Chapter 21 first quarter

Marcus is gone, my mother is here, and my life has ushered in another big turning point.She arrived on a cloudy afternoon, skinny, empty-handed and listless, with nothing but a battered bag, the clothes she was wearing, and a fake passport pinned to a corset strap.She looked as if she was twenty years older, described as thin, with sunken eye sockets, and her collarbone protruding high.The occasional strands of gray hair that I remember now have turned into whole locks of gray hair.When she walked into the clothing store, she was like a child who was suddenly awakened from sleep, dazed, confused, and strange.Seems completely ignorant that her daughter lives here, and from then on, she will live here too.

I thought that the moment of reunion, which I was looking forward to so anxiously and eagerly, must be full of uncontrollable ecstasy.but it is not the truth.If I had to find one word to describe that scene, it would be sad.She hardly spoke, and she didn't show any emotion about anything, she just hugged me hard, and then kept holding my hand tightly, as if she was afraid that I would run away from her again.No laughing, no tears, and very little talking.That's all.She barely touched a meal that Candelaria, Hamila, and I had carefully prepared for her.Chicken, omelets, tomatoes, European anchovies, Moroccan bread, all things we thought were out of reach in Madrid.She didn't make any comments about my clothing store, nor about her room.In her room, I specially placed a large oak bed, and I also sewed a printed bed sheet by myself.She didn't ask me how Ramiro was doing, or show any curiosity about my settlement in Tetouan.Of course, she never mentioned the bumpy journey from Madrid to North Africa, let alone the horrible years she had experienced before.

She was slow to adapt to the new environment, and I never thought I would see my mother like this one day.That resolute Dolores, that mother who would always make the best decision at the right moment, had become a silent and cowering woman, almost unrecognizable to me.I threw myself into what was good for her physical and mental recovery and basically stopped working.However, there are no foreseeable important events at the moment, so my customers should be able to accept a few more days of waiting.Every morning I bring breakfast to her bed: buns, fritters, sugar-dipped toast, anything that I think will help her gain weight as quickly as possible.I bathe her, cut her hair, and make her new clothes.At first she was reluctant to leave the house, but gradually, a morning walk became a daily routine.We walked arm in arm on the Rue des Generals until we reached Church Square.If time permits, I will accompany her to Mass.I took her all over the place, forced her to pick out fabrics for me, forced her to listen to songs on the radio, and made her decide what to have for dinner.Slowly, little by little, she began to change back to her former self.

I never asked her what was on her mind during that long, seemingly never-ending recovery period.I always hoped that one day she would take the initiative to tell me, but she didn't do it, and I didn't insist.Of course, I wasn't that curious.I think it is just a sense of unreality in the face of sudden relief, a subconscious reaction after the sadness and pain.So I patiently waited for her to adjust naturally, didn't put any pressure on her, was there for her at all times, ready to give her a hand when she needed support, and had a handkerchief with me to wipe her tears at all times, But she didn't shed a single tear.

Finally I saw her turn around, because she started to make some small decisions on her own: today I want to go to mass at ten o'clock, I want to go to the market with Hamila to buy some ingredients for making rice, what do you think ?Slowly, she became less frightened when she heard the sound of something falling or the engine of a plane flying over the city.Masses and markets became part of her daily life, and then, slowly, she began to participate in other activities.One of the most important things is to get back to sewing.Although I have tried very hard to guide her, from the moment she arrived she showed no interest in sewing as if it was not a job she had been doing for over thirty years for a living.I showed her patterns of foreign dresses from Tangier, told her about my customers and their strange ideas, and tried to bring back her interest in needlework with trivial memories of when we used to sew any dress together. interest of.But I didn't make it, it was as if I was speaking a language she couldn't understand.Until one morning, she suddenly leaned into the workshop and asked, "Do you need my help?" Then I knew that my mother had been reborn.

