Jesus Christ Kills Gestas
My parents wanted me to be a communist soldier, so that Justice, Equality and Fraternity are imposed on earth and for the Working Class to rule, not cruel rotten souls that foment Famines, not consenters of Slavery and Misery, of Exploitation and Poverty, enemies of Working Class. Accomplices are they looking at another side and keeping silence before great evils, no one he or she good people either. Chiefs of State and governors had the opportunity of eradicating Poverty and they have not. That is, for obscure, ugly reasons, we know why, for envy and malice.
Knowing I hadn’t to be taken aback, since my father appears on the microfilm, dressed in white in our house of Xinzo de Limia saying to me: My son, I thought it couldn’t take aback the masses if I reproduced the microfilm’s images and everyone could be watching me. Such was my level of knowledge about the situation. I was the chosen one to lead the Communist Party to carry out Revolution in Spain. It was confirmed on the microfilm by the issue of a statement Leonid Brezhnev, Mao Tse-Tung, Fidel Castro and Kim Il-sung sent to me being they sitting behind a long table, announcing to me I would be the next president of the Spain’s Communist Party and of the International Communist Party.
I thought the microfilm had finished already, but to my great satisfaction my friends Alfonso Romero, Pablo Cabo and Jorge Olivas appear again still, laughing from inside a car I knew was stopped at Mirasierra Street, in Usera, our quarter, like they had assured to me it was going to happen to me, seven years before down there, in 1973. While watching my friends in the car laughing a voice was telling me that World War Three, our Final Struggle, would start when I meet up my friends. World’s Revolution against Capital, for us to be freed at last from the chains that submit us to Slavery and Misery, to Exploitation and Poverty. The Great Universal Catharsis of People Poor. The moment of big joy in the whole world of these that have suffered more the cruel, hard conditions of Capitalism, seeing themselves united to fight with ardour. Please hear their laughter, that of during the attack and the forever.
I knew of the plan of the Communist Party to appoint me president. I knew my parents and my brothers had a great weight and influence in the party. That my brothers were terrorists like me. That my father, my friends, even my grandfather Modesto, my mother’s father, Modesto when I was four years old, had assured to me I would some day watch them in a film, and so it was. The most distant memories of my childhood enforced my militancy in the Fight against fascism.
In 1960, I was two years old, my father and I executed a fascist with two tiny pistols my father put in my hands, the fascist standing in front of us in the kitchen of our house in Xinzo de Limia, an invited. That same day by night I saw how my father from his bed infringed with only his will a horizontal bleeding and mortal wound at their hearts level upon four fascists in uniform that were hunging up in the air inside a wardrobe.
In 1962, I was four years old, my mother and I executed another fascist, in Xinzo de Limia as well, with a gun my mother handed me inside a lorry where the type was at the steering wheel. Alfonso Romero was coming with us and was witness. By then and this same year I had already watched up in one of the two screens my father used in a hidden room in our house in Xinzo de Limia an event that would mould my thought and my attitude since I later had use of reason: the slaughter of a mass of black people, men and women, a lot of children, locked down in a warehouse nearly all naked, crying out desperate for their lives, until the image registers an explosion in the middle of the screen and changes to a white that expands instantly.
In years 1963 and 1964 we lived in Ourense, capital of the province, for a year. Alfonso Romero’s family lived in Ourense as well for the same period. We were going to live in Madrid very near to each other. Times we met up in Ourense I remembered intensely the executions of those two with my father and my mother and took for granted Alfonso remembered too the one inside the lorry.
One day, when entering the lounge of our flat in Ourense I saw my relative Irene Laso Losada beating up against the floor once and again a newborn black baby she held by his feet as she shouted King Franco! King Franco! ¡King Franco! I asked her what she was doing, although I may see it for myself. Don’t you see?, Irene said to me. This is King Franco! And she started again to beat up against the floor the newborn baby’s body and to shout King Franco! King Franco! King Franco! I remember my father entering the house with a tiny white coffin.
Irene had been looking for a camera in the kitchen when we still lived in Xinzo de Limia and I was four years old. This had made me suspect that a camera was filming me all the time.
On 22 November 1963 was assassinated John Kennedy, president of the USA, and since then I have, although a vague recall, certain notion of having watched with my father live on our TV how Lee Harvey Oswald blows Kennedy’s brains out.
In 1965, I was seven years old, we were living in Madrid already. I made Franco leave his ass behind when I obligated him to escape running away from Plaza de Cristo Rey in Madrid, where Franco was with from 60 to 80 Army officers celebrating the firing in the morning of a member of the Communist Party. I run towards them driven by my father, shouting as loud as I could: Out of here! Sons of a bitch! You have killed my father! Out of here, sons of a bitch, we have killed yours! Live Christ the King!
In 1965 too, my father shoots and kills a policeman during a demonstration very early in the morning at Marcelo Usera’s Street. When my father shot I scared and wanted to run away, but my father stopped me and taking my hand he said to me: Do not run.
Besides, that same year my eldest brother Luis who was ten by then, took me to the Ministry of Interior when it was at Miguel Ángel Street. The day before the two policemen that were keeping the entrance door of the Ministry’s building had been assassinated. When we got there there were many policemen beside the entrance door. Luis told me to keep his pace at his side. The policemen seemed to be nervous. It was yesterday, I told Luis, just passing by beside the policemen, the two policemen keeping the entry were assassinated. It was me, Luis said to me as we went on walking. I looked at the group and I noticed that one of the policemen had heard Luis. Don’t say it so loud, they can hear you, I said to Luis in a whisper. We were already leaving the group behind. One of the policemen heard you, Luis, I said to him. Well, he even said with audible voice: They would never suspect of a child. I looked back for an instant and the policeman that had heard Luis and others were looking at us like startled, but we went on walking and nothing happened.
