------------------------------------- Cicera, Spain - September 1960 ------------------------------------- Camila sighed as she pushed an inquisitive cat out of the way and drew the full milk pail from beneath a bored look heifer. The three legged stool beneath her creaked warningly, the strong smell of cow shit stung her nostrils, dogs barked, she needed to mend her dress, her boots were falling apart, and it was only seven in the morning. For a moment she leaned her head against the heifers flank and closed her eyes. She could still feel Francisco's strong grip about her shoulders as they sat on the hillside above the village, staring out over the green landscape, tendrils of morning mist still clinging to the tops of trees. Had it been a dream? She doubted it. The men of the village were still talking about the visit, filled with pride that someone from their little corner of the world could become ruler of all Spain. It had kindled a secret hope in her that she might also be able to escape what seemed inevitable, life beneath a sweating, grunting, older man as he tried to give her babies in their tiny stone house in the middle of the mountains. A lifetime of raising children, milking cows, shovelling shit, and forever looking back on Francisco's visit with the sincere wish it had never ended. With one hand on the cows hip she stood, lifting the milk pail and grabbing her small stool before walking toward the family home. Several cats meowed as they hurried after her and a crow gave a cackling laugh from a nearby tree. The village was all a bustle already, the baker on his rounds with a small cart, a fisherman from a nearby village had made the trek with a collection of fresh catch, and children laughed and giggled as they ran through the streets kicking a football ahead of them. It looked all very idyllic but Camila knew better. There was her sister waving from a nearby window, scarf wrapped about her throat to hide the bruises from her husband who was a vicious drunk. The unconcealed leering gazes of the village men as they saw Camila approaching. She was not ignorant to her attractive features, she was a jewel among rocks in rural Spain. The only reason she had avoided being married off was her father's desire to see a match made that would benefit him, possibly even to a neighbouring town. Suitors presented themselves at the house once a week or more and, only if her father thought they could afford her dowry, was she allowed to meet them. So far the only decent option had been a miller who was eleven years her senior. Again her mind drifted back to Francisco's visit. He had stayed three days and she had gone to him every night, the two of them stealing away into the darkness. She was certain that the village knew but no one would have dared say a thing to the Viceroy. Francisco has been so different. Clean, well groomed, and with a sense of worldly knowledge that she had envied. "Camila!" Her father, Paco the Younger, was waving at her from the barn and she sighed, pushing the happy memories away and ploding toward him. She passed the little pond they kept, its surface as still as glass, and caught sight of herself in the reflection. High cheekbones, long black hair, narrow face and slim waist, she was pretty in a country sort of way. "Yes, father?" She set the pail down by her feet and the cats hurriedly took advantage of the situation. "Father Alvito asked to see you." Paco raised an eyebrow questioningly at her but all she could was look surprised and shrug. "Run along then and I'll take the pail." He said after a moment, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice. She hesitated, why did the village priest want to see her? But a request from the Priest was tantamount to an order in these parts. Father Alvito was the new priest, having arrived to study under the old priest, Father Marti. Father Alvito was a young man, strong and hardy, unlike anything she had expected. If she was honest, she had been attracted to him but he showed very little interest in her. Even a man of the cloth would be a better choice than the farmers who wanted to between her legs. Maybe that was why he wanted to speak to her, the sin of having lain with Francisco out of wedlock. The Church was at the edge of town behind its Roman walls and blackberry bushes. The old metal gate that led to the yard hung slightly askew and had been that way as long as she could remember. Father Alvito had at least cleaned out the yard, repaired the shutters, and retiled the roof since he arrived. He had proved to be a very industrious young man. She knocked carefully on the wooden door that opened into the Church interior. Six pews to either side could hold the entire village and the Virgin Mary smiled down from her place above the altar. Small beams of sunlight shot through floating dust particles from the narrow windows and a lark fluttered into the rafters. "Ah, Camila!" Father Alvito appeared at her side with a sudden stealth that made her jump. From guilt or surprise? She would have to confess. Maybe Alvito was better at keeping his flocks secrets than Marti who always shared them at Pacos in the evening. Her father would beat her senseless. "Hello Father. You wanted me to come see you?" "I did indeed. I have something for you." He began to reach into her robes and for one horrid moment she thought he was going to pull out his cock and force himself on her. Rumours of Father Marti doing the same sort of thing to other village girls were not unheard of. To her relief however, after glancing at the door, he pulled out a letter and handed it to her. It was a heavy but plain envelope with no name on the front. "I will leave you to read it. Just let me know what your reply is." Alvito smiled and vanished out the door, closing it gently behind him. She was alone in the church. She stared at the envelope, mystified. Taking a seat on the edge of a rough wooden pew she used one finger to break the