Three or four months after she came, we finally lived in peace.With her added, my life is not so busy.The business in the store is developing well, we can pay Candelaria dividends on time every month, and the remaining money is more than enough to support the lives of the two of us.Now I don't have to be so nervous anymore.We understand each other again, although no one is the same person as before, and we all know that we are facing a different mother and daughter.That brave and strong Dolores has become vulnerable, and her little Sheila has become an independent woman.But we accepted each other, appreciated each other, each played the role that suits us best, and there has never been any tension in the relationship.

The busyness and tension in the first stage of life in Tetouan gradually became a distant memory, even a world away.Now I have put the confusion, the rush, the nights out, and the reasonless life all behind me.Everything has passed, all I have is a peaceful life, the most natural state.However, memories still haunt me from time to time.The pain of Marcus' passing is fading bit by bit, but the memory of him still lingers, like an invisible partner whose presence only I can feel.How many times have I regretted not taking the relationship between the two of us a step further, how many times have I secretly blamed myself for why I insisted on rejecting others at the time, how much I miss him now!Still, deep down, I'm thankful I wasn't carried away by emotion.Otherwise, his departure may cause me more pain.

I kept in touch with Felix, but the arrival of my mother put an end to his nocturnal excursions just in time.From then on, he no longer came to my house every night to give me those strange cultural lessons, and I also lost his sincere and interesting company. My relationship with Rosalinda has also changed.Her husband stayed around much longer than expected, vampire-invading her time and wearing down her health.But luckily, after almost seven months, Pete Fox finally figured it out and decided to go back to India.No one knew how the man who was so drunk all the time had suddenly regained some conscience, but it was true that he made the decision one morning when his wife was on the verge of breaking down.However, his departure did not bring more benefits than temporary relief.He never thought that the wisest choice was to divorce quickly and end this farce-like marriage as soon as possible.Instead, we all felt that he might be returning to Calcutt to close his business, come back to live permanently with his wife and children, and enjoy early retirement in the peaceful and cheap Spanish sanctuary.However, in order not to let his wife and children get used to the superior life so early, he decided that since it had not been adjusted for many years, he would not increase their maintenance by even a pound this time.

"If anything gets stuck, your dear friend, Begbel, will help you," he said as he went away. To everyone's luck, he never returned to Morocco.Rosalinda, after a long period of torture and suffering, took almost half a year to gradually recover.In the months after Pete left, she was bedridden and only went out three or four times.And Mr. Governor basically put his office in her bedroom, and they often spend a long time together, she leans on the pillow to read, and he handles official documents on a small table by the window. The doctor told her to stay in bed until she returned to a normal state. Although this did not completely cut off her social interaction, it also reduced various activities as much as possible.Anyway, as soon as she started to feel the first signs of recovery, she struggled to open up her home to friends and throw small parties in bed.I've been to almost all of these parties.Rosalinda and I are still close, but things have changed.

In April 1939, the Spanish Civil War came to an end.Since then, our nation will never again be divided by partisanship, money, or power.At least, that's what the victorious folks say.My mother and I had mixed feelings when we heard the news, wondering what kind of future this peace would bring. "Mom, what do you think Madrid will look like now? What should we do?" We were almost whispering uneasily, looking down from the balcony at the noisy throngs of people in the street, where occasional shouts and pent-up emotions were freely released. "I'd like to know too," she replied darkly.

