mate once more. One day, soon after beginning the lessons in the Latino, I asked Alfonso if he did not remember me from the village and from Ourense, and he responded to me he did not remember me at all, what I knew to be false. We saw each other in the classroom and in the poolroom, in the poolroom Alfonso dedicated me songs from the juke-box and we had a good time. One day he told me in the polroom when everyone was listening that although I saw myself alone and in great danger not to be afraid of dying, that nothing could happen to me and that he would be watching me all the time, but we spoke no more about Xinzo de Limia and Ourense.

      We went with Antonio Cordero, a mutual friend neighbour of his, to a discotheque called Cobra at Ponzano Street. There, in Cobra discotheque, we asked for a San Francisco and I went to the dance floor with Antonio. On the dance floor there were two girls dressed not like girls of our quarter, they were kind of posh. I did not know to dance and I was nervous, I was even happy Alfonso was calling me with a gesture. I went to him and he took me to the toilet door and said to me to wait for him there, that he was coming back at once. Actually, he came in the toilet and was back at once and immediately he showed me a gun and pointed up at the forehead of someone seated on a stool by the counter. He hit him plain in his forehead. I escaped from the discotheque running, putting aside brusquely the discotheque's hall's curtains and coming out aghast into the street. I took the underground at Iglesia Station, made the change at Sol and arrived at Legazpi without being able to feign I had just been involved in a situation of danger. From Legazpi I run quickly to Almendrales and on my way I saw Kike standing by his block and I told him what had just happened. To my surprise he said to me it was impossible. I insisted to him, but he said he did not believe me.

      The following day Alfonso appeared in the classroom and seated between Manuel Bueso and I. Suddenly Alfonso and Manuel stood up and punched me several times on my face. I could not expect it and reacted trying to give punches back. The classroom went on as though nothing was happening. I could not understand it. On our way to the underground station to go to the discotheque the day before, to be precise on passing by our college Antonio, Alfonso and I, Alfonso had told me I was very intelligent according to other boys and girls mates and that some day among a group they would create an organization and that they would appoint me president. I remember I asked him if that could be soon.

            A short time after this another common friend, Jorge Olivas, and Alfonso came into the poolroom the day Franco’s Army had fired out five members of FRAP and ETA in the morning, cruelty responded with the assassination of various Army members it had been a few hours ago, and Alfonso looking fixedly at me passed a finger across his lips to make me understand it had been them. After all, I said to myself, the affair doesn’t have much mystery. Alfonso, Pablo, Jorge and I, I believe my father was driving, had had a drive through Madrid's streets. In that occasion they spoke to me about a gang called Ojos Negros (Black Eyes) and Jorge told me as we were entering Isaac Peral Street I would some day see them carrying out terrorist actions. I had a look at the place where we were going by and I supposed it would be there or very near. A little later we went towards Plaza de Cristo Rey, and I told Jorge someone I believed was a boy, had obligated Franco and officers and soldiers there with him at Plaza de Cristo Rey, celebrating a fusillade of the so many, that the boy had inflicted so much fear to them they got scared and escaped. Jorge told me the boy was me. I said to him I knew a boy had been. Jorge said: How is it you were not? I have seen it myself.

Pablo Cabo had also come to meet me and he had showed me his finger crossing his lips same day a bomb went off in Rolando's cafeteria, at Correos Street, just beside General Security Headquarters at Puerta del Sol, and he had accused me of having been the killer and the killer of a girl called Ana too.

Jorge Olivas, to whom I had seen once appear from behind me at Gran Vía Street and clear out my way facing a numerous group of policemen waiting for me to beat me up with their truncheons and to arrest me. With his powerful force knocked down all the policemen he had in front, even punched someone who looked at him scared and gave a host to a PSOE's leaflets distributor. We three had been together in some occasions when we were witnesses of paranormal effects. Alfonso and Vicente Mohedano, our old comrade at Daoíz y Velarde School to whom they nicknamed El Loco, simulated a fight at one of the quarter’s poolroom’s back street, and when I arrived to the place where the happening had been there were some people speaking yet, and they had already taken Vicente arrested to the police station and Alfonso to be cured from his razor’s wounds. A known of mine and of all herewith mentioned, El Brujillas, told me they quarrelled and went to fight at the back of the street. They exchanged a few punches and Vicente pulled up a razor and did some cuts to Alfonso. El Brujillas said to me to go with him along towards Alfonso’s house. We went. In the sitting room were: Pablo Cabo, Jorge Olivas and Alfonso Romero. Alfonso was seated down and completely bandaged, smiling, with a gun in his hand. His mother was behind him. He said to me: We are going to shoot. His mother feigned surprise a little and said: Do not tell him that, Alfonso. What is he going to think? she asked.

