Looking for Julio

Sepia, crumpled, the size of a small playing card, Ana LongaresMauro smiled from the palm of his hand across the years. It wastaken a little while before he was born, maybe 1932 or even '33.It was a relaxed smile, carefree, happy, the wind blowing her dark hairacross her cheek as she hooked it away with the little finger of herright hand. He could see no ring. It was taken in a square. Thissquare? Jules walked out onto the tiny balcony of the Palacio, the bestor rather the only hotel in Torrenil, a village of less than fivethousand, nestled in the hills of southern Andalucia.Across the square was the

ayuntamiento

, the council building with itssteady flow of form-bearers and bill-payers, which also contained thetown archives. Right next door was the station of the Guardia Civil,created back in 1844 to undermine and suppress the politicalorganisation of the campesinos, now a modern police force. Juleslooked at the towering facade of the Iglesia de la Virgen, looking overthe business of the town. The mayor, the police chief and the priestwatching, now as always, for signs of unrest. Children were chasingeach other around the fountain. Which one was me, he wondered.Jules closed the window, turned on the aircon, and lay down on thebed. Only 10am and already over 30 degrees. What inspired him tomake the trip in July? It would have been hotter in August. Ofcourse. And why now? What was it about some old men that madethem chase their past? And here of all places. Seventy-five yearsago, the world was a very different place. His mother was stillsmiling.1 of 24

At 11, Jules asked at the counter and was led around the unhappyqueue into the office of Antonio Cerro García, a small, tubby man ofperhaps fifty, balding with grey hair, who came from behind his deskto shake hands. Antonio had the unenviable task of managing theneglected town archives along with all planning, building, landmanagement, and traffic applications. It's a small town, he explained.Jules explained the purpose of his visit. “I am researching a personwho once lived here. Ana Longares Mauro. I believe she was livinghere in 1932, perhaps 1933.” Antonio Cerro wrote swiftly, glancingup with each word as if to check that his visitor was still there. Hegestured to Jules to continue. “I have very little to go on. A letter thatwas sent to an address here in 1934, a photograph, and a few namesthat might be relevant.” Jules paused.Antonio looked up smiling. “And what exactly is your relationship tothis Ana Longares Mauro, if you don't mind me asking?”“I am her son,” he said.“And you want to know if there is any property? An inheritance?” hesaid sighing. “I doubt it, you know, after all this time.”“No, no, nothing like that,” Jules protested. “I am just trying to findout where she came from, and what happened to her. And also myfather, if possible. I know nothing of my father.”Antonio leaned back in his chair taking advantage of the faint breezefrom the token fan on his right. “Well, there are some things you needto know.” He was pensive, looking for the right way to say what hadto be said. “Our archives are not in good order. We may have some2 of 24

information, somewhere, but we may not find it. Also, the archivesare not what you might expect. Since those times we have had a civilwar and a dictatorship, and not all of our records are where theyshould be. Some records will have been removed. I'm sure youunderstand.”“I appreciate that it will be difficult but I can stay here as long as Ineed to,” said Jules smiling, determined not to be dissuaded. “I amquite willing to research the material myself provided I can get access.I understand that times are changing and many of the archives are nowbeing opened.” Antonio Cerro became serious.“Have you heard of

pacto de olvido

?” he asked. The pact offorgetting was an unofficial agreement to forget the crimes of the pastunder Franco's regime in the interest of avoiding conflict. Deeplyunpopular with the families of the republican side beaten in the civilwar, it was welcomed by the many who perhaps had a great deal tohide. Many thousands of families had lost relatives who would neverbe found, but they could see representatives of the repression still intheir official positions, long after the return to democracy. “Olderpeople are still very much committed to

olvido

and don't want thearchives opened. Perhaps they fear what might be found, or perhapsthey know only too well. Your research could create problems here.”“Are you saying I am not able to get access?” asked Jules, “I havebeen in touch with your mayor who has assured me I will be givenevery cooperation.” He started to take out the letter but Antonioraised his hands dismissively, smiling with some difficulty.“I am sure Don Carlos Carrasco will have excellent reasons forwanting to extend every assistance to you. I will of course comply3 of 24