Foremost by Night (Sobre todo de noche)

FOREMOST BY NIGHT

This is going to be a horror story. A story of murder, detection, and horror.

But it won't appear to be, for the simple reason that I am the teller.

Told by me, it won't seem like that. Although, in fact,

it is the story of a terrible crime. Amuleto , Roberto Bolaño.

It could have been like this.

First, you have to cross the river.

Then, follow the train tracks for three kilometers

until you reach the crossroad.

One of the paths takes you into the valley.

The other takes you to the mountains.

Take the one on the left. There's a cherry tree at the crossroads.

There are wild horses in the field.

There are ruins of an old church. There's an abandoned mine.

At the mine, take the dirt path on the right,

the one that goes into the woods,

the one that takes you to the mountain pass on the old road.

There it is.

The city is on the other side.

First, you have to cross the river.

Then, follow the train tracks for three kilometers

until you reach the crossroad.

One of the paths takes you into the valley.

The other takes you into the mountains. Take the one on the left.

There's a cherry tree at the crossroads.

There are wild horses in the field.

There are some ruins of an old church.

There's an abandoned mine.

At the mine, there's another crossroads.

Take the dirt path on the right,

the one that goes into the woods and takes you to the lake,

the one that takes you to the mountain pass on the old road.

There it is.

The city is on the other side.

1. LETTER FROM VERA TO EGOZ

This is a story of violence. Of anger and violence.

Someone loses someone.

Someone looks for someone for the rest of their life.

This is my story.

It could have gone differently. But this is how it went.

I was young and things weren't easy.

You were born. I couldn't take care of you.

I did it so you'd have a better life.

Years later, I looked for you.

I had finally found a bit of calm.

So I started asking around about you. I just wanted to know if you were okay.

I wanted to know if everything worked out.

That's where it all began.

STENOTYPY

Death. Horn. Dream.

Intruder. Invasion. Invisible.

Handkerchief. Lure. Hook.

Under that huge tree,

there's a treasure.

High hill.

In the sad nights.

She is always so precise.

First, I was given a document from a doctor saying you died during labor.

"What's this?" I asked.

I told them I remembered your birth. The first time you cried.

The midwife saying everything was okay.

They told me to come back another day. I did and no one was available to see me.

They told me they'd call me.

They never called.

I received an official letter saying my file didn't exist.

"No record," they said. "There's nothing" they said.

I called and cried on the phone.

"It has to be there somewhere." "It couldn't disappear like that."

I talked to everyone. I went back. I didn't know what to do.

I got another official letter. "No record."

I talked with the notary that signed the documents.

He told me to forget it.

To forget you.

I learned quickly.

Thanks to my job in the courtroom, I learned quickly.

For every buyer, there's always a seller.

I turned to crime. I went into the night, into the underground.

Go after them from the inside.

That has been my revenge.

This case will proceed to a hearing in order to resolve the procedure

in this Criminal Division number 43 of Madrid,

under case file number 9-2022,

having originated in expedited proceedings number 1-2018,

filed by Central Court number three

for acts described by the Office of the Prosecutor General,

which it deems to be acts constituting the following crimes.

Crime A: criminal organization to commit...

Motherfuckers.

Motherfuckers.

Motherfuckers.

ASSOCIATIONS ESTIMATE THAT 300,000 BABIES WERE STOLEN IN SPAIN

BETWEEN 1940 AND 1990

WHERE ARE THE FILES?

DOCTOR FOUND GUILTY OF CHILD TRAFFICKING IS ACQUITTED

MOST CRIMES HAVE EXPIRED

YET ANOTHER CASE CLOSED WITH NO CHARGES

THE LONG BATTLE AGAINST SILENCE AND OBLIVION

PLOT OF FAKE CERTIFICATES

Those who were supposed to tell me the truth, lied to me.

They belittled me.

They hurt me.

They shamed me.

They humiliated me.

They erased me.

Why did they leave me so alone?

Why didn't anyone think of us? Why didn't anyone ever ask us anything?

Over the years, I've met many other women like me and we're all alike.

Forgotten.

Losers.

Invisible.

This is my fight.

I'm not speaking in anyone else's name.

I don't represent anyone.

I'm not an example of anything.

This is the only thing they couldn't take from me.

My story and how I tell it.

What?

Breathe easy, Vera.

We just need to finish prepping and will start soon.

It will take fifteen minutes.

Don't move and try to stay calm.

I'll be here with you.

Don't think about anything, try to keep your mind blank.

I wanted to kill them.

I pictured myself killing them many times.

I've also pictured my own death many times.

Because of the sadness, despair, exhaustion, hate.

I pictured all the different ways I could kill them.

I followed them. I wrote out addresses. I planned attacks.

I pictured every possible revenge.

I'd use a dagger.

A dagger hidden in an umbrella. A really sharp dagger.

I'd wait on a quiet street.

On a rainy day.

On a winter evening.

First, I'd follow him from a distance.

Then, I'd get closer and closer.

Closer and closer.

I'd stab him very slowly.

I'd look him in the eye.

I'd spit on the ground.

What about this?

How much time do I have left?

For every buyer, there's always a seller.

It all starts with a phone call.

You talk about money. You talk about a contact.

You talk about a meeting point.

Sometimes you need to get lucky. Sometimes you need more money.

Sometimes you need someone to let their guard down.

I learned quickly.

If someone hurts you, you respond.

When you go against power, use their same weapons, tools and methods.

A direct and dirty counterattack.

Blackmail.

I've been looking for you my whole life.

Dodging fake clues. Paying to find out more.

Losing.

I've spent years watching them, following them,

learning their ways, their language, their lives, their misfortunes.

Taking notes on their every step, waiting for them to make a mistake.

They've finally made that mistake.

I have some photos that can destroy your life.

You have something I've been looking for my entire life.

But now I'm the one in charge.

I need my full medical record and file, the signatures, the names, the dates.

Everything you've always said never exists.

You have until midnight.

They made us burn it all.

Official documents with seals, signatures, names, everything.

It's like those documents never existed.

We usually say they were lost or moved.

That they're at central services and someone's looking in the boxes.

But time goes by.

And nothing is ever found because we're told not to look.

And you want to help, but you don't know how.

Sometimes someone higher up calls someone who calls someone

who calls someone and we receive a notification.

A location in the archives. A catalog number.

An old man came here last year.

I gave him a letter and a picture.

It was the first picture he ever saw of his son.

These stories make you feel fake joy. But joy all the same.

Thanks to the picture, he found out he looks like his son.

Those stories allow you to continue.

When I go down to the archive, I cry.

There will come a time when there's no one left to ask.

And it'll all be gone.

There are two volumes here.

Five were taken somewhere else. I don't know where.

The rest were burned.

One day,

they told us just to take them out at sunset

and they were burned that night.

Why doesn't anyone ever talk about the fire?

All these years I've been looking for you,

crouched down, raging, like a wounded animal about to jump.

I finally have your name, your address, your street.

Now I know they lied to us. That you're not dead.

That I'm not crazy.

And I'm writing you this letter so you know how I found you.