The Manual of Darkness (50 page)

‘I need to talk to you. It’s about Víctor. I need your help.’

Irina folds her arms across her chest, adopting a defensive posture when she hears the first sentence, frowns at the second, and opens her arms at the third.

‘OK. But I need hurry for my son.’

She is still standing in the doorway. Still holding the door open. Not like this, Alicia thinks.

‘I’ll walk with you so we can talk,’ she suggests. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Near to zoo,’ Irina says somewhat ambiguously.

‘Do you fancy some breakfast?’ Alicia says, ‘There’s a kiosk near the zoo, in the park. Doughnuts and hot chocolate? My treat,’ she hastens to add. ‘I’ll be quick, Irina, I promise.’

She stops the first taxi they see. During the ride they talk about the weather, the cold, about the fact the sun will be up soon. Sometimes they sink into silences so long that Alicia tenses her toes in sheer dread. When they get to the Parque de la Ciudadela, she sees the lights are on in the kiosk and heaves a
sigh of relief. It was a blind guess. When she was at university, she used to come here when she’d studied all night, but she hasn’t been back since.

Irina does not talk much. Alicia cannot stop. She struggles to find examples to explain her case, Víctor’s mental block, his unwillingness to change, his enormous potential wasted. Knowing that Irina’s Spanish is limited, she avoids metaphorical lumps of amber, complicated theories and images, and tries to find concrete examples of what she means. When breakfast arrives, Alicia says nothing for a minute or two. She notices Irina can stuff herself with doughnuts and still look elegant – no mean feat. Perhaps it is this, her innate poise, this artlessness so like elegance, which means she does not have to work the streets as most of her compatriots do. She wants to ask her what she did before, before she came to Spain, but decides not to. This is where you come in, she says finally. Or rather not you, but Darius. Irina drops her doughnut when she hears her son’s name, but she does not object, does not end the conversation. There is no anger on her face, just an almost comic astonishment which Alicia quickly attempts to assuage with promises: it won’t be for long, she’ll be right there ready to intervene if necessary, nothing is going to happen. Well, she concedes, nothing much. Irina is a pragmatic woman. She does not question the possible outcome of the plan or ask Alicia to explain its theoretical basis, she asks only for specific details: what day, what time, for how long, what’s her own excuse. Alicia begins to see light at the end of the tunnel, because she has rehearsed this part a thousand times. Perhaps it is the convincing way she explains every detail, her confidence, which persuades Irina to accept with only one condition: she has to be present too. If not, there’s nothing more to discuss. I am there too, she says again before finishing her hot chocolate and setting down her cup. I am there too.

The first twittering of the birds in the park announces the imminent arrival of sunrise. They hug as they say goodbye, an embrace in which there is a space left for Víctor, because he is the one they are protecting as their cheeks brush against each other. Alicia takes a taxi home, has a quick shower, and, utterly exhausted, sets off on her bicycle to Víctor’s place. Fortunately, he
won’t be able to see the bags under her eyes, but his hearing is keen enough to detect the slightest stress or tiredness in her voice. So the first thing she does, as casually as she can, is ask him for his keys so she can have copies made. She is about to tell him that she needs a key only to the door downstairs, that she was in the area last night and couldn’t find a safe place to park her bike, but didn’t want to disturb him because it was late. But before she can say a word, Víctor puts his hand in his trouser pocket, takes out his keys and hands them over. He doesn’t give a damn that she has keys to his apartment, that she knows where he keeps his money. He doesn’t give a damn about anything. Alicia puts the keys in her bag and tells him she will bring them back later today as soon as she’s made a copy.

This is the final piece she needs in order to set her plan in motion. If it were up to her, she would go home straight away, sleep all morning and spend the rest of the day preparing for Saturday. But she is going to stay and act as though this were a day like any other. Which is to say that, although she cannot look at Víctor without the tender pity reserved for victims of a well-intentioned con, she will be stern with him, push him, refuse to be swayed by his lack of enthusiasm, force him to do things. Practical things.

