- Unknown
- Prolog: Piers Anthony's VOLK
- volk003.htm
"I've got to do it," Lane said.
- "But thee knows I can not support thee in
this," Quality protested. "To go needlessly to war--"
- "Would you prefer to have Hitler take over all
of Europe and then threaten America?"
- "I have no liking for the Nazis, as I have
said. But there must be a better way than war. Even should it come,
thee has better things to do than to get involved in the quarrels
of others. Thee has another year to go to obtain thy degree. With
that, thee could do far more good in the world than thee could ever
do by pointless fighting."
- "Not if Hitler overruns the world while I'm
studying!"
- She paced the floor of the lounge. "We do not
know that Hitler truly seeks world conquest, or that he could be
successful if he tried. But if war should occur, there are others
already under arms. Thee has no need to seek combat."
- "How does that saying go?" Lane asked
rhetorically. "All that is necessary for evil to flourish is for
good men to do nothing."
- "But thee can do something! Thee can complete
thy education, and then work with greater effectiveness for peace
in the world."
- He gazed somberly at her. "You can't concede
that maybe prevention is better than cure?"
- "It is bad education that leads to much
mischief. I prefer to deal with the underlying problems of society
before they lead to war. Fighting is not prevention; it is a sign
that the wrongness has proceeded too far. I would have preferred to
have treated other nations in such manner that they never
experienced the frustration that caused them to turn to their worst
elements for salvation. Perhaps even now there can be amelioration
and healing."
- "I think it is 'way too late for that. Hitler
is a cancer that will kill the body of Europe. Now he must be cut
out, painful as the process may prove to be."
- She looked at him, shaking her head, trying to
keep the tears from her eyes. "Then I fear we must agree to
disagree, Lane. I can not support thee in this."
- He went to her. "I love you, Quality. But this
is a matter of principle."
- "And I love thee, Lane. But it is principle
for me too."
- "I know it is. I always liked your pacifism.
But I just see this business a different way. Maybe--maybe we
should separate for a while, in principle, each doing what we feel
is necessary, and when this ugly business is done there won't be
that difference between us any more, and we can marry. I want you
to keep my ring."
- "Maybe that is best," she said. "I will keep
thy ring."
- Then they kissed, and spoke no more of war.
But both knew that a fundamental break had occurred.
***
- They finished their terms, and then drove to
Canada, because there Lane could train as a pilot and later
transfer to the Royal Air Force in England. He was determined to
qualify, because he knew that that was where the action would be.
England was right on the edge of Europe, and would soon feel the
consequence of Germany's militarism. Its air force would be the
first in a position to strike back at the Nazis. Though France put
on a brave front and had its Maginot Line, Lane had little faith in
that. The Germans could go around it or blast a hole through it.
The Great Wall had not stopped the Mongols from invading and
conquering China, and walled cities had not survived gunpowder. Air
power was the strength of the future, and he was determined to be
part of it. Quality understood all this because others had spoken
of it; despite her agreement of silence with Lane, she listened to
whatever she knew related to his interests. She couldn't help it.
But the information only strengthened the rift between them. How
much better it would have been for the Mongols simply to have lived
in peace with the Chinese, and the energy expended in building the
Great Wall used for the mutual improvement of life.
- Lane was accepted into the program. Quality
bade him a tearful farewell outside the induction station, exactly
like any other girlfriend, but they both knew that their separation
was deeper than physical. They would be apart, yes, and he might
get killed in action, but whether apart or together, alive or dead,
their difference of principle remained as a gulf between them.
Would that disappear when the war did? She wasn't sure.
- Now it was time for her to return home. She
had a bus to catch, but did not hurry. Somehow she was loath to
return home alone, as if this made her culpable. She was strangely
out of sorts. Why did she feel so guilty, when she had done what
she could within the bounds of propriety to dissuade Lane? There
was nothing she could do to mitigate the situation of the
world.
- She purchased a newspaper, knowing this to be
merely another excuse for delay. There she saw a picture of a
bombed out city, with children crying in the street. It reminded
her of Guernica, in Spain, where her correspondent had died.
- Suddenly she knew what she had to do. She
could make a difference! She made her way
to the nearest Friend's Meetinghouse and found the caretaker. "I
must go to Spain," she said. "To help the children."
