9 Jorge Juan Street

            When we saw two policemen in the checkpoint in the hall we greeted them and they told us there would be two of them at least when not four always. Manuel mentioned upstairs he knew already some of them and that we should be gifting them with a bottle of wine or a packet of cigarettes now and then, so I realised the flood of people he expected to have in his new house, it was something inherited from 2 Almagro Street. Alberto Varela came to visit us the very first day we occupied the flat Manuel had bought at 9 Jorge Juan Street. I showed him my room and said to him I wanted to take some pictures in the street. He asked me where from and I told him he would see. I took my camera and we came out into the street and I told him to come to a spot where I wanted to take the pictures from. I halted at the spot and looked through the visor. Why did you choose this spot? he asked. At same time I was taking pictures of Claudio Coello Street I told him the killing of the president Carrero Blanco in 1973 had taken place on the other extreme of the street and I had a good view to take a picture from there. What has it to do with? he asked. I have already taken a good one, I said. Of course it has to do with my moving to Manuel’s, I said and we started to walk back to the flat. If you do not like people in the house or you see them as enemies, why did you move so close to them? he asked me again. Alberto, I have plans to do something anyway. Sometimes it seems to me you try to control very important matters as though you were almost imposing yourself over the highest institutions, he said. I know what I am doing, you will see for yourself, I said. He insisted: Why are you not going away right now if it does not please you? Well, thanks, I said to him, I know I could, but things will be as they have been planned. I do not follow you, he said despite his witnessing of my throwing from a house of a friend of his two fascists that came in with propaganda. That time he asked me why I gave orders in a house that was not mine, because it was a raging reaction against the two and his friend owner of the house did not expect what was happening and did not say anything. I had responded him quickly Nobody expects two fascists with propaganda coming to a house where one has been invited to! I had too threatened the two of killing them if they did not go away instantly. Well, the fact is that it was like saying to him when taking the pictures we both knew I was going to be a terrorist. And the truth is we both knew I would be president of Spain’s Communist Party as much as he disguised.

            I knew already there was a common door with the neighbours, the dummy king of Spain’s sister, Margarita, and her husband, Carlos Zurita. I knew too that door would be helpful for me some way or other. Manuel had told me he was going to grow some plants in the small entrance to my little bedroom. My bathroom’s walls were made of little fragments of mirrors, so everyone could see themselves multiplied infinitely. I said to myself I would take advantage of the situation with the help of my family, my comrades, including Manuel himself of course, and damage as much as possible the insulting heritage of Dictator Franco, incarnated in the dummy king Juan Carlos de Borbón and his family and all that bunch of politicians in power that we knew for sure would forget the poor and the working class conditions. So once I had put my books on the shelves and my clothes in the drawers leaving in order my new bedroom I went out alone to The Limbo pub on seeing that the dancing through the common door at both neighbour’s and ours kitchens had started the very first day. At The Limbo I asked for something to drink at the counter with the intention of sitting, but I was attracted by a girl who wore a Mexican poncho and was beside me at the counter. We crossed our eyes and we both smiled. I asked her if she was Mexican because I had not heard her speaking. She replied she was with a very strong Mexican accent. She asked me if I was a regular costumer. I told her I was. I had not seen her there before. I used to go there very often, in fact The Limbo was my favourite pub, I said to her, and then commented about the horizontal mirror throughout the pub’s wall at the level of sitting people’s eyes. She said it was something which gave personality to the pub. I said it was extraordinary and we laughed. We talked some more and when it was time to let her know how things were I told her straight everything. It was my first day at my friend Manuel’s new house in 9 Jorge Juan Street, my neighbours the dummy king’s sister and her family, told her even about the common door, everybody knew about me, by everybody I meant my family and my comrades, the Basque terrorist group ETA, the GRAPO members and the PCE (Partido Comunista de España) and PCI (Partido Comunista Internacional) secret services on my side and the dummy king Juan Carlos de Borbón and the so many years fascist militant Adolfo Suárez, by then president of the Spanish government, and both their secret services on the other. She said it would not be impossible; many terrorist actions were carried out in these times and Borbones come from the old regime of Dictator Franco and Adolfo Suárez has been a fascist of the Movimiento for seventeen years, and chosen president of Spain by the new dummy king, who for reasons obvious took into account he had done such a career, with which she anticipated what I thought I would have to explain to her, she was very well informed about the situation in Spain, her parents were Spanish exiled in Mexico, she was born in Mexico. Then I said: I am conscious a terrorist action against Margarita and her family may take place any moment, I doubt even if they will be alive when I come back, possibly ETA and GRAPO have planned since long time ago a terrorist action against all the Spanish royal family members the Borbones. It is likely to happen soon and it will happen anyway. She said smiling: I am sure too it will be so, it is a must. Yes, it is, I said. We kept silence for a moment and had a bit each of our coffees. I have always in mind I have to assault the Deputies Congress and take the power in Spain as president of the Communist Party, so it would not be strange if I do myself kill them in a few minutes and in the name of Wisdom I cannot not succeed in leading the Revolution. I am sure you will succeed, she said winking her eye to me.

