Barcelona Part Two

Barcelona Part Two

The Morning After

Peering out from under my niteshades, the light was blinding and the dorm empty. A pressing need for a leak propelled me from the bed. As i scrambled into some light blush-saving garments i tossed over the idea of returning to sleep after finding relief. My head was unexpectedly well after the previous nite's celebrations. Light and floating, somewhat disorientated but not pulsing. On return to the dorm i decided on some pre-emptive paracetamol and another couple of hours Zzzzzs before dinner.

Foraging in my medical kit for the paracetamol i heard the first scream. Loud, piercing, pained. The large window by the end of my bed was wide-open (a six bed-dorm takes a lot of airing to alleviate the potent mix of travellers sock's, boots, overdue laundry and assorted personal odours). Ignoring the noisy intrusion i continued to fumble in my pill bag, dexterity eluding me. Then another sharp series of screams. I loudly cursed whoever was larking around outside and weighed closing the window against the heavy stuffiness in the room. More screaming, tinged this time with desperation. Somebody was crying at the top of the their voice in Spanish No, No, No. A man's voice, surely high-jinx. Soon the screaming elevated into an elongated cry of No, Regardo, No; the pitch climbing higher, controting into something primeval, not expressing words or thoughts but pure emotion - terror, desperation, anguish.

Jumping to the window, I pushed my head against the security bars to try to establish where the screaming was coming from. As i did, it grew ever more panicked and desperate. Over and over the screams pleaded No, begging for somebody or something to stop. And it was coming from one of the upper floors of the hostel building. On realising this i ran downstairs and told the dude on reception that he needed to call the police immediately as it sounded like someone was being tortured somewhere upstairs. The dude flashed a look of mild disbelief and asked me to take him upstairs to check it out. Irked by his response I darted up the steps ahead of him, urgency injected into my steps; a reaction to my own initially lazy response.


Standing by the dorm window there wasn't a sound but for the usual street noises floating on the breeze of a warm afternoon. Then, as the dude seemed on the verge of shrugging his shoulders, there was another twisted screaming spasm of pain, the horribly familiar pleas of No, No, Regardo, No overpowering the honking cars on the streets below. Though inaudible inside the building, the strained voice forced loudly through the open window. With this, the dude jumped into action and sprinted out of my dorm.

Staircase

The dude gone, the screams having once more receded I sat on the bed, not sure what the hell was going on or what to do. Each pause between screams made it seem that the commotion could be over - for good or for bad. I had done what i could, raised the alarm and summoned help. What now? Sit down, get dressed? Go downstairs? Another anguished scream startled me. It was audible suffering and it was impossible to sit there quietly listening to the sound of someone being tortured. I reflexively jumped up from the bed and out of the dorm, heading up the stairs.


Bounding up the first couple of steps i had no idea what i was doing. My only thought was to alarm and distract whatever aggressor i would find up there. My heart racing, a sudden thump landed on the metal staircase high above. My ascent slowed as loud voices shouting in Spanish and the pounding of heavy bodies began rapidly coming down toward me, each pounding footstep feeling like an imminent threat. A girl in pyjama bottoms and a tank top, toothbrush in mouth, came out onto the landing immediately above me. Turning her gaze toward the commotion above her head she dropped the toothbrush and started screaming, running back onto her floor. The shouting and thumping was closing fast, doors were slamming, and i had come to a halt as i quickly measured my options. Should i try to stop one or other of the angry strangers spilling down toward me? The first or the second? Continue up toward them, stand my ground or retreat? It seemed certain from the weight and speed of their steps that i would more likely be bowled over down the steps by their bulk and momentum. The shouted Spanish words added to my confusion and disorientation and as bodies turned the last spiral down to where i stood i reversed course. Discretion became the better part of valour and i bolted back down the stairs without wasting any time to turn my head to see what was behind me. Turning onto my floor i darted to my dorm door to discover that, in my eagerness to get upstairs, i had locked myself out.


Standing in the corridor and locked out of my dorm i was trapped between the approaching and imminent thunder and a series of locked doors. The shouting and pounding closed to the steps just outside my floor and i was bracing for impact when a door opened at the opposite end of the corridor. With much nonchalance and annoyance the sleepy head of a Danish guy poked out to wonder what the commotion was. I sprinted toward him so suddenly that he started and nearly shut the door on me. As i reached his door i turned back to see a large, heavy man half run, half fall into our corridor from the staircase. Partly hunched over and clutching at his chest, the guy's shirt was soaked with dark blood, his jeans and shoes splattered and flecked with red. The guy staggered forward toward us, gurgling a few Spanish words as the shouting reached the corner behind him. With that the Danish guy latched onto my shoulder and pulled me into the dorm, slamming the door shut.