All kinds of news are overwhelming.It is said that the passenger ships on both sides of the strait are about to open again, and the trains on the peninsula are all ready to go to Madrid again.The way back to the past is becoming more and more clear, and we have no reason to stay in Africa. "Do you want to go back?" she finally asked me. "I have no idea." I really do not know.Madrid holds countless nostalgia for me: imprints of childhood and youth, various smells, street names, and those lingering memories.But deep down, I don't know if this is enough for me to let go of what I have now.To go back, I would have to give up everything I had worked so hard to build in Tetouan, the white city where my mother, my new friends, and the boutiques I depended on existed. "Maybe it's better for us to stay here at first," I said. She didn't answer me, just nodded and left the balcony to go back to work.She found solace only in the flying needle, not thinking about whether the decision was right or wrong. A new nation was born.A well-ordered New Spain, they say.For some there was peace and victory.But for others, the oncoming abyss of despair.The vast majority of foreign governments recognized the legitimacy of the National Army's victory and immediately announced their recognition of the new regime.Various facilities of the war were demolished one after another, and the new authorities also bid farewell to Burgos one after another, preparing to return to the capital.They began planning a new administration and rebuilding the devastated city.Of course, the pace of eliminating dissidents has also been accelerated, and those who have contributed to the victory can line up to receive the cake they deserve.The wartime government will continue to exercise power for several months to liquidate some laws, measures and maintain order. The reorganization of the government will have to wait until at least the summer.But as early as July, before the news reached Morocco, I already vaguely knew about the reorganization.At that time, there were no rumors around the Governor's Palace, let alone gossip circulating in the streets of Tetouan.It was a long time before Bergbeer's name and photo appeared in newspapers large and small, and the whole world wanted to know who this black-bearded man with round glasses and dark skin was.Before any of this happened, I already knew who was to be appointed by Franco as the new foreign minister and to sit to his right in the first peacetime cabinet meeting.That is Juan Luis Bergbel Atienza.He is also the only soldier besides Franco in the new cabinet. Rosalinda has mixed feelings about the unexpected news.The good news is that this position has a brighter future for him, but the bad news is that they will leave Morocco permanently.In those days, her emotions were very chaotic, and the Governor was constantly shuttling back and forth between the peninsula and the reserve, starting a project there and finishing an official business here.Worked through the transition from a provisional to a permanent government during the three-year civil war, and began building the first new foreign relations for his country. On August 10, the official appointment notice was issued.On August 11, the government announced the cabinet members through the media. These people will complete a new historical mission under the wise leadership of General Franco. I still have a few pages torn from that day's ABC daily, with photos, biographies and biographies of all the ministers, although they are all yellowed and crumble to pieces even if you pick them up.In the middle of the first page, like a red sun in the sky, there is a round photograph of Franco with a big belly.On his left and right sides, that is, in the upper left and upper right corners, are Bergber and Serrano Sunier, who are the Minister of Foreign Affairs and Minister of the Interior respectively.The second page details their biographies and extols the qualities of the new ministers with the adulation characteristic of the era.They described Begbeer as an outstanding Africanologist with a profound understanding of Islam, praised his fluent Arabic, solid cultural knowledge, long-term harmonious coexistence with Muslim peoples, and his Excellent work by Berlin as military attaché. "A war introduced the name of Colonel Bergberg to the public," writes the ABC, "who managed the Spanish Reserve under Franco's name and, under the leadership and coordination of the leader, succeeded in obtaining The full support of Morocco is extremely important for the victory of the war.” So, in return, he received the most important ministries.As for Serrano Sunier, they spoke highly of his prudence and energy, his tireless work ethic;The reward for these accumulated exploits was the Ministry of the Interior, which was responsible for all the internal affairs of the country in the new period. Later we learned that Serrano's sponsorship was the reason why the unknown Begbeer unexpectedly entered the cabinet.During his visit to Morocco, he was shocked by Bergbeer's words and deeds, how friendly he was to the Muslim people, how fluent in Arabic, so fanatical about Moroccan culture, and how efficient he was in recruiting soldiers, and the