In 1968 there were deeds that caused a deep change in the course of History forever: Vietnam’s endless war; the assassinations of Martin Luther King on 4 April and of Robert Kennedy on 6 June; it was the year of French May, of Prague Spring and of the massacre of Tlatelolco in México.
On 5 June I saw live the assassination of Robert Kennedy on a TV my father hired with that purpose. When shots seemed next to come my father said to me: Attention, Poldo. Attention now.
That year too Pablo Cabo and I, Pablo being 11 and I 10, went with a Luger 44 to Puerta del Sol by bus. It was 18 July and Franco gave a speech in the anniversary of the fascist coup in 1936. When we reached Arenal Street Pablo began to shoot people on their way to Plaza de Oriente. I laughed outrageously on seeing bodies falling and Pablo’s laughter. I told him he could have waited until we got there and I couldn’t stop laughing. When we got to Plaza de Ópera we went straight to the Alley that goes into Plaza de Oriente. The plaza was very crowded, the attendants doing the fascist salute and hearing Franco. We had already started to shoot in the Alley. We didn’t waste no bullet, all them hit. We emptied the guns. Our calculations, from 10 to 12 dead. Then there was a stir of horrified fascists and Franco started to stutter. Pablo shouted, and it could be heard: Stutt, Stutt, Stutt! Stutter, Stutter, Stutter! We laughed much and went away from there.
Next day, while I was seated on the low wall where we used to meet, Pablo came with Pueblo newspaper, where they said that there had been a terrorist attack during Franco’s speech vindicated by a new terrorist gang, FRAP, in which two people had died and five people were injured. I said to Pablo: Yes, dead, two and a half. And we laughed heartily. Damned Franco. Pablo said to me I was main responsible of FRAP, Anti-fascist and Patriotic Revolutionary Front.
Boetticher & Navarro’s factory workers were on a strike and my brother Luis, Romero, Pablo, Jorge and I decided to go to the factory. We went on walking from Almendrales to Villaverde. Luis asked me what I had in mind to say to the strikers. Some day I will see myself when I spoke to them. As far as I can remember I told them that working for someone they all had to persist about their salaries with, it only occurred to them. That Boetticher was name of a nazi and he most surely lived at Serrano Street. Navarro, the partner, was the one who ate the nazi’s farts. I remember they were quite a lot and they were laughing. I proposed to them to appoint a responsible to make the factory to function not conceding an expendable margin to the partners.
Some days later I went to Xinzo de Limia and Baños de Molgas to spend Summer with my uncle Leopoldo and my aunt Maruja. During the trip from Madrid to Ourense I told them about what Pablo and I had done the past 18 July at Plaza de Oriente, only a few days ago. Of the much I laughed when Pablo started to shoot up at Arenal’s Street and how the bodies began to fall down. And of how we killed later 10 or 12 fascists attendants to Franco’s speech at Plaza de Oriente. Of the stir we caused and of how Franco stuttered. Maruja and Leopoldo listened to me admiringly, I suppose of knowing this from a nephew 10 years old only, and they laughed much much because I was telling it very excitedly and with evident conviction. I was admired too about what Pablo and I had done and what it supposed. It would have been very great news all around the world and I know they felt happily very proud of me. I told them Pueblo newspaper said that there were only two people dead and that the action had been vindicated by FRAP, that I was maximum responsible of FRAP, Anti-fascist Patriotic Revolutionary Front. I know they were very happy, during our journey we shared knowledges and deeds we had to keep secret, and it was exciting. I told them about the invited in the village’s kitchen, of my father and the tiny pistols and of the type at the lorry’s steering wheel. I gave them all kind of details. For a moment I thought of my grandfather and said to my uncle Leopoldo his father had said to me I would some day see him. Where?, I had asked his father. On a screen, he had answered. Neither Leopoldo nor Maruja made questions or commented about it.
I stayed some days at my grandfather’s sisters Maruja and Matilde, that had belonged to my great grandfather Leopoldo Álvarez, doctor of profession. After that I spent some time with my uncle Leopoldo and my aunt Maruja in Baños de Molgas, in the province of Ourense as well. One day we went to Bragança, in Portugal. During the trip my aunt had said that we were going to the pretencious Coelho de Portugal’s house, a family voracious for riches and aspirants to the reign of Portugal. My aunt and I killed the aspirant. Standing up the three of us beside a precipice we pushed him forward and he won his last host. The big laughter shared with my aunt Maruja when the body fell down and disappeared is unforgettable.
Being only 10 then I knew I owed all my knowledges to lessons of teachers in Daoíz and Velarde’s School in Usera, but how it could not be so, very much too to my father, that dedicated to me his time before or after diner to make me learn Geography, Latin, Science, Mathematics and Literature, of all my brothers to me especially. With my brothers I used to spend most days listening to East Germany’s and Cuba’s radio stations.
One day all the leaders of the Communist countries greeted me on the radio, beginning with a Dear Comrade Leopoldo. From exile they held us up on the news about what was happening in Spain and the regime was hiding. I am sure that from Moscow it was the President of the Party Dolores Ibarruri, Pasionaria, or Santiago Carrillo Solares, general secretary. Of course what I can’t forget is Fidel Castro’s salute, because I made a comment to my brothers I remember. I said that Fidel Castro was the poorest, that he had not money to buy me a desk. My desk’s idea made laugh my brothers and my parents.
