The Apparatus

Mireia Mainer, as she is known by the members of the Apparatus except for Francesc Bastida who knows her real name, is also involved in the process of assimilating the inevitable circumstances of her life. She knows she could live for a long time in that village located in the Segrià region under the name of Mirelha Arnal and the excuse of a remote working. She is used to move and survive. Loneliness is not a situation to be worried about. Therefore, she preferred not to accept the possibility to hide herself in the safe house at Mallorca street and left Barcelona without Marta.

Mireia agreed to be part of the apparatus, seven years ago, thanks to the ability of Francesc Bastida to hide, with a veneer of morality and ideology, the criminal activities of the group. And money. At that time, the Apparatus was a group of ten people at the most, organized to commit specialised robberies. An important number of these assaults were commissioned. Mireia’s resources, her speciality, the reason why the Apparatus needed a person like her, were her knowledge of Gothic and Romanesque art.

Mireia Mainer was educated since she was a child among nuns, in the religious fervor of the monastery of Ferreira de Panton. At the end of high school she was sent to Rome to continue her studies of sacred art. Her inclination was not born under the protection of the monastery, surrounded by habits, prayers and rosaries. Mireia’s fire was ignited with the revealing experience of contemplating the arc of San Xoán de Panxón, a calling that led her to specialize in Ottonian art and the relations between the Byzantine Empire and the Kingdom of the Suebi. It was in Rome where she found Francesc, or rather, where Francesc could finally find her.

Therefore, the aim of the Apparatus would be an antique dealer in London. The function of Mireia, to validate the accuracy, the authenticity of the object to remove. So brief was the presentation of the work by Francesc Bastida in a cafe at Via Tacitus. It was summer, she had finished her academic life and Dr. Mireia Mainer had no alternative plan, had nothing to lose.

And now, seven years later, she was far away from Galicia, far from Rome, in a house, part of the perfect urban grid designed at the time by an Enlightened architect.

And all this, to start again.

For the last time.

He glanced for the last time at the pile of boxes and packages that he had already packed. It seemed incredible the amount of shit that one could get to accumulate over the years. And he was not a collector at all: he did not buy books or music or movies… and even so, in the last five years he had accumulated a total of two large suitcases, ten cardboard boxes, a couple of guitars, an amp and a thirty-two inch television.

He realized at that moment that his life could be divided in approximately five year cycles. It felt that, even without changes being imposed, upon every five years he faced a revolution that shook him and left him crippled. Furthermore, these changes were almost always based on movement. Going from one place to another, changing residences was the norm. As if moving places would bring a real change. Despite understanding that it did not work that way, life took him to move in five-year intervals, so exact that it overwhelmed him. Not all the decisions had been good. Many of those changes had not contributed anything interesting but he did not regret them. None of them had ended up being a disaster. He had always liked to try and change, even if it was for worse, than standing still without risking anything and complaining constantly about everything. How he used to do fifteen years ago.

As everyone almost did.

The rain was tolling the window. An empty house expecting new tenants. Looking out the window that had accompanied him during the last three years he recalled his first day on the island. Just off the ferry, he realized that there was something special about this place . It was winter and it was cold, and even by the sea, it was snowing. But the snow did not fall. The snow was suspended in the air going up and down and up again. At that time, still twenty -seven years old, that floating snow seemed the perfect metaphor for his life. He saw the rain falling through the window, but did so with aplomb and a precision he had never seen before.

And all this, to start again.

For the last time.

Or maybe not.

– ‘Good night Gunilla, see you tomorrow’ said the young nurse as she started walking towards the exit of the ward at the same time as she was trying to hide a yawn. Her face was almost gray in the dim light, her eyes like dark caves due to tiredness.

– ‘ Good night, see you tomorrow’ replied the woman behind the counter while she stretched in her chair.

– ‘Are you sure you are ok on your own now? I can stay a few more hours if you want me to’ replied the young nurse, standing by the gray swinging door while she rubbed her eyes.

– ‘I’m okay, go home now! It’s not your fault that Sarah called in sick, plus it’s not exactly likely that the patients here will wake up’ replied the woman behind the counter with a laugh and lifted a cup to her lips to drink.

– ‘No, you’re right, but then you never know. Anyway, see you tomorrow so. Call me however if you change your mind!’ said the young nurse and went out through the swinging doors.

– ‘Absolutely, good night! ‘ the woman replied, while leaning back in her chair behind the counter and picking up a newspaper.

This was his fifth night in the hospital and by now he knew what would happen. Slowly but surely, her head would fall forward and the snoring would start. Always the same thing; even when they were 2, it was nearly as if their sleep patterns were synchronized. He reminded himself to never be admitted to this hospital.

