Chapter 22 second quarter

At the end of May, 1940, Mr. Samuel Hall arrived in Madrid with the astonishing title of Envoy Plenipotentiary to Great Britain.He had never been to Spain before, could not speak a word of Spanish, and had no liking for Franco or his new regime.But Churchill gave him 100% trust and repeatedly asked him to accept this appointment: Spain is a key pawn in the direction of the European war, and he needs a firm supporter who stands here with a clear and tough attitude .It was vital to Britain's interests that the Spanish government remain neutral in the war, so as to keep the Strait of Gibraltar unmolested and the Atlantic ports not fall into German hands.In order to obtain the slightest cooperation, Britain has put a lot of pressure on starving Spain through foreign trade, restricted its oil supply, and suppressed it with a stick and carrot policy.However, with the German army sweeping across Europe, these measures were not enough, and they needed to exert influence on Madrid in a more active and effective way.It was with this mission that the small, aged and unattractive Mr. Ambassador came to the Spanish capital.His close associates called him Monsieur Sam, and the few Spanish friends who later made him Monsieur Samuel.

Things weren't looking good for Hall when he accepted the job.He didn't like Madrid, he didn't fit in with the Spanish national temperament, and he knew almost no one in this barren and devastated land.He knew he would not be popular and that Franco's government was openly opposed to Britain.In order to discredit him and make him understand this more clearly from the outset, the Falangists staged a menacing demonstration in front of the British embassy on the morning of his arrival, chanting: "Gibraltar belongs to Spain!" After submitting the letter of credence and appointment letter to the leader Franco, the ambassador embarked on a four-year difficult journey.He regretted countless times that he had accepted the appointment.He felt extremely uncomfortable in this hostile environment, a situation similar to that he had never seen in his previous terms.Madrid is restless and the heat is unbearably hot.The harassment of the British embassy by the Falangists has become commonplace: throwing stones in the windows, pulling down the small flags and badges on the embassy buses, and even insulting and physically attacking embassy members, while the Spanish authorities are open to everything. Close one eye, turn a deaf ear.The Spanish media attacked vigorously, accusing Britain of being the main culprit for the starvation in Spain.The appointment of the new ambassador was only favored by a few conservative royalists, but they were just a group of nostalgic old ministers loyal to Queen Victoria Eugenie, with no power in the government, but stubbornly clinging to the eternal I can't go back to the past.He felt alone, left alone in the dark, groping forward.The environment in Madrid made him feel suffocated: the extremely slow and slow working efficiency of the Spanish administrative agency was unbearable, the streets and alleys were full of heavily armed policemen and Falangists, and arrogant Germans could be seen everywhere doing whatever they wanted.In order to fulfill his duties and obligations, he almost made up his mind. Before he could settle down completely, he bit the bullet and began to establish relations with the Spanish government, especially with the three most important figures in the government: General Franco, Minister Serrano Sunier and Minister Bergber.He met with three people separately to find out the details, and received diametrically opposite information.

General Franco received him one sunny summer day at the Palazzo Pardo.Although the sun was shining outside, Franco drew the curtains, lit a lamp, and sat behind a desk on which huge photographs of Hitler and Mussolini stood proudly.During the tense meeting, the two sides took turns speaking through interpreters, without any direct dialogue.Still, Hall was struck by the blind confidence of the head of state: Franco firmly believed that he was the savior who would save the country and create a new world. If the meeting with Franco was bad, the meeting with Serrano Sunier was worse and more embarrassing.The power of this "crony leader" is at the height of his power, and the entire country is under his control: the Falangists, the news media, the police, and he has the privilege of personal contact with the leader, although many people speculate that he has his heart in it. Look down on the level of knowledge of the leader.At that time, Franco had already lived in semi-reclusion in the Pardo Palace and rarely showed up.Instead, serrano seems to be ubiquitous, like parsley in any garnish, nothing like the cautious serrano who visited the Spanish reserve during the war.It was he who bent down to help me pick up the compact, and I hid under the sofa and watched his ankle for a long time.It seemed that with the establishment of the new regime, a new Serrano Sunier was born.Irritable, proud, impatient to speak and do things, cat-like eyes are always alert.He is perpetually on edge, critical and mean to any representative of the so-called "plutocratic democracy".Hall and Serrano, in their first meeting, and in their inevitable many subsequent meetings, never found any kindness in the other.

Among these three big men, the only one who can understand each other with Hall is Bergbeer.From the first meeting at the Santa Cruz Palace, the communication between the two was smooth.The foreign minister alternately listens and responds, trying to correct all kinds of irrational affairs and trying to sort out the mess of foreign relations.He categorically stated before Hall that he did not advocate joining the war, and he also admitted that the starving Spanish people were in urgent need of assistance, and tried his best to alleviate the suffering of the people by entering into various contracts and agreements.In fact, from the very beginning his personality struck the new ambassador as something special, even eccentric.His sensibilities, culture, mannerisms and sarcasm were in no way befitting the harsh atmosphere of Madrid at the time, nor his position of authority.In Hall's eyes, Bergber was worried by the aggressiveness of the Germans, the arrogance of the Falangists, the arrogance of the government, and the miserable life of the people in the capital.Perhaps it is because of this, and because Begbel seems out of place in this crazy world, Hall feels that he is such a kind person, using the good temper he cultivated in Africa to resolve all kinds of resentment, licking his heart because The scars left by the attacks of other colleagues.Of course, they also have inconsistencies, some differences of opinion, some questionable diplomatic incidents, or demands and complaints, and many crises that are expected to be resolved together.For example, the Spanish army invaded Tangier on a large scale in June, which suddenly ended its status as an international city.For example, the Spanish government authorized the German army to hold a military parade on San Sebastian Avenue.Such as the tense moments in that chaotic and hasty era.While all this was inevitable, Bergber and Hall grew closer, and for the new ambassador, a friendship that proved to be a success in the face of troubles that kept popping up like weeds in a turbulent Madrid. his only consolation.