A desk to take care of the money there is and to make the distribution of it, to each one what comes from their right. I wanted that desk to lead Revolution, blessed be the ones that get it carried out. It was an illusion to conform everyone with the same, it was not difficult, it was indeed volition necessary. I was seeing myself already seated behind the desk distributing each one with their own after unmasking for ever Capital and Bourgeoisie accomplice of the system, with devastating logic, with overwhelming arguments about Justice, Equality and Fraternity that no one could refute.
In years from 1968 to 1972 Alfonso Romero, Pablo Cabo, Jorge Olivas and I were close friends. I began to write with a clandestine name, Luigi Pignatelli. Pablo and I used to go together to demonstrations, always with the intention of killing fascists, them greys, Franco’s police forces, that beat us demonstrators viciously and arrested us brutally. One day Pablo came to my house and he put me a film on my television set. It was him with a corporal camera coming nearer to a car and shooting a certain Pose. Pablo had just killed him. What a hustle and bustle there was for a few days. TV, radio, NODO, burial, funerals, masses, all days threats and accusations. I thought they were not going to stop speaking of the same affair. I wrote in the notebook that I had killed liutenant Pose, so there would be no more accusations or discussions, that the matter was settled.
The three of them came to meet me at the schools where I studied. Romero put me on hit songs on the juke-box. One day in front of everyone present in the poolroom he said to me that although I found myself in a difficult or dangerous situation nothing would ever happen to me, that I did not have to fear anything, that he would be always watching me. I alleged that it was sure something would happen to me anyway. He said that it was like he was saying to me. In 1969, July 18, took place the so-called 'incident' of Chappaquiddick in which Edward Kennedy killed Mary Jo Kopechne drowning her inside his car. Romero saw that the name of my favourite team in the leagues I invented was Ral Copenhe and asked me why this name. I told him Ral because it had to be different to Real, and Copenhe after Mary Jo Kopechne. Why after Mary Jo Kopechne?, he asked me. I told him I had seen how Edward Kennedy had drowned her. He said nobody had seen it. How can you know?, I wanted to ask him, but I told him I would have dreamed it.
In 1972, I was 14 years old, I looked for a job and I found it one day going with Romero and Cordero in a grocery near to Plaza Mayor. I worked and studied. I went on writing in my folder of clandestine name information about happenings the regime hid and I knew from the radio and from my brother Luis, who was already a member of a clandestine party too, we all were clandestine.
In 1973, I was 15 years old, Jorge took me to the basement of Claudio Coello Street where a bomb was placed some days before it went off and blew up the car of Carrero Blanco, president of government appointed by Franco. Romero and Cordero convinced me of dying my long hair with the argument that I had been at the basement. I dyed my hair.
The same day, or one or two days before the execution of Carrero Blanco, I went with Romero and Cordero to Cobra discothèque. On our way to take the metro at Plaza de Legazpi’s Romero said to me that according to mates of our college, Latino college, I was very intelligent and that they had thought to join up an organization in the future and that they would appoint me as president.
In Cobra discothèque we ordered San Franciscos. There were two girls dancing and two men by the counter. Antonio Cordero said to me why not go to dance with the girls. We went to the dance floor and I soon became nervous because the girls didn’t wear like the girls of our quarter, they were posh. Goodness Romero called me, I went to him. He told me to wait for him just for a very few seconds, that he was going to enter into the toilet. He entered into the toilet. I stood waiting. He came out immediately. He said to me: Look what I have. He showed me a gun. What are you going to do?, I asked him. Look what I do, he said. He pointed from six meters distance at a bearded man seated on a stall by the counter. The bearded man realized. He scared but didn’t move. Romero shot. They were heard a shot and a Uf nearly at the same time. I turned immediately to the disco’s entrance door and pushed the entry’s curtains aside, went out on the street and didn’t stop running until I got to Iglesia’s underground station.
One day we took a drive through Madrid’s streets. They reminded me the fact that some day I would see them on a film. I changed jobs. From delivering orders in a grocery store I went to work in a store where we sold all kinds of alcohol. Romero, Pablo and Jorge came to see me at the alcohol’s shop. I was dressed as a Scottish typical waiter and joking I told them that it didn’t suit me very well that they had come to see me and we laughed heartily. I changed jobs again. I would be errands boy in a marketing company that had its offices in the same house where Federico García Lorca lived in Madrid.
I went on studying. During a year I was going to classes in the evenings. Romero came to meet me at my new college, OSMA college, very near to Gran Vía. The day before I had protested with my friend Jesús in Gran Vía and we had broken a bank’s branch glass screen windows throwing stones rageously. We passed by the street where Jesús and I had throwing stones against the bank’s branch. I told Romero. Romero said to me some day I would see myself and the scene such as it was.
Another day I was protesting in a demonstration where people shouted Amnesty, Liberty! I was main target of a group de policemen in grey with truncheons, but miraculously Jorge saved me helping me to cross Gran Vía and punching furiously all the policemen in grey waiting for me to beat me up with their truncheons.
In 1975, I was 16 or 17 years old, I kept on with my clandestine activity. My new name was Roger van der Nla`ng Gorrórt. I had by then information already and I used to write calls encouraging people for Revolution and for Classes’ Struggle, communications, pamphlets, articles and essays.