incredible sympathy for the Moroccan national independence movement. The "crony leader" must have thought that Bergbeer was a hard-working and fanatical man, polyglot, good at dealing with foreigners, and loyal to his cause, who would not cause trouble for the new regime.When I got the news, my mind flashed to the last question from the conversation I overheard from behind the sofa that night at the reception.I never asked Marcus if he had told the governor what I had heard, but for the sake of Rosalinda and the man she loved, I really hope that Serrano's trust in him at this time can be It gets stronger over time. The day after his name appeared in various newspapers and on the radio, Bergbeer moved to Burgos, saying goodbye forever to his happy days in Morocco.All the inhabitants of Tetouan came to see him off, Moors, Spaniards, and Jews without exception.Sidi Ambedhalak Torres delivered an impassioned speech on behalf of Morocco's political parties and awarded him a parchment certificate in a sterling silver frame that read "Begber is a true brother of Muslims" .He, too, looked very excited, and spoke words of love and gratitude.Rosalinda shed a few more tears, but before his private plane took off.His special plane took off from Sania Ramel Airport, circled a few times at low altitude over Tetouan as a farewell, and soon disappeared into the distance and crossed the channel.Although Rosalinda was very sad because of the departure of her beloved Juan Luis, in order to reunite with him as soon as possible, she had to start preparing for various relocation matters immediately. In the days that followed, Bergber received the ministerial letter of appointment from the former Count of Herdana in Burgos, joined the new government, and began a series of courtesy visits.Rosalinda flew to Madrid to find a new residence to set up camp for the new life she was about to face.Thus passed the end of August of the year of the Revolution, he was congratulated among various envoys, bishops, military attaches, mayors and generals, while she signed a new lease, demolished that beautiful home in Tetouan, Organized the transport of countless household belongings, as well as five Arab servants, a dozen laying hens, and all the rice, sugar, tea, and coffee she could gather in Tangier. The residence chosen by Rosalinda is located in Via Casa do de la Lisa, between the Retiro Park and the Prado Museum, a few steps from the Jeronimos Church.There was no doubt that the house suited who she was: the lover of the most unexpected of all the new ministers.The rent for the house was nearly a thousand pesetas a month, a ridiculously low price for Rosalinda but sky-high for postwar Madrid.Because most people can't even fill their stomachs, they are even willing to have three fingers cut off for this money. Their life in Madrid will be the same as in Tetouan, each living in his own house.He lived in a messy villa next to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and she moved into a new house.But they still try to spend most of their time together as much as possible.Before finally leaving, in the house that was already empty and whose words echoed, Rosalinda organized one last party, attended by a few Spaniards, many Europeans, and some important Moores. People, everyone came to say goodbye to her.Vulnerable as she may seem, this woman has penetrated all of our lives like a hurricane.Although she still didn't know what kind of road was ahead of her, and the news from Europe was becoming more disturbing every day, she tried her best not to think about it.She doesn't want to leave Morocco with regrets, because she was so happy here.As she drank with us, she promised to invite us to Madrid as soon as she settled down, and promised that she would come back to Tetouan to see us often. I was the last to leave that night.She was so important to my African life that I had to say goodbye to her alone. "I have something to give you before I go," I said.I had prepared for her a small Arabic silver box, forged in the shape of a sewing table. "I will not be by your side in the future, and you will think of me every time you need to make a button." She happily opened the box.She loves all gifts, no matter how small the value of the gift itself.Various tiny spools of thread, a very thin pin and small needle case, a pair of scissors that looked like a toy, and pearl, bone, and glass buttons of various colors, these were the contents of the box. "I would prefer you to be by my side forever and help me solve these problems. But I like this delicate gift very much." She hugged me tightly, "It's like that magical Aladdin's lamp, as soon as you open the box, you will come out of it." We all laughed.In the face of parting, we chose to hide our sadness with laughter, because our friendship should not have a bitter ending.The next day she pulled herself together, forced herself to smile, and boarded a plane to Madrid with her son, while her servants and belongings were bumping through in an army van under an olive-green hood. The wilderness of southern Spain.But this optimism did not last long.The day after she left, on September 3, 1939, Britain declared war on Germany because of Germany's refusal