Sands of Time

The guards had passed. Ricardo turned to look at Graciela. Her face was expressionless. Mentally, Ricardo began to curse Jaime, wishing he had given him one of the other nuns. This one was made of stone, and there was no chisel hard enough to penetrate that cold exterior.

In all modesty, Ricardo Mellado knew that he was attractive to women. Enough of them had told him so. He was light-complexioned, tall, and well built, with a patrician nose, an intelligent face, and perfect white teeth. He came from one of the most prominent Basque families. His father was a banker in the Basque country in the north and had seen to it that Ricardo was well educated. He had gone to the University of Salamanca, and his father had looked forward to his son joining him in the family business.

When Ricardo returned home from college, he dutifully went to work at the bank, but within a short period of time he became involved with the problems of his people. He attended meetings and rallies and protests against the government and soon became one of the leaders of ETA. His father, after learning about his son’s activities, called him into his huge, paneled office and lectured him.

"I am a Basque too, Ricardo, but I am also a businessman. We cannot foul our own nest by encouraging a revolution in the country where we make our living."

"None of us is trying to overthrow the government, Father. All we’re demanding is freedom. The government’s oppression of the Basques and the Catalans is intolerable."

The senior Mellado leaned back in his chair and studied his son. "My good friend the mayor had a quiet word with me yesterday. He suggested it would be to your benefit not to attend any more rallies. It would be better if you expended your energy on bank business."

"Father – "

"Listen to me, Ricardo. When I was young, my blood ran hot too. But there are other ways to cool it off. You’re engaged to a lovely girl. I hope you will have many children." He waved his hand at their surroundings. "And you have much to look forward to in your future."

"But don’t you see – ?"

"I see more clearly than you, my son. Your prospective father-in-law is also unhappy with your activities. I would not want anything to happen that would prevent the wedding. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Father."

The following Saturday Ricardo Mellado was arrested while leading a Basque rally in an auditorium in Barcelona. He refused to let his father bail him out unless he also bailed out the other demonstrators who had been arrested. His father refused. Ricardo’s career was ended and so was his engagement. That had been five years earlier. Five years of danger and narrow escapes. Five years filled with the excitement of fighting for a cause he passionately believed in. Now he was on the run, a fugitive from the police, escorting a retarded and mute nun across Spain.

"We’ll go this way," he said to Sister Graciela. He was careful not to touch her arm.

They turned off the main street onto the Calle de San Valentin. On the corner was a store that sold musical instruments.

Ricardo said, "I have an idea. Wait here, Sister. I’ll be right back."

He entered the store and walked up to a young clerk standing behind the counter.

"Buenos dias. May I help you?"

"Yes. I would like to buy two guitars."

The clerk smiled. "Ah, you are in luck. We just got in some Ramirezes. They are the best."

"Perhaps something of not such a high quality. My friend and I are only amateurs."

"As you wish, senor. What about these?" The clerk walked over to a section of the store where a dozen guitars were on display. "I can let you have two Konos for five thousand pesetas apiece."

"I think not." Ricardo selected two inexpensive guitars. "These will do nicely," he said.

A few moments later Ricardo walked back out to the street, carrying the two guitars. He had half hoped Sister Graciela would be gone, but she was standing there, patiently waiting.

Ricardo opened the strap on one of the guitars and held out the instrument to her. "Here, Sister. Put this over your shoulder."

She stared at him.

"It isn’t necessary for you to play it," Ricardo said patiently. "It is only for effect."

He shoved the guitar at her, and she reluctantly took it. They walked along the winding streets of Segovia under the enormous viaduct built by the Romans centuries earlier.

Ricardo decided to try again. "You see this viaduct, Sister? There is no cement between the stones. Legend has it that it was built by the devil two thousand years ago, stone piled on stone, with nothing but the devil’s magic to hold it together." He looked at her for some reaction.

Nothing.

To hell with her, Ricardo Mellado thought. I give up.

The members of the Guardia Civil were everywhere, and whenever they passed them, Ricardo would pretend to be in earnest conversation with Graciela, always careful to avoid body contact.

The numbers of police and soldiers seemed to be increasing, but Ricardo felt reasonably safe. They would be looking for a nun in robes and a group of Jaime Miro’s men, and they would have no reason to suspect two young tourists carrying guitars.

Ricardo was feeling hungry, and even though Sister Graciela had said nothing, he was sure that she must be hungry also. They came to a small cafe.

"We’ll stop in here and have a bite to eat, Sister."

She stood there, watching him.

He sighed. "Right. Suit yourself."

He walked inside the cafe. A moment later Graciela followed him.

When they were seated, Ricardo asked, "What would you like to order, Sister?"

There was no response. She was infuriating.

Ricardo said to the waitress, "Two gazpachos and two orders of chorizos."