In the morning of 27 September 1975 two members of ETA and three of FRAP were fired by Franco’s order. ETA, Basque military arm of the Euskaldun Army, and FRAP, terrorist group to which I did belong, comrades to whom I didn’t know in spite of being members they and I of the same terrorist group. Romero and Jorge entered the poolroom and looking at me fixedly with intention, Romero passed his index along his lips. In response to the firings of that morning a new terrorist group, GRAPO (1st of October Antifascist Revolutionary Group), had taken revenge executing four policemen guarding four different bank’s branches in Madrid on 1st of October.
On 20 November 1975 Franco died. In Spain the Communist Party had a plan, that would become from some sucessive events in a chain and the final rebellion of the people against cruel and haughty Capital. Standing I alone in my house I watched the dictator’s funeral and I wept when I heard the music of Spanish soldier.
For some days I thought of leaving my parents house and live on my own. I talked about it with my parents and my parents got tired and said to me I could if I wanted. My brothers founded a political party, PRFS (Federal Socialist Republican Party) and their party had two quarters, one just opposite our house and another eight bus stops from the other. My brothers used to tell me always someone else had taken the pamphlets to hand them out. They told me also I’d rather be a member of PSOE, and so I would become a rich man, a millionaire.
I knew this was something planned by my parents and brothers. I knew too well they had taken advantage of my tiredness and my wanting to sleep as they were telling me how it was going to be Carrero’s execution. I had told them all Jorge had taken me to see the hole where the bomb was placed. I remember what they told me: Jorge hasn’t got the faintest idea. So I felt myself rejected as a member of their party, but I was sure I would become president of the Spanish Communist Party and some way or other I knew I was protected but had to be alert all the time in my fight against the dummy king of Spain and his fascists’ cohort.
When Franco appointed Juan Carlos de Borbón prince of Asturias and his successor, I went to protest against Franco and against the new prince and king successor and met up Pablo at Paseo de las Delicias, where the demonstration was going on. Pablo told me he wasn’t coming to the demonstration. I didn’t know why; I found it strange, but I knew there was a reason by which he had to be there, and when I was protesting shouting Spain, tomorrow, will be Republican!, I thought again of Pablo and I remembered when we were carrying a Luger 44.
I had a girlfriend to whom I loved much, Maravillas. We introduced ourselves in Villalba. Maravillas lived in Usera as well and she studied at the Tourism Official School. I used to go to pick her up at the School everyday, everyday with folder and newspaper. In autumn and winter I always wore on the Austrian coat green colour I had bought with the money that especially for it and other fine clothes and shoes gave me the president of the marketing company where I had been working as errands boy.
Austrian green coat instead of zamarra with sheepskin collar. El Corte Inglés troussers instead of my bell bottom pants. Classic Castellanos shoes instead of my black leather ankle boots. Shirt and pullover in Zarauz, that sold the same genre much cheaper.
Maravillas was contracted by the Navy War School. She spoke about her job as if it was secret. I asked her. She told me in the Navy War School they had told her not to tell others about her job, she may tell me only they played a game everyday. They called the game The game of the war and it is about of an everyday simulacrum of naval attack against Spain. I asked her if the Spain’s only aircraft carrier Dédalo intervened in the game. She told me Of course, the aircraft carrier Dédalo intervened always.
The day my brother Luis was going to marry Paloma, my parents told me they were sure I could defend myself living on my own. They were smiling. I knew they were going to see me all the time. I thought, if Romero will be watching me all the time, as he told me in the presence of everyone in the poolroom, I was certain my parents and brothers and may be someone else would be watching me too. In reality I wanted to live on my own.
One day someone introduced to me Manuel Ordaz Bruzo in Cerebro discotheque. He would be a good comrade during the time I lived not in my parents’ house. We had been previously at a public house were I had given my telephone number on a piece of my newspaper to Fernando Cotoner y Cotoner, brother of the chief of the Spanish Royal House. From the public house we went to Cerebro discotheque, fashion then. I spoke with Manuel. He was PhD in History and in Law and antiquarian.
The stupid Fernando called me next day asking if I wanted to go to his place. Maravillas asked me who had phoned me. She found the conversation rare. I told her plainly. Since then Fernando had been someone I could face any instant, for he told me that he and some other Falange’s members had attacked a workers Assembly during the Republic.
I met up Manuel again at Boccaccio, another fashion discotheque. He asked me why I carried always a newspaper. I told him I was very interested in news and liked to be up on the news every day, for me it was essential. He invited me to go to his house, that was a few hundred meters from Boccaccio discotheque. We went to his place. In his place we began to speak. He asked me where I was from. I told him. In Madrid since I was six years old. Remembrances from the village?, he asked me. When I told him I had seen a film of a massacre of a blacks’ multitude in Rhodesia on a big screen we had in a hidden room at my parents house, he remained pensive for some moments. Later he told me as if in a sentence: My father was assassinated by Franco’s army. We both told each other more about ourselves. He told me as if he knew I was a boy who had no secrets, that we were introduced to each other at Cerebro discotheque but before at the public house he had seen me sitting down beside Fernando. I smiled to him. I was sure we both thought about the same thing. He asked me if I had met him lately. I told Manuel I had promise myself to avenge the workers, to take revenge on him. Manuel understood. We became friends, good comrades. He first paid to me a room in a family’s house and a few days later I moved to his place.