            I had seen the whole flat already and the common door too. The dance had started my very first day, so I had to go to The Limbo that was not too far, just to be in a clear position of putting a distance between them and me and if necessary taking advantage as much as possible of all weak points they could not be capable of feigning and sink them down definitely. From my adolescence I knew what the Borbones had meant for Spanish people and among my gang friends we use to call dummy Juan Carlos de Borbón when he was appointed Prince of Asturias and successor to the head of the state by cruel nasty and ugly fascist Franco, nothing less than Borbones again. We had the common feeling the dummy king would not last much. I remember clearly what I did when I came back to the flat, enter all the flat rooms again to see the furniture and watch the paintings, inspect the two libraries and the small one I had myself in my bedroom, a selection of books and some new ones Manuel had recommended to me, and make myself an idea of everything the flat contained. Being it like it was it is not surprise the visits through the common door were always surrounded by an aura taking in the illusion for Revolution and I knew I had the control to eclipse the figures I saw as enemies wrapped up as in a dark colour image, as prisoners of the situation already.

When Manuel moved from 2 Almagro Street to 9 Jorge Juan Street Alberto Varela Tornos, Pilar Lanza Ovies and Ángel Pageo Rivas mostly went on coming to Manuel’s very often and we used to play cards or backgammon, listen to the music, smoke hashish and talk, and when I was not in England or somewhere else, I knew it would be like that at Manuel’s and we were good friends, we had a nice time, sometimes we came out to the movies, to have something to drink in a pub or made trips by car to Segovia and Toledo, to the coast, to Valencia, Alicante and Marbella, and many to England. Living Manuel at 2 Almagro Street yet, we had made trips twice to Lanzarote, Canary Islands, in February and summer 1978, and between the two trips to Lanzarote, in May 1 Manuel and I stood in Rome and attended the workers demonstration from a promontory beside the Coliseum. I did not hide ever, I had a strictly cold behaviour towards Margarita and her husband although we shared Manuel’s main lounge many times and it did not seem so apparent. You can imagine to what extent I was so sure of knowing myself the chosen that the second day I had moved to Manuel’s new flat, I had only slept one day in it, I went with some friends to a pub situated beside the corner in Claudio Coello Street where had taken place the explosion that killed in 1973 the president of the government Luis Carrero Blanco, appointed president by Dictator Franco. The explosion had made the president’s car fly over a near convent’s cornice and fall down in a loud crash inside it. I was conscious of my having been in the basement where the bomb was placed the day or some days before it went off with my old comrade Jorge Olivas. We entered the pub and sat down together. Sonia Landa Moya, Patricia’s sister, was with us. When I met up Patricia for the first time I had been told secretly she was niece of General Miláns Del Bosch, a very well known fascist from the old regime still powerful among the army members and in the military dome. Sonia had sat down beside me and after a brief moment she told me she knew I had moved to 9 Jorge Juan Street and Margarita and Carlos Zurita were my neighbours. Not for a long time, I said to her. What? Do you have plans of leaving the place? she asked me. All my friends were listening. Well, I said, it is obvious for me I will some day, but I meant by not for a long time I am not detached from the mass pressure against the dummy king. Are you conspiring against the king who brought democracy and freedom? I took a quick glance at all them and smiled. He’s been only five years as the king of Spain and things have changed a lot, even the Communist Party has been legalized, she argued. I let myself sink plain on the back of my place on the sofa and gesticulating with my left hand, nearest to Sonia, said this: Five years is enough. It has been a long time. He had no right to be king; we have seen they had to place him at the head of the state obligingly when people voted for the new Constitution to be approved. We Spanish people know of what ilk the Borbones are made and I am sure I am not wrong if I say people will rebel against him very soon and will remove him from the head of the state, and surely he will choose to live exiled with his family like his grandfather, his father and himself had to for so many years.

I noticed she was uncomfortable. When she spoke I was waiting already something similar, she said: He has been backed up by everybody who voted for the new Constitution and nobody in his senses would oppose to his being the head of the state and the highest army’s authority.