***
- It was arranged. She took passage on a steamer
to England, where she joined the Friends' Service Council. They
tried, gently, to dissuade her from her intent, because the
situation in Spain was what they termed "uncertain," but she was
firm, and they did need volunteers, and she spoke both French and
Spanish. She was qualified.
- First they taught her to drive, because she
would have to do it where she went. It was a crash course, almost
literally, before she got the hang of it. They had her do it in a
car, a small truck, and a large truck, because she had to be able
to drive whatever was available.
- The British vehicles had the driver on the
right side, and drove on the left side of the road. "But on the
Continent it will reverse," they warned her. "Don't get
confused."
- "I'm already confused," she replied. But in
due course she got the gearshift and clutch coordinated, and
learned the international hand signals and general road signs, and
was appropriately nervous about the level of petrol in the gas
tank.
- She wrote to Lane, c/o his Canadian unit: "I
have learned how to drive! I love thee."
- She learned that mail could take from two
weeks to two months to reach England from Spain. Both the
Republicans and the Nationalists practiced censorship of letters.
Workers sometimes had to go to France to send important
confidential documents. Diplomatic pouches of the American and both
Spanish governments were used to expedite some mail. Important
letters were sent to several offices, with requests to forward it,
in order to ensure delivery of at least one.
- Quality had to undergo an embarrassingly
thorough medical examination. She was inoculated against typhoid
and vaccinated for smallpox. She was ready.
- It was not feasible to proceed directly from
England to Spain, which was in the throes of its civil war. Indeed,
had she tried to go there from America, she would have been
refused, for international travelers were being required to sign a
statement that they would not go to Spain. She had not been aware
of that at the time, but in any event had started her trip from
Canada, where the restriction did not exist. So now she traveled to
France, where French Friends welcomed her. Already there were
refugee camps just north of the Pyrenees where the Basques were
fleeing the savagery of the Nationalist thrust against their
homeland.
- Quality visited one of the camps, helping to
deliver food and supplies. She was appalled to discover that she
could not understand the people at all; they spoke neither French
nor Spanish. Somehow she had not realized that Basque was a
different language. In fact, the Basques were a different people,
looking much the same as others but separated by their culture. It
seemed that their stock had been early inhabitants of the region,
once far more widely spread, largely displaced by migrations and
conquest. Now they were being displaced again, this time by bombs
and bullets.
- Spain had been a republic for several years,
but there had been strife between divergent factions and general
poverty, leading to unrest of increasing scale and intensity. It
was exactly the type of social neglect that led to unfortunate
consequences, as she saw it. In 1936 the military establishment had
rebelled, supported by the Catholic Church and about a third of the
people. Called the Nationalists, they had commenced a war of
conquest against the Republicans who represented the formal
government. It seemed unlikely that their effort would have been
successful, except that they found powerful covert allies in Italy
and Germany, the Fascists and the Nazis, who saw in this local war
an opportunity to test their new weapons. So the Nationalists had
the benefit of the most deadly modern technology, and they were
gaining ground. They had taken the northern Basque region, and much
of central and southern Spain, but not the great central capital
city of Madrid. Now the battle line was across the north, with the
western part of the nation Nationalist and the Eastern part
Republican.
- So here she was, a Quaker lady, going to war.
But not as a combatant. Her quarrel was not with men, but with
neglect, poverty and hunger.
- She could not get authorization from the
Nationalists to enter their territory, so she went to Barcelona, in
the Republican region of the northeast. This city was not under
siege, but signs of the war were everywhere. A melody was playing
constantly, as if it were a hit tune, but when she listened she
discovered it was of another nature. It was "The Four Insurgent
Generals," and told how they had betrayed the country, concluding
"They'll all be hanging, They'll all be hanging!" Quality neither
endorsed violence nor chose sides, but soon she found herself
humming the refrain.
- Each relief station had its warehouse and its
supplies, and its ragged fleet of drivers to carry the food out to
where it was needed. There were volunteer missions at every
village, called shelters or canteens, where most of the feeding
actually occurred. The emphasis was on infants, children, and
expectant and nursing mothers, because they were the least able to
fend for themselves. Many of the refugees were orphaned
children.