As Hall gradually integrated himself into the country, he also came to understand that the influence of the Germans was ubiquitous in daily life in Spain, permeating almost every corner of public affairs.Entrepreneurs, senior executives, business representatives, film directors... Although these people have different jobs, they all have good connections with the Spanish management and have become agents of the Nazis.Soon he also knew how strict the control of the news media is here.The press office of the German embassy, ​​under the full authority of Serrano Sunier, can decide how all newspapers in Spain report news about the Third Reich every day, how to publish it, what words to use, and publish it as it pleases. Insertion of Nazi propaganda and advocacy in Spanish newspapers.What is even more shameless and outrageous is that in that era of scarcity of materials, the daily "Long Live", the propaganda agency of the Falange Party, monopolized most of the paper used for newspaper printing.The attacks on British public opinion have been continuous and brutal, full of lies, insults and conspiracy manipulation.The image of Churchill was the inspiration for the most vicious caricatures, and the British Empire was the object of their constant ridicule.A factory accident in any Spanish province, or a postal train accident, has been shamelessly attributed to the sabotage of the treacherous English.In the face of all these trampling and bullying, the protests of the British embassy all fell to the ground without exception.

As Mr Samuel adjusts helplessly to his new job, hostilities between the Spanish Ministry of the Interior and the Foreign Office are becoming increasingly apparent.From his position of power, Serrano orchestrated a strategic campaign: spreading vicious rumors about Bergbeer and promoting the idea that only he could save the day.Except for our erstwhile Viceroy, now a quiet Minister of Foreign Affairs, Franco and Serrano, Serrano and Franco, none of them understand what international politics is, and have never really seen the outside world. world.Sitting like two frogs in a well, drinking hot chocolate, eating croutons, and designing a new world order side by side at the dessert table, in Pardo Palace, behaving as ignorance and arrogance Astonishing audacity.

Bergbell finally broke out.They were trying to drive him away, and he knew all about it.They will throw him out of the cabinet, kick him hard, kick him out into the street, because the glorious jihad no longer needs him.They'd uprooted him from his happy days in Morocco and put him in a position everyone wanted, just to bind his hands and feet and put a broken rag in his mouth.They almost never took his opinion seriously, or, in fact, never asked for it.He was never able to implement any initiatives or set any standards.They were simply trying to fill a ministerial post with his name, trying to make him a docile, timid and silent vassal.But even so, despite his displeasure with the current situation, he did his duty, worked tirelessly to take responsibility, and silently endured the series of attacks Serrano had thrown at him over the past few months.At the beginning, just step on it, push it, get out of the way, and let me do it.But soon the pushing and shoving turned into an insulting neck rope, and the initial kicking and beating eventually turned into a slashing at the vital point.When Bergbeer guessed that the next thing that would happen was to stomp his head, he exploded.

He was tired, tired of Serrano's arrogance and arrogance, and Franco's evasive and unclear attitude, tired of swimming against the current alone, feeling out of place with everything around him, and tired of driving. A big ship that has been going in the wrong direction since it set sail.So he seems to be imitating his dear Muslim friend again, throwing off his hijab like an impulsive Moroccan.It's time to put his ever-careful friendship with Hall into public, beyond the mansions, offices, and salons where they usually meet.With this idea in mind, their friendship is naked and exposed to the public, the air, and the scorching sun of summer that can't hide a trace of darkness.They ate together almost every day at the most prominent tables in the most prestigious restaurants.Then, like two Moors weaving through the narrow alleys of a Moorish neighborhood in Tetouan, Begbeer took the ambassador's arm, called him "Brother Samuel," and deliberately walked the streets of Madrid. swagger.Bergbell becomes defiant, aggressive, even quixotically insane.Day after day, he conversed intimately with the envoy from the enemy country, proudly proclaiming his disdain for the Germans and the pro-Germanic faction.Together they swaggered past the Revolutionary General Headquarters on Via de Alcalá, past the offices of the newspaper Viva, past the German embassy on Via Castellana, past the Royal Palace and the gates of the Ritz Hotel.That's where the Nazis came from.They seemed to be afraid that people would not know how close Franco's foreign minister was to the ambassador of that villainous country.At this time, Serrano was so nervous that he was on the verge of collapse, pacing back and forth in the office agitatedly, pulling his hair and asking loudly what the delirious Begbeer was trying to do with such a crazy move.

Although Rosalinda's efforts have aroused his goodwill towards Britain to a certain extent, the foreign minister has not been impulsive enough to plunge into the arms of other countries recklessly just because of personal feelings. Like falling into a lover's arms every night.Because of Rosalinda, he has some subjective preferences in England, that's true.But he put all his chips on Hall, cut off all his backs for him, and there was another reason for this.Perhaps because he was a utopian, disheartened to see that New Spain was not working as he had imagined.Perhaps because it was the only way he could find a way to speak out against Spain's involvement in the war and Spain's siding with the Axis powers.Or maybe it was a response to the insults and hurts he had suffered, and those who had insulted him in every possible way, he thought he could join in the fight to rebuild his ruined country, and he had participated with enthusiasm In the process of tearing down that old country.It is also possible that he approached Hall mainly because of loneliness, the extreme loneliness he felt in such a bitter and hostile environment.