I was ready for whatever and enjoying it greatly seeing my friends attentive to what we were saying. It was my turn and I wanted to finish with what had been her attempt to make me speak about my new neighbours. Nobody in his senses would allow a Borbón once again being Spain’s head of the state, I said and went on: I know we are a big mass the ones who sooner or later will remove him. No one Borbón has ever done anything to eradicate misery and poverty, and they have had nearly three hundred years to do it, but how not, they have done just the opposite, quench revolutions and kill revolutionaries, kiss Napoleon's asshole and let him invade Spain with his army and crown his brother José Bonaparte king of Spain, intrigue to come back to power during the times of king Amadeo de Saboya, during I and II Republics and after Civil War gild the pill of fascist Franco.

There was a pause during which we all knew we were not all on the same side. I took the lead: The big mass has always taken into account this story kind of nightmare about the Borbones, and some day they will put an end to it by force to remove him and send him to exile with all his family..., in case they are still alive when the revolution succeeds. That’s all nonsense, nobody even dreams about it, Sonia said. I realised my friends were expecting me to not let her go her way, so I did as if I was going to stand up at once and said: Well, the humble mass, the working class will rebel against him anyway and nobody will be capable of facing revolution, so if they have to, they will kill all them supporting the dummy king, the military dome entire if necessary. And having said this I stood up finally and went to greet an old friend comrade I had seen accompanied by a girl on their way upstairs to leave. He was Jesús Martín, with whom I had broken throwing rocks Banco Atlántico’s office glass screen windows at Gran Vía Street during a demonstration it had been not too long ago. Of course I knew myself by then I would be some day armed president of the Spanish Communist Party. Having been president many times before takes you to wait for a revolutionary action any moment and being my case such as it was to adopt a clear position regarding enemies: Me, presiding; you, out of my way. That’s what I had in mind for enemies of revolution. So I wanted already being appointed armed president after two days at Manuel’s in 9 Jorge Juan Street, we were many with revolutionary determination and I counted with a gun.

Memory does not fail ever when told many times, and my father when I was four, my eldest brother Luis very nearly in time, and after my old comrades Alfonso Romero, Pablo Cabo and Jorge Olivas when I was ten had, and the five of them also told me I would someday watch them on a microfilm carrying out revolutionary actions, so that I would keep in mind, and well, it is so easy to have been told this and be ready all the time since then that nobody might otherwise think I was no other but the president, not only already at 9 Jorge Juan Street with a strategy of facing my neighbours there, the dummy king’s sister Margarita and her family, but as I said, always, so any attempt to suffocate the revolutionary movement against monarchy would be punish with my own hands. Manuel had hinted me times enough he was collaborating with our purpose; namely, we both would be doing things to damage as much as possible the dummy king, his family and all the ones in their orbit and to encourage the rebellion of Spanish people against them. Of course we all knew the plot was going to finish by firing out the king’s family and the fascists, erasing all traces of Dictator Franco. In fact, we used to read the newspapers every day, he the ABC, of a conservative open bias, and I El País, of a more objective, neutral tendency that may not have succeeded as it did if they had not published essays and articles signed by Spanish Communist Party members. We exchanged information and commented news in such a mood that it would have alarmed almost all world’s dignitaries and Spanish parliament members. Anyway, many times news was conditioned by ETA and GRAPO terrorist actions in Spain and by guerrillas and terrorist groups around the world.

For some days we stayed in a large lounge decorated soberly with two doors, one of entering and another to the dining room. In this lounge there was a library with many books from where I took several to just to inspect them, read a prologue or an introduction, a page, a chapter, a book entire in my room mostly of those Manuel recommended to me. In my room I had my own library, consisting of only about 20, of which I remember rereading Nada y Así Sea (Nothing and it be so), by Oriana Fallaci, so inspired I was;  reading Las Enseñanzas de Don Juan (Don Juan’s Teachings), by Carlos Castaneda; many by master Jorge Luis Borges, from whom I learned so much, even I remember I read a book by him that contained this message on the third page: This is a personal gift to read for who will be one of them, and it was a tale which told me there were some wise people who were connected by telepathic messages and sent between them communications and were capable to understand each other although they stood at a long distance in another world’s place. Also I reread for the fifth time Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, having been first time when I was ten, Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth and Othello and known but new for me King Lear, by William Shakespeare, to whom Jorge Luis Borges had unmasked. Others were Isaac Asimov, Aldous Huxley, John Steinbeck, Boris Vian, Albert Camus, Jean Cocteau, Julio Cortázar, Ramón Del Valle-Inclán, Pío Baroja, Nikolai Gogol and Yukio Mishima. Manuel and I went shopping books several times and I always took a lot, Manuel had told me to take as much as I wanted to.