- Quality had thought there would be a period of
breaking in, as there had been in England, before she would be
allowed to go out into the field. She was mistaken; she went out
with a driver on the first day after she arrived. She rode in a
small truck whose sides were plainly marked with the five pointed
Quaker star and the words SERVICIO INTERNACIONAL DE LOS AMIGOS
CUAQUEROS--and whose motor, suspension and tires seemed none too
sure. But that was what was available.
- The driver was a Spanish man who, it turned
out, had no special commitment to peace or feeding children; he had
his own family to support, and this was a job that paid him a
living wage. So he did his job, and did it well, but he was cynical
about the net effect of the relief effort.
- The assignment was not far away. Quality
judged that they would be able to deliver their load and be back at
the warehouse by noon. But the man merely shrugged. It seemed that
such trips were expected to take a day, regardless.
- Today's destination was a village about thirty
miles behind the front. The fighting was not close, the driver
said; all the same, one had to take care. Then, approaching a
bridge, he came to a stop. Quality couldn't see any reason for it;
this was out in the country, and no one else was in sight.
- They got out and walked up to the bridge. The
far half of it was gone. There was no barrier, no warning signs; it
was just out. Had they tried to cross it at speed, they would have
sailed into the river.
- The driver didn't say anything. He had made
his point. Quality's knees felt weak. Had she been traveling
alone...
- Later she realized that the driver had
probably known that the bridge was out. But he had educated her in
a way she would never forget--and which might save her life some
day.
- Quality found some debris and set it on the
road to represent at least a partial obstruction to future traffic.
Then they turned the truck around and looked for a detour. A few
kilometers downstream they found a serviceable bridge, and
continued their route, perhaps not really behind schedule.
- The next time they came to a bridge, Quality
was glad to get out and check. This one was intact. So they had
lost time--but the caution was necessary. Too much hurry could
wreck them.
- Then the motor started grinding. The driver
pulled to a stop. He checked under the hood. He shook his head. "I
can not fix it. I must get a mechanic. There will be a phone in the
nearest village." He hesitated.
- "I can watch the truck," Quality said. "I
assure you, I will not steal anything." She smiled, to show it was
a joke.
- But the driver did not smile. "It is not safe
for a truck with food to be left alone. Also a young woman."
- Quality realized that he was serious, and that
he was probably correct. This was not contemporary America, this
was a war-torn nation. "Perhaps I could go to make the call?"
- He shook his head. "Even less safe. I will
hurry. It should be all right."
- "Yes, of course."
- He set out on foot, walking rapidly. Quality
sat in the truck, abruptly nervous. She almost wished that the
driver hadn't warned her, but of course it would have been foolish
not to be aware of the danger.
- She was in luck. No one approached the truck.
In due course the driver returned. "It will be several hours," he
reported. "We must wait." He did not seem easy.
- "There is another problem?" Quality
inquired.
- "Now it is known that we must remain here,
with food. There are many hungry people. They will come."
- And they would not necessarily be reasonable.
If denied, they might turn to violence. Even had Quality not been a
pacifist, that would be a problem. How could they protect the truck
and themselves until the mechanic came?
- Then she had an idea. "If we feed some, and
enlist their support, we will use some food but may save the
truck," she suggested.
- "But it is supposed to be done by the local
authorities. There are not facilities, here on the road."
- "Then we must enlist the local authorities,"
she said. "And make do as we can."
- He considered, and she was afraid he would
reject the notion. Then he smiled. "You are resourceful. I will go
back and tell them." He got out and walked back toward the unseen
village.
- Quality didn't wait. She thought it best to
make an immediate selection of the supplies to be expended, so as
to keep the rest out of sight. She let down the tailgate and shoved
things to it. She soon grew sweaty handling the boxes, and her good
clothing became stained. It could not be helped. She was learning,
again.
- In due course the driver and a local volunteer
arrived, by foot. The other was an old woman.
- They waited, resting, for the woman was
evidently frail from hunger. Also, the driver murmured, to be sure
that proper procedure was being followed. Hurry was unseemly. He
was educating Quality to what she would have to be alert to when
she was on her own. "There is never enough food to feed everyone in
need," he explained. "We feed some infirm adults, and aged
persons--if there is enough. There usually isn't. We must turn the
men away. We require them to drink the milk at the station, to be
sure the right ones have it. So the canteens are referred to as
Gota de Leche, or Drop of Milk. When things
are really tight, we have to do height/weight measurements to
determine the most malnourished children, and feed them
first."
