Treasure of the Spanish Civil War by Serge Pey

Author:Serge Pey [Pey, Serge]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Published: 2020-03-03T00:00:00+00:00

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The Director had perfected his method. To each boy whom he selected as a future guard, he entrusted a puppy. The child was supposed to feed it and have it sleep with him. Then, after a month or two, he forced the child to torture the animal, and later to kill it. This was how he prepared future grownups to torture children to make them talk.

The next day, as I was sweeping my cell, a grownup wearing a baseball cap came to find me. In the night the wind had blown very hard and I had woken up covered with leaves.

“Stop sweeping. The Director wants to see you.”

When he saw me attaching Dog by his leash to the window bars, the grownup pointed to him and added, “The Director says to bring him with you, along with the folder.”

I unfastened Dog and followed the grownup. When we got near the Director’s office, Dog began to whimper and tried to get away.

“Don’t let your dog run off,” the grownup told me.

I grabbed Dog, who was wriggling, and gathered him gently into my arms. When I entered the Director’s office, Dog, recognizing the man, tried once more to flee.

“Control your dog,” the Director told me, “and sit down.”

At a sign from the Director, the grownup opened the door to the toilet, which was behind me.

“Turn around. Look and see who’s here and what you are in for!”

I turned around. Suppressing a cry, I recognized Pablo. His face had been beaten to a bloody pulp.

“Why don’t you kiss again like you did last night?” said the Director with a laugh. “That’s what you get for stealing sugar.”

In a split second, as in the moment before death, every detail of my encounter with Pablo the night before passed before my eyes. As if a waterfall were cascading down from a cliff and I had the power to photograph every individual drop of water. I saw his hands on my head and the kiss that we had exchanged. Pablo was chained to the window bars and bleeding from his mouth.

“You see, we were forced to deal with your friend. You both knew full well that it was forbidden for prisoners to talk and communicate with one another. We know everything that goes on here.”

Then the Director asked the grownup to hit Pablo as hard as he could across his back. The grownup hit him with his baton for long minutes without letting up until he was too tired to continue. A smile briefly curled the corner of the Director’s mouth, slightly stretching a scar discernible behind his eyeglasses.

“If you want him to stop, hit your dog. Show that you are a man. You have to choose. It’s your pal or the dog.”

I was rooted to the spot by the table, clutching Dog close against me.

“Look,” the Director went on, “we’re going to break one of this fairy’s arms. Go on, do it,” he said to the grownup, who was laughing.

Pablo began to scream as his arm was twisted.

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