When the main lounge was available finally we moved there to watch TV and to listen to the music, to talk, to play cards, to have our joints and to spend the time in. When I was not in England, I used to spend many time in the lounge with Manuel and our friends and the visits from our neighbours had turned it seemed indispensible for them. Both Margarita and Carlos used to come in often, Carlos to be with us having joints and laughing stupidly, and Margarita to try to have me watching with her the same TV series every day program, what she never got. I had gone with Manuel to the movies many times and had seen many films with him on TV. He did really convince me to follow “I, Claudius”, TV series based on Robert Graves’s book after I had watched the first chapter. Many days I went out with my friends, mostly with Pilar and Alberto, to pubs and cafeterias in Madrid to have something to drink and to listen to the music. Or else, and I used to do it frequently, I went to Ángel’s place. Ángel used to be listening to the music and having joints as well, and he had a very good library too. Old Ángel’s School’s mates, brothers Arturo and Alberto Fernández Inglada mainly introduced me into the photography world. I had bought my own camera in Las Palmas but it was an automatic one very basic. I spoke with my brother Luis, who by then occupied the head of Credit position in Kodak Company and I bought a complete laboratory set I mounted up in one of the corridor’s bathrooms. I started a Photography course and enjoyed it a lot taking pictures and developing them.

During a lapse of three years I went many times to England: London; Saffron Walden, Essex (two autumn terms); Ramsgate, Kent; Malvern Wells, Worcestershire, and East Croydon, in the south of London. I had been to London already and I wanted to come back to England to study English, so one day Margarita, Carlos and Manuel were speaking about me in the TV lounge and I was not paying attention, I could hear the three of them were laughing and Manuel said we have Leopoldo attending cathedrals already, I took advantage to make a phone call to Pilar saying to her I would buy the tickets to London by aeroplane next day, and to Manuel, when the neighbours were gone already, to go first thing in the morning to Mr. Prado’s office to decidedly go to Bell College of Saffron Walden for the Autumn term, which would start in two days time. We did and later as Pilar and I were coming back from the travel’s agency in Claudio Coello Street we had to make a halt at a semaphore in Goya Street. At the opposite side of the semaphore, waiting to cross out Goya Street the way contrary was Fernando Cotoner. He shouted: Leopoldo! Leopoldo! And he waved his hand to me so that I should see him. Who’s him? asked me Pilar. I shall tell you later, do not greet him, do not stop. He was first in beginning to cross out the semaphore. When Pilar and I began to cross out too he was just in the middle of Goya Street with his hand stretched to me. He had time even to greet me again twice. Leopoldo! Leopoldo! I lead Pilar beside me and pass by him leaving him behind. Pimp! he said aloud. I looked backwards and saw him still in the middle of the street and I replied: You don’t know well enough!  Who’s him? asked me Pilar again. Fernando Cotoner y Cotoner, Royal House Chief’s brother, I said to her cheerfully and made her contagious.

I went to Bell College of Saffron Walden for the autumn term. I have written several short stories about first and second times I went to Bell College of Saffron Walden, autumn terms in 1979 and 1980, but deeds I will tell on this are about my powers. I had already made use of them in Madrid streets José Ortega y Gasset and Serrano during a syndicate workers demonstration, to let them know someone would be leading revolution in Spain. From down on a slope at José Ortega y Gasset Street (former Lista Street), I had faced the demonstrators going through along Serrano Street I had levitated them all and then moved ahead up to the semaphore in Serrano Street and situated at the queue of the crowd which was decreasingly in number already. I walked along the left walkside of Serrano Street from that point towards Puerta de Alcalá, and I made a halt to levitate again the demonstrators who were going ahead. Someone walking beside another two said: Someone makes the moves. Then I heard a murmur and I looked backwards and what I expected I found: People knowing I was living to carry out great deeds.

So, among others I may be not conscious of having performed, my powers were useful to me to the extent of my having been filmed myself during a football match I was playing in the very moment all England moved when I gave a strong kick to the ball and the ball went like an howitzer to the crosspiece of the goal and ricocheted. When this happened, one of my teachers, Caroline Eustace and someone else with a video camera, Kevin the warden probably, called me to go to them and I went to the field’s band and Caroline said: Did you realise what you have done? What? I asked. You have moved all England, she said. It did? I asked. You see, she said pointing me the video camera, we have filmed it. I came back to keep on playing thinking that from Serrano Street demonstration I had stopped walking at Jorge Juan Street and next block from there was number 9, where I was living to start revolutionary actions against fascists still in power, and I remembered as I was playing football next day the newspaper said there had been an earthquake in Madrid the day before. I did not know and I do not remember whether news about an earthquake in all England was published on some newspaper, or detected from England’s National Earthquakes Centre, or discovered somewhat and registered. I had made use of my eyes in 1977 to let PSOE’s members at Congresses Palace in Madrid know I existed and I knew for sure they would forget the poor and the working class if they reached the power in general elections. Once in a excursion from Rome to Naples in May 1978 a group of four guys followed our car from behind in a sinuous road, Manuel’s and mine’s, not caring much to approach so much with their car to ours they touched several times. Manuel was driving and did not want to get more speed. I did not feel frightened by the four, I looked at their car through the rare-screen mirror and made use of my chin lo levitate their car and the four of them, and all Naples, I certainly did. Italians have more reasons to try to detect earthquakes; at least they have a National Earthquakes Centre to prevent damages. One time more in Xàbia (or Jávea), in the province of Alacant (or Alicante), I jumped up for joy celebrating news read in the newspapers and watched in TV, a big international offensive against fascism, invaders, genocides, slavery, famines, misery, poverty, exploitation. Well, I was with someone else in the chalet and Manuel came from the town saying there had been an earthquake in all the province of Alicante.