- Quality's horror was growing as she learned
the realities of the situation. She had somehow fancied that
bringing food to the needy would be a positive thing. Now she saw
the ugly side of it. Grim decisions had to be made, and the good
she was doing had to be cynically rationed. Indeed, there were men
and women appearing, and the driver was waving them away, so that
they kept their distance. "They know there will be trouble, if they
take the children's food," he said gruffly. "The woman is the wife
of the leading man of the village; she has power, and knows what
she is doing."
- "But they are hungry too," Quality said.
- "There is not enough for all." That was the
terrible reality.
- A car arrived with some necessary equipment.
Its driver was a young man who looked ferocious. The woman saw
Quality's concern. "My son," she said proudly. "He will keep
order." Quality nodded, relieved.
- The woman began opening the boxes and taking
out bags of powdered milk. She mixed it with water in a large
kettle and stirred patiently to get it fully dissolved. "A few
lucky towns have emulsifying machinery," the driver said. "We use a
lot of sweetened condensed milk, because it's nourishing and easy
to mix, but it costs more. We take whatever we can get."
- Then, seeing no other legitimate volunteers,
the driver helped, and Quality did too, as she came to understand
the process. A volunteer who had not been duly cleared might steal
the food; it was better to work directly with the woman and her
son. One box contained chocolate, and another cheese. Then she
found one with loaves of hard dark bread. She took a knife from the
truck and carved slices.
- Children appeared. They were of all ages, from
perhaps fifteen to toddlers. Some were unmarked but lethargic;
others had sores and crude bandages. Some were missing fingers,
hands, or even arms. They were subdued.
- They brought cups. Now the serving began: a
cupful of mixed milk for each child, and a piece of bread. Quality
wished she had butter or jam for the bread, but there was none. The
children did not complain. They simply took the food and ate
it.
- When all had been served, what was left in the
opened boxes was given to those who seemed most in need for
seconds. Some was given to adults, but cautiously, according to the
guidelines. Quality slipped bread to a woman who said she was
pregnant, who took it without comment and disappeared. That was the
way it had to be.
- And this was just a random stop, because of
the breakdown of the truck. Could all of Spain be like this?
Quality was very much afraid that it was.
- As they finished, a few of the children were
acting more like children. They were running around and making
noise, and some were laughing as they played impromptu games. All
they had needed was some food.
- The mechanic arrived. He got busy in and under
the truck, doing what he could. Quality was to learn that the
mechanics were geniuses of their trade. They were never held up for
lack of parts; somehow they always made do, devising whatever would
work.
- Quality and the driver carried several
additional boxes to the car, for later distribution. This might be
considered a final bribe for the privilege of being allowed to
depart freely--or as an act of additional compassion. Distinctions
were blurring. The local children would be fed next day by the
volunteers, and on the following days, while the food lasted. But
what of the next week, when the truck would still be going to
different villages, and these children would not have a meal?
- "You will be checking to see that the food is
distributed properly," the driver said. "You will have to enforce
it. Hungry people can not afford honesty."
- "But these ones here," she asked. "This is not
a regular stop. What of them?"
- "They have been fed today," he said. She knew
that that was all that could be said.
- When the truck was fixed, they drove on to the
regular station. But it felt as if the day's work had already been
done.
- Quality was thoroughly tired by the time she
got back to Barcelona. So she relaxed in her own fashion: she wrote
a long letter to Lane, telling him all about it.
***
- The Republicans were losing. Day by day the
battle line changed, coming closer to Barcelona. The sound of the
big guns and bombs grew louder, and the stream of refugees passing
through the city increased.
- But the relief work continued. When Quality
drove out to a village near the territory of the Nationalists,
there was a check point on the road. She had to stop and explain
what she was doing. They were about to demand that the car be
opened for inspection, suspecting contraband, but an officer put a
halt to that. "Those are Quakers. They don't fight. They don't lie.
The children need the food. If they bring food from other nations
for our children, we will not stop them. We will send a man along
to help."