Peering out


Breathlessly i explained what i knew to the suddenly wide-awake Dane, my ear all the time pressed to the door but hearing nothing outside. The Dane rather wanted to stay put, but i wanted to know what was going on. After a couple of minutes i eased back the door just a sliver but i could see no one outside. The toilet and shower-room doors that opened off either side of the corridor were closed, the dorm doors all locked. Gingerly and as silently as possible I edged along the corridor toward the staircase door, carefully looking into the bathrooms as i went. Along the corridor there were small drops of blood on the floor. The white staircase was covered in blood; bloody footprints on the floor, wet red hand prints dripping from the white handrails, large splotches of blood on the worn metal steps. But nobody was in sight and there was no more noise.

I returned to the room and reported to the Dane and determined to make my way downstairs to see if the panic was over and what the hell was going on. Moments later i was stunned to find a Filipino cleaning lady on the staircase vigorously scrubbing, a bucket of red-brown dirty water at her feet. This i took to mean the panic was over and i bounced past her down the steps, bemused with the speed of the clean up operation. In the common area, which opened off the bottom of the stairs i met the dude from reception. Over his shoulder i could see through the kitchen door the heavy guy slumped on the floor, his back propped against a cabinet. His shirt was removed, revealing a large chest wound. Dark red blood had pured down onto his stomach, staining his jeans black, forming a pool of dark red liquid on the floor around him. Head bowed, his breathing was slow and heavy. He did not appear to be conscious, his bloodied chest barely rising, his arms lifeless by his side.

The tale

The reception dude explained that having called the police he had sprinted upstairs with a master key and opened the dorm where the noise was coming from. There was an altercation between two South Americans who had checked in a couple of days before. It seemed that the guy slumped on the kitchen floor had repeatedly stabbed the other guy, before being stabbed himself. The other South American was now lying on the floor of the dorm. The dorm room was covered in their blood like a scene from a Reservoir Dogs. The walls were splattered red, so much blood on the windows that the room was darkened of sunlight. Using his finger and thumb he indicated the fraction of an inch of blood that covered the dorm floor. When he had opened the dorm door the heavy dude had burst out past him onto the staircase, seemingly making a break for it. The reception dude pursued him down the stairs before the heavy guy first stalled onto our floor before staggering of his own accord down the stairs into the kitchen. A girl who had been sitting in the common area recalled a bizarre scene. The heavy guy had staggered into the common area clutching his chest and asking for water. As he staggered toward the kitchen a furious looking Filipino cleaning lady followed him, a few steps behind, mopping up the continuing trail of blood.

After some delay the cops arrived in number, followed shortly after by the paramedics. Much time was spent trying to stabilise each of the two South Americans before moving them to the ambulances. One of the staff said the guy upstairs was in such bad state that the paramedics were reluctant to waste blood transfusions on him. By now the press was on to it and a photographer was outside taking photos. Free, salving booze was being handed out from the bar. A suave, shaven-headed detective in blue jeans, white tee-shirt and black leather jacket - every bit the TV cop - questioned me and took a statement, the reception dude acting as translator.

After

As the police and paramedics faded away the cleaning ladies answered the call, turning out in force to mop and scrub away the blood. By evening time people returning tot he hostel knew nothing of the days events, but were mildly disconcerted to find that the kitchen was off limits. The other occupants of the blood-bath dorm room were admitted to retrieve their bags and belongings which were stained and soaked to varying degrees. That evening in the hostel bar a weird atmosphere prevailed. Many of those who had been out during the day partied away knowing nothing of the day's events whilst others, and the staff, shared a brooding uneasiness. I stayed late in the bar with some Scousers lingering from the previous nite.

The next morning was the end of my stay in Barcelona. I had always planned to leave the day after the game, and i was doubly happy to be leaving now. The staff on duty the day before were on duty again in the morning. I thought they might be entitled to a day off but all preferred to work to keep their mind off of things. Each to their own. By now the status of the South Americans had improved. The heavy dude who had passed out in the kitchen was likely to survive, the other guy had almost died on the operating table but was still clinging on. I said goodbye and good luck to the reception dude and trudged off to the train station to catch a train to France, happy that i could and mindful of the staff who stayed behind.