to withdraw its troops from Poland, and Rosalinda Fox's home country officially joined what came to be known as the Second World War The Great War was one of the bloodiest wars in history. With the Spanish government finally settling in Madrid, diplomatic missions from various countries have returned to the capital to clean dusty embassy buildings, rusted by war and neglect.While Bergbel was still getting acquainted with the darkened rooms of the Foreign Office building, formerly the Santa Cruz Palace, Rosalinda wasted not a second, and while meticulously decorating her new home, dove headlong into Madrid. The most exclusive and fashionable social circle.The luxury and sophistication here are astonishing. If Madrid after the fall is like a barren black ocean, then this small circle is like an isolated island the size of a fingernail floating on the sea. If it is another woman with a slightly different personality, she may choose to wait cautiously until her powerful lover establishes a relationship with the powerful people around her before starting to act.But Rosalinda is not such a person at all, and although she loves her Juan Luis deeply, she will never want to be an obscure lover who hides behind his power.She began to face the bizarre world alone when she was less than twenty years old. Therefore, although various relationships with lovers could open countless doors for her, she resolutely chose to go alone again.She still adopted a strategy that was already familiar to her: starting with old acquaintances in different places, through them, through their friends, through friends of friends, she met new faces, new positions and official titles, some of them were foreigners. , and some are Spaniards with very long names.Invitations of all kinds were soon pouring into her mailbox: receptions, dances, lunches, cocktail parties, hunts.When Bergbel stayed in his cold office all day long, before he had time to raise his head from the piles of official documents and accumulated electronic affairs, Rosalinda had already begun to go deep into the local social network, Make your life as busy and rich as ever. However, not everything went so smoothly during his first few months in Madrid.Ironically, despite her natural public relations acumen, the only group with whom she never developed any rapport were her fellow citizens.Maurice Paterson, the British ambassador to Spain at the time, was the first to refuse to associate with her.At his request, members of the entire British diplomatic circle in Madrid refused to accept her.They didn't or didn't want to see her as a constant source of information, all they provided were first-hand information from members of the Spanish government, and they were not even willing to treat her as an ordinary British compatriot and invite her politely Attend an event or celebration.They saw her only as a distasteful existence, and it seemed shameful that she lived with a minister in a pro-German government in Spain, to which their great British government had absolutely no intention of being friendly. That time was also a rocky one for Begbeer.Because he stayed away from political conspiracy during the war, he was in a completely weak position when facing other politicians who had experienced battles and had deep backgrounds.For example, Serrano Sunier.Everyone was skeptical of Serrano, who played power, and few people sincerely sympathized with him.There is a saying in Madrid that satirizes him: "In Spain there are three things that make me despair: the allowance, the Falange, and the brother-in-law of the great leader." In Seville, it is said that people sing in jest: " From the lower streets comes Mister Supremacy, formerly Nazareno, now Serrano." As the relationship between Spain and Germany became closer, and Hitler's desire for expansion spread rapidly throughout Europe, Mr. Serrano, who had a good impression of Bergbel during his visit to Morocco, has now become his biggest cruelest enemy.It didn't take long for the "crony leader" to start fanning the flames.As soon as Britain declared war on Germany, he knew that it was an absolute mistake for him to nominate Bergberg as foreign minister to Franco.He began to feel that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs should have been his from the very beginning, and not the nameless stranger from Africa.Despite his great talent for cross-cultural communication and his fluency in several languages, in his opinion, Bergbeer is really not the right person for foreign minister, because he is not completely loyal to the German cause, but tries to Advocates that Spain maintain neutrality in European wars, and has no intention of blindly succumbing to any pressure and demands from the Ministry of the Interior.In addition, he had an English lover, a young and lively fair-haired woman whom he himself had seen in Tetouan.Anyway, in a word, he is useless to himself.Therefore, less than a month after the formation of the new cabinet, the oldest and most powerful minister in the government began to move around, extending his tentacles to other departments, like a greedy snake, occupying everything and acting recklessly. He meddled in the affairs of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs