Hard to believe, but we’ve reached the end of this series.

Normally, a story starts at the beginning, moves through the middle, and ends at the end. And, if you look at it chronologically, this story is like that: we started in June of 1960, with that suitcase bomb that killed your sister at the Amara station, then moved through the silence of your family in the 60s, in the 70s, in the 80s… And then, Lluch, the tribute, and the year 2010. And everything that came after.

But, actually, there was a gap in this story: we were missing a piece: understanding where that other version of the story came from, the one that changed so much. And for that, we had to go to the origin: to that note published by the vicar of San Sebastián in 1992, that footnote that said that “it seemed that the first victim of ETA was a 22-month-old girl, Begoña Urroz Ibarrola.”

[Music]

But, over time, we realized that the origin went beyond Vicar Pagola. And that, actually, it was much closer than we thought. And we went together to look for it.

[Music]

Because throughout the investigation, I did the interviews, and then came back to Lasarte, to your kitchen, and told you and Juanlu what people had told me. And that’s where we would talk, connect the dots, build this puzzle. But there were two interviews I didn’t do alone. That we did together.

And just as I knew we had to do those interviews together, I also know that now is the time for you to tell your story too.

Bego: With this voice of mine?

Isabel: Yes.

Bego: I don’t know if it’ll come out like yours. Your voice is sweeter.

Isabel: It’ll come out differently. In your voice. She didn’t say no!

Juanlu: What, did you think she’d say no or what? What are you afraid of?

Bego: Me, I’m afraid, me, with this voice.

Isabel: Do you want to narrate the last episode with me?

Bego: Oh… Let’s try, okay? We’ll try, huh?

So, to end this series, we traded your kitchen for a recording studio…

Isabel: Yes. Okay, bagoaz.

And we began.

Bego: Welcome to She Had My Name. A documentary series about my sister, Begoña Urroz, my family’s silence, and the noise that broke it. A series from (De eso no se habla)…

Isabel: … in co-production with EITB Media and with support from the Ministry of Culture.

Bego: I’m Begoña Urroz.

Isabel: And I’m Isabel Cadenas Cañón.

And this is the last episode: The Kitchen.

Isabel: Yes, you’re on.

Bego: Do I seem tense to you?

Isabel: No, the opposite. I see you really empowered.

Bego: Well, yes, maybe because I’m calm. I don’t know.

Isabel: Yes, I see you very… Right? What do you think?

Juanlu: Empowered, as it should be.

Isabel: Right?

[Music]

Juanlu: No, it’s not far, about 20 minutes…

I: At first, it seemed obvious where we had to go to look for that origin.

GPS: In 300 meters, turn left.

We went, of course, to see Vicar Pagola.

B: We went by car, my husband drove us. I was nervous and at the same time, well, excited to see him, because after hearing so much about him, that footnote… So I thought, well, let’s see, let’s see what he’s like, right?

I: That day it was raining a lot.

B: A lot.

I: We got out of the car running and reached this kind of covered entrance.

B: Covered entrance.

I: We rang the bell…

B: Yes…

Isabel: Hello, José Antonio. We’re waiting for you downstairs.

B: When I saw him, I don’t know if it was because of who he was or because of the topic we were there to discuss, but I went to give him a hug.

Bego: So happy to meet you.

I: Pagola took us to his office…

B: A very cozy space.

Pagola: And you’ve come with your husband.

Bego: Yes, because my husband…

Isabel: He’s nice, a nice husband.

B: And there we sat, the four of us, around that table. And well, we started talking.

Bego: If Isabel and my mother knew I’m sitting at a table with you, they’d say… Well, with you.

Pagola: It’s getting there, little by little…

Bego: You.

B: I kept calling him usted and he’d say “No, please.” And I’d slip up again.

Bego: Well, they’d be happy, they’d say “Oh, Bego, look how you managed to talk to the priest.” Of course.

Isabel: Did you ever try, Bego? To talk to him?

Bego: Well, no, because… To me, you seemed like such an important person…

Pagola: But one must be humble (laughs).

Isabel: How long were you vicar? Were, were, were.

Pagola: I was general vicar when Setien was around.

Bego: Ah, Setien, of course.

I: “Setien,” we say. “Ah, Setien.”