In March 1980 I saw the microfilm of terrorist actions and wars scenes in my room at the Regency Hotel School in Ramsgate, Kent, and I realised immediately I had plus powers after the vision of the microfilm, because I might reproduce the terrorist actions and the wars scenes with my mind, and place them wherever I wanted to. Of course I did at once test my powers and made levitations and reproduced the microfilm entire, but this lasted only for a while, because I was one way or other made forget about the microfilm sequences and have just vague remembrances of reactions I had during the vision. When I came back to Madrid, to Manuel’s, I began to make use of my powers openly, usually in the TV lounge, while watching TV. I was completely conscious all the time and concentrated exclusively in Revolution, focusing in divulging the assassination of the fascist Ana in my brother’s lorry of two shots from behind after Miguel pushed her upwards in the cabin of the lorry against the front window. I laughed inwardly knowing to what extent I could take control of the situation. Queen’s mother ex Queen Federica of Greece died suddenly and our neighbour came in into TV lounge to stretch on the sofa and to say he had not run so much in his life trying to make Manuel and I accomplices of the murder of ex Queen Federica of Greece. Next day queen Sofía appeared giving a written speech to a battalion of soldiers. It was too windy; the queen moved from one side to other and was really-really nervous. I was watching her on the TV and thought soldiers would think she was very nervous because her mother had died the day before, they did not have to know the true facts. I resolved at once to levitate them all, queen and soldiers, and everything before me, so that everyone would know I was working the prodigy and had been involved in what had happened to the queen’s mother the day before and conscious of my position of force against fascists. Useless to say I would have killed the queen at that very moment if I had concentrated.

The masked fascist president of the Spanish government Adolfo Suárez resigned as president live on TV and named candidate to be invested in Congress Leopoldo Calvo-Sotelo, and for these that do not know the story yet, civil guard colonel lieutenant Antonio Tejero assaulted the Deputies Congress gun in hand during the investiture session of Leopoldo Calvo-Sotelo and had everyone pending on him. I had already killed a lot of members of an Arabian Saudi royal family retinue of luxury cars that were arriving in Marbella, sending all them off the road having I invaded the lane opposite to fulfil my purpose, many civil guards at civil guards controls along the highway were witnesses. I had already written my 9 pages about me to be appointed armed president of the PCE and PCI. I had told Manuel I did and kept with me the manuscript. A both revolutionary and literary work, with the intention of taking the leadership of the PCE and making a work better than Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet later. An excellent book to surpass what Shakespeare’s version is of a legend having taken place in Verona. Sorry, but I cannot be caught up, of course I would never, not in the least, make anything whatever having to do with Shakespeare or having to do with the story of Romeo and Juliet, I am a volunteer in the armed struggle and made it clear although not translated it sounded powerful enough, Julieta I wrote; and if translated, I wanted to surpass Romeo y Julieta, so that everyone should know I would be armed president and I would be capable of making big wonders like working prodigies for the poor and the working class of the world.

Manuel told me once it was an ancient custom to send a portrait of the princes and princesses in age to marry between royal families. I had taken very good pictures of myself and I had myself developed them. I had given Manuel some, of himself, of me, of both, and others with someone friend. Manuel said to me hinting I had, true ; I had really provoked a scandal of princesses wanting to marry. His exact words were while smiling persuasively: Some guys have a lot of success, and we both laughed uncontrollably. First, in case I was a complete fool, from the neighbours’ kitchen a woman shouted to be heard: Here are the girls! Here are the girls! I do not know how it was but I went to our kitchen and someone told me Manuel was in the neighbour's. I had a look through the open door and saw a sofa bony colour with big very big dark brown flowers, heard altered girls voices and closed the door at once. I did tell immediately Manuela and Julita: What kind of a sofa the neighbours’ servants have in the kitchen! Manuel came later and I told him also: What a bad taste they have! I said. They never had a good one, not them, he said.