He was a constant fountain of information about very important matters, national and international. He was subscribed to the most important newspapers and reviews and we read them during or after breakfast. We introduced our friends to each other. We went on trips to Lanzarote, in the Cannary Islands, to Jávea (Xàbia), in the province of Alicante; to Italy and England. Staying in Jávea I remember we saw the assault during the summit of the OPEC in Viena, carried out by the Arab Revolutionary Army and led by Carlos Ilich Ramírez, my good old comrade, the international Venezuelan terrorist, that I jumped for joy and made the movements as if I was machine gunning and it moved. The sky, the sea, the mountains, and all they contained moved. Next day Manuel brought the daily newspaper he used to fetch in the morning. There had been an earthquake in Alicante and very near where we were.
Manuel and Margarita de Borbón, king of Spain’s sister, and Carlos Zurita his husband, who was supposedly Manuel’s friend, bought a flat to be divided into halves. Manuel told me the queen had gone to his half flat during the restoration he was doing. He asked me if I wanted to live in that flat. First thing I saw like in a vision was the queen in the flat and a war was taking place and she was the target, of course for me too. I told Manuel I would, but mostly spending more time in England.
In Summer 1979 Manuel and I went to Marbella invited by a Manuel’s friend Jaime Fierro his name. First day in Marbella we went to Puerto Banús, the Yachts Club, and we sailed in open sea and I felt strong, powerful facing the wind while sailing. Second day I went to breakfast with the people invited under a porch. A friend Germán his name was reading Diario de Málaga. I took El País. On the front page there were news about Marbella. King Feysal of Saudi Arabia would come to Marbella as he usually did Summer after Summer. The king of Spain would pay to him the annual visit. Germán said to me that an Saudi Arabian’s retinue would arrive in Marbella by night. I asked him to let me read about it. There was such full information, even details of all them coming in the retinue that I thought it would be a great thing to kill them all. Five chiefs of state of Arab regimes, King Faruk of Egypt, four Abdul Aziz princes and three Abdul Aziz princesses, they all Abdul Aziz direct descendants of Muhammad, sultans, emirs, sheiks, I don’t know, I killed them all. Later I said to Manuel that I wanted to come back to Madrid that same night. Why? A Saudi Arabian retinue arrives tonight in Marbella. And what?, he asked. You must suppose they have enemies, they are oil millionaires and show their big fortunes ostentatiously. You cannot say I’m wrong.
We asked Jaime to leave us a car to come back to Madrid. He let us take his Renault 5 Copa. I had combed my hair in two halves, just a stripe in the middle. In that time we called highways to roads with two lanes only on opposite directions. I killed them all. I knew they were coming. It had been some ten minutes that no car had passed on the opposite direction. I saw first the lights of two motorcycles that were escorting the retinue. I asked Manuel to let me drive. I lit up a joint and started to drive in the opposite lane. First, in third, at a slow speed I said to the ones in their cars enduring the cars’ caravan that if they were going to be at the same place where they were for two years, ETA would kill them all, and then changed to five and speeded up as much as possible. No one passed. First the two motorcycles, later the first Bentley, luxurious cars them all, about twenty cars, all violently crashed, especially scornful the sight of the passengers on a convertible two-seater Morgan, and King Faruk of Egypt and Abdul Aziz princes inside their Rolls Royce. I saw them all dying in mortal accidents.
At least we had seen four civil guards controls in the highway. I told Manuel: Once the king is dead, all his Army backs out. So it was. I had killed almost them all for sure. No one escaped hell. All the cars crashed at their side of the highway, and it was a wrong place the ground there, plenty of considerable high mounds.
Manuel was doctor in History and I took heed of my ingenuity in telling him about the king’s army stopping the battle and leaving the battlefield if the king dies in the battle having in account that he must have had studied during his career many examples of so many times it had happened throughout history.
I told my parents what I had done. My brothers laughed much. I was convinced already by then they had been watching me doing the car’s race in Marbella and hadn’t told me anything.
The Spanish fascist lobby wanted the dummy king alive and even both Spanish Communist Party and International Communist Party wanted him alive too. The fascist lobby just to keep on having the control of their companies, properties and accounts. The reason of the Communists was simple: Just to give a lesson.
Manuel had told me about the Borbones: Juan the grandfather, the dummy king Juan Carlos, the sucessor prince twee Felipe and the poisonous queen Sofía. Time to laugh out loud.
The tale told by Manuel:
Some days ago a boy your age went to Zarzuela’s Palace invited by the king. They two were alone in a room and the king asked the boy to show him his cock. The boy lowered the zipper and took out his cock, and the king knelt down to suck it off. Then the boy punched the king twice full on his face and went to the palace’s swimming pool’s area and destroyed completely the glassed walls there. He came out easily at the checkpoint.
The tale told by Manuel:
When they lived in Estoril, Portugal, they were always without money, always asking for loans. One day they asked someone who they could ask for a loan. This someone spoke to them about Almeida, a very well known rich man, saying he was quite disinterested. The later queen Sofía said instantly: We have to phone him. We have no money. We need money urgently. They phoned him and Sofía Hohenzollern asked them: What has he said? He told us he is celebrating his son’s birthday, that we shall speak tomorrow. He told us he invites us to dine à la carte in the casino, that we also will have roulette’s chips paid. He told us too to take the kid to his son’s birthday celebration in his house. Yes indeed, you will take him there. I am going to dress him up, that is what Sofía Hohenzollern said.
More yet.
The tale told by Manuel:
When the kid twee Felipe sucked off Almeida’s penis being only four years old, Almeida was wearing a handkerchief covering his head. Later he fucked up twee Felipe and filmed all the scenes. Then he took twee Felipe back to Sofía of Greece, princess of Asturias. Almeida knew that the prince and the prince’s father were at the casino, expecting to dine à la carte and having roulette’s chips to gamble. When he pushed the kid towards princess Sofía, she asked him for the money, Almeida said: What money? Sofía insisted: The loan’s money. Almeida went away saying: The kid must give it to me, princess.