None of this happened to me, but Rosalinda kept writing to me during that long year to let me know.When I read these letters in Tetouan, I was as hungry and thirsty as the rain after a long drought.Although she remained socially active, the deterioration of her condition forced her to stay in bed for long periods of time, which she used to write or read letters from friends.In this way, we have formed the habit of correspondence. At any time and anywhere, letters are like an invisible thread connecting us together.In late August 1940, in her last letters, she mentioned to me that the Madrid newspapers had begun clamoring for the immediate resignation of the Minister of Foreign Affairs.But it was a while before Bergbell actually went down, maybe six or seven weeks.During these few weeks, something happened again that changed the course of my life forever.

Since my mother came, a new activity has been added to my daily life, which is reading.She still kept the habit of going to bed early at night, and Felix stopped visiting, so I had a lot of free time every night that I didn't know how to kill.Until one day Felix came up with another whim and found a good way to relieve my boredom.He brought a double-bound book named after two women: Fortunada and Jacinda.From then on, all my free time was spent reading the long novels of this gifted neighbor.After a few months I had read them all and began to search for objects in the shelves of the Tetouan library.As the summer of 1940 was drawing to a close, I had finished reading the twenty or thirty novels in that small library, and was wondering what I would do for entertainment in the future.Someone unexpectedly sent me a page.This time it was not a novel, but a blue telegram.Also not for me to enjoy what I read, but for me to follow the instructions above. "Private invitation. Private party in Tangier. Friends in Madrid waiting for you. 1st of September at seven. Tim's bar." I felt my heart churn, but I couldn't help laughing.I knew who the telegram was from without looking at the signature.Memories of music, laughter, cocktails, unexpected situations, foreign words I don't understand, little adventures, excursions in a convertible, and the desire to live .I compared the old days with the peaceful life of the present.Now, time passes almost unnoticed in the monotonous sewing and fittings, in the long stories on the radio, in the evening walks with my mother.These days, the only fluctuations in my emotions are the movies that Felix occasionally pulls me to watch, and the adventures and love stories of the protagonists in the novels I read every night when I have nothing to do.Knowing that Rosalinda was waiting for me in Tangier, I was overjoyed. Although it was only a brief meeting, there was hope in life again. I arrived on time at the agreed date and time, but I didn't find any party in front of the bar at Minsacher Hotel, there were only four or five tables of people I didn't know in the lobby, two lonely drinkers in front of the bar, and no mention behind the bar Tom's trace.Perhaps it was because the pianist hadn't come yet, and the atmosphere in the bar seemed very deserted, completely different from the lively nights before.I cautiously sat at a table and waited, turning down the waiter who came over to serve.Seven ten, seven fifteen, seven twenty, but the party still hasn't started.At 7:30, I finally couldn't bear to go to the bar to ask Tim's whereabouts.They told me he doesn't work there any more and owns "Tim's Bar".Where?South American Avenue.I run away.It took two minutes to arrive at the destination. In fact, the distance between the two bars was only a few hundred meters.Tim, thin and dark as ever, saw me behind the bar as soon as I appeared in the doorway.His bar is more lively than the one just now. Although there are not many customers, the conversation is louder, the tone is more relaxed, and laughter can be heard from time to time.He didn't greet me, but with those black charcoal eyes, he beckoned me to go to the innermost part of the bar, where a curtain was hung.I went to the heavy