Five minutes later, the snoring began and he could finally come out of hiding from the broom closet. Slowly, with careful steps, he passed the counter and continued down towards her room. The hallway was dimly lit with a white fluorescent lamp that created a sterile, cold light; the type of light that only can be found in hospitals.

Room 102, there she was. He stopped in the doorway and looked at her. The full moon shone from the window and lit up her as well as the bed she was laying on. The bruises, visible in the dark, probably weaker than they once were. This time, however, the bruises would not be the only visible marks after he was done …

As he descended the slope, Francesc began to think more clearly. It was him and the dark, like blind lovers trying to see each other, feeling their bodies like lost animals. His heartbeats were all that he could hear, like a fast horse in the trot, as if his heart wanted to jump out of his chest at any moment.

For the first time in a long time, he concentrated on appreciating the simple and indisputable truth of silence, so huge and clear in that long night. There, among rocks and vegetation, silence gave itself to him, wrapping him with a silent embrace. He opened his ears of all those other mysterious sounds whose existence he had never been aware of.

Those were hidden in the depths of his being, trapped between beats of his heart, or just hidden behind the guttural sound produced by their saliva swallowing sounds. Most of the sounds were almost inaudible, easily drowned out by the sound of his stomach in the long hours of fasting, or the creaking of his teeth at times of strenuous physical exertion.

The noises inhabited the deepest, darkest corners of his body, and now he finally realised them. It was only at that moment, concentrated on those weak waves and vibrations that caressed his ears, that he was finally able to hear her; she had the most beautiful voice he had ever heard before.

“I’d rather not tell you my name,” said the voice, from out of nowhere. “I’m afraid that everything will just start to disappear the moment I do so. I’ve seen it happen many times before”

Francesc did not understand then the reason for this caution. He never really did. Years later, however, on his deathbed, Francesc would confess that he had devoted his body and soul to the owner of the mysterious voice that very same day. Never again he would think of anyone else. He promised himself he would love her forever, in silence. And so he did. He devoted the rest of his days to serve a woman he would never see.

It was there, among rocks and vegetation, that this beautiful girl also gave herself to him, in silence, wrapping him in a silent embrace.

Nove

First, it was a book, a gift from his grandfather. A book that seemed innocent from the look of that girl who learned to read early. Her grandfather, widowed early, taught her how to locate some place names like Warsaw, Volga or the hidden Crimean peninsula in the Black Sea, always with certain evocations that the girl did not identify clearly at the time. Everything just to help the girl to escape for a while from the sticky, sad and defeated environment in the neighborhood where they lived in shacks, next to the Mediterranean.

The date of death of the poet was clear in the biography that began the poem book. It was the same biography that she found later in other books, a too short biography. However, then, at the age of 15 years, and by chance, the teenager knew that the poet was assassinated by a firing squad out of court. She wanted to believe that there should be someone who remembered more details, who remembered that fact, someone able to give clues to possible avengers, someone who could indicate reliable data about the people who were involved in the death, the murder of the poet.

The second element that pushed Núria to be dropped in revenge started with the noise of a zodiac along the beach, close to the shacks. This noise took the teenager to notice the sea, to witness the wild scene that was about to occur. She sees a woman, several meters away, holding something in her hands. The woman seems to be shrunk. The noise of the zodiac’s engine stops and the lantern, the thing that the woman was holding on her hands, sends out a signal: three light blows.

When all the beach was artificially illuminated by floodlights, Núria heard a noise and automatically threw herself to the ground, an instinct that would save her life in other similar situations. The woman falls to the ground pushed by a rope tied to her hips. The teenager looks astonished to a group of green shades coming from the lights, with machine guns, who are mercilessly killing the surprised people that are getting off the zodiac. Those last minutes still remain in Núria’s memories. And the third element: the garrote where his brother was killed.

It had already been two years since P had decided to embrace the rural life. Tired of his experience abroad, of working for big corporations and living in different cities, he had came back home for good.  He had spent his entire youth trying to run away. This was no romantic or hasty escape but an escape to move forward. To get away from the village where he had grown up and see the world. So, having seen the world, and having achieved all he had been aiming for, he had understood it: everything that happens during your adolescence becomes part of you and you never leave it behind. No matter how far you go, how hard you try to escape from it, it remains in you and it makes you develop in a different way.  During all those years abroad he always reckoned that coming back overnight would be a failure. He left to achieve a kind of goal that didn’t exist in reality; therefore he would never be able to come back.

