The Shadow of the Wind (29 page)

One of the most complex processes of the now disappeared science of hat making, both technically and politically, was that of taking measurements. Don Ricardo Aldaya had a cranium that, according to Julian, bordered on the melon-shaped and was quite rugged. The hatter was aware of the difficulties as soon as he saw the great man's head, and that same evening, when Julian said it reminded him of certain peaks in the mountains of Montserrat, Fortuny couldn't help agreeing with him. 'Father, with all due respect, you know that when it comes to taking measurements, I'm better at it than you, because you get nervous. Let me do it' The hatter readily agreed, and the following day, when Aldaya arrived in his Mercedes-Benz, Julian welcomed him and took him to the workshop. When Aldaya realized that he was going to be measured by a boy of fourteen, he was furious. 'But what is this? A child? Are you pulling my leg?' Julian, who was aware of his client's social position but who wasn't in the least bit intimidated by him, answered, 'Sir, I don't know about your leg, but there's not much to pull up here. This crown looks like a bullring, and if we don't hurry up and make you a set of hats, your head will be mistaken for a Barcelona street plan.' When he heard those words, Fortuny wanted the ground to swallow him up. Aldaya, undaunted, fixed his gaze on Julian. Then, to everyone's surprise, he burst out laughing as he hadn't done in years.

'This child of yours will go far, Fortunato,' declared Aldaya, who had not quite learned the hatter's surname.

That is how they discovered that Don Ricardo Aldaya was fed up to his very back teeth with being feared and flattered by everyone; with having people throw themselves on the ground like a doormat as he went by. He despised sycophants, cowards, and anyone who showed any sort of weakness, be it physical, mental, or moral. When he came across a humble boy, barely an apprentice, who had the cheek and the spirit to laugh at him, Aldaya decided he'd hit on the ideal hat shop and immediately doubled his order. That week he gladly turned up every day for his appointment, so that Julian could take measurements and try different models on him. Antoni Fortuny was amazed to see how the champion of Catalan society would fall about laughing at the jokes and stories told by the son who was still a stranger to him, that boy he never spoke to and who, for years, had shown no sign of having any sense of humour. At the end of the week, Aldaya took the hatter aside, to a corner of the shop, and spoke to him in confidence.

'Let's see, Fortunato, this son of yours has great talent, and you've got him stuck here, bored out of his mind, dusting the cobwebs in a two-bit shop.'

'This is a good business, Don Ricardo, and the boy shows a certain flair, even though he lacks backbone.'

'Nonsense. What school does he attend?'

'Well, he goes to the local school.

'Nothing but a production line for workers. When one is young, talent -genius, if you like — must be cultivated, or it becomes twisted and consumes the person who possesses it. It needs direction. Support. Do you understand me, Fortunato?'

'You're mistaken about my son. He's nowhere near a genius. He can barely pass his geography. His teachers tell me he's a scatterbrain and has a very bad attitude, just like his mother. But at least here he'll always have an honest job and—'

'Fortunato, you bore me. Today, without fail, I'll go to San Gabriel's school to see the admissions board, and I'll let them know that they are to accept your son into the same class as my eldest child, Jorge. Anything less would be miserly of me.'

The hatter's eyes were as big as saucers. San Gabriel's was the nursery for the cream of high society.

'But, Don Ricardo, I would be unable to finance—-

'No one is asking you to pay anything. I'll take charge of the boy's education. You, as his father, only have to agree.'

'But of course, certainly, but—'

'That's decided, then. So long as Julian accepts, of course.'

'He'll do what he's told, naturally.'

At this point in the conversation, Julian stuck his head round the door of the back room with a hat mould in his hands.

'Don Ricardo, whenever you're ready. . .'

'Tell me, Julian, what are you doing this afternoon?' Aldaya asked.

Julian looked alternately at his father and the tycoon.

'Well, helping my father here, in the shop.'

'Apart from that.'

'I was thinking of going to the library.

'You like books, eh?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Have you read Conrad? Heart of Darkness?'

'Three times.'

The hatter frowned, utterly lost. And who is this Conrad, if you don't mind my asking?'

Aldaya silenced him with a gesture that seemed like something from a shareholders' meeting.

'In my house I have a library with fourteen thousand books, Julian. When I was young, I read a lot, but now I no longer have the time. Come to think of it, I have three copies signed by Conrad himself. My son Jorge can't even be dragged into the library. The only person who thinks and reads in the house is my daughter Penelope, so all those books are being wasted. Would you like to see them?'

Julian nodded, speechless. The hatter observed the scene with a sense of unease he couldn't quite define. All those names were unknown to him. Novels, as everyone knew, were for women and for people who had nothing better to do. The Heart of Darkness sounded like a mortal sin at the very least.

'Fortunato, your son is coming with me. I want to introduce him to my son Jorge. Don't worry, we'll bring him back to you later. Tell me, young man, have you ever been in a Mercedes-Benz?'

Julian presumed that that was the name of the cumbersome, imperial-looking machine the industrialist used for getting around. He shook his head.

'Well, then, it's about time. It's like going to heaven, but without dying.'