Knowing the two tales filmed I was sure the dummy king and all his family would commit suicide when watched the films by everybody, it was the main reason by which I lingered at Manuel’s, thinking the Communist Party would take advantage of the situation and obligate the dummy king and all his family to ask for an asp, cyanide or a pill to go to hell.
Of course it is better to lead a Revolution from the popular quarters, but I had thought too of being appointed president at Manuel’s, for I have gone on being a communist soldier wherever I was and under whatever circumstance. I would have done it well. Nobody would say, not pedantry, not a lie either, I had not left the way free to a merry Revolution, to longed and definite Advent of the III Republic. What I had done in Marbella had been just what we needed to at last breathe calmly and enjoy with people of good will and good intentions an Universal Catharsis of the Peoples Poor. To know that never more a child would sweep from hunger. We had to impose Justice, Equality, Fraternity and Order. The king and the president Adolfo Suárez were our aim.
Our declared enemy was NATO. We knew Spain could fall into membership of NATO. We were under its influence, in fact we had USA’s military bases in our territory, against which we had been protesting for so long, even violently, at very large demostrations.
Adolfo Suárez had been appointed by the dummy king president of government. I knew enough about him to execute him without no doubt. He had been a member of the Movimiento for seventeen years. Here I shall leave for you the chronicle of this big bastard fascist.
The tale told by me in Congress while pointing up at Suárez with a gun:
He came to Madrid from Cebreros by train. From the railway station he went straight to the Movimiento’s headquarters and sneaked of communists members in Cebreros, that were the only people that he could have known until then. They paid him a pension for the night and next day some henchmen killed the people communist members in Cebreros. He became a Movimiento’s sneak. He made a career as sneak. Seventeen years a member of the Movimiento. His mentors were just simply regime’s rancid old fascists. Five years ago he became Minister General Secretary of the Movimiento appointed by dictator Franco. Ordered his police to assault the newspapers archives in search of El Alcázar and Arriba copies. Seventeen years in the Movimiento. Much to hide. No way out. Die!
Not only I lingered at Manuel’s, I had time spare to fly over to England and to stay at Bell College of Saffron Walden, Essex, for the autumn term 1979, at another college next year, 1980, that was Regency Hotel School, in Ramsgate, Kent, where I watched the microfilm.
Here the landscape takes two shapes that can become an only image or vision I can reproduce for everyone to see: One, of the deeds I carried out, with Pablo or alone, Shots at Plaza de Oriente and Marbella’s race. Two, of the deeds I watched on the microfilm. These facts constitute together of course an only desire: That the images on the screen, alert communist soldiers to get ready to fight for power, so that we shall get done an Universal Catharsis of peoples poor, that Justice in essence of a society or of a community, not accomplished by some chiefs of state and governors, by envy and malice. Hard luck to fall into evidence. Nobody is so innocent. We all know.
Sometimes some things must be said twice and even more times.
I had used my mental powers already.
I had levitated Dolores Ibárruri, president of Spain’s Communist Party, and all the attendants at her reception at Palacio de los Deportes when she came back from exile, moving imperiously my chin upwards towards Palacio de los Deportes, welcoming Dolores as well. Next day the newspapers said that there had been an earthquake in Madrid.
I had made use of my eyes while facing the attendants at PSOE’s Congress at Palacio de Congresos to move them all and to send to them a live message meaning we knew they were not with us after all.
I had gone to a Trade Unions demonstration too to make use of my powers. The demontrators had taken Serrano Street and I went parallel to them and from Paseo de la Castellana I levitated them all. I took Lista Street facing the demontrators and I levitated them all again. Reaching the semaphore at Serrano Street I walked down some meters and when I was surrounded by demonstrators I levitated them all again and looked back to see many people that knew I had made the movements.
For two days, before I was made to forget the images on the microfilm, I had very strong powers. My brother Miguel was in London with his girlfriend. I went to meet them up at a hotel. I told him I had seen him on the microfilm, killing a girl I knew her name was Ana. Miguel said to me I was inventing things. He asked me where I had seen it. I told him. He said to me I should not tell nobody such a violent scene and less involving him. I insisted saying I had seen him inside my parents and brothers lorry pushing up a girl forwards and shooting at her twice in her back. Miguel said to forget that crazy vision and not to comment on it again. I was sure, I had retained the images, but I had to leave it like he wanted at that moment, I did not want to go further and kept silence about the whole microfilm, not putting aside the fact that Miguel would like me to have the control over the dummy king and the sneak president. I thought it was not good moment to remind him he had said to me at nearest poolroom to his college he was going to kill a girl that was in there in the poolroom in front of us and with audible voice. That girl in the poolroom was dead now.
Next day I phoned my parents and spoke with my mother. I knew by her voice’s agitation she was doing comedy, for she told me my brothers Arturo and Miguel had had a bad accident and a girl whose name was Ana, that was going inside the lorry with them too, had died. I burst out laughing uncontrollably and my mother through the wire asked me what I was laughing at and she said to me shouting You are silly!, and after this she hung up the phone. I thought I was not going to be able to stop laughing.
For two days I tested my powers and they did not fail me. Since the moments when I was watching the images on the microfilm I knew I would always be capable of reproducing all the scenes wherever I wanted to. Everyone could be watching me and be witnesses. I do not know how it happened but after two days I forgot the scenes on the microfilm. Only my reactions at every scene of the microfilm reminded me it had not been a dream.