Isabel: No more, no less…

B: Indeed, Setien had quite a reputation…

I: He was bishop of San Sebastián during the hardest years of ETA…

B: Well, they accused him of everything in the end too, accused him of being both for and against ETA, I mean, it was…

I: Yes, Setien was a very important figure in the Basque issue, but to explain his role we’d need another podcast, so I think for this one it’s enough to say that Pagola was his vicar, his number two, his shadow.

Bego: Thanks to her, because I would never have called him. I wouldn’t, I would never have called you. It was Isabel, because she’s doing this documentary…

B: I say documentary, and it’s not a documentary.

I: It is a documentary, it is a documentary.

B: Yes, that’s true. It’s true. Yes, yes.

Bego: I’m discovering many things that were never said in my house, and so little by little it’s coming out. And the same thing is happening with the people around me, because we didn’t talk either, we didn’t know and we didn’t talk.

B: Ernest Lluch and Pagola were… For my mother, they were the people who held onto that memory, the people who were there in her daughter’s story. So yes, it meant a lot to me—since I couldn’t meet Ernest, at least I could meet Pagola.

I: Maybe that’s why you told him so much.

Bego: I mean, my parents suffered the death of a child, they suffered two, two store destructions from the bomb. All collateral damage—they weren’t the target, obviously, but the bank got bombed, the shop destroyed. Another day, another bomb, destroyed. So my father died in 2008 in absolute silence, with no recognition, I mean, with a pain…

Pagola: Of course, and suffering. Suffering at home.

Bego: And suffering. And staying quiet, and shutting their mouths. Not speaking.

Pagola: Of course.

Bego: Not telling, like… There were times… Not now, but. But in those years when parents didn’t say anything and mine didn’t dare say anything… Sometimes you feel guilty,

Juanlu: That’s the worst part—not knowing, the not knowing and the ostracism that’s always there…

B: Yes, yes, I think so. I think it’s important that people know. I think a bit. All the families of victims, they all want to know… The thing is, it took me a long time to want to reach that point.

Pagola: Your mother?

Bego: This is the mother. This was the girl who was killed.

I: You even showed him some photos of your family.

Bego: My sister. And this was my father.

B: Ah, yes, the photo.

Bego: My mother, my father and the girl. And then a photo of the girl alone.

Pagola: Well I… Let’s see, no…

I: But of course, we also talked about that note he had written in 1992.

B: From the moment he published that note, this whole story started, right? Lluch… The whole story came out, so it really was a key moment…

Pagola: I remember that for years in Lasarte, people thought it was ETA.

Bego: Yes, yes.

I: Pagola told us that: he didn’t remember clearly, but for him, everyone in town thought it had been ETA. And he also told us he had spoken about your sister’s case with someone else.

B: Yes, yes.

I: With Lluch.

Pagola: Well, Ernest Lluch came to see me in San Sebastián… He was working on some kind of history of ETA and he came to me, and I told him that I had the impression it was ETA. We had a lot of contact because he asked me many things, and so…

I: So yes, Ernest Lluch had consulted with Vicar Pagola. But of course, the question was how the story had reached him.

B: Through whom? Right? That was the question we wanted to ask him.

Isabel: The thing is, you must have found out around the time you wrote the note, right? Because otherwise, you would have said so earlier. In ’92.

Pagola: Ah, of course.

Bego: He wouldn’t have known earlier, otherwise he would have said so earlier too, right? Of course.

Pagola: I don’t remember anymore.

Bego: Right, right. That’s normal.

Pagola: Now I get into so many messes…

I: But Pagola didn’t remember exactly.

B: He couldn’t tell us where it had come from, right?

I: He thought maybe the mayor, maybe the civil governor, or…

B: Or maybe a catechist.

I: Or maybe a catechist.

Pagola: I’m 87 years old.

Bego: Exactly.

Isabel: You remember quite a lot, actually.

Bego: I’m honestly amazed at how well you’re doing. I mean…

I: When we went to talk to him, Pagola was 87 years old, had published around 30 books, and I thought maybe we had arrived too late, that a few years earlier he might have been able to tell us more. Or maybe not. Because if I’ve learned anything in this series, it’s that everyone remembers history based on what they know today, and sometimes it’s hard to recall something that was important to one person but not to another.

Isabel: You know what? Nobody remembers anything. In this story…

Bego: Yeah, nobody remembers.

Isabel: Don’t worry, you’re not the only one.

Bego: No, no.