Next day I saw Vicente with some friends near the poolroom, speaking to them and with a wet blanket on him I knew later that are the ones the policemen use to beat up some of the arrested. Some days later I asked Alfonso about Vicente. He told me they used to meet often. What about your fight and the cuts? I asked. He never cut me up with a razor, come on, it was a good plan, some day you will know how and why it was conceived, he said to me laughing.

            The following year I changed again, this time to Instituto Calderón de la Barca, a little way longer from Almendrales. Alfonso came to see me to the Instituto. He was smiling openly and wore sunglasses. We started our progress. I mentioned the affair in Xinzo de Limia and in Ourense saying that I took for granted his intention of misleading me was not something I did not take heed of. He kept silence and smiled. Leopoldo, he said while coming down Marcelo Usera Street towards our quarter, we shall not see each other for a time, but some day we shall and you will give me a host. Shall it be a host? I asked. A host me to you, why? Well, he replied, I know what I’m saying to you, and he laughed gaily while looking at me accomplice.

        At the end of the scholar year I changed once more to Colegio Instituto España. Alfonso and Antonio came to see me there and they made me very nervous, for they assaulted the director's office and took some receipts while they laughed. The next sholar year was at Colegio OSMA, at Pizarro Street, in the very center of Madrid's city. My friend Jesus and I had gone to demonstrations in Gran Vía and we had broken down a bank's office screen windows throwing stones  Alfonso told me as we were walking down the street from where Jesus and I had shot down the stones, I would some day see myself filmed. He came to my house and chose my name as clandestine soldier: Luigi Pignatelli. With this pseudonym I wrote a manifest against the celebration of the referendum for or against the new Constitution of 1978 and in favour of the armed struggle, that was published by the International Communist Party. Later in time I would have another pseudonym yet: Roger van der Nlang Górrort. I was so obssessed I had written both names on the binders cover not caring about the police. Pablo Cabo came to see me too the day I had an examination of Literature at Instituto Lope de Vega, which is near to the old Ministry of Interior, whose guards had been killed only two days ago then. Speaking with him I recalled the various ministries of Interior headquarters whose guards had been killed and I had a flash and thought they all it had been killed at the different headquarters and Pablo knew about it. Five years later  met up Alfonso Romero at Plaza del Dos de Mayo. He was with his friend neighbour Pepe Priego. I went with Gonzalo Salafranca. I did the introductions. We asked for how were things. I asked him why he wore a gross pullover, black and red, on such a sunny day. I do not remember what he responded. he mentioned he had done military service in Melilla with my brother Arturo. Of course on meeting up Alfonso I saw myself machine gun in hand assaulting the Deputies Congress, extinguishing all vestiges of Franco and of Borbons. At least I may have told Alfonso and Pepe I had killed throwing off of the highway all cars of the Saudi Arabians royal family members and guests' retinue in Marbella. I did not tell them. 

          I lived by then at Manuel's in 9 Jorge Juan Street and some day later I went to Ramsgate, where on a microfilm I saw Alfonso, Pablo and Jorge, my father and brothers, other comrades revolutionaries and soldiers carrying out terrorist and war actions. Alfonso Romero at Isaac Peral Street shooting down a police car, Pablo Cabo coming out of California 47 cafeteria and a fast machine gunning I knew instantly it was Jorge. My brothers Arturo and Miguel in the lorry, Arturo driving and Miguel shooting down twice the back of a girl I knew her name had to be Ana. The assassination of president of government appointed by Franco Carrero Blanco, whose car exploded and flew up over a convent's cornice. Puerta del Sol on 14 April 1931 during the proclamation of the II Republic. A famous journalist saying to me I knew already, to come out from there. My father dressed in white saying to me: My son! Jorge's machine gunning. The execution of Aldo Moro, Italian prime minister. Fascist Patricia Landa, our hook girl to follow in the fight, in a masochist session, jumping up and screaming with pleasure while being whipped. Lee Harvey Oswald speaking to us minutes before he killed John Kennedy in 1963. The assassination of Robert Kennedy in 1968. My father again leaning on his roofless car. Students and workers being shot down in Managua, Nicaragua. Bombs of Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Executions of Hitler and Eva Braun standing them beside their bunker in Berlin one day after they married. Lenin giving speeches to multitudes. Execution of the Romanovs, Russian royal family removed by soviets. A powerful soviet war machinery, a missiles launcher, making fire in Afghanistan's war. Jesus Christ cutting up into halves Gestas's head with a hatchet. Alfonso, Pablo and Jorge inside the car at Mirasierra Street. I understood that I would be capable of doing big prodigies when I meet up again Alfonso, Pablo and Jorge. They will enrich my powers on reproducing the revolutionary actions in which I saw them and that that same day of our encounter World's Revolution against Capital will start, in Spain with the military assault of the Deputies Congress to ask for accounts to government, fascists deputies and their accomplices politicians, of Moncloa and Zarzuela palaces, genocides' president and twee dummy's son a dummy himself the king of Spain, with the executions of all presidents of Spain since Franco's death, of the military dome and the firing out of all enemies of Revolution.