Arturo had gotten up to return his grandfather's diary to where he had taken it from. Hache wet his lips with water and finished gathering his thoughts before continuing with the interview. The room was now completely lit up by the last rays of sunlight streaming in through the large glass wall. The views of a small garden and the mountains were beautiful. Hache remained silent as he contemplated the landscape.
"I didn't know your grandfather had fought."
"It wasn't a secret, but my grandfather wasn't one to draw attention to himself, you know?" You are one of the few people who has had access to this diary. Not even I had access to it until my grandfather, may he rest in peace, passed away.
"The John your grandfather writes about is your maternal grandfather, right? John Smith."
"Yes, years later, my two grandfathers met again in New York a few years after the war ended when Uncle Pierre decided to bring my father, John, and William, the Brit, together with this business idea he had. As you know, that idea is worth 35 billion euros today, I think. The complicated part was when my family had to go into exile from Spain during the civil war. Although we practically lived more in New York than in Granada. And yes, John's youngest daughter, my mother, fell in love with Anton's best son, my father. As I said, this was a prosperous family during times of war."
"Was it hard for your grandfather to leave Spain again?"
"It was, but not for the reason you think. As I said, they were spending more time there than here. It was hard because he left two children behind. My older uncle, who was a petty officer in the navy, and my aunt, who was engaged to be married. She was safe during the early stages of the war because her fiancé was a teacher and a socialist. They were in Madrid, you know, the Republican zone." He gestured with his hand as he continued the story. "They were safe until the Communists, Socialists, and Anarchists started killing each other. The Nationalists were the least of their problems. In mid-1937, she and her fiancé disappeared. My grandfather spent a fortune trying to find out what had happened to her. The poor man died without knowing what had become of her and her fiancé. My father continued the search and found out that her husband had been executed by the anarchists as they tried to flee Madrid. They accused him of being a spy and a deserter, charges that were somewhat contradictory," he said with a tragic smile. "But there was no trace of my aunt. My father didn't have much luck with this either. However, I was luckier a few years ago. In northern Italy, there was an auction where this pair of earrings appeared." Arturo showed him a photograph of two small gold earrings shaped like rose petals with a small ruby in the center.
"They're exquisite pieces of jewelry," replied Hache as he admired the items in the photograph.
"They belonged to my aunt. They were a family heirloom that had previously belonged to Maria Teresa, my Cuban great-grandmother. But the best part isn't that they turned up, but the letter that came with them when they were auctioned off. It tells the story of the earrings, indicating that a young Spanish woman sold them to an Italian soldier in exchange for a ticket for herself and her newborn baby to Italy under the name Ana Caro de Mallén, which was the name of the author of my aunt's favorite play. She had a somewhat peculiar taste for an author from the Golden Age, but to each their own, as they say.
"Did you find your aunt?" Hache asked, leaning forward and showing particular interest in the story.
"No, I did some digging but couldn't find any decent leads to follow. Most likely, when she arrived in Italy, she was captured by the Italian or German fascists. In the best-case scenario, she would have changed her name and disappeared." Arturo turned his gaze back to the large window once more, leaving the room in total silence. "That's what I like to think, that I manage to survive." His gaze was now nostalgic, perhaps thinking of the hours his father had spent searching for his missing sister. He swallowed and the room fell silent again.
"A moving story, perhaps worthy of one of your novels..."
"Too tragic, perhaps. I prefer adventure novels, although I've never thought of writing one. I suppose I was more into short, concise articles. But it was nothing special."
"I'm surprised by Arturo's modesty, considering he was one of the best war correspondents there ever was."
"Well, the subject of war, as I told you, runs in my blood. My father's other two brothers, Jose and Tomas, both several years older than my father, also gave their lives fighting, one against the Japanese in the Pacific and the other against the Nazis in Normandy. That's a story I could write about. They left Spain for the United States and grew up witnessing the atrocities of fascism in Europe and grateful for what was now their new home. So when they had the opportunity to defend what they considered theirs, they did so, paying the highest price imaginable."