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Aged fifteen, as Franco's forces begin their murderous purges and cities across Spain rise up against the old order, Montse has never heard the word fascista before. In any case, the villagers say facha (the ch is a real Spanish ch, by the way, with a real spit).
Montse lives in a small village, high in the hills, where few people can read or write and fewer still ever leave. If everything goes according to her mother's plan, Montse will never leave either. She will become a good, humble maid for the local landowners, muchísimas gracias, with every Sunday off to dance the jota in the church square.
But Montse's world is changing. Her brother José has just returned from Lérida with a red and black scarf and a new, dangerous vocabulary and his words are beginning to open up new realms to his little sister. She might not understand half of what he says, but how can anyone become a maid in the Burgos family when their head is ringing with shouts of Revolución, Comunidad and Libertad?
The war, it seems, has arrived in the nick of time.
240 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 21, 2014
Révolution, liberté, fraternité, communautés, ces mots qui, accentués en espagnol sur la dernière syllabe, vous envoient immédiatement leur poing dans la figure.
Et lorsqu'ils parviendront au front, mal nourris, mal armés, hébétés de sommeil, transis de froid et dans un état de fatigue tel qu'il leur rendra supportable le meurtre collectif qui leur aurait paru abominable en toute autre circonstance, lorsqu'ils n'auront plus la force de rassembler deux pensées, lorsqu'ils seront uniquement occupés à survivre et à se battre sans plus se poser des questions, lorsqu'ils accompliront des gestes d'automate sans plus aucun conscience du bien et du mal et sans le moindre affect, ils déchargeront leur fusil, au signal, sur d'autres jeunes gens à l'allure plus martial ceux-là, uniformes impeccables et bottes impeccables, mais tout aussi abusés par la propagande de leur camp qui magnifie mensongèrement leur combat et leur promet, contre une médaille posthume, ou le plus souvent contre que dalle, la reconnaissance éternelle de la patrie, tu parles.
Yet her memories of the summer of 1936, when the unimaginable took place, are still intact. It was a time, she says, when she discovered life – without doubt the only adventure of her existence.