Señor don Joaquín Barrera López
Mérida, Badajoz Province
Extremadura
MY DEAR SIR:
You will excuse me for sending you the long narrative I enclose with this letter, which is also long, considering its purpose, but I send it to you simply because among all the friends of Don Jesús González de la Riva (may God have forgiven him as surely as Don Jesús forgave me) you are the only one whose address I now remember. And I want to be freed of its company, which oppresses me every time I think I could ever have written it. My sending it will also keep me from throwing it into the fire in a moment of despondency—of which God gives me many these days—an act which would only prevent others from learning what I learned too late.
Let me explain myself. I know well enough that the memory of me will be more damned than otherwise, and since I wish to unburden my conscience—as much as that may be possible—by this public confession, which is no small penitence, I decided to tell something of what I remembered of my life. Memory was never my strong point, and I have probably forgotten some things which might even be very interesting. Still, I have set out to recount the events my mind did not erase and my hand did not refuse to put down on paper. There were some things would have made me retch in my soul to relate, and I preferred to remain silent and try to forget them. As soon as I began to write down this account of my life I thought of how there would always be one part of it that I would never be able to comment on, namely, my death (which I pray that God will hasten). I was much puzzled in thinking on this truth, and by the little life remaining to me I swear I was more than once on the point of giving it all up, for it seemed there was no purpose in beginning something I could never end at the right place. I finally thought the best course was to begin and leave the end up to God, whenever He should let go my hand. And thus I have proceeded. Now that I have grown tired of covering hundreds of pieces of paper with my words, I will simply bring this account to a close, leaving it to you to imagine the rest of my life, which should not be very difficult, for it should surely not last much longer nor can much more happen to me within these four walls.
I was very much disturbed, when first I began to write the enclosed account, by the idea that even then there was someone who knew whether or not I would reach the end of my story, or knew at what point it would suddenly be cut short, if I miscalculated the time left me for the work. The certainty that all my steps necessarily had to follow down paths already chosen for me unnerved me at the time and made me resentful. Now that I am closer to the next life, I am more resigned. I trust that God has deigned to grant me His pardon.
I feel a certain sense of relief after writing down all that happened, and there are even moments when my conscience pricks me less.
I trust you will understand what I cannot express in a better fashion because I do not know how. I am heartily sorry now that I took the wrong turning, but I no longer look for forgiveness in this life. What would be the use? It will probably be better if they deal with me as the law demands, for if they did not, it is more than likely I would do again what I have done before. I will not ask for reprieve, for life taught me too much evil and I am too weak to resist my instincts. Let the judgment written in the Book of Heaven be carried out.
Please accept, Don Joaquín, along with this packet of writing, my apology for addressing myself to you, and grant me the pardon I seek, as if I sought it from Don Jesús himself, for your humble servant,
PASCUAL DUARTE
Badajoz Prison, February 15, 1937