Exodus across the Pyrenees — Consuelo

Abstract

One morning at five o’clock — I think it was the 27th of January — a policeman whom we knew and who lived in a house just opposite came to tell us, ‘You had better pack your things because you are refugees and tomorrow the Fifth Column is going to rise and kill everyone, especially the refugees.’¹ There were fascists in hiding, in the walls of houses, under staircases; they were waiting for the moment to emerge. The house where we were living was full of refugees; there were at least fifty of them sleeping in the corridors and wherever they could find space. We told them they had to leave because the Fifth Column was going to rise and we began to prepare our suitcases.