His Very Life A Story

By Anonymous*

Once a drinking buddy of Francisco Franco, the American writer Giles Selig played a pivotal, behind-the-scenes role in the run-up to the Spanish Civil War. Today, at the age of 112 and largely forgotten, he lives idyllically in the Hudson Valley and continues publishing fiction under an unknown pseudonym.

Not much is known of Selig’s origins. Though his stories varied, he usually claimed his mother was some kind of heiress; and that his father was a slick, mustachioed adventurer who was occasionally mistaken for Zorro, even by actual Mexicans.

Or maybe not.

At any rate, Selig reached Madrid in early 1931, bringing with him a hearty appetite for Spanish ladies. His first conquest was a tatty bar-wench named Pilar, who entertained with parlor tricks and wore cheap wigs. She was also sleeping with Franco at the time, which is how Selig and the generalísimo (then merely a coronelísimo) became acquainted. Next was María Inocente Sánchez, a bouncy temptress whose multiple allures were irresistible. It was here that Selig’s fortunes changed, for María’s mother was a trusted maid in the Palacio Real with daily access to King Alfonso XIII.

By now the pre-war rivalries were in full swing and everyone in Spain lived in a constantly shifting web of loyalties and betrayals. In contrast to her mother, a devoted Loyalist, María loudly proclaimed herself an anti- monarchist and disparaged the King by calling him Trece, the unlucky number thirteen, and spitting every time she said his name. When she flattered Selig by showing an interest in his writings, he promptly shared with her the novel he’d been working on, all written out in pencil on a roll of toilet paper because the stores had nothing else.

María, though, was anything but inocente. She was secretly an agent for the King and assumed that Selig, because he hung around with Franco, was no less treacherous. And her objective all along had been to seize this manuscript. She gave it her mother, who then passed it to the King. Now, since even toilet paper was scarce these days, one can imagine what his highness ultimately did with it -- and in his “throne” room, as it were.

Quite naturally he began to read the manuscript while sitting there and, as a lifelong patron of the literary arts, was as quick to form his royal opinion of it as he was slow to move his royal bowels. Even the author’s choice to put such richly textured prose on toilet paper appeared to be a brilliant metaphor. But of what? King Alfonso had a fuzzy sense of it but didn’t know. So he summoned la Señora Sánchez on the bathroom intercom: “I would like to meet this Selig fellow. Go find him, for my my curiosity is burning.”

“That won’t be difficult.” As it happens, my daughter seems to know the man. But if you will permit me, Majesty, all your staff have waited hours now to brief you on this unfortunate rebellion that threatens to unseat you. What shall I tell them?”

“You can say that I am recovering from a bout of constipation and cannot be unseated just this minute,” said the King.

La Señora Sánchez felt obliged to remind Alfonso of the dangers facing him, and did so with the utmost deference. “Even so, this novel... I know it must be very, very good. But how can your Majesty fritter time away on mere amusements while civil war impends?”

“Perhaps the manuscript itself contains the answer,” the King replied, and scolded her for worrying too much about the war. After a few more minutes, when his royal business was finished, Alfonso tore sheets from the beginning of the roll, which he’d already read, and proceeded with his housekeeping, so to speak. But he hadn’t noticed there were words upon the other side as well -- the climactic ending in which Selig adroitly tied up all loose ends and exposed his arcane symbolism to the light. With this vital part now flushed into the palace sewer, the King could only find the rest of it unfathomable. He unrolled the whole manuscript on the floor and perused it back to front in search of clues to its profundity, then wound it on the roll again to start anew. Hours passed. And still he could not discern its meaning.

Downstairs, all the general staff, having tired of waiting, had lit cigars and finished off two bottles of Domecq. A third bottle was opened, but fell to the floor with such a loud crash that King Alfonso rose from his ceramic perch and, with the waistband of his trousers still around his knees, staggered down the marble stair. “¿Qué carajo ésto?” he exclaimed. “What on earth goes on?”

The Major General answered soberly, making every effort not to slur his words. “Forgive me, Majesty, but I fear the monarchy is lost. All of Spain is now Republican. What shall we do?”

King Alfonso viewed his own reflection in the floor- to-ceiling mirror and felt very small. “Where the deuce is my valet?” he shrilled. “I cannot be seen like this, indecorous and half-dressed. I call for my imperial uniform at once! To be adorned with all my sparkling medals! To clutch my plumèd helmet and my gilded sword! For am I other than a King?”

The officers were stunned and speechless. A tear suffused the Major General’s eye. The King said nothing further for the longest time. Then, in one slow, deliberate motion, he raised his trousers and stood tall. Suddenly he shrugged and said, “On second thought, just tell the bastards they have won, and I shall abdicate. Oh, and one more thing...”

“Yes, Majesty?” the Major General said.

“Among these rebels may be an American named Selig. Find him for me. Tell him he has changed the face of Spain, unwittingly, but that I rather liked his novel -- what little I could read of it.”

The End

*Author blurb:  Giles Selig (a pseudonym) writes anonymously in Rhinebeck, NY, and is nowhere near 112 years old.

Giles Selig (a pseudonym) writes anonymously in Rhinebeck, NY.  His fiction, poetry, and humor have appeared in print and on-line outlets.  Credits include Chronogram, Corvus Review, Foliate Oak, Light and Dark, Broke Bohemian, Penny Shorts, Flash Fiction Magazine, The Hunger, Literary Yard, Scarlet Leaf Review, Pilcrow & Dagger, Medium, Made-Up Words, Laughing Earth Lit, Henry, Edna, Utopia Science Fiction, the Strange Recital podcast series, and more.  His novella, Blaustein's Dream, has been anthologized by the Society of Misfit Stories.  He used to be an advertising and communications guy.