green velvet curtain, opened it and walked in. "Honey, you're late." Although there are dirty walls around, there is only a dim yellow light bulb above the head, there are drink boxes everywhere, and there are whole bags of coffee beans piled up in the corner, but these do not affect my good friend at all. Charm.Maybe it was her, maybe it was Tim, maybe it was the two of them who had temporarily converted the small warehouse into a private meeting place before the bar opened that afternoon.Really private as there are only two chairs separated by a large wooden barrel with a white tablecloth.On the barrel were two glasses of wine, a cocktail bottle, a cigarette case of Turkish cigarettes, and an ashtray.Billie Holiday's "Summertime" was playing from a hand-held gramophone on a stack of boxes in one corner of the room, resting precariously. We haven't seen each other for a whole year since she left for Madrid.She was still thin, and her skin was still so transparent, and she still had long, curly blond hair that would cover her eyes at any moment.But her expression was not the carefree one she used to be, nor was it when she was struggling with her husband or later in the recovery stage.I have no way of saying exactly what has changed, she seems to have changed slightly, she looks more mature, maybe a little tired.From her letters I have learned of Bergber's difficult situation and how difficult it is for her to move forward in Madrid.But she never mentioned going back to Morocco. We hugged, laughed like schoolchildren, praised each other's outfits, and laughed again.How much I miss her.Yes, I was surrounded by my mother, by Felix, by Candelaria, by the clothing store, and by my new love of reading.But her presence still thrilled me.She never arrives unexpectedly.Her way of looking at things is different from anyone else, her whimsy, her little willfulness, maverick and chaotic language, how much I miss all of this, how much I want to know how she has been in this year, so As soon as I sat down, I asked her a series of questions: How was life in Madrid?how is johnnyWhat about Bergbel?Why did you come to Africa?And she answered me with some ambiguous words and life anecdotes, until my curiosity was fully satisfied and I stopped asking her more things, she filled the wine glass on the table while cutting to the point. "I'm here to give you a job." I laughed. "I already have one." "I recommend another one to you." I laughed again and took a sip of the drink, the same as before, a pink gin cocktail. "What kind of job?" I put down my glass. "Same as yours now, but in Madrid." Only then did I realize that she was serious, so I put away my smile and changed to a serious tone. “I am very happy in Tetouan. Everything is going well and getting better. My mother loves living here too. The clothing store is thriving, in fact we are considering getting an apprentice to help out and not going back yet Go to Madrid." "I didn't say your mother, Sheila, just you. And you don't have to close the clothes shop in Tetouan, the business in Madrid is temporary, at least we hope so. When it's all over, you can come back." "End? What end?" "war." "But the war ended a year ago." "The Spanish Civil War is over, but now there is another war." She stood up, changed a record, and turned up the volume.This time it's jazz, just music without lyrics.She didn't want our conversation to drift over the curtain. "Now there is another terrible war. My country is already involved, and your country could join it at any moment. Juan Luis has done everything he can to keep Spain out of it, but the way things are going, it's going to be very difficult. So we want to do everything we can to help reduce the pressure that Germany puts on Spain. If you can achieve this goal, your country can be independent, and my country will have a better chance of winning." I still don't understand what all this has to do with my work, but it doesn't interrupt her. "Juan Luis and I," she went on, "we're trying to convince some friends to cooperate. He hasn't been able to put pressure on the government effectively