I’d like a hard-boiled egg, she says to him, and I want you to cook it for me. Víctor agrees with a resignation that Alicia recognises all too well after weeks, perhaps months, of practice. OK, if you insist, I will boil an egg. Just one. But don’t think that means I have the slightest intention, etc.…

Alicia has brought everything he will need in her bag. The egg, obviously, wrapped in several layers of newspaper. A small bottle of vegetable oil, a small quantity of salt in a plastic container, a long-handled saucepan, a plate, a knife, two forks, even a lighter specially adapted for the blind. With a long wand. She has everything covered. They go to the kitchen and both do what they are best at: Alicia gives precise instructions and Víctor carries them out.

Hold the saucepan in your right hand, put your index finger inside. Find the mixer tap with your left and hold the pan underneath. Run your hand down to the bottom of the mixer tap and
turn it on. As soon as the water comes up to your finger, turn off the tap. Set the saucepan down on the counter, but keep your hand on it so you always know where it is. Take the egg in your other hand. It’s right in front of you. At eleven o’clock. They have been talking like this for some time now, referring to the position of things as numbers on an imaginary clock. You’re going to put the egg in the pan, carefully, so it doesn’t break. Add a pinch of salt. It will raise the boiling point and also stop the shell from cracking. Take a step to your right. Find the burner you’re going to use on the stove. Take the pan and put it on the burner. Don’t centre it completely. Move it a little more towards twelve. Not quite so much, you just need enough space for the tip of the lighter. Since you haven’t turned it on yet, you can touch anything you want. When you’ve got this down to a fine art, you’ll always keep the lighter in the same place, but since it’s your first time, I’ll hand it to you. No, take it with your right hand. That’s it. Bring it closer to the burner. With your left hand, turn the knob to low. Hear the gas? Ignite it. Put down the lighter. Bring your hand up to your chest. Can you feel the heat? This part is important – if you can’t feel any heat, that means you didn’t light the burner and gas is escaping. In that case, you need to turn off the burner immediately and start again.

Since this is going to be the only time, Víctor is determined to do it properly. He concentrates as though she were teaching him the most spectacular magic trick in the world. Which is what it feels like. To the observer, filling a saucepan, putting in the egg, the salt, setting it on a burner and lighting the gas looks like one single, continuous action. To do it blind is an exhausting sequence of tiny actions which work only if each is accomplished with absolute order and precision. You need to know what it is you want to do before you start, and afterwards check you have done it. Jesus Christ, he thinks, all this just to boil an egg? And we’ve only just started.

Feel the heat? Good. Move the pan so it’s centred on the burner. Remember, you need to move a fraction towards six. That’s it. Now, you need to shut up and listen. There are people who put a teaspoon in the bottom of the pan so that when it moves they know the water is boiling, but I don’t like that. It’s too messy. If
you listen closely you’ll hear when the water starts to boil. You’ll have to practise a couple of times a day for a while. Imagine you want spaghetti, for example. You can’t put the pasta in until the water starts boiling.

A few bubbles are beginning to rise from the bottom of the pan, but Víctor does not react until the water is boiling steadily. Is that it? Yes. Now, the easiest thing would be to use a specially adapted timer, but I didn’t have time to swing by ONCE this morning and pick one up. It takes eight minutes so I’ll let you know when. While they’re waiting, Alicia tells Víctor that one of the blind people she worked with had a selection of operatic arias chosen specially because of their length. The person in question used them to time things they were cooking. Some older women say specific prayers. For a casserole or a roast, they might say a whole rosary. OK, that’s eight minutes. Turn off the gas. Remember the position of the saucepan handle? It’s at three o’clock. Pick it up and carry it over to the sink. Turn on the cold water. With a bit of practice, you’ll learn to take the egg out with a small strainer. In the meantime, let the cold water run and count to a hundred. Now it’s safe to put your hand in. Take out the egg. Open the bin. Peel the egg. You already know how to do that. Run your fingers over it to make sure there aren’t any pieces of shell left. Remember where you put the plate? Perfect. Put the egg on it. Take this knife. You’re not going to cut it into slices. Perfectionism is all very well, but sometimes you can go too far. Find the two ends of the egg and cut it in half. One for you, one for me. Excellent, Víctor, you’ve just boiled your first egg. All you need now is a little drizzle of oil. I’ll do that if you like. Here, I brought a couple of forks.

