Read Online The Girl from Krakow by Alex Rosenberg - Free Book Online Page B

platform into the dimly lit square, Gil searched for a taxi. There were none—only a grizzled man wearing overalls and cloth cap, leaning back on the fender of a dusty farm truck. He was smoking a Celtas cigarette—a brand too strong for Gil to inhale. He looked at Gil, who looked back, and nodded.
    “How much to take me to La Seu d’Urgell?” It was a small town one hundred kilometers to the east. More important, it was as close to Andorra as one could get. I’m not a smuggler, and I’m not on the run , thought Gil. Better haggle.
    “That depends on how many other people off that train want to go there with you,” the man replied. They waited in silence, but the handful of passengers all diffused into the night. Finally, the trucker said, “One hundred pesetas. It’ll take all night.”
    “Fifty,” was Gil’s reply. He was going to pay whatever it cost, but he was not going to show urgency.
    “What’s in the case?” The driver looked at Gil’s bag. “They don’t need hams in la Vella.” That was the only town of any size in Andorra.
    “Medical instruments.” Gil didn’t need to lie.
    “All right, I’ll take you for seventy-five pesetas. I’m Josep. You?”
    “Romero, Doctor Guillermo Romero.” He lifted himself to the seat, putting the valise on his lap, with his briefcase beside the driver. Then Gil undid the two belts holding the valise closed. When he opened it, a speculum reflected what little light there was. “So, not much value to anyone but a doctor, friend.” Should he have said “comrade” instead of friend?
    It was an old gravel road, running one lane west along the valley, but with no late-night traffic coming the other way to make the truck have to lay by. By midnight, Gil and the driver, Josep, had traded enough lies about themselves to become conspirators.
    “Friend,” Gil ventured, “if someone wanted to make it into France through Andorra, could he do it from Urgell?”
    “Le Sue is what they call it. But if you want to make it over the border, you are going the wrong way.”
    “What’s wrong with Andorra?”
    “The French border patrol at the Andorra frontier is tough. They know they can shake down every traveler for drink, smokes, scent. You want to go through Puigcerdá, not La Seu.” It was a place Gil had never heard of. “Besides, it’s half the distance.” Josep brought the truck to a stop. “We just passed the turn for it.”
    “Can you take me there instead?” Gil was now making himself a hostage to Josep’s trustworthiness.
    “ Sí . Same price though.” He shifted into reverse and made a careful K-turn on the narrow road. As the truck started up, Josep went on, “Something else you probably don’t know. Just across the border at Puigcerdá, there is a little part of Spain, really Cataluña, a sort of landlocked island, Spanish but surrounded by France. It’s weird. The reason goes back to some treaty four hundred years ago.” He stopped the narration to concentrate on the road, which had become more tortuous now that they were climbing due north directly into the Pyrenees, instead of skirting them to the west.
    Gil was silent, hoping that Josep would tell him how to manage the border without his having to ask. Stupid being reticent now , he thought.
    “This little piece of Spain is called Llivia. It’s two kilometers from the border. Best thing about this border is that so many people go back and forth between Llivia and Girona on this side that all you need is an identity card and good Catalan. I’ve seen them take away people just for showing a passport when they try to cross. Your Catalan is good enough to fool the French. Show me your identity card. For an extra twenty-five pesetas, I’ll be glad to drive you right to the border.”
    Gil pulled out the identity card from his coat pocket along with some Republican banknotes—he wouldn’t need them anymore. The passport was in the briefcase, and the briefcase was locked. He said