- "I do have some food in the car," Quality
said. Because the village she was going to had not been supplied in
some time, and the next truck was delayed. "Also some cloth and
thread. We have workshops for refugees; the women and girls make
clothing, and the boys make sandals from rope."
- The car was allowed to proceed, but a
Republican soldier rode his motorcycle along behind it. Quality
realized that the officer was not entirely trusting; if her mission
turned out to be anything other than what she had said, she would
be in trouble.
- But of course it was legitimate. She delivered
the meager supplies she had been able to fit in the car, and helped
feed the children. The soldier nodded and departed. In due course
Quality returned to the city. The check point had moved during the
day, and there were different soldiers, but they had been given the
word. "Do you have any contraband?" the officer demanded.
- "Contraband?"
- "Drugs. Weapons. Subversive literature. Dirty
pictures."
- She laughed. "No, only milk, bread, cloth and
bandages on the way out, and empty on the way back." She waited in
case they decided to inspect the car, but the man simply waved her
on.
- After that her car was not challenged in
either direction, and no soldier followed it. The word of the
Quakers was good.
- Personnel changed, equipment failed, and
Quality had to start driving a truck. The Republican government
supplied some trucks for the relief efforts, but the service was
inadequate. The Quakers had to rely on their own trucks, but they
did not have enough vehicles to fulfill their needs. Experience
made clear that light trucks did not carry enough or stand up well
enough to the constant driving on wretched roads. The best trucks
were three tons or more, equipped with four rear driving wheels and
double springs. But they used a lot of petrol, which was in short
supply. Even so, in the course of a year they managed to distribute
several tens of thousands of tons of assorted foods.
- Quality's deliveries consisted variously of
the three basic relief foods, milk, bread and chocolate,
supplemented by preserved meat, peanut butter, cheese, egg powder,
dried fish, and dried vegetables: beans, peas and lentils. Cod
liver oil was also distributed as supplies allowed. From
Switzerland came Farina Lactal, a mixture of cereal flours,
powdered milk, sugar and malt extracts which made a nutritious
porridge when mixed with water and cooked. The Friends made every
effort to buy food from outside Spain, because that added to the
supply instead of merely shifting it within the country, and to
avoid giving foreign currency to either Spanish government. It was
too likely to be used to buy weapons.
- The battle line continued to change. It was
evident that only months remained before Barcelona itself would be
under siege and would fall. The Nationalists were too strong, and
their borrowed weapons were too effective. The refugees were now a
pitiful horde.
- Then a wounded, bandaged man waved down the
car as it returned to the city in the afternoon on a routine trip
without food. "I must reach to my home," he said. "My family needs
me. Give me a ride."
- "But must pass a check point," Quality
protested. "You cannot go there."
- "The war is lost. I must go home. I have given
up my weapon. Just take me through, and let me go, and I will be
with my family."
- So this was a deserter. Quality didn't like
this, but found herself unable to deny the man. "If they stop the
car, and inspect it, you will be in trouble," she warned him. So
would she. Neither side took kindly to deserters.
- "They will not stop a Quaker car," he
replied.
- That was probably true. Most days now the
soldiers at the check points simply waved the trucks and cars on
by. So she let him climb into the back and hide under blankets. Ill
at ease, she drove on. Probably there would be no inspection.
- But as it happened, this time she was
challenged. "Are you carrying any contraband?" the soldier
asked.
- "No," Quality said, before she thought. Then
it occurred to her that the man would surely be considered
contraband; she had been thinking of the usual objects. But if she
told them about the man, he might be taken and killed.
- The soldier was already waving her on. She was
moving forward before she got her thoughts organized. But then she
was horrified. She had told a lie! She had never intended to do
that.
- Yet if she had told them, and the man had been
taken and killed, after trusting her, what then?
- She mulled it over as she drove, but the
conclusion was inescapable: she had lied more or less by oversight
and confusion, but she would have lied outright, rather than
sacrifice a life.
- She came to the section of the countryside the
man had mentioned, and stopped. The passenger door opened and he
jumped out. "Gracias!" he called, waving as
he moved away.
- Quality sat for a moment, and shed a tear. The
man had cost her her honor, without ever knowing it.
