The Shadow of the Wind (40 page)

During that last spring at San Gabriel's, Julian was unnerved to discover that Don Ricardo Aldaya and his mother sometimes met secretly. At first he feared that the industrialist might have decided to add the conquest of Sophie to his collection, but soon he realized that the meetings, which always took place in cafes in the centre of town and were carried out with the utmost propriety, were limited to conversation. Sophie kept silent about these meetings. When at last Julian decided to ask Don Ricardo what was going on between him and his mother, the magnate laughed.

'Nothing gets by you, does it, Julian? The fact is, I was going to talk to you about this matter. Your mother and I are discussing your future. She came to see me a few weeks ago. She was worried because your father wants to send you away to the army next year. Your mother, quite naturally, wants the best for you, and she came to me to see whether, between the two of us, we could do anything. Don't worry; you have Don Ricardo Aldaya's word that you won't become cannon fodder. Your mother and I have great plans for you. Trust us.'

Julian wanted to trust him, yet Don Ricardo inspired anything but trust. When he consulted Miquel Moliner, the boy agreed with Julian.

'If what you want to do is elope with Penelope, and may God help you, what you need is money.'

Money was exactly what Julian didn't have.

'That can be arranged,' Miquel told him. 'That's what rich friends are for.'

That is how Miquel and Julian began to plan the lovers' escape. The destination, at Miquel's suggestion, would be Paris. Moliner was of the opinion that, if Julian was set on being a starving bohemian artist, at least a Parisian setting couldn't be improved upon. Penelope spoke a little French, and for Julian, who had learned it from his mother, it was his second language.

'Besides, Paris is large enough to get lost in but small enough to offer opportunities,' Miquel reasoned.

Miquel managed to put together a small fortune, joining his savings from many years to what he was able to extort from his father, using the most outlandish excuses. Only he knew where the money was really going.

'And I plan to go dumb the minute you two board that train.'

That same afternoon, after finalizing details with Moliner, Julian went to the house on Avenida del Tibidabo to tell Penelope about the plan.

'You mustn't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you. No one. Not even Jacinta,' Julian began.

The girl listened to him in astonishment, enthralled. Moliner's plan was impeccable. Miquel would buy the tickets under a false name and hire a third party to collect them at the ticket office in the station. If by any chance the police discovered him, all he'd be able to give them would be the description of someone who did not look like Julian. Julian and Penelope would meet on the train. There would be no waiting on the platform, where they might be seen. The escape would take place on a Sunday, at midday. Julian would make his own way to the Estacion de Francia. Miquel would be there waiting for him, with the tickets and the money.

The most delicate part of the plan concerned Penelope. She had to deceive Jacinta and ask her to invent an excuse for taking her out of the eleven o'clock mass and returning home. On the way Penelope would ask Jacinta to let her go and meet Julian, promising to be back before the family had returned to the mansion. This would be Penelope's opportunity to get to the station. They both knew that if they told her the truth, Jacinta would not allow them to leave. She loved them too much.

'It's the perfect plan, Miquel,' Julian said.

Miquel nodded sadly. 'Except for one detail: the pain you are going to cause a lot of people by going away forever.'

Julian nodded, thinking of his mother and Jacinta. It did not occur to him that Miquel Moliner was talking about himself.

The most difficult thing was convincing Penelope of the need to keep Jacinta in the dark. Only Miquel would know the truth. The train left at one in the afternoon. By the time Penelope's absence was noticed, the couple would have crossed the border. Once in Paris, they would settle in a hostel as man and wife, using a false name. They would then send Miquel Moliner a letter addressed to their families, confessing their love, telling them they were well, that they loved them, announcing their church wedding, and asking for forgiveness and understanding. Miquel Moliner would put the letter in a second envelope to do away with the Paris postmark and would see to it that it was posted from some nearby town.

'When?' asked Penelope.

'In six days' time,' said Julian. 'This coming Sunday.'

Miquel reckoned it would be best if Julian didn't see Penelope during the days left prior to the elopement, so as not to arouse suspicion. They should both agree not to see each other again until they met on the train on their way to Paris. Six days without seeing her, without touching her, seemed interminable to Julian. They sealed the pact, the secret marriage, with a kiss.

It was then that Julian took Penelope to Jacinta's bedroom on the third floor of the house. Only the servants' quarters were on that floor, and Julian was sure nobody would discover them. They undressed feverishly, with an angry passion and desire, scratching each other's skin and melting into silence. They learned each other's bodies by heart and buried all thoughts of those six days of separation. Julian penetrated Penelope with fury, pressing her against the floorboards. She received him with open eyes, her legs hugging his torso, her lips half open with yearning. There was not a glimmer of fragility or childishness in her eyes or in her warm body. Later, with his face still resting on her stomach and his hands on her white, tremulous breasts, Julian knew he had to say goodbye. He had barely had time to sit up when the door of the room slowly opened and a woman's shape appeared at the doorway. For a second, Julian thought it was Jacinta, but he soon realized it was Senora Aldaya. She was watching them, spellbound, with a mixture of fascination and disgust. All she managed to mumble was, 'Where's Jacinta?' Then she just turned and walked away without saying a word, while Penelope crouched on the floor in mute agony and Julian felt the world collapsing around him.

'Go now, Julian. Go before my father comes.'