Pagola: It’s just that I was focused on other things. I’m still, look, publishing books.

Bego: Really?

I: And it’s true that he said to us, “Well, I’ve written many books before and after…” And it’s true that for him this was just a speck… A footnote that was a speck…

B: A speck, exactly. It was a small thing compared to everything else he’s experienced. So, well, it’s understandable.

Bego: Well, it’s been a real pleasure.

I: And once we had achieved our goals, we started to leave.

Juanlu: The light…

Bego: When we left his office, after saying goodbye…

Juanlu: Eskerrik asko.

Pagola: Bai.

Bego: The rain had stopped.

Isabel: The rain’s stopped! Agur…

Bego: Agur.

B: And in the car, well, we didn’t stop talking.

I: As always.

B: As always.

Bego: … That day. And back then, what the Vicar said—like I always say, the mayor, the priest, etc.—that was what mattered most. So, if he said it, how were we going to question it? It was a different sphere. Now, of course, I see him as much more approachable. So yes, it was really meaningful for me. You feel supported, you feel comfortable in a calm place… A bit like remembering Isabel’s kitchen, where you gather and talk goxo… So I think it was a very pleasant moment…

I: In that conversation we realized that to understand what had happened, it wasn’t enough to talk to Pagola. We had to pull on the thread a bit more.

Bego: We needed to know where the source came from.

I: Yes.

Bego: The source that he, let’s say, relied on to publish that footnote.

Because even though Pagola didn’t quite remember, we had always had a suspicion.

I: The thing is… I’ve been reviewing our conversation, our conversations, and you know, all the time they talked about the catechist.

Bego: The catechist.

[Music]

I: Re-reading the sources of this story, we realized that someone had confirmed that suspicion. It was Jesús Duva, in his 2010 article in El País. And in it, he said that while he was talking to your mother, your neighbor—the catechist—arrived, and it was she who told him that she had told the story to Vicar Pagola.

We’ve talked many times in your kitchen about that catechist.

Juanlu: No, if he relied on the catechist, then that source isn’t reliable. The catechist had said that ETA’s first victim was Begoña Urroz, so in the end, it all just becomes a bit of a mess…

Bego: Yes.

I: But until a certain moment, I didn’t realize that this catechist was your next-door neighbor, Isabel, the owner of the kitchen thanks to whom I met you. Was that always clear to you, Bego?

B: That the catechist was her? Yes.

I: And maybe it was me who didn’t make the connection that the catechist was the same person as Isabel. How wild. Because it seems not, it’s like… Of course, in my head, when you said “the catechist” but not Isabel, to me they were two different people.

Two different people who suddenly became one.

Isabel: Recording. Nora goaz? (Let’s go, Nora?)

So this story can only end where it began.

Bego: Well, let’s go to Isabel’s house.

Going to Isabel’s kitchen.

Bego: I call her Mendiluce, Mendiluce is her…

Where suddenly three things came together: that kitchen where I met you, the catechist who, supposedly, had told the story to Pagola…

Bego: …Many years ago. And we live door to door, well, neighbors of the ama.

And your mother’s neighbor.

Bego: So, let’s see how she’s doing. She’s a bit old too… Let’s see.

Isabel: Bego, so this is your house?

Bego: This is my house. Well, it was my house because we already sold it.

Bego: Yes, well, we grew up there. My parents came from Navarra and it was the first, the only apartment they bought.

I: It wasn’t easy to talk to Isabel.

B: No, because she was sick. She was delicate, so, of course, we had to find the right moment. We talked with her daughter about the right moment to speak…

[Intercom]

Bego: Arancha, Kaixo Bego, now, ready.

And in the end, her daughter Arantza told us to come over one day for coffee, just a little while, so Isabel wouldn’t get tired.

Isabel: This is your building for life.

Bego: All my life. I was born here, my sister when she died came down here.

(Greetings)

Bego: Kaixo Isabel!

(Basque)

B: And of course, we went straight to the kitchen.

Bego: This kitchen has character, right? More than that.

Isabel (neighbor): A cozy place. A calm, calm place where you can talk.

B: How nice to hear her, to hear her voice.

I: Isabel.

B: Yes, yes. What a shame my mother’s voice isn’t heard too. Both of them talking.

Bego: And it makes me sad to come here because I know that house is where I lived. And when I walk by, I look.