***
- The Nationalists advanced inexorably, and the
Republican retreat became a rout. Now they were fleeing not to
Barcelona, but from it, for any of them caught here would be
massacred. The war was ugly, and atrocities were being committed on
both sides. The Nationalists bombed innocent regions, simply
because they were not Nationalist; the Republicans dug the bodies
of priests and nuns from their graves and put them on grotesque
public display, because of the Church's support for the other side.
The Republican coalition was widely divergent, including even
anarchists: those who believed in no government at all, though some
of them held government positions. It also included Communists, who
did support it well with men and with arms from Russia, but who
also sought to make of it a Communist state. "First we must win the
war; then we can settle between ourselves," one leader said, but
there was endless quarreling between the factions. They were not
winning the war.
- The International Brigade, composed of
volunteer soldiers from more than fifty other countries, had fought
valiantly, but had been overpowered. It retreated through
Barcelona, and on north to the French border, the Nationalists in
hot pursuit. There was no talk now of the four insurgent generals
hanging; the generals had won. General Franco had assumed the
leadership of the Nationalists, and it was apparent that he would
be the new ruler of the country.
- News was not always easy to obtain, or
reliable. Often it was too old to be of use. They needed to know
where the line was, and where the fighting was, to avoid it. They
would hear the explosions of bombs, but it might be two weeks
before they saw a newspaper report of any action in that region.
There was also a difference between units, of either side; some
were best avoided, lest they steal the food. Quality had learned to
dress unattractively, even mannishly, so as to represent no obvious
target. When there was danger, and he could be spared, a man would
ride with her and be near, discouraging problems. Even so, it was
increasingly nervous business.
- In July 1938 the Republicans launched a
massive counterattack west from the Barcelona area. They had
amassed almost a hundred thousand troops and improved equipment.
They surged across the line, which had become relatively stable,
and reconquered land in the interior. But they could not maintain
their momentum, and the offensive ground to a halt in August. For
three months the line stabilized again, neither side advancing. But
the Quaker trucks no longer approached it; the war in this section
had become uglier.
- She received a letter from Lane, who had
completed his training in Canada and was now in England. It
brightened her week, though she was sorry he had not come to
England in time to see her there.
- In September the Republican government agreed
to have wheat from the U.S. Government's Federal Surplus
Commodities Corporation distributed under Quaker control. The
Nationalist government had already agreed to this. The
International Commission for the Assistance of Child Refugees in
Spain was formed to administer contributions from governments,
headed by a commissioner, but the actual distribution was carried
out by existing organizations in the field. The Red Cross
distributed it to the American Friends Service Committee, requiring
affidavits to the effect that it was to be used only for the relief
of the civilian population. The American Friends shared it with the
British Friends. The wheat started arriving near the end of the
year. The shipments were not as large as hoped, but were
significant. They were, in their fashion, a godsend.
- "Perhaps thee could bring some supplies in thy
plane," she wrote to Lane. But the humor didn't work; there was
precious little humor in war, to her mind.
- One morning in November Quality drove a truck
out toward a distant village near the Ebro River, southwest of
Barcelona. There had been the sounds of artillery and bombing, but
that had been almost continuous for months. She discovered that it
had been the site of an artillary bombardment that the Friends had
not known about. There was rubble across the streets, buildings had
collapsed, and fires were blazing many places. A pall of smoke hung
overall. It looked like a scene from Dante's Inferno. Or like her vision of Guernica. She had of
course seen many bombed-out villages, but this was horribly
fresh.
- As she picked her way through the debris, she
came up to the bodies. There was one in the middle of the road. She
stopped and got out, thinking to help the man, but as she
approached she saw that he was dead. He had to be, because half of
his head was missing.
- At first she couldn't believe it. But when she
turned her face away, stunned, she saw an arm. No body, just the
arm. Beyond it were other objects that had to be human because they
were covered with blood.
- Quality vomited before she even realized she
was being sick. The stuff just spewed out of her and splashed on
the drying blood on the road. Oddly, that made her feel better.
Except that it was an unfortunate waste of food.
- She wiped her mouth, then walked around the
man, took hold of his feet, and hauled him off the road. Then she
returned to the truck and resumed driving. She felt the diminution
of her innocence. War was hell on innocence, as she was to write to
Lane.