But Víctor doesn’t wait. He launches himself at the plate, grabs his half and stuffs it in his mouth, chews four times, presses the mass against the roof of his mouth with his tongue, screws up his face, makes a low purring noise and when he turns his vacant eyes to Alicia, she sees that they are shining with tears and she cannot understand that it is not because of his hunger, because he likes the taste, that it’s not the salt, the oil or the egg, but the temperature, the unexpected contact of something warm against his taste buds which for more than a year now have been condemned to a merciless regime of cold.

S
he feels a little ashamed when she realises that a number of passers-by, surprised to see her holding a camera, stop and glance up the street to see what she is filming. The camera offers her a false pretext: she is about to film an important event and perhaps the resulting footage will one day be used to train future technicians. But if that were true, she would have told Víctor that she was thinking of filming him. Since she hasn’t done so, the only possible conclusion is that she is spying on him and that her very presence, with or without a camera, is a sign she doesn’t trust him. Because until just now, she suspected Víctor would not fulfil his promise and come alone, she was convinced that at the last minute he would be afraid and would call Irina.

All this changed the moment she saw him approaching the bus stop, his body tense, his face grim, but walking with confident strides. And by himself. That is the important part: by himself. Using the cane. Since that moment, Alicia has been standing almost on tiptoe, holding the camera as high as she can, her right arm out to stop anyone else from wandering into shot. She is nervous: now and then she brings her hand to her mouth, bites her nails, curses the fact the bus is late. If she had to award points, she would give Víctor a 10 so far. He arrived on time and, from what Alicia can tell, he has done everything he should: he’s standing at the back of the bus shelter, well away from the road in order to avoid an accident, has asked whether there is anyone else waiting, explained that he wants to take the number 39 so can they let him know when it arrives. An elderly woman with a kindly face replied. Unfortunately, Alicia couldn’t record their conversation, but the images spoke volumes. She followed the exchange so enthusiastically
that her lips began to mouth silent words of encouragement: that’s good, Víctor, you’re doing well. There he is, standing still, cane retracted, hands in his pockets. Actually, were it not for the fact that this stop is served by several bus lines he wouldn’t even have needed help. He’s perfectly capable of telling when the bus has arrived from the sound; all he needs is for someone to confirm that this one’s a 39. They went over these details only yesterday.

The longer Víctor has to stand at the bus stop, the more anxious he will feel. Just as Alicia is beginning to curse the council and the bus drivers’ union, she sees the bus appear at the end of the street. The elderly woman goes over to Víctor, whispers something in his ear and takes his forearm. Alicia zooms in with the camera as close as she can, though she does not need to see Víctor’s face to know that he will be bothered by the woman touching him. Víctor’s lips move, he is clearly making a cutting remark. The woman lets go of his arm and takes a step back. How rude.

Tense, concentrating, Víctor recognises the sound of the engine when the bus is still some thirty yards away. With a speed that perhaps even the camera will not capture, he extends the cane. Perfect. The bus comes to a halt and opens its doors a couple of yards away from the stop. Alicia curses the driver. Víctor steps forward, holding the cane out in front of him, stands in front of the door, finds the first step with the tip of the cane, brings his hands up and fumbles for the handrail, climbs aboard and immediately puts the cane in the diagonal position to make sure he does not trip over anything. The woman is behind him, ready to offer help should he need it, but she makes no attempt to intervene. Alicia is thankful for her patience. Usually, there’s some arsehole in a hurry. She switches off the camera and tiptoes to the door of the bus. She is barely breathing. If Víctor finds out she’s spying on him, he will kill her. Through the windows, she sees Víctor take out the ticket she gave him, printed in raised ink so he knows which way it needs to go into the machine. Then he brings his hand up to the top rail, still holding the cane in front of him with the other, and moves towards the middle doors, where he stands next to a pole. Yesterday, she tried to show him how to find
an empty seat but Víctor finally yelled, ‘I’m not an old man, Alicia, I’m blind. I’m capable of standing up.’ The bus moves off. Bye-bye, little old man, she thinks as she watches it move way. She feels like waving, like blowing him a kiss.