B: Hearing both of them would have been the ultimate. But well, I imagine it, come on, I’m going to imagine it.

I: Come on, let’s imagine it.

B: It’s there.

Arantza: We used to communicate with your mother…

Bego: We used to knock.

Arantza: For what? What was it for? It was usually for her to look out the window.

Bego: At the balcony…

Isabel (neighbor): Some errands.

Arantza: Some errands, and we would knock here on the wall, knock, knock, and the other would hear.

B: Yes, that’s true.

Arantza: And they would come to the window and communicate…

Isabel (neighbor): Now neighbors…

B: What memories.

Isabel (neighbor): …in this hallway. She used to walk, run, or half-run.

Bego: Half-run. Look at what a long hallway, you’ve seen how it is.

Isabel (neighbor): Yes. Very long.

Arantza: When they went shopping, when your mother went shopping, she left the child here, my grandmother…

B: Imagine her running down a long hallway. You were in that hallway. Imagine her running.

Isabel (neighbor): The thing is we were very close friends.

Bego: Yes, right?

I: I love that she says “very close friends,” it sounds so youthful, right? She says “very close friends” in such a way…

B: Yes, yes, it’s true.

Arantza: The ama and I used to be alone too and “Hey Jesusa, come, come, let’s… even if it’s just grapes.”

B: While we were with Ixabel, the phone rang and Arantza went to answer. Suddenly, in the middle of so many beautiful things, the conversation changed.

Isabel (neighbor): Yes, yes, we enjoyed a lot. And later, sorrows too, huh?

Bego: Sorrows too, yes. What sorrows, right?

Isabel (neighbor): What pain, what pain.

Bego: Yes, right? Sorrows too.

Isabel (neighbor): Sorrows too.

Bego: Yes.

Isabel (neighbor): I don’t know if she told you about Ernest Lluch. Well, yes. Before knowing him, he died. Before we knew each other, before we went for coffee… And…

I: The first sad thing she remembers is about Lluch.

B: Lluch, yes, yes, yes.

I: That really struck me and also the… image. You repeat it, Isabel repeats it, it’s like something that stuck with you…

B: Yes, for me… I… She came crying, screaming, so… But that was the moment. A moment when, doorbell… Yes, yes, very heartbreaking.

Isabel (neighbor): “What’s wrong?” We were both crying…

Bego: Yes, you rang the doorbell and hugged each other.

Isabel (neighbor): Yes.

Bego: And I was in the kitchen: “What’s wrong?” And how you two went crazy, both screaming.

Isabel (neighbor): Yes. He was killed. Absurd. An absurd thing.

Bego: Like all of them, right?

Isabel (neighbor): Like all deaths, they have been absurd.

Bego: Yes.

Isabel (neighbor): We have suffered a lot here, a lot.

Bego: Now, however, we have peace. Now yes. You at least are seeing, you are seeing, that we live in peace.

Isabel (neighbor): Yes.

Bego: Something my father didn’t see, nor your husband. Nobody. They didn’t see that part.

Isabel (neighbor): No.

Bego: Anyway, they still keep going on and on…

Isabel (neighbor): On and on, on and on.

Bego: Going back, on and on. And come on, enough already. And sometimes you hear them say… That’s it. The thing is, it’s true, we mustn’t forget. We mustn’t forget. But no…

Isabel (neighbor): Don’t beat it.

Bego: Don’t beat it.

Isabel (neighbor): Don’t beat it.

I: When you met with Isabel before, did you talk about the girl?

B: No. No, no.

I: Had you ever asked Isabel about the girl?

B: No. No, no… It was like that was another story, right? And then, like… And I repeat myself, since it wasn’t talked about, I just let it go.

I: It’s good we went, right?

B: Yes.

Isabel (neighbor): When the little one died, our little one, we went that way to the cemetery. To Calvario.

Bego: And to bury her and…

Arantza: With the coffin.

Isabel (neighbor): With the little coffin of the little angel.

Arantza: Yes.

Isabel (neighbor): And it turns out that at that burial…

Arantza: Was there a crowd?

Isabel (neighbor): No way.

Bego: No, no.

Isabel (neighbor): Quite the opposite.

Bego: Nobody came, right?

Isabel (neighbor): Nobody came.

Arantza: Ah, it was during the festivities too.

Isabel (neighbor): It was the San Pedro festivities.

