Fascist girl caught

            She had to be beautiful and have much sex appeal. That she had to become interested in me was something to be made on a basis of planned encounters in which I and someone else knew more than she did. First time I met her up a friend of mine whispered to me the girl sitting with the group was niece of a well known general captain in the military dome with old background as Franco’s one of his asslickers. We had joined up at a pub called Plástiko at Ruiz Street. The day before the terrorist group GRAPO had killed machine gunning three military officers not too far from the pub. Anyway, before Patricia and I were introduced to each other I asked another friend, to everyone’s ears, if he knew the day before GRAPO had carried out a revolutionary action not too far from there. Patricia was paying much attention, sitting at some distance from the friends group. She didn’t take her eyes off me. My friend at the counter said he knew while squashing his glasses. It was on purpose. I asked my friend if he was a communist and he responded Yes, of course. I turned to see the reaction of the girl niece of the general captain. She was looking at me fixedly and kind of terrified. My friend Ángel came to the counter to introduce her to me. Alicia Baldwin, another girl friend of some of us, was also there. She was Patricia’s age and I guessed they met up each other now and then. That day we went to spend the night in the apartment my friend Alberto and I had hired.  It was very late and we were very tired.

            It had been only a few days ago I had gone to Rome and Naples, conscious of belonging to GRAPO, a clandestine soldier that would some day turn out a soldier and a revolutionary leader, an armed president of Spain’s Communist Party and armed president of the International Communist Party. My communion with proletarian revolutionary organizations took me to express my enthusiasm in Rome on May 1, speaking in a piazza about the Brigate Rosse to people, hippies and painters, hippies  didn’t want problems and one of the painters started to insult me brush in hand out loud atracting the attention of the caribinieri, having to go hurriedly from there in a narrow escape. At that time I was living both at my friend Manuel’s and in an apartment very near to Manuel’s, with Alberto, another friend my age, both places at Almagro Street. One of those days GRAPO kad killed a policeman guard at the DNI (National Identity Card) headquarters, which is just 100 meters from Almagro Street. During that period the Brigate Rosse used to shoot at journalists’ legs, not arbitrarily of course, they knew about them.

I had had a girlfriend who worked at the Navy War School and she had her secrets with me for her job’s obvious reasons. Although no doubt I should add she worked in playing a game at the School which was called the War’s Game and consisted of a simulacrum of navy attack against Spain. I only could get to know that,  actually, the lonely important Spanish aircraft carrier intervened always. Her name was Maravillas and we were of meeting daily almost religiously. I used to wait for her at her another School, that of Tourism, where she studied a grade and we had something in a cafeteria and talked a lot or went to the cinema. On weekends we lived at the same urbanization in Villalba, town 28 kilometres from Madrid, near to Madrid’s Sierra, where we had first met. Her parents and mine had both an apartment. So we had time to be together more time. Envious will be some if I say that she lived with her parents in Madrid in the quarter of Usera, just mine. Well, I wanted a companion, I wanted a woman, I wanted a wife. I wanted Maravillas to lead revolution beside me. Some deeds engraved on my mind moved me to undertake revolutionary actions any moment, to make  people to rebel against cruel fascism and capitalism. To where I wish to come is the fact that I had a plan and I knew by then the girl Patricia was a bait for me to keep me going on soldier, I mean I knew.

The day we were introduced Patricia had been secretly speaking with friends about me in the pub, saying as I had been informed rapidly, that she liked me much and she wanted to know where from I had appeared. Well, after sleeping at our apartment at Almagro Street we went to Alicia Baldwin’s apartment with a hangover to forget. Patricia came hurriedly to Alicia’s very early in the morning, entering the living room like a stampede not saying anything but We can’t make them wait. Come on, Alicia, hurry up. We can’t make them wait. They are waiting for us. Only later she said hello to us, and to me in the last place said: Hello, Leopoldo.