through the Foreign Office, but there are things we can do from the outside." "What kind of thing?" I asked in a very low voice, completely unable to understand what was going on in her mind.The look on my face must have amused her because she finally smiled. "Don't be afraid, dear. We're not talking about bombing the German embassy, ​​or destroying some military installation. I'm talking about some discreet resistance movement. Like observing, infiltrating, getting some Information. Juan Luis and I are not alone in this matter. We are not a pair of idealists who grab some unwary friends and involve them in these lurid plots." She refilled her glass and turned up the volume of the music.We lit two more cigarettes.She sat down again, staring closely into my eyes.She had two gray dark circles around her eyes that she never had before. "We're helping them create an underground network in Madrid directly linked to British intelligence. The collaborators are people who have nothing to do with politics, diplomacy or the military, and most of them are unknown. They lead normal lives on the surface , surreptitiously obtain information and pass it on to SOE." "What is SOE." I asked in a low voice. "The British Special Operations Group. This is an organization Churchill just set up within the British Intelligence Agency. It is responsible for war-related matters and is deliberately separated from daily work. They are looking for suitable people throughout Europe. Simply put, it is very Official espionage service, extraordinary work at extraordinary times." "I don't understand." My voice was thin as a gossamer. I really don't understand anything.work underground.secret collaborator.action.spy.penetration.I've never heard of these things in my life. "Well, don't you think I'm familiar with these terms. They're all new to me too, and I've had to work hard. Juan Luis, as I told you in my letter, Recently we have had a close relationship with our Ambassador Hall. Now that his days at the Foreign Office are numbered, the two of them have decided to work together more closely. Although Hall does not directly control the British underground in Madrid, he does It will be supervised. In other words, although he is not directly involved in the cooperation, he is the ultimate person in charge." "Who is operating that?" I thought she was going to tell me it was her and tell me it was all a joke and we would laugh and end up going to Harris Manor for dinner and dancing like we used to do.But she didn't. "Alan Hirgarth, the naval counselor at the British embassy, ​​he was in charge of all the details. He was a very special man, born into a naval family, joined the navy himself, and his wife was from a big bourgeois family Miss, who also participated in these intelligence operations with him. He arrived in Madrid with Hall, and under the cover of public identity, he was responsible for secretly coordinating the activities of SOE and SIS, which is the Secret Intelligence Service." SOE, Special Operations Team. SIS, Secret Intelligence Service.It's all equally foreign to me. I insisted that she explain it to me. "SIS, Secret Intelligence Service, also known as MI6, is the Directorate of Military Intelligence, Section 6, the sixth branch of the Military Intelligence Bureau, referred to as MI6. This agency is responsible for conducting intelligence work outside the UK. Or It is easier to understand that espionage is carried out outside the territory of the United Kingdom. This department was established as early as World War I, and most of the time it was disguised as a diplomatic or military agency, and some secret operations were carried out discreetly. Usually through Established power structures, infiltration of influential figures or high-level officials in the target country. In contrast, SOE is new. Since it relies not only on professional espionage, but also on many temporary personnel, the risk is greater. But the corresponding , the flexibility is also greater. If you must give it a definition, it can be said that this is a wartime emergency action mechanism. It is