The Shadow of the Wind (21 page)

'You speak of him as if he were dead,' ventured Fermin with dismay.

'Not dead, thank God.'

I heaved a sigh of relief. Don Federico lived with his deaf octogenarian mother, known in the neighbourhood as 'La Pepita', who was famous for letting off hurricane-force wind capable of stunning the sparrows on her balcony and sending them spiralling down to the ground.

'Little did Pepita imagine that her Federico,' continued the schoolteacher, 'had spent the night in a filthy cell, where a whole band of pimps and roughnecks had handled him like a party whore, only to give him the beating of his life when they had tired of his lean flesh, while the rest of the inmates sang in chorus, "Pansy, pansy, eat shit you old dandy!"'

A deadly silence came over us. Merceditas sobbed. Fermin tried to comfort her with a tender embrace, but she jumped to one side.

19

'Imagine the scene,' Don Anacleto concluded.

The epilogue to the story did nothing to raise our hopes. Halfway through the morning, a grey police van had dumped Don Federico on his doorstep. He was covered in blood, his dress was in shreds, and he had lost his wig and his collection of fine costume jewellery. He had been urinated on, and his face was full of cuts and bruises. The baker's son had discovered him huddled in the doorframe, shaking and crying like a baby.

'It's not fair, no, sir,' argued Merceditas, positioned by the door of the bookshop, far from Fermin's wandering hands. 'Poor thing, he has a heart of gold, and he always minds his own business. So he likes dressing up as a Gypsy and singing in front of people? Who cares? People are evil.'

'Not evil,' Fermin objected. 'Moronic, which isn't quite the same thing. Evil presupposes a moral decision, intention, and some forethought. A moron or a lout, however, doesn't stop to think or reason. He acts on instinct, like an animal, convinced that he's doing good, that he's always right, and sanctimoniously proud to go around fucking up, if you'll excuse the French, anyone he perceives to be different from himself, be it because of skin colour, creed, language, nationality or, as in the case of Don Federico, his leisure pursuits. What the world really needs are more thoroughly evil people and fewer borderline pigheads.'

'Don't talk nonsense. What we need is a bit more Christian charity and less spitefulness. We're a disgraceful lot,' Merceditas cut in. 'Everybody goes to mass, but nobody pays attention to the words of Our Lord Jesus Christ.'

'Merceditas, let's not mention the missal industry. That's part of the problem, not the solution.'

'There goes the atheist again. And what has the clergy ever done to you, may I ask?'

'Come on, don't quarrel now,' interrupted my father. 'And you, Fermin, go and see about Don Federico, find out whether he needs anything, whether he wants someone to go to the chemist's for him or have something bought at the market.'

'Yes, Senor Sempere. Right away. Oratory is my undoing, as you know.'

'Your undoing is the shamelessness and the irreverence you carry around with you,' said Merceditas. 'Blasphemer. You ought to have your soul cleaned out with hydrochloric acid.'

'Look here, Merceditas, because I know you're a good person (though a bit narrow-minded and as ignorant as a brick), and because right now we're facing a social emergency, in the face of which one must prioritize one's efforts, I will refrain from clarifying a few cardinal points for you—'

'Fermin!' cried my father.

Fermin closed his mouth and rushed out of the shop. Merceditas watched him with disapproval.

'That man is going to get you into trouble one of these days, mark my words. He's an anarchist, a Mason, or a Jew at the very least. With that great big nose of his—'

'Pay no attention to him. He likes to be contradictory.'

Merceditas looked annoyed and shook her head. 'Well, I'll leave you now. Some of us have more than one job to do, and time is short. Good morning.'

We all nodded politely and watched her walk away, straight-backed, taking it out on the street with her high heels. My father drew a deep breath, as if wanting to inhale the peace that had just been recovered. Don Anacleto sagged next to him, having finally descended from his flights of rhetoric. His face was pale, and a sad autumnal look had flooded his eyes. 'This country has gone to the dogs,' he said.

'Come now, Don Anacleto, cheer up. Things have always been like this, here and everywhere else. The trouble is, there are some low moments, and when those strike close to home, everything looks blacker. You'll see how Don Federico overcomes this. He's stronger than we all think.'

The teacher was mumbling under his breath. 'It's like the tide, you see?' he said, beside himself. 'The savagery, I mean. It goes away, and you feel safe, but it always returns, it always returns . .. and it chokes us. I see it every day at school. My God .. . Apes, that's what we get in the classrooms. Darwin was a dreamer, I can assure you. No evolution or anything of the sort. For every one who can reason, I have to battle with nine orang-utans.'

We could only nod meekly. Don Anacleto raised a hand to say goodbye and left, his head bowed. He looked five years older than when he came in. My father sighed. We glanced at each other briefly, not knowing what to say. I wondered whether I should tell him about Inspector Fumero's visit to the bookshop. This has been a warning, I thought. A caution. Fumero had used poor Don Federico as a telegram.

'Is anything the matter, Daniel? You're pale.'

I sighed and looked down. I started to tell him about the incident with Inspector Fumero the other day and his threats. My father listened, containing the anger that the burning in his eyes betrayed.

'It's my fault,' I said. I should have said something...’

