A Long Petal of the Sea(39)

The train traveled without stopping, but slowed down whenever it came to a railway station, because at each one there was a crowd ready to greet the refugees with flags and songs, as well as meat pies or cakes that they ran with along the tracks to pass in through the carriage windows. In Santiago, such a dense, frantic multitude was waiting for them at the main station it was impossible to move; many of them had climbed the columns and were hanging from the roof beams, shouting greetings, singing, and throwing flowers in the air. The police had to force a way through so that the Spaniards could leave the station and attend the dinner in their honor (with a resoundingly Chilean menu) prepared by the Refugee Committee.

On the train, Felipe del Solar had heard many different stories, linked by a common thread of misfortune. He ended up between two carriages, smoking a cigarette with Victor Dalmau, who gave him his view of the war from the perspective of the blood and death he had witnessed in the first-aid stations and evacuation hospitals.

“What we suffered in Spain is a taste of what people are going to suffer all over Europe,” Victor concluded. “The Germans tested out their weaponry on us; they left entire towns reduced to rubble. It will be worse still in the rest of Europe.”

“For the moment, only England and France are standing up to Hitler, but they’re bound to find allies they can count on. The Americans will have to make up their minds.”

“And what will Chile’s position be?” asked Roser, who had come out to join them, her child on her back in the same sling she had been using for months.

“This is Roser, my wife,” said Victor, presenting her.

“Pleased to meet you, se?ora. Felipe del Solar, at your service. Your husband has told me about you. Madam is a pianist, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but please don’t be so formal,” said Roser, repeating her question.

Felipe told her about the large German colony established in the country for several decades, and mentioned the Chilean Nazis, but added there was nothing to fear, and that Chile would undoubtedly stay neutral in the war. He showed them the list of industrialists and businessmen willing to offer employment to Spaniards depending on their skills, but none of these suited Victor. He would be unable to dedicate himself to the only thing he knew—medicine—without a diploma. Felipe advised him to enroll at the University of Chile, which was free and very prestigious, where he could study. They might possibly recognize the courses he had taken in Barcelona and the knowledge acquired during the war, but even so it would take him years to obtain his title.



“First of all, I need to earn my living,” replied Victor. “I’ll try to find a night job so that I can study by day.”

“I need work as well,” observed Roser.

“It’ll be easy for you. We always need pianists down here.”

“That’s what Pablo Neruda said,” Victor added.

“For now, you’re to come and live with me,” Felipe insisted. He had two empty rooms and, in preparation for the arrival of the Winnipeg, had taken on more domestic staff. He now had a cook and two maids, so as to avoid any further conflict with Juana. Her refusal to hand over the keys to the empty rooms in the family home had given rise to the only argument they had had in more than twenty years, but they loved each other too much to allow that to force them apart. When the telegram arrived from his father in Paris making it clear that no Red was to set foot in his house, Felipe had already decided to organize things to receive Spaniards under his own roof. The Dalmau family seemed ideal.

“I’m really grateful, but I understand the Refugee Committee has found us lodging in a boardinghouse and is going to pay the first six months,” said Victor.

“I have a piano, and spend all my days at work. You’ll be able to practice without anyone disturbing you, Roser.”



That clinched it. The house was in a neighborhood that, to the new guests, seemed as grand as the best parts of Barcelona. From the outside it was elegant, and was almost empty on the inside, because Felipe had bought only the most indispensable pieces of furniture: he detested his parents’ fussy style. There were no drapes on the beveled glass windows, no rugs on the parquet floors; there were no flower pots or plants to be seen, and the walls were bare. But despite this lack of decoration, the house had an air of undeniable refinement. The Dalmaus were offered two bedrooms, a bathroom, and the exclusive use of one of the maids, to whom Felipe assigned the role of nanny. Marcel would have someone to look after him while his parents were at work.

Two days later, Felipe took Roser to a radio station run by a friend of his, and that same evening they invited her to play the piano to accompany a program. This advertised her talent as a soloist and music teacher, and meant she would never be short of work. He also found Victor a job at the bar of the Equestrian Club thanks to the same networking system, where merit was much less important than connections. Victor’s shift was from seven at night to two in the morning, which would allow him to study as soon as he could put his name down for the School of Medicine. Felipe said that would be no problem, because the president of the school was a relative of the Vizcarras, his mother’s family. Victor began hauling crates of beer and washing glasses, until he learned to distinguish between different wines and to prepare cocktails, when he was put behind the bar. He had to wear a dark suit, white shirt, and bow tie, and only had one change of underclothes and the suit he had bought with Aitor Ibarra’s money when he escaped from Argeles-sur-Mer, but Felipe put his entire wardrobe at Victor’s disposal.