I used to come out with friends almost daily, to discos and pubs. Some of the places we went to frequently had a porter and these porters stopped some people at the door. I had an appointment with my friends at M&M disco. Charlie was at the door beside some others. The porter was just inside beside the door. I opened the door and Charlie asked me What’s it? Do they let you in like to the young gentlemen? Don’t they to you? I asked back, opening the door ajar and coming into the disco watching how the porter closed the door behind me. Alicia and Patricia stood at the counter and the disco was crowded. I went to the counter to say hello but they were talking in each other’s ear and I went to where the group was. I was seated with a view of the counter and the entrance door. Suddenly one of Charlie’s friends gang came in and went to the girls at the counter and whispered something in Patricia’s ear. Patricia whispered later in the guy’s ear. The guy went away, out from the disco. A minute later Patricia went out of the disco alone. I immediately thought of Charlie. Charlie waiting for Patricia. Charlie stopped at the door. Charlie was known as a rebel, famous as a bad boy.

I had known Charlie before the M&M incident happened. I was working as DJ at Eagles’ Nest pub when Charlie entered with his friends and a girl I knew instantly was Charlie’s girlfriend, all the guys dressed in black leather. I was playing She’s a rainbow. Charlie turned to me and asked Can you turn on The Rolling Stones? And what’s this? I asked back. Charlie became like defiant. I told you to turn on The Rolling Stones, he said. This is The Rolling Stones, you know?. You haven’t listened to all good records they have, I said. Are you going to contradict me?, he asked me kind of threatingly. What do you say?, I asked back. This is a record of the best of The Rolling Stones. Charlie made a movement kind of aggresive. What do you say? I asked him. You have no idea, I said. Nobody faces me, d’you hear? I laughed defiantly. He wanted to come closer to me but his girlfriend and his friends stopped him and he calmed down and they went into the reservoir. In the reservoir there was a woman in furs alone. She had come in into the pub asking for a bottle of champagne and going directly to the reservoir. My friend the owner of the pub had taken her the champagne. When Charlie and his gang came into the reservoir I could hear some strange dialogue, the woman in furs was waiting for them. Suddenly Charlie’s girlfriend shouted: And what you wanted? To fuck up my boyfriend and my boyfriend’s friends? At once the sound of the broken bottle and the woman’s immediate desperate scream. Charlie and his gang running away from the pub, Charlie with a piece of the bottle’s neck in his hand. I was a bit drunk already but on seeing the woman in furs screaming and showing us her bleeding wrist I felt I had to accompany her to the hospital. We took a taxi and went to the nearest hospital. She said at Urgencies she had cut herself at home opening canned food. Later in time Charlie and two of his friends appeared on the cover page of the Spanish review Star wearing black leather jackets, on the stairs of an underground station I do not remember the name of but that should sound to me like certain complicity among them and I for sure.

Several times I met her up in Ángel’s house. Patricia and I had soon had common friends. Ángel told me her surnames, Landa Moya. She was daughter of the president of the Swimming Spanish Federation. She had a sister, Sonia, a girl who wanted to know more about you but didn’t say a word about her. Sonia had a boyfriend, although she also flirtered with a common friend, Alberto Fernández Inglada, to whom I am in debt, to him and to his brother Arturo too, for having introduced to me in the world of photography. The day after my first day at 9 Jorge Juan Street I met up Sonia and some common friends. We had a conversation about king Juan Carlos, president Adolfo Suárez, the legalization of the Spain’s Communist Party and the elections democratic system. I told her the popular masses would finally remove the king and the president from power, even if they had to fire out the military dome entire, knowing I she was niece of the captain general Miláns del Bosch, who was in the military dome. Patricia had a boyfriend too, Javier Anastasio, to whom I had been introduced, and we had had played billiards at his place two or three times, standing Patricia there once. One day I was at Parchís pub when Patricia came into the pub and came to me to say smiling: Look, two the same! That was because she knew my light brown and orange neck sport jacket and casually I wore it that day and Patricia’s new very similar sport jacket that she had just bought it. We were in the epoch called plomb years and I was pending of revolutionary actions carried out by ETA and GRAPO, of those carried out by communist forces around the world. All members of the band Tequila were sitting just face to me when Patricia had came to me showing me the sport jacket and I focused my attention on all them when Patricia sat down beside me. They were pending about us, although I realized more about me. I felt a sudden cold and didn’t pay attention at what Patricia was saying. Someone came to me asking if I wanted to play billiards and I took advantage of it and went to play, leaving her alone.