'But...'

'Go.'

Julian nodded. 'Whatever happens, I'll wait for you on Sunday on that train.'

Penelope managed a faint smile. 'I'll be there. Now go. Please. . .'

She was still naked when he left her and slid down the servants' staircase towards  the  coach  houses  and out into  the coldest night he  could remember.

The days that followed were agony. Julian had spent all night awake, expecting that Don Ricardo's hired assassins would come for him at any moment. The following day, in school, he didn't notice any change of attitude in Jorge Aldaya. Devoured by anguish, Julian told Miquel Moliner what had happened. Miquel shook his head.

'You're crazy, Julian, but that's nothing new. What's strange is that there hasn't been an upheaval in the Aldayas' house. Which, come to think of it, isn't so surprising. If, as you say, it was Senora Aldaya who discovered you, it might be that she still doesn't know what to do. I've had three conversations with her in my life and came to two conclusions: one, Senora Aldaya has the mental age of a twelve-year-old; two, she suffers from a chronic narcissism that makes it impossible for her to see or understand anything that is not what she wants to see or believe, especially if it concerns herself.'

'Spare me the diagnosis, Miquel.'

'What I mean is that she's probably still wondering what to say, how to say it, when, and to whom. First she must think of the consequences for herself the potential scandal, her husband's fury . . . The rest, I daresay, she couldn't care less about.'

'So you think she won't say anything?'

'She might take a day or two. But I don't think she's capable of keeping such a secret from her husband. What about the escape plan? Is it still on?'

'More than ever.'

'I'm glad to hear that. Because I really believe that now there's no turning back.'

The week stretched out interminably. Julian went to school every day with uncertainty hard on his heels. He passed the time merely pretending to be there, barely able to exchange glances with Miquel Moliner, who was beginning to be just as worried as him, or more so. Jorge Aldaya said nothing. He was as polite as ever. Jacinta had not turned up again to collect Jorge from school. Don Ricardo's chauffeur came every afternoon. Julian felt like dying, wishing that whatever was going to happen would happen, so that the waiting would come to an end. On Thursday afternoon, after class, Julian began to think that luck was on his side. Senora Aldaya had not said anything, perhaps out of shame, stupidity, or for any of the reasons Miquel had suggested. It mattered little. All that mattered was that she kept the secret until Sunday. That night, for the first time in a number of days, Julian was able to sleep.

On Friday morning, when he went to class, Father Romanones was waiting for him by the gate.

Julian, I have to speak to you.'

'What is it, Father?'

'I always knew this day would come, and I must confess I'm happy to be the one who will break the news to you.'

'What news, Father?'

Julian Carax was no longer a pupil at San Gabriel's school. His presence in the compound, the classrooms, and even the gardens was strictly forbidden. His school items, textbooks, and all other belongings were now school property.

The technical term is "immediate and total expulsion",' Father Romanones summed up.

'May I ask the reason?'

'I can think of a dozen, but I'm sure you'll know how to choose the most appropriate one. Good day, Carex. And good luck in your life. You're going to need it.'

Some thirty yards away, in the fountains courtyard, a group of pupils was watching him. Some were laughing, waving goodbye. Others looked at him with pity and bewilderment. Only one smiled sadly: his friend Miquel Moliner, who simply nodded and silently mouthed some words that Julian thought he could read in the air: 'See you on Sunday.'

When he got back to the apartment in Ronda de San Antonio, Julian noticed Don Ricardo's Mercedes-Benz parked outside the hat shop. He stopped on the corner and waited. After a while Don Ricardo came out of his father's shop and got into the car. Julian hid in a doorway until the car set off towards Plaza Universidad. Only then did he rush up the stairs to his home. His mother, Sophie, was waiting there, in floods of tears.

'What have you done, Julian?' she murmured without anger.

'Forgive me, Mother

Sophie held her son close. She had lost weight and had aged, as if between them all they had stolen her life and her youth. I more so than anyone, thought Julian.

'Listen to me carefully, Julian. Your father and Don Ricardo Aldaya have got everything set up to send you to the army in a few days' time. Aldaya has a great deal of influence . . . You have to go, Julian. You have to go where neither of them can find you

Julian thought he saw a shadow in his mother's eyes that seemed to take hold of her.

'Is there anything else, Mother? Something you haven't told me?'

Sophie gazed at him with trembling lips. 'You must go. We must both go away from here forever.'

Julian held her tight and whispered in her ear, 'Don't worry about me, Mother. Don't you worry.'

Julian spent the Saturday shut up in his room, among his books and his drawing pads. The hatter had gone down to the shop just after dawn and didn't return until the early hours. He doesn't have the courage to tell me to my face, thought Julian. That night, his eyes blurred with tears, Julian said farewell to the years he had spent in that dark, cold room, lost amid dreams that he now knew would never come true. Sunday, at daybreak, armed with only a bag containing a few clothes and books, he kissed Sophie's forehead, as she lay curled under blankets in the dining room, and left. The streets seemed enveloped in a blue haze. Flashes of copper sparkled on the flat roofs of the old town. He walked slowly, saying goodbye to every door, to every street corner, wondering whether the illusions of time would turn out to be true and that in days to come he would be able to remember only the good things, and forget the solitude that had so often hounded him in those streets.