My father shook his head. 'No. You couldn't have known, Daniel.'

'But—'

'Don't even think about it. And not a word to Fermin. God knows how he would react if he knew the man was after him again.'

'But we have to do something.'

'Make sure he doesn't get into trouble.'

I nodded, not very convinced, and began to continue the work Fermin had started while my father returned to his correspondence. Between paragraphs my father would look over at me. I pretended not to notice.

'How did it go with Professor Velazquez yesterday? Everything all right?' he asked, eager to change the subject.

'Yes. He was pleased with the books. He mentioned that he was looking for a book of Franco's letters.'

'The Moorslayer book. But it's apocryphal ... a joke by Madariaga. What did you say to him?'

'That we were on the case and would give him some news in two weeks' time at the latest.'

'Well done. We'll put Fermin on the case and charge Velazquez a fortune.'

I nodded. We continued going through the motions of our routine. My father was still looking at me. Here we go, I thought.

'Yesterday a very pleasant girl came by the shop. Fermin says she's Tomas Aguilar's sister?'

'Yes.'

My father nodded, considering the coincidence with an expression of mild surprise. He granted me a moment's peace before he charged at me again, this time adopting the look of someone who has just remembered something.

'By the way, Daniel, we're not going to be very busy today, and, well, maybe you'd like to take some time off to do your own thing. Besides, I think you've been working too hard lately.'

'I'm fine, thanks.'

'I was even considering leaving Fermin here and going along to the Liceo Opera House with Barcelo. This afternoon they're performing Tannhauser, and he's invited me, as he has a few seats reserved in the stalls.' My father pretended to be reading his letters. He was a dreadful actor.

'Since when have you liked Wagner?'

He shrugged his shoulders. 'Never look a gift horse in the mouth... . Besides, with Barcelo it makes no difference what it is, because he spends the whole show commenting on the performance and criticizing the wardrobe and the tempo. He often asks after you. Perhaps you should go around to see him at the shop one day.'

'One of these days.'

'Right, then, if you agree, let's leave Fermin in charge today and we'll go out and enjoy ourselves a bit. It's about time. And if you need any money

'Dad. Bea is not my girlfriend.'

'Who said anything about girlfriends? That's settled, then. It's up to you. If you need any money, take it from the till, but leave a note so Fermin doesn't get a fright when he closes at the end of the day.'

Having said that, he feigned absentmindedness and wandered into the back room, smiling from ear to ear. I looked at my watch. It was ten-thirty in the morning. I had arranged to meet Bea at five in the university cloister, and, to my dismay, the day was turning out to be longer than The Brothers Karamazov.

Fermin soon returned from the watchmaker's home and informed us that a commando team of local women had set up a permanent guard to attend to poor Don Federico, whom the doctor had diagnosed as having three broken ribs, a large number of bruises, and an uncommonly severe rectal tear.

'Did you have to buy anything?' asked my father.

'They had enough medicines and ointments to open a pharmacy, so I took the liberty of buying him some flowers, a bottle of cologne, and three jars of peach juice - Don Federico's favourite.'

'You did the right thing. Let me know what I owe you,' said my father. 'And how did you find him?'

'Beaten to a pulp, quite frankly. Just to see him huddled up in his bed like a ball of wool, moaning that he wanted to die, made me want to kill someone, believe me. I feel like showing up at the offices of the Crime Squad and bumping off half a dozen of those pricks with a blunderbuss, beginning with that stinking ball of pus, Fumero.'

'Fermin, let's have some peace and quiet. I strictly forbid you to do anything of the sort.'

'Whatever you say, Senor Sempere.'

'And how has Pepita taken it?'

'With exemplary courage. The neighbours have doped her with shots of brandy, and when I saw her, she had collapsed onto the sofa and was snoring like a boar and letting off farts that bored bullet-holes through the upholstery.'

'True to character. Fermin, I'm going to ask you to look after the shop today; I'm going round to Don Federico's for a while. Later I've arranged to meet Barcelo. And Daniel has things to do.'

I raised my eyes just in time to catch Fermin and my father exchanging meaningful looks.

'What a couple of matchmakers,' I said. They were still laughing at me when I walked out through the door.

A cold, piercing breeze swept the streets, scattering strips of mist in its path. The steely sun snatched copper reflections from the roofs and belfries of the Gothic quarter. There were still some hours to go until my appointment with Bea in the university cloister, so I decided to try my luck and call on Nuria Monfort, hoping she was still living at the address provided by her father sometime ago.

Plaza de San Felipe Neri is like a small breathing space in the maze of streets that crisscross the Gothic quarter, hidden behind the old Roman walls. The holes left by machine-gun fire during the war pockmark the church walls. That morning a group of children played soldiers, oblivious to the memory of the stones. A young woman, her hair streaked with silver, watched them from the bench where she sat with an open book on her lap and an absent smile. The address showed that Nuria Monfort lived in a building by the entrance to the square. The year of its construction was still visible on the blackened stone arch that crowned the front door: 1801. Once I was in the hallway, there was just enough light to make out the shadowy chamber from which a staircase twisted upwards in an erratic spiral. I inspected the beehive of brass letterboxes. The names of the tenants appeared on pieces of yellowed card inserted in slots, as was common in those days.