So I had by then more advantages than the killing of fascist Ana only. But..., well, after that Carlos tried to convince Manuel and me of spending summer in Mallorca and meet up single princesses of Monaco Caroline and Stéphanie. Manuel asked me later if I wanted to meet up Caroline and Stéphanie in Mallorca. I told him I did not want to. Don’t you like Caroline? No, I said, she poses like a diva. Manuel wanted to speak but I took the lead: I do not like divas. Before he could object I said: All posh women finish by drowning themselves; when they do not get what they want or something turns out not to their liking a grin of femme fatale appears on them forever. What about Stéphanie? Manuel asked me. I like her better; she is a young little girl, I said and waited his reaction. He chuckled and I said: Better not let her be with the illusion for a long time. So, he insisted, you don’t want to spend summer in Mallorca? Come on, I replied, haven’t you just told me Caroline and Stéphanie are going to be there? Yes, they will, he said. Reason enough not to go, come on, last place I would go to, I finished saying. Sometime after this they transmitted on TV Formula 1 Monaco Championship from Montecarlo's circuit and I was for nearly two hours watching the course and levitating all the circuit’s attendants and sending them telepathic messages letting all them know someone with powers was talking to them and leaving princesses, their princely family complete and their casino in their right place.

Manuel repeated to me the story: some guys had a big success among princesses in age to marry and there was no need to insinuate I was the one he was referring to. He told me he was going to tell me something for me to keep in mind. Do you want to be tutor of princess Mathilda of Sweden who is twelve now? he asked me. I would prefer a girl twelve from my quarter, I responded quickly. Manuel laughed hilarious. Why do you laugh with hilarity? I asked him, and then reasoned: Haven’t you just told me that Mathilda of Sweden is twelve? Come on, Manuel, you know there would be many. Manuel laughed openly and said: Her father the king must have thought she would fall in love the very instant she put her eyes on you. Well, I said, so I may consider myself as best son-in-law unimaginable. And this made him so strongly forced to laugh uncontrollably he had to take off his glasses to dry his jovial tears.

We had as neighbour too an old French princess, princess Condé. I saw her sometimes near the doorway walking down her small dog and we chatted a few times. I informed myself about the Condés and found out they were relatives of the Borbones, so when next time I met her up near the doorway walking down her dog I made a longer halt and told her about Margarita’s and Carlos’s almost every day visits: I let her know, most probably not only she but someone else, I did not like their visits, and told her about the common door. The following time we met up she asked me if I had ever come into Margarita’s. I know she did it on purpose. She wanted to know to what extent I was capable of reaching. I then told her about the bony sofa with dark brown flowers and mentioned to her the bad taste they had for their servants. With this I thought it was enough, I supposed, if she was passing my words about the Borbones over to someone else, for me to put all of them contraries to Revolution out of my way. True it was what I thought. True are the facts, at least.