Bego: When they went down… My mother always says they brought the little box here to bury, and the band was passing by dancing and jumping.

B: With the girl, my parents alone, from Navarra after… Just them. It must have been… You put yourself in the family’s place and say, “Damn, can they turn down the music, we’re burying a child.”

I: Suddenly, listening to you, I realized we were facing the only person who had known your sister, the only one who could tell us firsthand all those things you had told me because your mother had told them to you.

Isabel (neighbor): We mourned together, with Jesusa, and here in this house…

Bego: Where could my mother have mourned? It was her home and here, because mourning was with those of us here. So, I mean, no one else knew, no one else found out.

Isabel: Why didn’t anyone else find out about that?

Arantza: It wasn’t talked about. There was… I think there was fear at that time.

Bego: Yes.

Isabel (neighbor): There was a lot of fear. A lot of fear here in Lasarte—

Isabel: But then in the town they didn’t talk about what happened to Begoña because they were afraid of what?

Isabel (neighbor): I don’t know.

B: What were we afraid of? When I hear them say, “We were afraid.” What were we afraid of? We hadn’t done anything, right? What were we afraid of? I hear those words and I say, “We were afraid.” That’s why we didn’t talk. But afraid of what? As if we had done it ourselves, right? What were we afraid of?

I: What were you afraid of?

B: Well, I don’t know. I just don’t know. We’re talking about a little girl. It’s curious, it’s a question I can’t answer. What were we afraid of? Not now, but back then? That people would talk, we couldn’t talk. Now I would ask my mother, “What couldn’t we talk about? That the little girl had died?”

Bego: Because back then, of course, people thought that… I don’t even know if they knew then who it was.

Isabel (neighbor): It wasn’t certain, it wasn’t a sure thing that it was ETA.

B: ETA, look, it says it here.

Isabel (neighbor): It wasn’t… It wasn’t sure. Later, yes.

Bego: Later, yes? Well, sure, from what was being said…

B: You see?

Juanlu: Also, the person who talked about it or said something… So ETA was the one running things, basically, it was well regarded. So ETA was well regarded. So whoever criticized ETA could be seen badly in the town.

Bego: Yes, yes, yes.

I: Isabel told us that at the time it wasn’t certain that your sister had been killed by ETA. That later it was. But then, was she the one who told Pagola that? To talk about that, we went back, of course, to the sources.

Isabel (neighbor): Let me see if I have that book.

Arantza: It’s Pagola’s book.

Isabel (neighbor): A blue one, right?

I: We went back to read the footnote…

Bego: Let’s see, yes, let’s see.

Isabel: He says: “In reality, it seems that the first victim of a terrorist action by ETA was the 22-month-old girl Begoña Urroz Ibarrola, who died on June 27, 1960, when an explosive device placed at Amara station in San Sebastián detonated.”

Arantza: Those are the facts.

I: Facts, as Arantza says. Pagola said “facts.” But he didn’t say who told him, he didn’t say who his source was. The one who did mention Pagola’s source was Lluch.

Isabel: “The source on which Vicar General Pagola based himself was impeccable, and from it I was able to obtain corroborating and additional information.”

Those corroborating and additional pieces of information, of course, had to be the call Lluch made one day to Isabel’s house.

Isabel (neighbor): Well, he called both of us. Jesusa…

Bego: Did he talk to the ama too?

Isabel (neighbor): I think so.

Bego: Really? I didn’t know that, see, I didn’t know that. I know he talked to you because it was kind of because of you…

Isabel (neighbor): Yes. And to the ama too. The ama was next to me on the phone.

Bego: On the phone. Ah, okay, okay, okay. Yes, yes, yes.

Isabel (neighbor): And then I told the ama, “Hey, he’s coming over for coffee,” and so on.

I: And now we start a very interesting moment…

B: Arantza asks, right?

I: All of them.

Arantza: Did Lluch directly ask you if you had solid proof that it was…? Or did he say, “No, I want to come to your house, and please call Jesusa”…

Isabel (neighbor): No, no, just coffee. To meet.

Arantza: To meet?

Isabel (neighbor): To meet and to…

Arantza: It wasn’t a phone call saying “Hey, I heard you told this to Pagola,” and “How do you know?”… Did he start telling you that over the phone?

And there, I don’t know how you felt about it, Bego, but for me it was like Arantza had a moment of revelation about that call.