Antoni Fortuny watched them leave in that exceedingly luxurious carriage, and when he searched his heart, all he found was sadness. That night, while he had dinner with Sophie (who was wearing her new dress and shoes and had almost no bruises or scars), he asked himself where he had gone wrong this time. Just when God was returning a son to him, Aldaya was taking him away.

'Take off that dress, woman, you look like a whore. And don't let me see this wine on the table again. The watered-down sort is quite good enough for us. Greed will corrupt us all in the end.'

Julian had never crossed over to the other side of Avenida Diagonal. That line of groves, empty plots of land, and palaces awaiting the expansion of the city was a forbidden frontier. Hamlets, hills, and mysterious places rumoured to contain unimaginable wealth extended beyond it. As they passed through, Aldaya talked to Julian about San Gabriel's, about new friends Julian had never set eyes on, about a future he had not thought possible.

'What do you aspire to, Julian? In life, I mean.'

'I don't know. Sometimes I think I'd like to be a writer. A novelist.'

'Like Conrad, eh? You're very young, of course. And tell me, doesn't banking tempt you?'

'I don't know, sir. The truth is that it hadn't even entered my head. I've never seen more than three pesetas together. High finance is a mystery to me.'

Aldaya laughed. 'There's no mystery, Julian. The trick is not to put pesetas together in threes, but in three million. That way there's no enigma, I can assure you. No Holy Trinity.'

That afternoon, as he drove up Avenida del Tibidabo, Julian thought he was entering the doors of paradise. Mansions that seemed like cathedrals flanked the way. Halfway along the avenue, the driver turned, and they went through the gates of one of them. Instantly an army of servants set about receiving the master. All Julian could see was a large, majestic house with three floors. It had never occurred to him that real people could live in places like this. He let himself be taken through the lobby, then he crossed a vaulted hall from where a marble staircase rose, framed by velvet curtains, and finally entered a large room whose walls were a tapestry of books, from floor to ceiling.

'What do you think?' asked Aldaya.

Julian was barely listening.

'Damian, tell Jorge to come down to the library immediately.'

The faceless and silent servants glided away at the slightest order from the master with the efficiency and submissiveness of a body of well-trained insects.

'You're going to need a new wardrobe, Julian. There are a lot of morons out there who only go by appearances. . . . I'll tell Jacinta to take care of that; you don't have to worry about it. And it's probably best if you don't mention it to your father, in case it annoys him. Look, here comes Jorge. Jorge, I want you to meet a wonderful young man who is going to be your new classmate. Julian Fortu—'

'Julian Carax,' he corrected.

'Julian Carax,' repeated a satisfied Aldaya. 'I like the sound of it. This is my son Jorge.'

Julian held out his hand, and Jorge Aldaya shook it. His touch was lukewarm, unenthusiastic, and his face had a pale, chiselled look that came from having grown up in that doll-like world. To Julian, his clothes and shoes seemed like something out of a novel. His eyes gave off an air of bravado and arrogance, of disdain and sugary politeness. Julian smiled at him openly, reading insecurity, fear, and emptiness under that shell of vanity.

'Is it true you haven't read any of these books?'

'Books are boring.'

'Books are mirrors: you only see in them what you already have inside you,' answered Julian.

Don Ricardo Aldaya laughed again. 'Well, I'll leave you two alone so you can get to know each other. Julian, you'll see that although he seems spoiled and conceited, underneath that mask Jorge isn't as stupid as he looks. He has something of his father in him.'

Aldaya's words seemed to fall like knives on the boy, though he didn't let his smile fade at all. Julian regretted his answer and felt sorry for him.

'You must be the hatter's son,' said Jorge, without malice. 'My father talks about you a lot these days.'

'It's the novelty. I hope you don't hold that against me. Under this mask of a know-it-all meddler, I'm not such an idiot as I seem.'

Jorge smiled at him, Julian thought he smiled the way people smile who have no friends - with gratitude.

'Come, I'll show you the rest of the house.'

They left the library behind them and went off towards the main door and the gardens. When they crossed the hall with the staircase, Julian looked up and glimpsed a figure ascending the stairs with one hand on the banister. He felt as if he were caught up in a vision. The girl must have been about twelve or thirteen and was escorted by a mature woman, small and rosy-cheeked, who looked like a governess. The girl wore a blue satin dress. Her hair was the colour of almonds, and the skin on her shoulders and slim neck seemed translucent. She stopped at the top of the stairs and turned around briefly. For a second their eyes met, and she offered him the ghost of a smile. Then the governess put her arms round the girl's shoulders and led her to the entrance of a corridor into which they both disappeared. Julian looked down and he fixed his eyes on Jorge's again.

'That's Penelope, my sister. You'll meet her later. She's a bit nutty. She spends all day reading. Come on, I want to show you the chapel in the basement. The cooks say it's haunted.'

Julian followed the boy meekly, but he cared little about anything else. Now he understood. He had dreamed about her countless times, on that same staircase, with that same blue dress and that same movement of her ash-grey eyes, without knowing who she was or why she smiled at him. When he went out into the garden, he let himself be led by Jorge as far as the coach houses and the tennis courts that stretched out beyond. Only then did he turn around to look back and saw her in her window on the second floor. He could barely make out her shape, but he knew she was smiling at him and that somehow she, too, had recognized him.