RICK tells TIMOTEO of ZUMAYA’s death
RICK takes a few days off from tending bar at the Hotel Florida, catches the midnight train from Madrid to Asturias. ZUMAYA died in an air raid. RICK’s gone to tell her only family member he knows.
Your sister died last night in an air raid.
I told her nothing good would come of you.
Yes. I heard.
Hands piece of paper to TIMOTEO
Here’s where she’s buried.
RICK turns around and walks to the bar.
Una cerveza por favor.
One drink amigo, then you enjoy that walk back to Madrid.
This is a public house. I’ll leave when I’m ready … amigo.
No, this is my house. You can leave right after that beer.
Sound of vehicles outside the pub. Voices of women outside arguing with Nationalist officer. Sound of trash can lids clanging outside. TIMOTEO runs out the back door. Hops on bicycle rides across meadow and disappears into the woodline. Door bursts open, Nationalist Regulare soldiers with a Spanish officer charge in. Look around. Spit. On the way out the back door, one Moor gropes CARMÉN in the crotch through skirt sun shining through. Spanish officer bashes smacks side of his head with butt of his pistol. All exit through back door of El Abejaruco.
What’d they want?
Next train to Madrid leaves tomorrow noon. Station’s that way. We’d hate to see you miss your train.
Like the song by The Band, “The Weight”:
“Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?
He just grinned and shook my hand and, “No”, was all he said”
Suggest a place to stay the night?
Anywhere but here
Next morning, Rick wakes up on bench. Rick takes train back to Madrid.