as he wished, not only did not consult the Minister of Foreign Affairs, but also seized every opportunity to accuse him, declaring everywhere that his extramarital affairs would greatly damage the relationship between Spain and its friendly countries. Just when Serrano's thoughts were inconsistent and his attitude took a 180-degree turn, it seemed that no one fully understood the real situation of the former governor of the reserve.Under Serrano's conspiracy design, both the Spaniards and the Germans believed that he was a pro-British person, because his attitude towards the Nazis was always lukewarm, and he put all his feelings in a frivolous and Manipulative Englishwoman.But the British were equally sneering at him as a Germanophile because he belonged to a government that fanatically supported the Third Reich.Rosalinda, as idealistic as ever, believes that he has great potential to be a catalyst to change the direction of Spanish politics, and it seems that if he tries hard, he can change the diplomatic direction of the Spanish government like magic.And he, fully aware of his deplorable circumstances, admirably sees himself as a lowly businessman, and tries to make Rosalinda understand his real situation. "How much energy do you think I have in this government to bring it closer to your country? Little, my dear, hardly any. Almost all members of the cabinet support Germany, support Spain's participation in the European war, and stand On the German side, I am alone in it. We owe Germany money and favors. The country's foreign policy has been decided long before the end of the war, long before they chose me as the foreign minister. What do you think I am capable of? Can the foreign relations of this country be steered in another direction? No, dear Rosalinda, I am completely powerless. In this new Spain, as foreign minister, I am neither a strategist nor a diplomatic negotiator , just a merchant of imported goods, or a small shopkeeper in a bread market. My job is to obtain loans, bargain in commercial agreements, and supply other countries with olive oil, oranges, and grapes in exchange for wheat and oil. Even so, even if only For these things, I still have to fight all day in the cabinet, fighting with the Falangists, just begging them to let me go so that I can do these things. Maybe I can find ways to get enough supplies to keep the people of Spain in this I won’t starve to death or freeze to death in winter. But if I want to change the government’s attitude towards this war, I have absolutely nothing to do.” This was how Bergbeer spent his first few months, overwhelmed by responsibilities, constantly facing internal and external struggles, and guarding against the back arrows of the power-holder who was getting more and more involved in the cabinet. isolated.In order not to lose himself in endless troubles, in those dark days, memories and nostalgia for the Morocco that had passed became his only solace.He missed that world so much that there was always a copy open on his desk in the Foreign Office, and he would occasionally read passages aloud in Arabic, often to the amazement of those around him.How he longed to return to that native land.The minister's mansion is filled with Arab costumes.Every evening when he leaves work, he throws off his dreary gray three-piece suit and puts on a velvet robe.Sometimes he grabs food directly with three fingers in the Moroccan way, and keeps telling people around him that Moroccans and Spaniards are brothers.Sometimes, after a day of intrigue and business, he finally had some alone time and listened to the creaking of crowded streetcars through the dirty streets. To the rhythm of clarinets and tambourines, in the gray morning of Madrid, amidst the stench of the sewers, he even smelled the scent of citrus flowers, jasmine and mint grass again, as if he was walking in the Moorish neighborhood of Tetouan again Between those white plastered walls, the sun shines through the thin vines and sprinkles a field of gold; the sound of gurgling water from a fountain can be heard in the distance, and the wind blows through the sugarcane fields, and the leaves undulate like waves. He watched this nostalgia tenaciously, like a shipwreck clinging to a small plank in a storm, but Serrano's sharp words lingered behind him, waking him from his dream at any time. : "For God's sake, Begbel, don't say that the damn Spaniards are all Moors. Do I look like a Moor? Does the leader look like a Moor? Don't repeat yourself over and over again. I'm so fucking sick of that bullshit! Same bullshit all day long." It was a difficult time indeed, for both of them.Despite Rosalinda's persistent efforts to win Ambassador Paterson's goodwill, things did not improve in the ensuing months.At the end of the Victory Year, the only event she was invited to among her fellow Britons was to join other mothers, singing with their children around the embassy piano.It was not until May 1940 that things turned around.Churchill was appointed Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, and immediately decided to replace the British diplomatic staff in Spain on a large scale.Things started to change.For all, this is a decisive change.