open to all partners who can provide useful information. Since this agency has just been established, the Spanish responsible Hirgas is recruiting, and it is very urgent. For this reason, he also asks for help from trusted people around him, to see if he can connect him with someone who can directly help. It can be said that Juan Luis and I are like this A middleman. Hall has just arrived and knows almost no one. Hilgas served as the vice-consul in Majorca throughout the civil war. He is not familiar with Madrid and has not yet fully grasped the situation here. And Juan Lewis and I, one is an openly pro-British foreign minister and the other is a British citizen, so Hilgars didn't ask us to get directly involved in the intelligence work because he knew we were too famous to attract suspicion. But he asked us for help , asked us to help him find some suitable people. In this way, we thought of a few friends, including you." I don't know what exactly she wants me to do, but I'd rather not ask.In fact, whether I ask or not, she will tell, and the fear in my heart will not be lessened just because I ask.So I decided to focus on filling up the wine again.But the shaker bottle was empty.So I stood up and looked in the pile of boxes in the corner.What I just heard was too sudden for me to digest it vividly.I took a bottle of wine out of a box, it was whiskey.I pulled the cap off, took a swig straight from the bottle, and handed it to Rosalinda.She took a sip like I did and gave it back to me.As she continued, I took another sip. "We thought that you could open a boutique in Madrid and make clothes for the wives of high-ranking Nazi officials." I felt my throat was blocked all of a sudden, and I choked on the whiskey I just drank, and couldn't help but spit it out, splashing everywhere.I wiped my face with the back of my hand, and when I was finally able to speak, there was only one sentence that popped into my mind: "You're both crazy." She ignored my sarcasm and continued: "They used to make clothes in Paris, but since the German army invaded France in May, most of the high-end fashion shops have closed, and few people are willing to continue working in the occupied Paris. Violet Haute Couture, Cambon Street The Chanel haute couture store, the Schiaparelli boutique on Place Vendome, almost all the top boutiques have moved out." Maybe it was nervousness, maybe the cocktails and whiskey I had just downed, but Rosalinda's mention of Parisian fashion houses made me laugh hoarsely. "You want me to replace all these fashion gurus in Madrid?" Not infected by my laughter, she said seriously: "You can try to do it in your own way, on a small scale of course. Now is the best time, because they don't have any more options. Paris is out of the question, Berlin is too far away, and they can either find it in Madrid." People make clothes, or choose not to show new clothes in the upcoming social season. The latter is undoubtedly a tragedy for them, because at this time, the meaning of their existence lies in intensive social activities. I checked, Some clothing stores in Madrid have reopened and are preparing for autumn clothes. It was rumored that Valencia would reopen this year, but it did not open in the end. I have a list of clothing stores that are indeed ready to open. " said She took out a double-folded paper from her coat pocket, "Flora Biarrael; No. 18, Madame Raggette, No. 2 Barbara Street; Pedro Rodriguez, No. 62, No. 62 Calle Alcalá, Cortrete, No. 8, Calle Fernando VI." Some of them are familiar to me, others are very strange.Ms. Manuela's boutique was supposed to be among them, but Rosalinda didn't mention it.After she finished reading, she tore the paper into pieces and put them in the ashtray already full of cigarette butts. "Although they try hard to launch new collections and provide the best designs, all of them face the same problem, or limitation. So none of them can easily win what is the limitation?" "There is a shortage of fabrics, an absolute shortage. Whether it is Spain or France, all kinds of fashion fabrics have been discontinued. And those