Julio Llamazares’s story opens in 1937, it’s the final stages of the Spanish Civil War and the Republicans fighting on the northern front have been overwhelmed by Franco’s forces. Four men retreat into the mountains close to the village where they once lived. But every hiding place is fraught with danger, as fascist search parties pursue them from site to site. Years pass and the outlaw group led by Angel, once a schoolteacher in the valley below, are eyewitnesses to the end of the war and the everyday impact of Franco’s dictatorship on a small rural community. It’s a period marked by constant, sudden round-ups, torture, beatings and summary executions. Gradually their fragile network of supporters, remaining family and friends, disappear, either taken away or overcome by fear of reprisals. And the men too start to fade, it’s a slow erasure, marked by a shift from prey to predator, as their existence comes to depend on scavenging, theft and kidnapping. To those below in the valley the men become spectral figures, monstrous, otherworldly creatures, an increasingly unsettling reminder of a time the local people are urged to forget.
Llamazares’s novel’s highly atmospheric, noirish and foreboding, filled with incredibly impressive scenes of austere, brutal beauty. It’s brilliantly paced, marked by arresting images of nature as the men seem to merge with the surrounding landscape, so carefully described I could almost feel the weight of the rain, the penetrating damp, the extreme cold, the intense, overwhelming isolation experienced by Angel and his comrades. At first there’s a feverish, desperate quality to the writing, as Angel’s group fights against obliteration, but desperation becomes resignation as they’re transformed from freedom fighters to walking dead in a region where the elements are almost as perilous as enemy bullets. In 1985, when Llamazares published this, he broke with the ‘pacto del olvido’ that marked the end of Franco’s regime, the idea that the best way to deal with the past was to forget or rather not to remember. But Llamazares was part of a rural generation born long after the Civil War ended and he grew up listening to tales of resistance fighters haunting the wilderness. One person that stood out in his imagination was Arias who for nine years led a fugitive band holed up in hillside caves, and Llamazares’s narrative’s both tribute and memorial to Arias and everyone forced to exist on the margins of Franco’s Spain.