seal. Inside was a folded sheet of paper. She pulled it out and flipped it open to read the words that had been scrawled in a hurried but neat hand. [i]Camila, I am dashing this letter off before I return to Madrid. I will admit you intrigued me and I would like to see more of you. I will not be returning to Cicera however so you must come to me. If you wish to do so, please inform Alvito. With affection, Francisco[/i] Whatever Camila had been expecting when she arrived in Cicera's little Church, a letter from Francisco was not it. Surely a Priest would not condone something like this. She sat up a little straighter as she thought about it. It was possible Alvito was no priest. He had tidied the grounds, worn the robes, and been at mass, but she realized now he had never led mass and on more than one occasion she was certain he was just mouthing the words to songs but not singing. His strong build, square shoulders, short hair, it suddenly made her think of Francisco. Alvito was a soldier? A policeman? As the thought ran through her head the door opened and a man in uniform stepped into the room. He was tall, well built.... "Father Alvito...?" She asked. The face was familiar but gone was the brown robe and humble expression, replaced instead by a grim smile and grey tailored uniform complete with pistol. The smile grew as he laughed slightly. "Lieutenant Alvito, of the Cazadores." He said, heels snapping together as he bowed slightly to her. "Have you had time to read the letter? I am afraid my ride will be arriving shortly and I am ordered to take you with me if you would like to go." All of Camila's doubts and worries flashed through her mind and, in an instant, she made her decision. "I will come." She said it with more conviction than she had expected but stood so she could face the soldier. "I will come." She said again. "Excellent." Alvito paused and cocked his head for an instant before grinning. "Not a moment to soon, here is our ride." As he spoke the Church seemed to shake as something rumbled overhead, a high pitched sound like thunder almost sent her diving for cover. The Cazadore steadied her arm as dust drifted down in increasing clouds and the little lark flapped about in terrified circles. "No need to worry, it is only a helicopter." "A what?" She asked. The word meant nothing to her. "Ah, come, I will show you." Alvito led her into the churchyard and pointed upward to where a large black shape was circling the village. It looked like an automobile but with a long tail and something whirling about its roof. "That, Camila, is a helicopter. Watch." As she stood spellbound the aircraft became stationary and then, unbelievably, dropped straight down to the earth at the edge of town, sending cows and sheep running in all directions while every dog in the village set up a piteous howling. The engine slowed, quieted, and then fell silent. The whirling shape above the roof slowed and she could make out individual long blades that spun slowly to a stop. Two men, uniformed like Alvito, climbed from the aircraft even as villagers hurried toward them. Alvito took Camila's hand. "Do you need a anything from home? Do not worry about clothing, I mean personal effects. I can assure you the Viceroy will see you are well looked after." Camila thought back to the room she shared with brother, the bunkbeds, little desk, her collection of magazines. She was certain Paco Junior had been selling her underwear to the other village boys. There was nothing she wanted that could not be replaced. "No, nothing." "Then let us be off." Alvito said, steering her toward the helicopter. The majority of the village was already clustered around it, driven forth by their curiosity but held at a distance by their fear of the two armed men who stood outside the glass cockpit. "Camila? Father Alvito?" Andoni was the first to see the approaching couple and confusion was stamped on his face as he looked at the two. "Lieutenant Alvito, of the Cazadores." Alvito corrected him without malice. He didn't bother offering any explanation for his impersonation of a priest but Camila conceded it had been a clever way to take a look at the village without arousing suspicion. The villagers parted in front of Alvito and no one said a word as they walked past rows of stunned faces. It was only when it became obvious that Camila was bound for the helicopter that her father, standing nearest to the aircraft, seemed to snap out of it. "Camila! Where are you going?!" She turned to look at him, at the little gaggle of villagers whose lives would go on as they always had, this visit nothing but a story to tell their grandchildren. She felt more certain in that moment that she never wanted her children to live in such a place. "I am going to Madrid, to see Francisco." She turned away and walked toward the helicopter. She felt and heard rather than saw her father try to come after her but one of the Cazadores blocked his way. The metal door of the helicopter was dragged open and she carefully climbed inside, her boots smearing cow shit on the aircraft frame. Four hard canvas seats were fitted to the rear bulkhead and Alvito directed her to a seat nearest the far window. He helped her strap into the aircraft, pulling things tight so that she thought she might not be able to breath, before taking his own seat. The two Cazadores who had got out returned to the aircraft even as the pilot started the engine. The din was incredible until Alvito handed her a pair of foam ear muffs. He donned his own to show her how it was done and then settled back into his seat. She pulled the strange things on and marvelled at how the sound was cut down. Then the aircraft lurched and she snatched at Alvito's hand as the ground suddenly shot away below them. The helicopter circled the village once, her window banking toward the ground so that she could see the disbelieving faces of the villagers before it made a sharp turn and raced off down the valley.