factories that have not been closed are either used to produce fabrics that meet the basic needs of the people, or are producing war materials. Cotton fabrics are It is used to make military uniforms, and cotton thread is used to make bandages. Anyway, it is impossible for any fabric to be used in fashion. You can solve this problem, and you can take the fabric to Tangier. The trade here is still very developed, unlike Iberia It is almost impossible to import goods from the Asian Peninsula. There are many products from the United States and Argentina, as well as stocks of French fabrics and British woolens, as well as silk from India and China from the past few years. You can bring all these Go. If you need more supplies, we can figure it out too. You go to Madrid with the fabric, with the idea, and I'm in charge of promoting it in the upper social network, so there is no doubt that you will be the next The most eye-catching fashion designer of the season, no one can compete with you. Sheila, you will be the only one capable of giving them what they want: ostentatious, luxurious, absolutely radiant, as if the world was nothing but a city. A dance floor, not a bloody battlefield of their own making. All the German women will be scrambling to come to you." "But they're going to associate me with you..." I tried to grab some excuse to keep myself from being sucked into that crazy vortex. "Absolutely not, no one has reason to think so. Most of the German women in Madrid are new and have no connection to Morocco. No one knows that you know me. But of course you do for the Germans in Tetouan The clothes experience helps a lot because you know their tastes, how to treat them, how to relate to them." She was still talking, and I closed my eyes and shook my head desperately.For a split second, my mind flashed back to my first days in Tetouan, the night Candelaria showed me the pistol and offered to sell it and open a clothing store.那种恐慌是一样的，场景也似曾相识：两个女人躲在简陋的小屋里，一个正在提出一项深思熟虑却危险万分的计划，而另一个，满怀恐惧地拒绝接受。不过二者显然有区别，很大的区别。罗萨琳达正在向我谈起的这个计划已经完全不是个人层面上的事情了。 她的声音把我从过去拉回了现实，从拉鲁内塔公寓的那间简陋小屋拉回了现实中提姆酒吧吧台后面这个小小的仓库。 “我们会为你制造名气，也完全有办法做到这一点。在马德里那些有可能对你感兴趣的圈子里，我有很好的人脉关系，可以通过口口相传的方式让大家认识你，而且不让任何人把我们俩联系起来。SOE会负责所有的前期开支：支付店铺的租金、店内的装修布置，还有布料和其他材料的投资。胡安·路易斯会负责解决海关手续，给你办理一切从丹吉尔往西班牙运送货物的必要许可。我们得订购一批数量相当可观的材料，因为一旦胡安·路易斯离开了外交部，这些事情操作起来会非常困难。时装店所有的收入都归你所有。你只需要做跟在摩洛哥一样的事情，但是留心收集从那些德国顾客嘴里听到的消息，甚至还有一些既与政府髙官有关系又与纳粹有联系的西班牙女人。如果你能吸引她们的光顾，那也会很有意思。那些德国女人整日无所事事，挥金如土，你的时装店完全可以变成她们日常聚会的场所之一。然后你就能知道，她们的丈夫都去哪些地方，跟什么人见面，有什么计划，接待了哪些从德国来的客人，等等。” “可是我几乎不会说德语。” “你完全有能力跟她们很好地沟通，并让她们感到满意。这就足够了。” “我也就会数数、基本的打招呼，能说出颜色、星期几，还有一些零星的句子。”我坚持说。 “没关系的，这点我们已经考虑过了。我们可以找人给你帮忙。你只需要把信息都汇集起来，然后传递给某个目标。” “怎么传递？” She shrugged. “这个得由希尔加斯来告诉你，如果你最终接受了这个任务的话。我不知道这些行动具体是怎么操作的，不过我想他们会专门为你设计一套方案。” 我再次摇了摇头，这次态度更加坚决。 “我不会接受的，罗萨琳达。” 她点了根烟，用力吸了一口，透过烟雾问： "why?" “没有为什么。”我斩钉截铁地说。我有一千个理由让自己不要参与这件荒唐事，但是却宁可把这些理由都归结为一个坚决的否定。No.我不会接受的。Absolutely not.我对着瓶子又喝了一口威士忌，但是这丝毫没有缓解我的紧张。 “为什么不？亲爱的，因为害怕，对吗？”她的声音很低，但是语气很肯定。音乐已经停止了，屋里只有留声机的指针刮过唱片的沙沙声，还有从帘子外面传来的隐约的人语声和笑声。“我们都很害怕，所有的人都怕得要命。”她小声说，“但这不是理由。我们必须参与进来。希拉，我们必须帮助他们。你，我，我们所有人，每个人都得在能力范围内尽自己的绵薄之力，来阻止这场疯狂的战争继续往前发展。” “再说，我不能回马德里，我在那里还有些没了结的官司，你知道的。”跟拉米罗在一起的时候惹下的那些麻烦还是没有解决。在战争结束前，我就已经不止一次地跟巴斯盖斯警长谈过这件事。他也曾试图打听马德里的情况，但是没有得到任何有价值的消息。现在一切都还非常混乱，我们再等一段时间吧，等到事情都平静下来再说，他这么跟我说。而我，因为根本不打算回马德里，所以也就安心等候消息。罗萨琳达知道这个情况，我曾经亲口告诉过她。 “这个我们也考虑过。想过这个，也想过要帮你隐匿身份，以防出现任何不测。如果出现什么问题的话，英国大使馆没有办法对你负责，而在现在的形势下，一个西班牙公民介入这些事情会非常危险。所以胡安·路易斯想了一个办法。” 我想问她是什么办法，却说不出话来。不过我也没有提问的必要，因为她马上就公布了答案。 “他能给你办一个摩洛哥护照。” “一个假护照？”我问。 “不，甜心，一个真护照。他在摩洛哥还有一些非常好的朋友。用不上几个小时你就可以变成摩洛哥公民。当然了，用另一个名字。” 我站起来，发现自己几乎无法保持平衡。我的脑子里除了杜松子酒和威士忌引起的醉意，还充满了那些陌生混乱的名词：情报工作、间谍、装置、假名字、摩洛哥护照。我把身子靠在墙上，努力让自己恢复平静。“不，罗萨琳达，请不要再说了，我不能接受。” “你不需要马上作决定，可以好好考虑一下。” “没什么可考虑的。现在几点了？” 她看了看表。我也试图看看自己的表，但是上面的数字好像都在我眼前熔化了。 “九点四十五。” “我得回得土安了。” “我本来预定了一辆车，十点钟来接你。但是我想你现在的状态不太适合赶路，就在丹吉尔过夜吧，我负责叫人给你在明萨赫酒店订个房间，然后通知你的母亲。” 找一张床睡一觉，彻底忘记这场令人绝望的谈话，对我来说，突然变成了世界上最诱人的事情。一张大床，白色的床单，在一个美丽的房间里好好睡一觉，第二天醒来的时候发现和罗萨琳达的见面不过是一场噩梦，一场毫无来由的奇怪噩梦。但是脑海中某个遥远的角落突然闪现出一丝清醒。 “他们肯定没办法通知我母亲，我家里没有电话，你知道的。” “我会让人给菲利克斯·阿兰达打电话，让他去跟你母亲说一声。另外我会叫人明天早上来接你，并送你回得土安。” “那你住哪儿？” “我住在几个英国朋友的家里，在贺兰德大街。我不想让任何人知道自己在丹吉尔。他们直接从家里把我送到这儿，我一只脚都没踩到过街上。” 