The Shadow of the Wind (41 page)

The Estacion de Francia was deserted; the platforms, reflecting the burning light of dawn, curved off into the mist like glistening sabres. Julian sat on a bench under the vaulted ceiling and took out his book. He let the hours go by lost in the magic of words, shedding his skin and his name, feeling like another person. He allowed himself to be carried away by the dreams of shadowy characters, the only refuge left for him. By then he knew that Penelope wouldn't come. He knew he would board that train with no other company than his memories. When, just before noon, Miquel Moliner arrived in the station and gave him the tickets and all the money he had been able to gather, the two friends embraced without a word. Julian had never seen Miquel Moliner cry. Clocks were everywhere, counting the minutes as they flew by.

'There's still time,' Miquel murmured, his eyes fixed on the station entrance.

At five past one, the stationmaster gave the last call for passengers travelling to Paris. The train had already started to slide along the platform when Julian turned round to say goodbye to his friend. Miquel Moliner stood there watching him, his hands buried in his pockets.

'Write,' he said.

'I'll write to you as soon as I get there,' answered Julian.

'No. Not to me. Write books. Not letters. Write them for me, for Penelope.'

Julian nodded, realizing only then how much he was going to miss his friend.

'And keep your dreams,' said Miquel. 'You never know when you might need them.'

'Always,' murmured Julian, but the roar of the train had already stolen his words.

'The night her mother caught them in my bedroom, Penelope told me what had happened. The following day Senora Aldaya called for me and asked me what I knew about Julian. I said I didn't know anything, except that he was a nice boy, a friend of Jorge's. She ordered me to keep Penelope locked in her room until she was given permission to come out. Don Ricardo was away in Madrid and didn't come back until early on Friday. As soon as he arrived, Senora Aldaya told him what she'd witnessed. I was there. Don Ricardo jumped up from his armchair and slapped his wife so hard she fell on the floor. Then, shouting like a madman, he told her to repeat what she had just said. Senora Aldaya was terrified. We had never seen her husband like that. Never. He looked as if he were possessed by all the devils in hell. Seething with anger, he went up to Penelope's bedroom and pulled her out of her bed, dragging her by the hair. I tried to stop him, but he kicked me aside. That same evening he called the family doctor and had him examine Penelope. When the doctor had finished, he spoke to Senor Aldaya. They locked Penelope up in her room, and Senora Aldaya told me to collect my things.

'They didn't let me see Penelope. I never said goodbye to her. Don Ricardo threatened to report me to the police if I told anyone what had happened. That very night they threw me out, with nowhere to go, after eighteen years of uninterrupted service in the house. Two days later, in a pension in Calle Muntaner, I had a visit from Miquel Moliner, who told me that Julian had gone to Paris. He wanted me to tell him why Penelope hadn't come to the station as arranged. For weeks I returned to the house, begging for a chance to see her, but I wasn't even allowed to cross the gates. I would position myself on the opposite corner every day, for days on end, hoping to see them come out. I never saw her. She didn't come out of the house. Later on, Senor Aldaya called the police and, with the help of his high-powered friends, managed to get me committed to the lunatic asylum in Horta, claiming that nobody knew me, that I was some demented woman who harassed his family and children. I spent two years there, locked up like an animal. The first thing I did when I got out was go to the house on Avenida del Tibidabo to see Penelope.'

'Did you manage to see her?' Fermin asked.

'The house was locked and up for sale. Nobody lived there. I was told that the Aldayas had gone to Argentina. I wrote to the address I was given. The letters were returned to me unopened. . . .'

'What happened to Penelope? Do you know?'

Jacinta shook her head, in a state of near collapse. 'I never saw her again.'

The old woman moaned and began to weep uncontrollably. Fermin held her in his arms and rocked her. Jacinta Coronado had shrunk to the size of a little girl, and next to her Fermin looked like a giant. I had questions burning in my head, but my friend signalled to me that the interview was over. I saw him gazing about him at that dirty, cold hovel where Jacinta Coronado was spending her last days.

'Come on, Daniel. We're leaving. You go first.'

I did what I was told. As I walked away, I turned for a moment and saw Fermin kneel down by the old lady and kiss her on the forehead. She gave him a toothless smile.

'Tell me, Jacinta,' I heard Fermin saying. 'You like Sugus sweets, don't you?'

On our circuitous path back to the exit, we passed the real undertaker and his two cadaverous assistants carrying a cheap pine coffin, rope, and what looked suspiciously like a recycled shroud. The committee gave off a sinister smell of formaldehyde and cheap eau de cologne. The men's bloodless skin framed gaunt, canine smiles. Fermin pointed to the cell where the body of the deceased awaited and proceeded to bless the trio, who nodded respectfully and made the sign of the cross.

'Go in peace,' mumbled Fermin, dragging me towards the exit, where a nun holding an oil lamp saw us off with a harsh, condemnatory look.

Once we were out of the building, the grim canyon of stone and shadow that was Calle Moncada seemed more like an inviting valley of hope. Fermin breathed deeply, with relief, and I knew I wasn't the only one to be rejoicing at having left that place behind. Jacinta's story weighed on our consciences more than we would have wished to admit.

'Listen, Daniel. What would you say to some ham croquettes and a couple of glasses of sparkling wine here in the Xampanet, just to take away the bad taste in our mouths?'

'I wouldn't say no, quite frankly.'

'Didn't you arrange to meet up with the girl today?'

'Tomorrow.'

