Fèlix Ardèvol took two months to put a face to that name. And one rainy Tuesday he showed up at military government headquarters and waited patiently to be seen. After a very long delay, after seeing soldiers of every rank pass before him, after hearing snippets of strange conversations, they had him enter an office twice the size of his, but without a single book. Behind a desk was the slightly curious face of Lieutenant Colonel Anselmo Taboada Izquierdo. Viva Franco. Long may he live. Viva. Without further ado, they struck up an educational and profitable conversation.
‘According to my calculations, Colonel, this is the amount that I have got into Switzerland for you,’ said Fèlix, sliding a paper along the desk with one hand, as he had seen the man who went by the name of Abelard do with his envelope of money.
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘I am Lorenzo.’
‘You’ve got the wrong person.’ He stood up, anxious.
‘I don’t have the wrong person.’ Ardèvol, seated, tranquiclass="underline" ‘Actually, I came by headquarters because it was on my way: I’m going to see my good friend, the Civil Governor of Barcelona. A good friend of mine and also of the Captain-General here in the office next door.’
‘You are a friend of Don Wenceslao?’
‘A very close friend.’
As the lieutenant colonel sat back down, hesitating, Ardèvol placed one of the Civil Governor’s personal business cards on the desk and said call him and he’ll get you up to speed.
‘There’s no need for that. You can explain it to me.’
There wasn’t much explanation necessary, my beloved, because Father was very skilled at luring people into his spider web: ‘Oh!’ sycophantic leer from Fèlix Ardèvol as he cursed him in his head. The Civil Governor picked up the terracotta broken into three pieces.
‘Is this valuable?’ he said.
‘It’s worth a fortune, Your Excellency.’
Fèlix Ardèvol made an effort not to show his irritation in front of that clumsy oaf. Wenceslao González Oliveros placed the three pieces on the desk and in his florid Spanish said, with the surprising voice of an emasculated bullfighter, I’ll have it put together with good glue, like we’ve done with Spain after it was shattered and besmirched by rebels.
‘You can’t do that!’ It slipped out too passionately. ‘I’ll restore it myself and in two days’ time you’ll have your gift back here in your office.’
Wenceslao González Oliveros put a hand on his shoulder and trumpeted dear Ardèvol, this pagan idol is a symbol of Spain wounded by communism, Catalanism, Judaism and Freemasonry that obliges us to make a necessary war against evil.
A rdèvol made a gesture of profound reflection that pleased the civil governor, who boldly picked up the smallest piece, an arm broken off the figure, and showed it to his disciple, explaining that there were also two Catalonias: one that is false, treacherous, cynically optimistic …
‘I’ve come to ask for a specific favour.’
‘… imbued with materialism and, therefore, sceptical of religious and ethical realms, and fundamentally stateless.’
‘In exchange for the services I will provide you. Something that is simple for you: permission to have freedom of movement.’
‘Another Catalonia is emerging, friendly and admirable, healthy, vital, confident, exquisitely sensitive, like this figure here.’
‘It is a Punic terracotta piece, very dear, bought with my savings from a Jewish doctor who needed money urgently.’
‘The Jewish race is perfidious, the Bible teaches us.’
‘No, Your Excellency: the Catholic Church tells us that. The Bible was written by Jews.’
‘You have a good point, Ardèvol. I see that you are a man of culture, such as I am. But that doesn’t mean the Jews are any less perfidious.’
‘No, of course not, Your Excellency.’
‘And don’t contradict me again,’ he said with one finger lifted, just in case.
‘No, Your Excellency.’ Pointing to the three pieces of terracotta: ‘Punic statuette, very valuable, very dear, unique, ancient: Carthaginians and Romans.’
‘Yes. A Catalonia powered by intelligence, rich in illustrious, noble origins …’
‘And I can assure you that I’ll make it good as new. This right here is more than two thousand years old. It is incredibly dear.’
‘… fertile with initiatives, distinguished for its chivalry and a participant with emotion, action and intuition …’
‘I only ask for an unrestricted passport, Your Excellency.’
‘… in the final fate of Spain, the mother that shelters us all. A Catalonia that knows how to use its charming dialect with moderation, prudence and private decorum, only in the home so as not to offend anyone.’
‘To enter and exit the great country that is Spain, without obstacles; even though Europe is at war; precisely because Europe is at war, I can do business buying and selling.’
‘Like a vulture in search of carrion?’
‘Yes, Your Excellency: and I will show my immense gratitude, in the form of objects and pieces even more valuable than this Punic terracotta statuette, for this document in my name.’
‘A spiritual, dynamic, entrepreneurial Catalonia that the rest of Spain has so much to learn from.’
‘I am merely a merchant. But I can spread joy. Yes, exactly, without any geographical restrictions, as if I were a diplomat. No, I’m not afraid of the dangers: I always know which doors to knock on.’
‘From the very prow, we could say, of the great ship that spies the new horizons.’
‘Thank you, Your Excellency.’
‘With Franco, our beloved Caudillo, these horizons, once blackened and vile, are now, in this radiant dawn, within our reach.’
‘Long live Franco, Your Excellency.’
‘I prefer cash to statuettes, Ardèvol.’
‘Deal. Long live Spain.’ And to Lieutenant Colonel Anselmo Taboada Izquierdo, a few weeks later, in his office without a single book: ‘Would you like me to call His Excellency the Civil Governor?’
Hesitation from Lieutenant Colonel Anselmo Taboada. Then Fèlix Ardèvol reminded him and I am also very close friends with the Captain-General. Does the name Lorenzo mean anything to you now?
Brief: a second at most, was all it took for the lieutenant colonel to smile widely and say did you say Lorenzo? Sit down, man, sit down!
‘I’m already sitting down.’
Just fifteen minutes of conversation. Having lost his smile after some negotiation, Lieutenant Colonel Anselmo Taboada Izquierdo had to give in and Fèlix Ardèvol doubled his allocation for the next three operations plus a fixed bonus at the end of the year of
‘Granted,’ said Anselmo Taboada hastily. ‘Granted.’
‘Long live Franco.’
‘Long may he live.’
‘And I will be silent as the grave, Lieutenant Colonel.’
‘That would be the best thing. For your health, I mean.’
He never saw the weedy man with the umbrella for a hat who went by the name Abelard again; he was surely jailed for professional incompetence. Ardèvol, on the other hand, managed to get his new friend’s colleagues, a commander and a captain, also in administration, as well as a judge and three businessmen, to entrust him with their savings so he could take them to a safe place with a better return. It seems he did that over four or five years, when Europe was at war and when it was over as well, Max told me. And he earned himself a good gang of enemies among those Francoist military men and politicians who had room for financial manoeuvring. Perhaps it was an attempt to balance the scales and avoid repercussions that led him to denounce four or five professors at the university.