Arantza: That’s why she wanted to come. Because the catechist mentioned in that book is Isabel.

Bego: She’s the mother.

Arantza: And that’s why she wanted to come in person to interview the catechist, for the source. You have to go to the source.

B: Maybe Arantza was told something and wanted to remind her mother about it.

I: Yes. And she wasn’t the only one.

Arantza: And who told you?

Bego: Who told you? Someone must have told you, or someone mentioned it? Or was it just rumors? Probably rumors, right?

Isabel (neighbor): I think it was rumors.

Bego: Like they said, “this was ETA.”

Arantza: You didn’t have any proof, right?

Isabel (neighbor): No, no.

Bego: No one told you it was…

Arantza: What was in the town, the rumors that were in the streets.

Isabel (neighbor): Rumors.

Arantza: You went a lot to the Brígidas too.

B: The nuns.

Arantza: But they find out everything. I tell you, they find out everything.

Bego: Well, I mean, not that much…

Isabel (neighbor): No, but…

Arantza: Yes, yes. The cloistered nuns? Oh…

(Laughter)

And there, Bego, while I was listening to you talk, I thought something I had never thought before. And that is that the best interviews are those in which the interviewer doesn’t even have to open their mouth.

Bego: Yes, we’ve coincided here more than once already…

B: Yeah, we talked enough ourselves. We were there with Arantza asking Isabel, her ama, and me… Well, well, there was no need.

I: Yes. I thought that at the time, I said “maybe this is the best interview of my life and I haven’t spoken.” And I loved that. Well, reflections.

Arantza: Pagola used to give a lot of talks. He’s a… He still is a priest… He has been very popular and much loved in Gipuzkoa. And he gave several conferences in Lasarte as well.

Isabel (neighbor): Together with Setien.

Arantza: And you always went to Pagola to congratulate him or to give him…

Bego: Yes, or to greet him.

Arantza: Or to say “we have this problem, you have to come one day with this one,” right? You used to exchange a lot of information with Pagola. Well, one of those conversations.

And here Arantza is trying to understand the exact moment when her mother could have spoken with Pagola about your sister.

Isabel (neighbor): I can’t be completely sure… I can’t be.

Juanlu: Maybe back then, because…

Isabel (neighbor): Back then, they would say, “Well yes, it was ETA.”

Arantza: But solid proof?

Juanlu: Well, solid proof…

B: Of course, you see how his daughter insists and insists… So I think that in one of those conversations she might have said, “Hey, you see, what can come out of all this.” But then everyone clings to that, huh?

I: Yes.

B: It’s curious in this story, huh? Everyone clings to that.

[Music]

B: Yes, well, she was the one, yes. In this conversation you can see it, her daughter also insists on it, and her daughter says it too. Yes, it was her. How did she get it? Well, it’s implied that what was talked about in the town would have reached her as a rumor… It snowballed, she kept saying it was ETA, told Pagola and everything. So I think that’s how it is.

I: But do you think it was Isabel? We don’t know, right? But do you think Isabel was the one who picked up the rumor, told the vicar, and then told your ama? Or the other way around, or that your family started thinking it was ETA and then your mother spoke with Isabel…?

B: No. I don’t think so. I think not. I’m not saying who was first, I can’t know that, but surely, those contacts, since they were friends who talked a lot, they probably talked about it, she found out… Maybe Isabel, because she was a catechist and had contacts in associations and such at that time, probably got the rumor. She’d tell that rumor to my mother, they’d talk about it when they got together, “look at the girl,” whatever… So my mother, well, that’s it… Said by Isabel, then by Pagola and then by Lluch, I think my mother there… Well, as they say, to the death, right? The expression, what they said back then… I’m convinced.

I: But how can you be certain about something if your own neighbors, if Arantza and Isabel themselves, didn’t start to understand the weight of that silence until 2010?

Arantza: And when it came out in the press, we started to see it and said, “But this? Why has this been kept for so long?”

Bego: So long, indeed.

Arantza: This suffering of this family.

B: Of course. Yes, exactly. Since then… That was a before and after. Until then, no one talked. And they too, you see, neighbors next door.

I: And the conversation necessarily turned to what this must have meant for your mother.

B: Yes.