'Ah, you devil . . . you're playing hard to get, eh? You're learning fast. . .'

We hadn't taken ten steps towards the noisy tavern, just a few doors down the street, when three silhouettes materialized out of the shadows and intercepted us. Two positioned themselves behind us, so close I could feel their breath on the nape of my neck. The third, smaller but much more menacing, blocked our way. It was him. He wore the usual raincoat, and his oily smile oozed irrepressible glee.

'Why, who have we here? If it's not my old friend, the man of the thousand faces!' cried Inspector Fumero.

It seemed to me I could hear all of Fermin's bones shudder with terror at the apparition. My loquacious friend could manage only a stifled groan. The two thugs, who I guessed were two agents from the Crime Squad, grabbed us by the scruffs of our necks and held our right wrists, ready to twist our arms at the slightest hint of movement.

'I see from your look of surprise that you thought I'd lost track of you long ago. Surely you didn't think a piece of shit like you was going to be able to crawl out of the gutter and pass himself off as a decent citizen. You might be stupid, but not that stupid. Besides, I'm told you're poking your nose - and it's quite a nose - in a whole pile of things that are none of your business. That's a bad sign . .. What is it with you and those little nuns? Are you having it off with one of them? How much do they charge these days?'

'I respect other people's arses, Inspector, especially if they are cloistered. Perhaps if you were inclined to do the same, you would save yourself a hefty bill in penicillin and improve the number and ease of your bowel movements.'

Fumero let out a little laugh streaked with anger.

'That's right. Balls of steel. If all crooks were like you, my work would be a party. Tell me, what are you calling yourself these days, you son of a bitch? Gary Cooper? Come on, tell me what you're up to, sticking that big nose of yours in the Hospice of Santa Lucia, and I might let you go with just a warning. Come on, spell it out. What brings you two here?'

'A private matter. We came to visit a relative.'

'Sure, your fucking mother. Look here, you happen to have caught me on a good day, otherwise I'd be taking you to headquarters and giving you another session with the welding torch. Come on, be a good boy and tell your old friend Inspector Fumero the truth about what the fuck you and your friend are doing here. Damn it, just cooperate a bit, and you'll save me beating up this smart little kid you've chosen as a sponsor.'

'You touch a single hair of his and I swear I'll—'

'You scare me to bits, really. I just shat my pants.'

Fermin swallowed, as if to hold in all the courage that was seeping out of him. 'Those wouldn't be the same sailor-boy pants that your esteemed mother, the Illustrious Kitchen Maid, made you wear? That would be a shame; I'm told the outfit really suited you.'

Inspector Fumero's face paled, and all expression left his eyes. 'What did you say, motherfucker?'

'I was saying it looks like you've inherited all the taste and charm of Dona Yvonne Sotoceballos, a high-society lady. . .'

Fermin was not a heavy man, and the first punch was enough to knock him off his feet and into a puddle of water. He lay curled up in a ball as Fumero meted out a flurry of kicks to his stomach, kidneys, and face. I lost count after the fifth. Fermin lost his breath and then, a moment later, the ability to protect himself from the blows. The two policemen who were holding me down with iron hands were laughing dutifully.

'Don't get involved,' one of them whispered to me. 'I don't feel like breaking your arm.'

I tried in vain to wriggle out of his grip, and, as I struggled, I caught a glimpse of him. I recognized his face immediately. He was the man in the raincoat with the newspaper who was in the bar at Plaza de Sarria a few days earlier, the same man who had followed us in the bus and laughed at Fermin's jokes.

'Look, the one thing that really pisses me off is people who stir up shit from the past!' Fumero cried out. 'The past must be left alone, do you understand? And that goes for you and your dumb friend. Look and learn, kid. You're next.'

The whole time I watched Inspector Fumero destroy Fermin with his kicks, I was unable to utter a word. I remember the dull, terrible impact of the blows raining down mercilessly on my friend. They hurt me still. All I did was take refuge in the policemen's convenient grasp, trembling and shedding silent cowardly tears.

When Fumero tired of striking a dead weight, he opened up his raincoat, unzipped his fly, and began to urinate on Fermin. My friend didn't move; he looked like a bundle of old clothes in a puddle. While Fumero discharged his generous, steamy cascade over Fermin, I still couldn't speak. When he'd finished, the inspector zipped up his trousers and came over to me, sweaty-faced and panting. One of the police officers handed him a handkerchief, and he mopped his face and neck. He came closer, until his face was only a couple of inches from mine, and he fixed me with his stare.

'You weren't worth that beating, kid. That's the problem with your friend: he always backs the wrong side. Next time I'm going to fuck him up like I've never done before, and I'm sure it's going to be your fault.'

I thought he was going to hit me then, that my turn had come. For some reason I was glad. I wanted to believe that his blows would cure me of the shame I felt for not having raised a finger to help Fermin, when the only thing he'd been trying to do, as usual, was protect me.

But no blow came. All Fumero did was pat me on the cheek.

'It's okay, boy. I don't dirty my hands with cowards.'

The two policemen chuckled, more relaxed now that they knew the show was over. Their desire to leave the scene was obvious. They went off laughing in the dark.

By the time I went to his aid, Fermin was trying in vain to get up and find the teeth he'd lost in the dirty water of the puddle. His mouth, nose, ears, and eyelids were all bleeding. When he saw that I was unharmed, he attempted to smile and I thought he was going to die on the spot. I knelt beside him and held him in my arms. The first thought that crossed my mind was that he weighed less than Bea.