My Grandfather Eugenio.

My grandfather Eugenio (of whom I obviously “inherited”
the name and I also believe some of his features) had been
a few years in jail, imprisoned for accidentally killing
a friend in a hunting party.
In jail, he dedicated himself to writing, probably about his life experiences, and unfortunately, he converted to communism, ideology in fashion
among young people back then.

When he got out of jail, for a while he was delivering political speeches to the peasants, at the small and remote villages of the mountains surrounding Sama.
Uncovered and identified by the dictator Franco’s Guardia Civil, he fled
and went underground, hiding at home during the day in a small hole adjacent to the coal deposit of the coal-burning stove, in the kitchen.

My mother Amparito (it all started when she was just seven
years old) and my grandmother, Amparo, were taken to the
police station several times.

There, they were subjected to multiple cases of abuse, tortures,
and many questions, and to my mother on one occasion,
they cut her hair very short, besides submitting her to many
questions regarding the whereabouts of her father, with a
thousand of ruffian’s tricks.

To my grandmother, they placed an iron mask over her
head and blew up her eardrums, so she remained deaf
until she passed away in Caracas, years later.

However, they never gave my grandfather away.

My grandfather, Eugenio, when he was 18 years old and was getting married to my grandmother, Amparo, in a professional photo taken the day of their wedding.
Sama de Langreo, Asturias, Spain. 1924.

At the end nevertheless, and after a few weeks, my
grandfather had to leave the house where he had remained
hidden, for the next-door neighbor denounced him to the
authorities.

In effect, following a heated discussion of my grandmother
with their neighbor’s spouse, my grandfather fearful of his
neighbor’s reaction left the house and went to the
mountains surrounding Sama, becoming a fugitive on the
run.

Just a few weeks later, the Guardia Civil that was on his
tracks, killed him (when he was only 33 years old, in 1939)
of a shot to the head while he was sleeping in a barn.
Afterwards, he was tied by his feet to a horse and towed by
the rustic stone path down to the village, where he was left
exposed a few days, so everybody could see him that way,
slaughtered, so as to serve as an example.