At Close Quarters by Eugenio Fuentes Read Free Book Online Page B

remark Olmedo could not answer without expressing his disagreement, and so he remained silent, waiting for his orders, as the meeting should have started five minutes ago. Castroviejo must have noticed too and approached the table to pick up the documents.
    ‘Let’s go over, and persuade them of the accuracy of your report,’ he said. ‘I won’t be affected by any of it. In six months, before the excavators tear down the walls of these pavilions, I’ll be retired.’

3
Soldiers Without Barracks
    Castroviejo and Olmedo walked down the corridor, as soldiers stood to attention, clicking their heels and saluting them with a quick, exact movement of the hand. They went into the meeting room where the officers were already waiting, standing round a long oval table the two ends of which were noticeably empty. The oak of the wall panels and the table and chairs might once have been clear, but time had darkened the wood and its drab patches showed where it hadn’t aged well. By one of the windowless walls were two cabinets which kept symbols and trophies that told the history of the base under lock and key; in between the two pieces of furniture, under the motto ‘All for one’s country’, a Spanish flag enjoyed pride of place, its flagpole a little splintered and the cloth frayed in one corner. It had been recovered from the enemy by the San Marcial soldiers who, in 1898, had taken part in a battle somewhere in the Philippines. Olmedo could never remember the exact name of the place. Behind the glass, each in its frame, were pictures of the last three Spanish monarchs – and of Franco – visiting the premises or presiding over a ceremony or parade in one of the courts that would soon be turned into flats, gardens or streets. At the back of the room, in a corner, was another cabinet containing unique treasures: certificates of victories in combat; two old swords stained with urine, which was said to be Moorish blood; and a bunch of medals with hard, resounding declarations of honour which purported to prove that the prestige of an army rests on how much enemy blood it spills. Those symbolsof sacrifice, strictness and toughness did not greatly appeal to Olmedo, reminding him that the army was the only place he’d known where one could be issued the death penalty just for idle talk.
    The room was the most solemn one in the base and was seldom used. Olmedo understood the colonel had chosen it because the meeting would be a kind of farewell, a declaration that San Marcial was being demolished, and few things could be more important to him.
    Olmedo stood at one end of the table and the colonel at the other. Olmedo would have preferred to have had him by his side, but he guessed what the seating plan actually meant: Castroviejo was leaving him on his own, standing as far away from him as possible. He would not contradict his report, as he’d said a few minutes before, but neither would he encourage the suggestion that he supported or shared its conclusions.
    Olmedo waited for the colonel to be seated before sitting down himself. All eyes were on him, following with curiosity and excessive tension – as if he were handling explosive material – the movement of his hands as he opened his briefcase and took out the report, which was bound in black – not the most appropriate colour, he realised at that moment.
    The colonel spoke first:
    ‘You’ve all heard, even though a final decision hasn’t been taken yet, that San Marcial will be closed down … suppressed,’ he corrected himself. ‘As you know, the Ministry of Defence had commissioned Major Olmedo to write a report on the strategic and economic viability of the base. He will tell you his conclusions now. Major?’
    ‘Thank you, colonel,’ said Olmedo, thinking that, even though the tone had been kind and the introduction neutral, the colonel had chosen his words very carefully to hint at his disagreement and dissociate himself from the report, thereby throwing