她沉默了几秒钟，然后用更低更阴郁的声音说： “他们对胡安·路易斯和我用的手段很卑鄙，希拉，他们无时无刻不在监视我们。” “谁？”我哑着嗓子问。 她浅笑了一下，笑容里充满了悲伤。 “所有人。警察，盖世太保，长枪党。” 我满心恐惧，用几乎听不见的声音问： “那我呢？他们也会监视我吗？” “我不知道，亲爱的，我不知道。” 她又笑了，这次咧开了嘴，却没有笑出来，唇边挂着一丝苦涩和无奈。 有人在敲门，还没有得到我的允许就进来了。我的眼睛没怎么睁开，透过房间里昏暗的光线，我认出那是一个穿着制服的女服务员，手里还捧着个托盘。她把托盘放在我视线不及的某个地方，然后拉开了窗帘。房间里一下子充满了阳光，我立刻用枕头蒙住脑袋。虽然她刻意放轻手脚，但是耳朵里听到的各种声音还是能让我时刻了解她在做什么。陶瓷杯子磕碰盘子的声音，热咖啡从壶中倒出来时的咕咚声，给面包片涂黄油时的刷刷声。等一切都准备好了，她来到了我的床前。 “早上好，小姐，早餐已经准备好了。您必须起来了，一个小时后会有车在门口等您。” 作为回答，我嘟囔了几句。我想说谢谢，知道了，让我清静一下吧。但是那个女孩好像并没有明白我还想继续睡觉，直接忽略了我的回答。“他们要求我不要离开，直到您起床为止。” 她的西班牙语很纯正。现在的丹吉尔到处都是战争结束时逃出来的共和党人。这个女孩很可能就来自其中的某个家庭。我又嘟嚷了几句，翻了个身。 “小姐，麻烦您起床吧，咖啡和面包片马上就要凉了。” “谁派你来的？”我把脸埋在枕头里，声音像是从洞穴中传出来的一样，也许是因为隔着枕芯，也许是因为前一天晚上的宿醉未醒。话一出口我就发现这个问题有多么可笑。她怎么会知道是谁把她派到我这儿来的？相反，我对这个问题却一清二楚。 “是大堂经理叫我来的，我是这一层的服务员。” “那你可以走了。” “只有等小姐您起床以后我才能走。” 这个年轻的女孩很固执，坚持要遵循上司的指示。我终于把脑袋露出来，拂开脸上的头发。掀开被子的时候我才发现自己身上穿着一件杏色的睡衣，这不是我的衣服。而床边那个女孩手里还拿着一件晨衣等着给我穿上。我决定不问她这两件衣服的来历，她上哪儿去知道呢。一定是罗萨琳达通过什么方法让他们送到我房间来的。但是屋里没有拖鞋。于是我光着脚来到那个放着早餐的小圆桌旁，肚子立马开始咕咕叫。 “小姐，需要我给您的咖啡加入牛奶吗？”我坐下的时候她问。我点了点头，已经没法用语言回答她了，因为我嘴里塞满了面包片。我饿得不行了，这时候才想起来前一天晚上没有吃晚饭。 “如果您允许的话，我去给您放热水洗澡。” 我一边咀嚼一边点了点头，接着就听到卫生间里传来强劲的水流声。女孩又回到了房间。 “现在你可以走了，谢谢！可以告诉给你下命令那个人我已经起来了。” “他们还让我在您用早餐的时候把您的衣服带去熨烫。” 我又咬了一大口面包，再次点了点头。于是她拿起我那堆凌乱地散在椅子上的衣服。 “小姐，您还有别的需要吗？”她出门之前问。 我嘴里还塞着满满的食物，只能用手指了指太阳穴，一点儿没发现这看上去像是一个举枪自尽的姿势。她惊恐地看着我，这时候我才看出她还很小。 “给我拿一些治头疼的药。”我咽下食物解释说。 她使劲点了点头表示明白了，然后一句话也不说就跑了出去，似乎想尽快逃离这个看上去像疯子一样的女人的房间。 我吃完了面包片，喝了一杯橙汁，又吃了两个羊角面包，还有一个瑞士小面包。然后给自己倒了第二杯咖啡。拿起牛奶罐的时候，我的手背碰到了一个信封，靠在小小的瓷花瓶上，还插着几支白玫瑰。我觉得自己似乎抽搐了一下，但是并没有把它拿起来。上面什么也没写，一个字都没有，但是我知道这是给我的，也知道是谁写的。喝完咖啡，我走进充满蒸气的卫生间，关上水龙头，试图在镜子中照出自己的容颜。但是镜子上蒙着厚厚一层水雾，我不得不用一条毛巾把它擦干。当我在镜子中看到自己时，脑海里唯一浮现的词就是“憔悴”。接着我脱掉衣服进了浴缸。 等我出来的时候，残余的早餐已经被收拾走了，阳台敞开着。花园里的棕榈树、大海和海峡上方湛蓝的天空，似乎都要挤进房间里来。我没有理会这些美景，因为有更着急的事。衣服已经熨好了放在床尾：套装、内衣、丝袜。床头柜上有一个小小的银托盘，里面放着一瓶凉水，一个水杯，还有一管止疼片。我一口吞下两片，想了想，又加服了一片然后回到卫生间，把湿漉漉的头发梳成一个低低的发髻，稍稍化了点妆，因为我随身带着的只有一个粉盒和一支口红。接着我穿上衣服。一切就绪了，我对着空气小声说。不，一切马上要就绪了，我又改口说，还差一个小小的细节。就是半个小时前吃早餐的时候在桌上等着我的那个东西，那个没有写明收信人的乳白色信封。我叹了一口气，用两根手指捏起它，看也没看一眼就放进了包里。 我走了。留下了那件陌生的睡衣，被子里还有我身体的形状。但是恐惧不愿意被留下，如影随形地跟着我。 “女士，您房间的账单已经付过了，门口有一辆车正在等您。”接待经理谨慎地对我说。那辆车，那个司机，我都不认识，但是我没有问这是谁的车，谁派来的司机，直接坐到后座上，一句话也没说，任由陌生的司机和陌生的车送我回家。 母亲没有问我派对怎么样，也没问我在哪儿过的夜。我想一定是昨天晚上传递信息的那个人说得很确切，没有让她产生任何担忧。就算她注意到了我脸色不好，也没有表现出丝毫疑虑。她只是从手里正在缝制的衣服上抬起眼跟我说了声早上好，既不兴奋也不烦恼，没有流露出情“我们的丝带快要用完了。”她说，“阿拉卡玛女士希望我们能在星期四或者星期五让她试衣服，弗拉乌·兰根赫姆想让我们给她改一下那件山东丝绸礼服的下摆。” 她一边飞针走线，一边跟我说着昨天的事情，我搬了把椅子，坐在她对面。我们离得那么近，我的膝盖几乎蹭到了她的膝盖。这时她开始谈起我们上星期订购的一批贡缎的交货情况，但是我没有让她说完。 “他们想让我回到马德里，去替英国人办事，向他们提供关于德国人的信息。妈，他们想让我从德国女人那里刺探消息。” 她的右手停在了半空中，手里的针插在针脚与针脚之间。她的话刚说了一半，还张着嘴。我的话让她的姿势和表情瞬间凝固了，她抬起目光从缝衣服的眼镜上方盯着我，目光里充满了茫然。 我没有马上说下去，而是深深地吸了口气，又重重地呼出来，用力地深呼吸，大口地喘气，就像缺少氧气一样。 “据说现在西班牙到处都是纳粹。”我接着说，“英国人需要人帮忙，向他们提供关于德国人所作所为的信息：跟谁见面、在哪儿、什么时候、谈了些什么。他们考虑在马德里给我开一家时装店，让我去给那些纳粹的太太做衣服，然后告诉他们我的所见所闻。” “那你呢，你是怎么回答的？” 她的声音跟我一样，几乎是窃窃私语。 “我说不，我不能去，也不想去。我在这里很好，跟你在一起。我完全没有兴趣回马德里，但是他们要我考虑一下。” The room was silent.在布料和模特儿之间，在无数的线轴周围，在我们的工作台上，爬满了沉默。 “这对避免西班牙再次卷人战争有帮助吗？”最后她终于问道。 我耸了耸肩膀。 “应该会有帮助，至少他们是这么认为的。”我不太确信地说，“他们正试图建立一个地下情报网。英国人希望西班牙人不要介入现在欧洲正在发生的事情，不要跟德国人结盟，也不要出兵千涉。他们说这样对大家都有好处。” 她低下头，聚精会神地看着手中的布料，一边用拇指肚轻轻摩挲着，很长时间都没有说话，只是陷入了沉思。最后她抬起目光，慢慢地摘下了眼镜。 “你想要听我的意见吗，女儿？”她问。 我重重地点了点头。当然，我当然想听她的意见，我需要她来确认我拒绝这件事是明智的，我多么想听到她说那个计划是彻头彻尾的无稽之谈。我希望她变回原来的那个母亲，来责问我以为自己是谁，能参与到那些间谍游戏中去。我希望再次找回童年时那个坚定的多洛雷斯，永远谨慎果断，永远都知道什么是好的，什么是坏的。那个曾为我铺设了一条康庄大道却被我无情辜负的母亲。但是并不是只有我的世界变了，母亲也不再是从前的母亲了。 “跟他们一起去吧，孩子。帮助他们，跟他们合作。我们可怜的西班牙不能再被卷人另一场战争了，西班牙已经一点儿力气都没有了。” “但是，妈……” 她没让我说下去。 “你不知道生活在战火中是什么滋味，希拉。你没有经历过每天都在机关枪的扫射和迫击炮的爆炸声中醒来，每天都用长满了虫子的宾豆充饥，度过一个没有面包、没有煤炭、窗户上也没有玻璃的冬天。你没有跟那些破碎的家庭和饥饿的孩子一起生活过。你没有见过充满了仇恨或是恐惧，或是同时充满仇恨和恐惧的眼睛。西班牙已经被夷为平地，谁也没有力气去再次承受同样的噩梦。我们的国家唯一能做的就是为死去的人们哭泣，用仅存的资源挣扎着活下去。” “可是……”我还想坚持。 她再次打断了我的话。虽然没有提高音量，但是语气很坚决。 “如果我是你，我会帮助英国人，去做他们要求我做的事。他们当然是为了自己的利益，这一点毫无疑问，他们做的一切都是为了他们的国家，而不是为了西班牙。但是如果他们的利益能使我们大家都受益，那就是上帝的慈悲。我想这件事一定是你的朋友罗萨琳达向你提出来的。” “昨天晚上我们聊了好几个小时。今天早上她给我留了一封信，不过我还没有看。我想应该是告诉我接下来该怎么做。” “现在到处都是传言，说她的贝格贝尔在外交部待不了几天了。好像他们要把他赶出去，正是因为他跟英国人交朋友。我想他肯定也跟这件事脱不了关系。” “这是他们两个人的主意。”我承认。 “看来他也努力想让西班牙免于被卷入另一场战争，虽然正是他们自己制造了内战，但那已经是过去的事了，没有办法挽回，现在我们要做的就是向前看。你自己决定吧，孩子。既然你问我的意见，我就把我的想法跟你说清楚了，虽然我内心也很痛苦，但是我明白这样才是负责任的做法。如果你走了，我又将孤身一人，又要失去你的音信，在煎熬中苦苦等待。但我还是觉得你应该接受，应该去马德里。我留在这里把这个服装店经营下去。我会找人来帮我，这一点你不用担心。等到一切结束的时候，上帝会有安排的。” I can't answer.我再也没有任何借口拒绝。我决定出去，到街上透透气。我需要好好想一想。