Everything changed the last year he was overseas. That night had saddened him a lot. The story about E had really afflicted him and his failed relationship with M didn’t help much in those moments. That pushed him to take the decisive step. To come back once and for all and not feel afraid. To cultivate the land that had been awaiting him. It had already been two years since he had become a farmer. All those wheat lands that a few years ago seemed like an open prison to him, now made him feel safe. He spent hours in his tractor, looking at the horizon and breathing that unmistakable smell. He no longer wanted to find a way out. Actually, he was convinced that, if he had never found it, everything would have ended much better.

He went out and closed the door of the country house. The wet land’s smell altered his consciousness. He never would have thought that it would be his last time having that feeling. Little could he imagine that, now that he understood it, he would be gone forever. This time for good.

This time, very far away and forever.

– ” Dear God, I come to you in my despair as someone close to my heart has been affected by sickness. Give me strength every day to try to be a good human being, so that I can support and encourage. Help me in the darkness of the night so that I do not to lose my courage and my faith in you. Let me feel your presence when troubles gather by me. Those who walked through the valley of death; help me to endure all things, bear all things and hope that all things such as love will conquer, here and now and into the limit of eternity.

Amen”

She looked up at the altar while making ​​the sign of the cross, at the same time as the priest in front of her and the congregation around her made ​​the same movement.

– ” This prayer is for someone in our church who has chosen to remain anonymous but asked us to pray for her and her loved one who unfortunately cannot be with us today, but who is in our thoughts” the priest continued. She felt her cheeks becoming red and hoped that it was not visible to the others.

– “But this prayer is for all of us who have someone in our surroundings who needs strength and our belief that everything can and will be OK. To know that there is a candle burning for them and their journey on Earth,” continued the priest . ” Let us now sing Hymn 68 – ‘Children of the heavenly father.’ ”

The congregation began to sing but she could not bring herself to join them. It had been years since she had been in church, but the priest had welcomed her with open arms, as if she had never left. Some of the members of the congregation had looked at her with disgust, as if she had committed a sin by staying away all these years. Had they only knew why, that it was not her choice… If he found out that she had been there today… She shivered at the thought.

Suddenly everyone stood up around her; the sermon was over. She took a deep breath and started to follow them. The priest glanced at her as he spoke to one of the members. She nodded at him as if to say thank you and started walking towards the exit. One of the clergymen stood by the exit and opened the heavy door to let everyone out. She looked out through the door and saw him, El Capo, waiting for her with grim eyes and his arms crossed over his chest. She stopped for a second terrified, how could he know that she was here? She then took a deep breath and took the heavy steps towards the end.

The Fire in Catalonia Sets Up the Alert in Europe

EFE / Fraga (Huesca) / date 11/9/2014 00:40h

The Goverment Confirms Having Lost Contact with La Generalitat

REUTERS

The Fire Spreads Through Catalan Territory, Completely Out of Control

The fire that broke out last night in Barcelona, ​​quickly spreading throughout the whole autonomous community in a matter of hours, has become the worst disaster of its kind in history, exceeding by far other major historical fires like 1906 San Francisco’s, 1871 Chicago’s in and 1666 London’s. The Catalan fire, which has reached enormous proportions and completely isolated population, threatens to affect areas outside the principality.

Such is the magnitude of the disaster that only images of the fire from the ground have been captures, always at a safe distance from the flames. Air traffic has been closed after two seaplanes and five rescue helicopters were lost at about a quarter to one in the morning. The gravity of the situation can be guessed when considering that all communication between the principality and the rest of the peninsula was stopped at approximately 00:30 pm tonight, just thirty minutes after the first major focus began in Barcelona. These data were calculated based on the activity of the social network Twitter, which contemplated the sudden appearance of trending topics related to the fire from midnight on, but stopped receiving tweets from Catalan users after 00:29 .

“We know nothing about what is happening there” the defense minister stated in an emergency press conference convened in Madrid at 2:15 am. “Our attempts to contact any member of the Government have been in vain” Apparently, the phone lines throughout the area have also stopped working.

International reaction has been immediate, with rescue teams sent by the European Defence Agency just an hour from the first alarms. Unfortunately, all attempts to smother the fire have been unsuccessful. As Catherine Ashton said just two horas ago, the huge cloud of smoke rising over the fire turns any attempt to approach the area into a suicidal act.

The fire comes at a key point in the political negotiations between the central government rule and Catalan representatives, as today was the chosen day for a controversial self-determination referendum to be held in Catalonia. Even though there were continued negatives from the Government of Rajoy, insisting on the illegality of the referendum, yesterday’s evening last words from Artur Mas, president of La Generalitat, had promised further disagreements between the two sides. Needless to say, these negotiations have broken down in an abrupt manner after the news.