Manuel’s rather important antiques shop was in the street beside the doorway. Only a few times I entered the shop and I do vaguely remember the paintings, the furniture, the pieces of art, the decoration in general, an image of ancient and sober ambiance, although Manuel took me twice to the shop to examine a child’s roman’s tiny stone funeral urn dated from I century. My friend Pilar showed interest in having a stall at Madrid’s Rastro to sell small antique pieces on Saturdays and Sundays. Manuel asked Alberto and I if we wanted to be partners, the three of us, so he gave us pieces of wood, glass, gold, silver and bronze, marble, porcelain and the like he or our mutual friend Antonio brought to us from London. Manuel’s antiques shop did not have many visitors; it was always dealing of punctual visitors, very well known ones. Almost all the paintings and furniture and rugs in his house were on sale, so it was not surprise suddenly you came across with someone looking at all the antique pieces. He was painting expert and many times he was consulted about a painting and he attended the sales auctions and had nearly every day appointments in museums, galleries and houses. He had told me about the guy who had been to La Zarzuela palace invited by the dummy king and the beating up the guy had tipped to the dummy king when this was going to suck off his penis. After beating up the monarch in his full face and leaving on him marks of what had happened the guy went to the palace’s swimming pool area and destroyed the glass screen windows, wall of the pool’s garden, by kicking them up until he had to make his escape from the palace. He said the guy had filmed every instant of what had happened, so I therefore understood we revolutionaries had the dummy king sinking himself down and resigning obediently his crown if not committing suicide before such a film being exhibited on TV. That was not all. He wanted me to know more. When the king and queen were prince and princess of Asturias appointed by Dictator Franco and these with their family were spending a time at their house in Estoril, Portugal, as they were in need of money they asked for a loan to a very well known wealthy Portuguese of surname Almeida to whom grandfather Juan de Borbón and father dummy king Juan Carlos I, by then prince of Asturias, promised to take the twee heir to the Spanish crown to his place in exchange of a dinner and roulette chips free to be paid by the Portuguese. They both took the twee heir to the Spanish crown, later himself whatever he is, prince of Asturias during his father reign and today twee king Felipe VI, to Almeida’s house and they went after to Estoril’s casino. They tried to dine à la carte saying Almeida had told them he had telephoned to the casino’s restaurant responsible to take charge of their diner. This was investigated and they were told Almeida had not telephoned. Taken aback with this, they insisted in trying to have a menu at least, on Almeida’s behalf, but as they were told they would have to pay the menu they had to abandon the restaurant with their stomachs empty. And they went to the roulette. They asked the croupier if Almeida had left for them paid chips to gamble. The croupier had to get rid of them saying out loud a briskly Deixem facer jogo! Not happy with this, they both assaulted a gambler friend to whom they said you know us, we promise to give you the money back tomorrow. The gambler friend treated them with haughtiness and they had to run away sweating, to Almeida’s house to pick the twee heir up. Much to their surprise Almeida was not at his house. They were told Almeida himself had taken the twee heir to the Borbones house. Almeida had a kind of handkerchief covering his forehead when he took back the twee heir to the Borbones house. The princess of Asturias Sofía of Greece herself was waiting at the door for she had heard a car arriving and had seen it was Almeida and her son. Manuel was enjoying it as he was telling me. The princess asked Almeida for the loan they had agreed to. What money? Almeida asked with the twee child beside him and imitating the princess strong foreign accent. Ask your son to give it to me! And with this Almeida went away in his car. I was looking at Manuel expectantly, something was missing. Almeida filmed all the twee Felipe did at his place and Don Juan and King Juan Carlos were filmed at Estoril’s casino. It was what was missing, it was what I was expecting and I knew some day rather soon we revolutionaries would take advantage of these gay happenings.

I had understood soon I should suspect of the role Patricia Landa played in the game. Since first time I met her up and we were introduced someone had whispered to me she was Miláns Del Bosch niece, being him a very well known military fascist, very well attached to Franco and to Franco’s military circle and of course in the military dome. Although a beauty and certainly not lacking of sex appeal I did detach from her in all encounters and possible adventures we had had during our mutual knowledge.  She had come thrice to 9 Jorge Juan Street and showed friendly and even kind of admirer for everything I did or say, but I knew. The very next day Italy’s Prime Minister Aldo Moro was found dead, I said out loud in the Rastro, being it a Saturday Patricia had came to especially see us, that I was very Moro, meaning in Spanish very Moorish also, so that she would take it into account. To be precise, the day before I had read in the newspapers too Patricia’s father was candidate in general elections as member of Fuerza Nueva, the henchmen fascist party. Patricia showed kind of nervous and told us she wanted to come back home as soon as possible. Pilar’s reaction was immediate. She told me to take her mother’s car, which we used to bring the small antique pieces from Jorge Juan Street to the Rastro, and take Patricia to her place, so I did. When we had to stop at Cibeles Square semaphore I asked her if her father was a fascist. She responded she didn’t know, why I asked. I said to her ETA had killed a Manuel’s friend and I didn’t know what was going to happen. I had certainly given her a dangerous mind. I took her to the corner of the street where she lived and came back to my friends in the Rastro.

One day in March 1980 I went to Plaza del Dos de Mayo with my friend Gonzalo Salafranca and met up my old comrade Alfonso Romero, who was with Pepe Priego, they were neighbours in our quarter Usera. One of the things by which I knew I was going to be armed president of the Communist Party was due to deeds lived together with Alfonso, beginning in Xinzo de Limia: attending both Mrs. René lessons; his witnessing how my mother and I had killed shooting up with a gun a man at the steering wheel’s forehead inside a lorry my mother had taken us to saying we were going to kill a man who had abused of her; my father telling the both of us, we seated at a Xinzo de Limia’s church low wall and my father standing, we were linked and some day we would be capable of carrying out sublime prodigies, that we would struggle for the poor and the working class; then the time in Ourense, capital of the province, one year Alfonso and me met up at roller hockey matches on Sundays and vaccinated in the same hospital the same day, we had each a sugar cube with wine after the injection; then in Usera, Madrid. I remember him in a pension in Plaza de Legazpi we were staying at until they delivered to us our new house’s keys; later we followed the same course at Daoiz and Velarde School in Usera when we were eight; I had had in mind always I had commented to another classroom mate standing the three of us together Alfonso and I had killed a man in the village and Alfonso had said to me It was you; after two years time we were classroom mates again at Colegio Latino, and one day that I will always associate with the day president Carrero Blanco was killed in his car blown up loudly, Antonio Cordero and Alfonso took me to Cobra discotheque in Ponzano Street, on our way to the underground station Alfonso told me I would be elected president by general acclamation some day, and soon after we came into Cobra, Alfonso called me from the toilet’s door and I went to him, he told me to wait for him there, I come in and out rapidly, he said to me and he came into the toilet and came back rapidly to show me a gun he immediately pointed out a man’s sitting at a counter’s stool forehead and shot up right away hitting the bullet the man full in his forehead, and I had escaped from Cobra running away; he had told me I would someday make him move with the powers of my mind.

