As I took leave of my comrades, one of them, family name
“Rivas”, gave me a bag of beans and asked me to take them to his
mother in Barcelona. I felt that it was the least I could do for him and
made up my mind to visit his family “en route” to my good friends in
Estercuel. Estercuel was the only place where the people had really cared
for me. I met again the family, at the watermill, where I had spent so
many happy hours. The miller’s wife was very pleased to see me and gave
me the address of her sister at my destination. Then, I made my way to
Alcaniz, where I caught a train, which was overcrowded. After a very long
journey, I arrived and finally found my way to the home of the Rivas
family.
I received a warm welcome and they brought me a cup of milk coffee with
buttered toast. However, as I talked to the mother and her 14 year old
daughter, I discovered that they were regular listeners to Franco’s
propaganda on the radio. I had the feeling that they were both right wing sympathizers
and I could not reconcile their way of life with the
hardshipstheir son was
suffering.
I thanked them for their hospitality and made my way to the relatives of
the miller’s sister. I stayed overnight with them and the following day
went sightseeing. I had plenty of money but could not find any food at all
in any of the restaurants or shops. On my return, I refused the kind offer
of food made by the daughter and made up my mind to enjoy myself in the
nightlife of the city. I spent a week of merriment, sleeping from place to
place and then paid a visit to the War Ministry to re-enrol. My bid was
unsuccessful because of my injury and I was told to leave Spain.