Bego: Well, I always remember, I have this feeling with my mother. The hiding, the not showing, the not letting anyone see. So at home, all the arguments you want, but in the street she was charming, everyone told me “Your mother is charming.” And that’s it. I think in public, in the street, don’t show anything, then…

Isabel (neighbor): I think women of the past had that.

Bego: Exactly, yes, yes.

Arantza: The image.

Bego: The image.

Isabel (neighbor): The image.

I: This part of the conversation really appeals to me, right? I don’t know, it seemed like you were all trying to understand your ama.

B: Yes.

Arantza: Maybe she was unsure, but maybe… Upset with the world, with the world. “They took away my eldest daughter, I no longer have her, which is… And I have another daughter and… All that I lost with my eldest daughter.” I…

Juanlu: Who knows what went through her head.

Arantza: In the end, it was like a rebellion against the world. Bitter.

Bego: Yes. That’s why the psychologists, the psychologists who came from Madrid, came to see my mother and when they finished they said “It’s clear your mother has that rooted deep inside,” like… Of course, a woman already 80 years old…

B: Elderly.

Bego: That’s why.

Arantza: But then your mother could have been angry with the whole town of Lasarte. Because what they did at the funeral, that it was time for the festivals and she… But then she went out. Your mother had a business. She was a saleswoman, she had a shoe store.

B: Well, I think… Nowadays, when someone is killed… Well, for years now not so much, but when there was a victim, everything stopped, tributes were made, everything, everything. People showed up, people were sensitive. Back then… So my mother had to deal with it alone. And in those other cases, at least people felt supported, right? They felt supported, recognized… From whichever side. My mother was recognized by no one but Isabel. So I think I understand that, that pain and that anger…

Bego: Who suffered more? You who saw the aita and ama. Who carried…?

Isabel (neighbor): The aita was very quiet. I think the mother vented more.

Bego: However, the aita had…

Isabel (neighbor): The aita…

Bego: More inside, yes. How could he cry, right? Back then, a man…

Isabel (neighbor): A man crying…

Juanlu: Men didn’t cry.

Bego: So he couldn’t talk.

Juanlu: They couldn’t cry. Yes, yes.

Isabel: Isabel, and when they gave Bego the same name?

Bego: Yes, of course.

B: “Yeah, of course.” It just comes out…

Isabel: What did you think?

Isabel (neighbor): Very good (laughs).

Bego: It’s a bit…

Isabel (neighbor): Not so much for her, maybe.

Bego: Yeah. It’s kind of… There are two feelings, right? One is pride, like… And the other is like a burden. For me, it’s heavy. Maybe not so much now…

Isabel (neighbor): I think Begoña has suffered a lot too.

B: Yes. “She has suffered a lot,” says Isabel. Of course.

I: Yeah.

B: But well.

I: And how do you feel now?

B: Well, that. That overprotection, of course, we’ve all suffered, one way or another. All of us.

I: Ixabel was starting to get tired, so we said goodbye and started leaving.

[In Basque]

Arantza and Isabel (neighbor): 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

Isabel: Good!

Juanlu: We all know how to count, right?

(Laughs)

Bego: Well, what now? Shall we go? Come on…

Isabel (neighbor): Agur.

Bego: Using her as an excuse, I came to see you, you see? Otherwise, we’d get caught up in a story…

Isabel (neighbor): Let’s see when you come again.

Bego: Yeah. We’ll see.

Isabel (neighbor): Before I fly away.

B: Notice how she already knew she was going to fly. And very high, too.

Bego: Others will probably fly before her.

Juanlu: Stop with the flying…

Arantza: Beautiful work you’re doing.

Bego: That’s what…

Isabel (neighbor): It’s beautiful.

I: It’s hard to hear this now, right, Bego?

B: Yes, she talked about flying because she already knew she was terminal. And she passed away, well, four months later.

Arantza: Eskerrik asko.

Bego: Eskerrik asko…

Arantza: Whenever you want…

[In Basque]

Isabel: Agur, see you soon…

Bego: What a smile.

B: Of course, you’re recording the whole time… What a pain. (Laughs)

I: Actually, look what this man just told me.

Juanlu: Are you still carrying that thing on you!?

(Laughs)

Bego: When did I tell you… What a smile, what a smile the woman had. And have you seen that smile? It’s amazing.

Isabel: And the daughter too, right?

Bego: Yeah…

Since we made this story, Isabel hasn’t been the only one to die.

I: Two months later, after this talk, your brother Jon passed away.