Well, that day March 1980 in Plaza del Dos de Mayo when I met up Alfonso Romero I didn’t move him with the powers of my mind, it was not the day foreseen. It was a sunny day. We greeted and introduced our friends. I asked him why he wore a pullover, black and red, on that very sunny day. He told me he had done military service in Melilla with my brother Arthur. In 29 March 1980 I was in the Regency Hotel School in Ramsgate, Kent, where I had a room just above the E for HOTEL in the REGENCY HOTEL SCHOOL sign all along the building, just a few paces from the sea where they were building a harbour for ships. A few days later I saw the microfilm: my family, my old comrades and international soldiers carrying out revolutionary actions as I had been told by them all I would someday watch. Just since the very moment I watched the microfilm I knew its vision had enriched my powers a lot and I might work prodigies. I knew too since then Alfonso knew, and consequently all my family and his and all members of the Communist Party involved in the plot of appointing me finally armed president, I would be able to move him next time we will meet up as he had told me one day it would happen, so both knew he himself and also Pablo and Jorge with a powerful help of my father, will enrich my powers more yet, to the extent of being capable of suppressing Revolution’s enemies with my mind powers.

So I had come back to 9 Jorge Juan Street knowing I had more powers and I could make use of them to force the success of Revolution to be spread to the entire world, we communists encouraging a people’s red army against capitalism, in the name of the common soul of the many invaded, victims of genocide, victims of famines, victims of slavery, misery, poverty, exploitation, in the name of martyrs of Revolution, denouncing the current political situation and unmasking the dummy king and his family and political parties involved in the treason to poor people and working class by approved or consented minimum salary laws. When the time came I turned on to top volume David Bowie’s Scary Monsters for dummy king Juan Carlos brother-in-law to make him uncomfortable. Manuel begged me not to the top volume. I told defiantly to the dummy king Juan Carlos brother-in-law Spain was going to be a Republic. Why should Spain be a Republic? he asked me. A girl with name Ana has died in an accident my brothers had with their lorry. What has it to do with? he asked then. I am sure of it, I said to make it clear as he stood up to go away to his flat. Manuel told me to calm down and altered snob Carlos Zurita threw down the figures of an old and beautiful chessboard before he disappeared.

I telephoned my eldest brother Luis and asked him to pick me up at Manuel’s. I took my clothes, my books and my camera and Luis took me to my parents. I was expecting a congenial welcome by family and friends and in some way it was so, but only if I concentrated in my powers and forced myself to be present among all world’s revolutionaries, because I waited my family talking to me openly about the microfilm and my friends coming to appoint me armed president and it did not occur by then and it didn’t occur for the time being. I had kept in mind since the vision how would be the start of Revolution and now everyone knows. Things haven’t changed much since so many years as for social and political situation, even the plans are the same: to assault Deputies Congress backed up by the poor and working class masses, assaulting Moncloa and La Zarzuela palaces and killing all the Borbones and their stupid cohort and fire out nauseating filthy and ugly fascists and bourgeois filthy and ugly accomplices in consenting invasions, genocides, famines, slavery, misery, poverty and exploitation.

Well then, let us all wait the day D, the hour H, the moment Revolution will start with our encounter, about which everyone is waiting, some having longed for it for so a long time, fascists desperate knowing too well they won’t be able to do anything to avoid fusillades, executions and be burnt by the flames lit by the masses common soul to extinguish them from earth. I know the current situation is as it was planned, I mean people expecting the encounter, but it does not mean I didn’t have to try to be appointed armed president while living at Manuel’s in 9 Jorge Juan Street, many people would have supported me and I think I would have succeeded, for I tried and tried with all my heart, but regarding how and what it would have been like and things being like they are, very likely everyone will consider finally a great deed whatever, I mean being things like they are, therefore expecting the encounter, and how and what it would have been like too, that we have had so many years to make people see for themselves already.