"I like to listen," Hall said. "Where did you learn your English, doctor?"
"My English?" The doctor leaned back in his chair, the smile of a man enjoying a highly private joke on his face. "I am afraid, compañero, that I learned my English in the same sort of a place where you learned your excellent Spanish. That is, in a dungeon built by the Kings of Spain."
"In Spain?"
"No. I am not a Spaniard. My grandfathers were Spaniards, but my father and I were born here." He pointed to a framed flag of the Republic which hung on the wall over Hall's chair. "That flag hung in my cell in El Moro for three years, and that flag was in my hands the day Segura's death opened the prison gates to all of us." The doctor was not aware that he was now speaking in Spanish.
"The doctor was in El Moro with Don Anibal," Pepe said.
"That is true," the doctor admitted. "Nearly every patriot on the faculty and so many of the students were there, too. I had just taken my degree in medicine but I was still at the University as an instructor in biology when the arrests began. But don't think it was all tears and terror. Don Anibal and his late cousin Federico formed the so-called University Behind Bars. We had Chairs in Latin, English, biology, history, art, literature—everything. The soldiers, who were with us, smuggled in our books and papers. Later, when the Seguristas were out of power, the students who were in prison were able to take their examinations in the University of San Hermano, and the new Regents gave them full academic credit for their studies at El Moro."
"He is a sick man, doctor," Pepe said. "Examine him first and talk to him later."
"Pepe is right, Compañero Hall. I do talk too much."
"Nonsense. Any man who did three years in jail has a lot of talking to catch up on when he gets out."
"Will the examination take very long?" Pepe asked. "I have to go back to town. I can pick you up later."