B: Yes. They overlapped in the hospital, both in palliative care. It’s true. He was already bad, and well, that’s it, I’m alone now. These things… My brother would have liked to hear this, it would have been very good.

I: Really?

B: He, as the older brother, received all the plaques, the medal of merit or whatever… He also said the day he was gone, it would be for me. So, well, I have them displayed in Navarra, at the Casa de Navarra. And well, that’s it, I’m alone now.

I: I was thinking your brother was like the guardian of your sister’s memory and now it’s you.

B: Yes.

I: So somehow this was our last chance to understand what happened with your sister’s story and to discover those things we didn’t know.

I: Honestly, I find it incredible that a story that has made us travel so much ends up back here in Lasarte.

B: That’s true.

I: Right?

B: Yeah. It’s true, after all you’ve uncovered and asked about and… After all the turns you’ve taken, that we ended up here in Lasarte.

I: And in Isabel’s kitchen…

B: And in Isabel’s kitchen.

I: … Isabel’s kitchen.

B: Yes, yes, yes. It deserved to end in her kitchen.

I: It deserved to end in her kitchen.

B: And with a memory of her. Of course. Of course.

 [Music]

B: She was named after me is a production of Se Habla Producciones…

I: … in co-production with EITB Media…

B: … and with the support of the Ministry of Culture, funded by the European Union…

I: Next Generation EU.

B: Next Generation EU.

I: Great.

B: E-U.

I: E-U.

B: Is it E-U?

I: E-U.

B: E-U.

I: And now some very long credits are coming.

This series was directed, researched, and written by me, Isabel Cadenas Cañón. Xuban Intxausti first told me about Begoña, helped with the production, and together we developed the initial story. Paula Morais has been with us from the start as assistant editor, production assistant, and much more. Marta Martínez was the editor of this series. Cris Tena coordinated production. We also had a team of advisors on political and narrative issues: Ana Useros, Pablo Romero, and Vanessa Rousselot. Fact-checking was done by José Molina and Clara Jiménez from the Maldita.es foundation. Rebeca Hernández and Queralt Castillo supported with documentation. I handled the sound design, and Yago Mendívil did the final mixing. The voice recordings took place at Isolé División Sonora, and the recordings for episode 7 at Ulu Estudios in Lasarte. The series illustrations were created by Carmen Cáceres. Art and graphic design were by Sandra Soler Peyton. Communication was managed by María Zuil. And I save the music for last because it deserves a special mention. The soundtrack was composed by Maite Larburu, who is from Hernani — a town that used to be the same as Lasarte. The theme music was composed by Maite Larburu and Vega Montero, and Paula Morais created the music for the previews. Cris Tena and Vanessa Rousselot produced the previews themselves.

This has been a three-year project with so many people to thank that they can’t all fit here, so we have included your names on our website. Special thanks to everyone who listened to the 50-minute versions of the episodes, those who participated in listening groups in Madrid and Bilbao, and the spaces that hosted us: Espacio Latte and Okapi. Most of all, thanks to Izaskun Pérez, who pushed this project forward like only a true friend can — a friend who knows a lot about audio.

If you liked She Had My Name, please help us share this story with more people. Recommend it to anyone you want, and tell them they can now listen to the entire series. If you’re curious to learn more, our website offers extra material about the episodes: photos from the time, documents, and much more at deesonosehabla.com, in the extra materials section of each episode. You can also subscribe to our channels on any audio platform, and even leave us a review.

I: Bego, do you want to say your own credits?

B: Yes, of course. Isabel, I want to thank you with all my heart for all the work you have done, for all your effort and investigation… Of course, thanks to everyone you interviewed, who accepted to talk and share everything they knew, all that important information… I thank them with all my heart for helping you make this documentary possible. And, of course, your team — your wonderful team who stood by you, whom I have met and are lovely people. So, thank you very much to all of you.

I: Mila esker, Bego. Thank you especially for daring to do this, for taking my hand and moving forward without hesitation, with your eyes closed.

B: With eyes closed. It has been a pleasure. You know it’s hard for me, it has been hard, but I admit it has been a pleasure. And you helped me bring out all these things I had inside.

I: Mila esker.

Thanks to our loyal and generous community, and thank you for being here. Thank you for listening. Milla, milla esker. Ta milla esker entzuteagatik.

[Music]