- In the center of the village the people were
trying to care for the survivors. The job seemed almost hopeless.
Many of them were dying where they lay, and there was nothing to be
done for them except to make them comfortable while their blood
leaked out. There was no electric power in the village, and no
running water, and whatever medical supplies were available were so
phenomenally inadequate as to be a mockery. The village authorities
were performing triage: determining whom to try to treat and whom
to ignore because the injuries were slight or death was inevitable.
It was the borderline cases that were the problem.
- But through this hell came the children,
hungry as they always were. Numbly, Quality helped serve them, and
they were appreciative. When she had done what she could, and the
main portion of the supplies were put away in the canteen she drove
away, taking along three who could probably be saved by more
competent bandaging and care in Barcelona. There was nothing else
to do.
- The battle line had been stable; now it
collapsed. Yet the children had to be served, so the trucks went
out on ever more limited rounds. Even so, it was dangerous. Quality
heard the sound of airplanes, and ahead the bombs exploded. She
pulled over to the side, hoping to wait out the raid, but she was
in the wrong place. The planes came right over her, and the bombs
landed on either side. She hunched down inside the truck as the
detonations shook it. She was terrified. She knew that only chance
separated her from eternity.
- How had she gotten into such a situation? She,
who deplored war and all the artifacts of war! Here she was,
literally, in the middle of it. Yet she could not retrace her life
and discern where she had gone wrong. She had done what she
believed was best throughout, and she knew she had helped many
children to survive. If God saw fit to punish her for that, it was
nothing she understood.
- Then the planes passed. It had seemed an
eternity, but it had been perhaps only a minute. She had been
spared, in body. Only her faith had been shaken.
- She started the truck and put it in gear. She
moved slowly forward, watching for bomb craters. This was after all
a routine day.
- But it was evident that the battle line was
getting too close. The trucks were no longer allowed to go
out.
- Quality was now trapped in Barcelona. She had
not intended to leave anyway, because there was too much need for
her here, but the choice had been usurped by the advancing forces.
She wanted to huddle deep in the building, fearing that the shells
would crash amidst the city and the power would fail, but she made
herself get out and help where she could. It was no longer food she
dispensed, but medicine and first aid, sadly inadequate. Refugees
were everywhere, dragging themselves on through the city, sleeping
huddled on the street, some of them dying there from their injuries
and exposure.
- In January 1939 Barcelona surrendered without
a fight. The Nationalists marched in and put on a victory parade,
and all the people had to come out and cheer. Because any who did
not would be deemed to be enemies.
- Then it was worse. The Nationalists combed
through the city, routing out all enemies real or suspected, and
shot them. The women and children they left alone, if they did not
try to interfere. An officer recognized Quality, or perhaps her
Quaker emblem, and showed her the wounded Nationalist men being
trucked in who needed attention. She was officially neutral, though
her private sympathy had been with the Republicans. It was her
business to help whoever needed it, and so she did what she could
for these men too.
- Perhaps it was just as well, for her loyalty
to the new order was not questioned, and she was treated well. When
she sought to load her truck with what supplies remained and drive
to a village where children were in need--which was any and every
village!--they did not prevent her. For her it was business as
usual. "But it is a tearful business," she wrote to Lane. "The need
is so much greater than the ability."
- Thus it was that she made the transition. In
the following days and weeks the shipments of food continued to
come, and the Friends Service continued to distribute it to the
children. Now it was done under Nationalist auspices. There was not
enough for the need, but it was far better than nothing. Quality
was doing what she had come to do: helping people in a peaceful
way. Yet her heart was not easy. She had never imagined that there
could be so much grief in the world, so pointlessly wreaked. It was
as if she were putting little bits of salve on a man who was
burning to death. Sometimes that was literally the case.
- But soon this became academic. The new
bureaucracy caught up with this minor aspect of things, and the
Quakers were no longer allowed to distribute food directly. They
had to turn their supplies over to the state relief organization,
Asistencia Social. The state had to be
responsible for everything. The canteens and shelters faded away.
Quality was allowed to give parcels individually, and did what she
could, but it was sadly inadequate.
- Where was her idealism now? She had no
suitable answer.