I thought that what was happening to me had been planned and that I was expected to write a communication in the name of the Spain’s Communist Party and of the International Communist Party. Therefore I wrote a nine pages invitation to think of Poverty, of Lenin and of working class and to join up passionately an International Front against Capital, encouraging people poor and working class to back up us rebels. Like the cat in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, I left a big smile all throughout the nine pages fitting Julieta in Juliet and saying I wanted to surpass (to excel I wrote) Shakespeare’s play Romeo and Juliet. ETA’s members and all their supporters must have had a very good time thinking of the dislocation in which I had forced the dummy king, the sneak president and many exploitative politicians to fall down.
I was a long distance away, in Ramsgate, Kent, but I was accustomed to be ready any moment to start the fire against the enemies of Revolution, it would be in Spain Adolfo Suárez of course, the fascist sneak president of government appointed minister by Franco and president of government by the dummy king. We would cause the public collapse of the king, dummy king of Spain, the poisonous queen and the twee prince issuing on TV the scenes filmed at Zarzuela’s Palace and Estoril, forcing them to commit suicide before the embarrasment.
Well, the truth is that newspapers in all Arab countries informed on the front page of the Saudi Arabian royal family members retinue of cars having been attacked by a kamikaze on the highway to Marbella, five chiefs of state of Arab regimes, king Faruk of Egypt, princes, emirs, sultans or sheiks were dead, and later they celebrated duels, funerals and burials. It must have been news of a very important diffusion. With a black Renault 5 Copa I had become a pilot star. Many people that shot and were shooting in the name of the Communist Party knew about my existence and my efforts to carry out Revolution in Spain. Since Marbella’s highway event they felt closer to me. Since the vision (my vision) of the microfilm’s images, they feel beside me, inasmuch as everyone can watch what I’m doing all the time and is conscious of my deliverance to the Struggle.
I do sometimes invent for people a screen with a sort of merry-go-round on it in which we see ourselves shooting up enemies of Revolution and enemies of Revolution fall down and disappear under the ground. I get big prodigies when I concentrate, an omnipresence so strong that it alters the force and the mood of enemies, diminishing their power to the utmost, so much they just simply stand speechless and unable to move. It encourages people poor and working class to fight together against them.
The vision on the microfilm of the death of Eugenio Pacelli, pope Pious XII, between flames on his bed in the Vatican, surrounded by people that were scared when they saw the flames, and hearing his supplicant prayers to God not to be sent to hell by Him, his laments coming out from a papal bed, with a wretched pope in fire on it, it was something I had had in mind like my own vision since my friend Manuel told me it had happened like I have said, and the two times were quite similar. Eugenio Pacelli knew God would never forgive him his Concordat in 1933 between the Vatican and nazist Germany. God was sending him down to hell.
When Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun appeared one beside the other on the screen, filmed by a corporal camera on a site completeIy destroyed, I knew what was going to happen. A gun points up at Hitler’s forehead and shoots first a perfect black hole just in the middle of the cruel assassin’s forehead and then shoots up Eva Braun twice in her breasts.
I knew it was going to happen. I had always had in mind too the execution in Sarajevo of archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria and his wife filmed by a corporal camera Gavrilo Princip wore on in 18 June 1914, event that supposed the start of First World War. When I was ten I had been dreaming all night long, once and once again, with the carriage on which the archduke and his wife were being taken on in Sarajevo and Gavrilo’s shots.
For fun we can mention the fact that Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun could not have a fabulous honeymoon. Imagine the joke: ‘That bastard, Hitler, says: How cold all night here, Eva!’
When voices and images on the microfilm told and showed me the shooting of the Romanov family I was not sure if soviets had hidden the scene of the firing even to Russian people, because there would not have been no doubt for so many years whether duchess Anastasia had been executed or not and no dilemma about it. Vladimir Ilich Ulianov, Lenin, appears before the scene of the shooting giving a speech and the voice was saying that the glorious Russian Revolution had been successfully carried out.
The image on which we can see my father leaning on a car is the beginning of a second part where my father shows me some scenes I was destined to forget after watching them. I am afraid it will not be good news for enemies of Revolution. I have to keep silence before the certainty of having not registered the scenes in my mind to reproduce them like others of the microfilm, just only one very impressive:
A little girl only five or six years old, dressed in white, aims with a crossbow at the forehead of someone tied up to a tree that cannot move his head. The little girl is not handling correctly an arrow to load the crossbow. Someone helps the little girl to do it well and they both shoot the man tied up to a tree, the arrow is embe dded in the man’s forehead and the man dies.
Only many years later, when having some notion of this scene, I recalled my grandfather Modesto telling me in the village when I was four years old only, I would some day in the future see him in a film. Of course the little girl had to be my mother and if I was forced to forget it, powerful reasons my father must have had. What I have clear without no doubt now is that my mother has been a secret agent as my father’s wife since very young, of course before marrying my father. Their marriage had been planned by both my grandfathers, and before them, by my two great grandfathers, both physicians of profession.