Some days after I had thrown off from the highway in Marbella all cars of the Saudi Arabian royal members retinue, I met up Patricia in Ángel house once more. I had just entered Ángel’s room. They both were seated. Before Iying on the floor I told the two of them that I would put to my sons the names of Iván and David and feigned I was distracted while they spoke. A few days later Patricia and some friends came at 9 Jorge Juan Street to play cards. Patricia and Ángel were beside each other, so Ángel’s cards had to go to Patricia always. We had to say aloud the card’s number to the next player and Ángel started to say aloud 3 always, instead of 7 or 5 or 10. When Ángel put the card on the table and it was a 7 but he announced a 3, Patricia hesitated and became nervous and nobody said anything and the game went on. With the card 5 announced by Ángel like another 3, Patricia heard others sighs and felt their inner chuckle. She wanted to go, she said she had to, but Ángel told her to stay for a while still and the game went on. With the card 10, the joker, she raised from the table and started to make her way to the door after Ángel announced to us all another 3. I went after her to open the door and she hurried along the corridor like hiding her face.

I wanted Belén to be my revolutionary companion and I had told her what I had done in Marbella with all the Saudi Arabian royal members retinue cars the day after it happened, in such a way that she got scared, although I was telling myself as I was telling Belén and the others that she would recover and accept to be my companion and wife once my car’s action in Marbella was discovered in Spain and in the world entire and I appointed armed president of the Spain’s Communist Party and of the International Communist Party, acclaimed leader of Revolution.

I didn’t tell Patricia about my car’s race against the Saudi Arabians. I always left for her messages of my belonging to a revolutionary organization with connections worldwide, not caring if she got nervous, for me just to settle once more, this time between she and me, to the extreme to say out loud in Madrid’s Rastro as Patricias appeared walking down towards where we had our stall I am very Moro. That day Aldo Moro, Italian prime minister, had appeared inside a van with two gun shots in his mouth. He had been kidnapped, tortured and executed by the Brigate Rosse. I said I am very Moro and Moro was on the all newspapers front pages. Her reaction was what I had forseen, she got very nervous and as she got to our stall she begged us to take her home. She has just come and she has to go. Do you want to take her home?, asked me Pilar. Well, I don’t mind. Patricia and I took Pilar’s mother’s car and we started our way up to Patricia’s house. I’m not used to read ABC newspaper but that day, Moro having been killed, I read nearly from start to end the whole ABC pages. The list of candidates  to elections of Fuerza Nueva, fascists henchmen, included Patricia’s father, so I took advantage in the Rastro to let know something more if caught up to my friends Pilar and Alberto and to People, and later in the car to ask Patricia if her father was a fascist, when I knew her father was. She responded she didn’t know. She asked why I had asked her that. I told her ETA had killed a Manuel’s friend and I didn’t know what was going to happen.

Not too late in time I saw Leonid Brehznev, Mao Tse Tung, Fidel Castro and Kim Il-Sun on the microfilm in Ramsgate, addressing a communication to me: When I meet up my quarters’ friends Alfonso Romero, Pablo Cabo and Jorge Olivas Third World War will start.

            Patricia died in 1989 lying down inside an elevator and with a needle into her veins, in her hallucination probably saying to herself, seeing levitations and communist auras: It’s him. It’s him.

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