Page 34 of Under His Sheets
“¿Y eso?
“Huh? Um…” I pointed to the flower, which I’d put in a cup with water. His cheeks flushed.
“No sé, señor.” He gave a sly grin, but then he caught sight of the guitar, and he frowned.
“Was this you, too?” I asked in a whispered voice.
He shook his head and pulled the door the rest of the way shut. Then he hurried over to the phone and dialed the office. He said something in Catalan and hung up.
“What should I do?”
He put a finger to his lips and shook his head. “No toques la guitarra,” he whispered before leaving the room.
My heart was pounding. I knew it was too easy to think the guitar was from Alonso. Then who? Someone had been in my room, and that made me nervous. With all of the eyes on campus, who could have snuck in and done this?
Parents were filing in and lining up outside of the classrooms to pick up their children. The main building, where my music room was located, had classrooms on each side of a large atrium so there was plenty of room for parents to wait. Many of them came early or stayed late after drop-off and sat around chatting. I thought it was kind of cool that they had a place for community as well.
I heard raised voices out in the hallway so I turned for the door.
Mr. Ferrer, the man he’d been with in the parking lot that day, and the two bodyguard looking types with them had cornered a couple and were shouting at them in Catalan.
Lara went running over and I followed, just so she had a little backup. Not that I could do much, but I wasn’t a small guy.
“What is going on here?” She stared down Ferrer with her hands on her hips.
I caught Alonso’s movement out of the corner of my eye. He stepped out from behind a pillar and circled around behind Ferrer and Vidal.
“Perdó, senyora Trujillo-Perez, but this is none of your concern.” Ferrer turned that smile on her that made my stomach turn. Instead of seeming annoying and arrogant like he had in my classroom, though, today his look felt menacing.
“It is my concern if it is happening in my school. Now, please. Return to your vehicles and I will escort your children out.”
Ferrer looked as if he would argue, but then he followed her direction. Vidal, however stood his ground. He spoke to the couple again in Catalan, but one phrase I caught—brigada de neteja, or cleaning brigade, which was what they called the people who went around and removed the independence flags and propaganda from the town—I recalled hearing at the Seguras on Saturday, when they were talking about the conflict between the independistas and those wishing to remain a part of Spain.
So the conflict in Catalonia had surfaced in our little school. A few of the other adults stood around watching the goings-on carefully. I wondered how many people here were on each side? Was it like being a Democrat at the Republican National Convention? Or like a Hillary supporter at a MAGA rally? Neither would be comfortable, but would one be more liable to erupt into violence?
A police car pulled into the parking lot and parked outside of the doors. Two officers got out and stood near their car as the bell rang to release the students.
Within a few moments, everyone seemed to scatter. I looked to see where Ferrer went, worried about Pere. I hated that his father was making such a fuss at school. How would this impact Pere’s relationships with his peers?
I stuck around out in the hall, as did the other staff, until all of the children and adults were out of the building. Lara then addressed us as a group.
“Thank you all for being so vigilant. Keep your eyes open and call me at any time if you are concerned. I spoke to the police and they will be here in the mornings and afternoons until things have settled down.”
She thanked us again and the rest of the staff began returning to their rooms to pack up and go home.
I looked for Alonso. He was having a conversation with the couple who’d been harassed. The man was gesturing wildly with his hands and the woman wiped at her eyes, but she was frowning and spoke in clipped words.
The situation had been volatile. We couldn’t have this happening at our school. I was beginning to think this was why Alonso was here. What might these people have to do with the larger political movement? Were they actually dangerous, the parents of my students? Alonso had said he thought things might ramp up soon.Did that mean he had information? Had he known this would happen today? I was going to make myself nuts with my questions.
I stopped by the office but Lara’s office was closed and Madame Lahlou said she was not to be disturbed. Had Alonso told them about the guitar? He’d called the office from my classroom.Man, I really need to learn Catalan. Or Spanish. What should I do?
There was nothing Icoulddo but lock up my classroom and call it a day.
I made my way home still thinking about the separatists. I paid closer attention to my environment and noticed that yes, there were several houses and apartments that had the Catalan flag hanging from their balconies. Mr. Segura had said that outside Barcelona proper, there were more folks who feltstrongly that Catalonia should secede. What a strange time to be living in this place. Would things erupt? Could there be a civil war again? Was it safe?
Honestly, living in the United States could be dangerous at any time, especially in the last few years. Therefore, while this situation was tense, how was it different than the US? Depending on which news program you watched, we were days away from a breakdown in our democracy.
Schools were no longer the safe places in North America that my parents and grandparents experienced, either. During my student teaching, we’d had to lock down the school because a student was rumored to have a weapon. Turned out he did, but he hadn’t taken it out of his bag. He’d also had written a suicide note. I knew anything was possible in a school. I guess I had a false sense of security here in Spain because they didn’t seem to have as many issues with guns. But guns weren’t the only things to fear.