The man in the kitchen with two pistols. Vision of slaughter in Rhodesia. My father on the Moon. The man in the lorry with a gun. Irene killing king Franco. Execution of John Kennedy. Franco and 80 officers escaping from me in Madrid. The Execution of Robert Kennedy. Pablo and I killing about 20 fascists at Plaza de Oriente during Franco’s speech in 18 July 1968. My outings with Pablo to demonstrations carrying a gun always. Romero shoots the bearded man in Cobra discotheque. Execution of president Carrero Blanco. Shooting of two members of ETA and three of FRAP on 27 September 1975. Four policemen guarding four bank’s branches are executed by GRAPO on PO (Primero de Octubre), 1st of October. Romero, Pablo and Jorge say to me they are going to shoot. Manuel Ordaz Bruzo and I are introduced to each other. I tell him about the slaughter of a multitude of black people in Rhodesia. He tells me his father was fired by Franco’s army. In Summer 1979 I killed a lot of Saudi Arabia’s royal family members and a lot of their guests that were going to Marbella in a cars retinue to spend two months most expensive Summer ever, throwing all their luxurious cars off of the highway, driving like a kamikaze on the other lane in their opposite direction, without using my hands on the streering wheel and smoking a joint. All these deeds reproduced.
Leopoldo. The microfilm starts. Man and woman in a car. Colonel, a voice coming out from the TV. Romero shooting with a machine gun two policemen in grey in a police car. My brothers Arturo and Miguel in the lorry. Miguel kills Ana, the fascist girl. Pablo places a bomb inside California 47. Assassination of Carrero Blanco. Puerta del Sol, Madrid, 14 April 1931, Proclamation of the II Republic. Four people coming out from a car are shot. Execution of Aldo Moro. Execution of Bultó. Patricia caught up. Members of Symbionese Liberation Army with Patricia Hearst enter into a bank’s branch. Communication of Symbionese Liberation Army. My father coming into a room and shooting after the door opens. Bombing of Dresden. Protesters killed in Nicaragua. Bomb on Nagasaki goes off. Bomb on Hiroshima falls down from inside the Enola Gay and goes off. Leonid Brezhnev, Mao Tse-Tung, Fidel Castro and Kim Il-sung. Soldier. A Russian missile launcher in action in Afghanistan. My friends laughing inside the car at Mirasierra Street. Hitler and Eva Braun.
After this, Jesus Christ runs in a rage with an axe in his hands and he gives such a tremendous axe’s blow to the bad thief’s head that the damned Gestas’s head divides into two halves, and Jesus Christ insists hacking with the axe on the head of Gestas once and once again. Once the calm recovered Dimas seated at the Father’s right side.
The microfilm has finished. Lee jeans advertisement: the bare back of a man in Lee jeans that moves forward. BBC News at Ten. Apartheid in South Africa. Iranian Revolution. Palestine. Russians in Afghanistan.
Stunned just for being induced to forget some scenes of the microfilm some way, my first thought was the images of my family and besides something most extraordinary. The vision of my father in white calling me ‘Son’ before he disappears from the screen, and once again leaning on the steering wheel’s door of a roofless car we had in the village, is something I was sure to have seen and remembered but never been mentioned between my father and I. The vision of my mother when a little girl in white with a crossbow in her hands trying to load an arrow to shoot a man tied up to a tree and being helped by someone I know today was my grandfather Modesto, was forgotten by me almost instantly. What I was sure of was that there had been a scene that I forgot instantly, but I had not forgotten my reaction that took me to say: Wow, what I have seen!
For some time I thought it was Hitler’s and Eva Braun’s executions what had shocked me more, but I do know today it had been Jesus Christ.
I asked my father by telepathy several times already: Who was the child? Who was the man in the kitchen? Who was the man in the lorry? My father laughs and says: How we shall laugh at them! Fascists?, I asked him. He said: Well, if only I told you. We shall see who they were and we all shall laugh with scandal!
I know too well some day rather soon my father will return from heaven and He will say to me that my grandmother, his mother, was assassinated by Franco’s Army during the Civil War, for I have received some hints.
So I have reached a very powerful force to face the fascists with my mind powers, that will be enriched when I meet up Alfonso, Pablo and Jorge. For the time being everyone know what I have said already: Our Final Struggle shall start when my comrades and I meet up.
One more time:
If chiefs of state and governors have not eradicated Misery and Poverty when they have had the possibility, they are rotten souls and it was because of their envy and malice. The bourgeoisie accomplice consented demonic crimes, their silence was evident and always stood beside the cruel and haughty Capitalism. They all would find it laughable if Revolution fails and some of us lose our lives, but they all are in a tight with no way out.
There are many people nowadays saying they have been witnesses of Christ’s crucifixion. I have only two dreams of a former life: Walking with my father along the coast of the actual city of Ceuta in Morocco and listening to my father telling me how He did to sink down the ground in what we know today as Strait of Gibraltar and watching how the waters of the Mediterranen Sea and those of Atlantic Ocean collided. In a desert falling down on the sand and being helped by an Arab old man who quenched my thirst. What really happened is like I tell you.
The essential consists of the beauty of deeds.
Let us say Bye to Slavery, Misery, Exploitation and Poverty.
After French Revolution and Russian Revolution no one should expect no other but Classes Struggle, Final Struggle. When news of BBC News at ten finished the periscope emerged again and searched for new extras on the horizon.
When I saw Jesus Christ killing Gestas, giving him a furious axe's blow to his head, dividing into two halves the head of the bad thief and then without stopping hitting Gestas body once and again until the axe's edge reached the waist of the extra, I knew at last that this happening itself supposed the limpid truth that had guided me so far since I was born. My father told me once He was God, and I did believe it, because I had watched Him walking on the Moon and waving with high fist. Some years later He told me this again when He cured me of a paralysis doctors diagnosed irreversible. God is very good. Imagine the very good He is He is the Creator. Yes, true , my father is God. It is convenient to me, yes indeed, because grateful people has an immense affection for Him and this makes me very happy.
