The Prisoner of Heaven: A Novel

by Carlos Ruiz Zafón

  ‘Here,’ I said.

  He opened his eyes and when he saw the glass he seemed uncertain for a moment or two.

  ‘Here,’ I repeated. ‘It’s only water.’

  He accepted the glass with a trembling hand and took it to his lips. I noticed that I’d broken some of his teeth. Cascos groaned and his eyes filled with tears from the pain when the cold water touched the dental pulp exposed beneath the enamel. We remained silent for over a minute.

  ‘Shall I call a doctor?’ I asked at last.

  He looked up and shook his head.

  ‘Go away before I call the police.’

  ‘Tell me what you have to do with Mauricio Valls and I’ll go.’

  I looked at him coldly.

  ‘He’s … he’s one of the partners of the publishing house where I work.’

  ‘Did he ask you to write that letter?’

  Cascos hesitated. I stood up and took a step towards him. I grabbed his hair and pulled hard.

  ‘Don’t hit me again,’ he pleaded.

  ‘Did Valls ask you to write that letter?’

  Cascos was avoiding my eyes.

  ‘It wasn’t him,’ he managed to say.

  ‘Who, then?’

  ‘One of his secretaries, Armero.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Paco Armero. He’s an employee at the firm. He told me to renew contact with Beatriz. He said that if I did there would be something for me. A reward.’

  ‘Why did you have to renew contact with Bea?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  I made as if to hit him again.

  ‘I don’t know,’ whimpered Cascos. ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘And that’s why you asked her to meet you here?’

  ‘I still love Beatriz.’

  ‘Pretty way of showing it. Where is Valls?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How can you not know where your boss is?’

  ‘Because I don’t know him. OK? I’ve never seen him. I’ve never spoken to him.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘I started working for Ariadna a year and a half ago, in the Madrid office. In all this time I’ve never seen him. Nobody has.’

  He stood up slowly and walked over to the telephone. I didn’t stop him. He picked up the receiver, his eyes poisoned with hatred.

  ‘I’m going to call the police …’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ came a voice from the hallway.

  I turned to discover Fermín, in what I imagined must be one of my father’s suits, holding up a card vaguely resembling some kind of police badge.

  ‘Inspector Fermín Romero de Torres. Police. Someone has reported a disturbance. Which of you two can sum up what has taken place here?’

  I don’t know who was more disconcerted, Cascos or me. Fermín took advantage of the situation to gently pull the receiver away from Cascos’s hand.

  ‘Allow me,’ he said, brushing him to one side. ‘I’ll call headquarters.’

  He pretended to dial a number and smiled at us.

  ‘Give me headquarters, please. Yes, thank you.’

  He waited a few seconds.

  ‘Yes, Mari Pili, it’s me, Romero de Torres. Put me through to Palacios. Yes, I’ll wait.’

  While Fermín pretended to wait and covered the receiver with his hand, he gestured to Cascos.

  ‘Have you banged your head on the bathroom door or is there anything you wish to declare?’

  ‘This savage attacked me and tried to kill me. I want to press charges immediately. I want to see him behind bars before the end of the day.’

  Fermín gave me an officious look and nodded.

  ‘Indeed. We have a dungeon that’s just the ticket, rats and all.’

  He pretended to hear something on the telephone and signalled to Cascos to be quiet.

  ‘Yes, Palacios. At the Ritz. Yes. It’s a 424. One person wounded. Mostly facial. It depends. I’d say a real mess. Fine. I’ll proceed immediately to the suspect’s summary arrest.’

  He put down the phone.

  ‘All sorted.’

  Fermín came over to me and, grabbing my arm with authority, motioned for me to keep quiet.

  ‘Don’t say a word. Anything you say now will be used against you and all your criminal associates till justice is served.’

  Doubled up with pain and confused by Fermín’s peculiar display of procedural methods, Cascos stared at the scene in disbelief.

  ‘Aren’t you going to handcuff him?’

  ‘This being a posh establishment, we’ll put the shackles on him in the police car. Standard procedure, sir.’

  Cascos, who was still bleeding and was probably seeing double, barred our way with little conviction.

  ‘Are you sure you’re a policeman?’

  ‘Elite corps. I’ll get room service to bring you up a tartar steak right away so you can treat your injuries with a soothing mask. Works wonders for bags under the eyes and close-up bruising, take it from a pro. My esteemed colleagues will swing by later to take your statement and prepare the official charges to make sure this rascal receives an airtight conviction for hard labour in a high-security Moroccan prison,’ he recited, moving Cascos’s arm out of the way and pushing me as fast as he could towards the exit.

  12

  We hailed a taxi outside the hotel door and travelled along Gran Vía in silence for a while.

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Fermín finally burst out. ‘Are you mad? I look at you and I don’t know who you are … What were you trying to do? Kill that imbecile?’

  ‘He works for Mauricio Valls,’ was my only answer.

  Fermín rolled his eyes.

  ‘Daniel, this obsession of yours is beginning to get out of hand. I wish I hadn’t told you all that … Are you all right? Let’s have a look at your hand …’

  I showed him my fist.

  ‘For God’s sake.’

  ‘How did you know …?’

  ‘Because I know you as if I’d given birth to you, even if there are days when I almost regret I do,’ he said furiously.

  ‘I don’t know what came over me …’

  ‘Well, I know exactly what came over you. And I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. That’s not the Daniel I know. And it’s not the Daniel I want for a friend.’

  My hand was hurting, but to know I’d disappointed Fermín hurt far more.

  ‘Fermín, please don’t get angry with me.’

  ‘Oh, excuse me! Maybe you just want me to hand you a medal …’

  For a while we didn’t speak, each looking out on his side of the street.

  ‘Thank God you came,’ I said at last.

  ‘Did you think I was going to leave you on your own?’

  ‘You won’t tell Bea, will you?’

  ‘Sure, and then I’ll write a letter to the editor of La Vanguardia setting out your exploits so everybody can rejoice in your bravery.’

  ‘I don’t know what I was thinking …’

  He looked severely at me, but finally relaxed his expression and patted my hand. I swallowed my pain.

  ‘Let’s not go on about it. I suppose I would have done the same.’

  I gazed at Barcelona marching past the windows.

  ‘What was the card?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The police ID card you showed … What was it?’

  ‘The parish priest’s Barcelona football club card. Expired.’

  ‘You were right, Fermín. I’ve been a fool to suspect Bea.’

  ‘I’m always right. I was born like that.’

  I had to bow to the evidence and keep my mouth shut. I’d already said enough stupid things for one day. Fermín had gone very quiet and seemed preoccupied. It troubled me to think I’d caused him such disappointment that he didn’t know what to say to me.

  ‘What’s on your mind, Fermín?’

  He turned, looking concerned.

  ‘I was thinking about that man.’

  ‘Cascos?’
/>
  ‘No. Valls. About what that idiot said earlier. About its significance.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Fermín’s face was grim.

  ‘I mean that what worried me before was that you wanted to find Valls.’

  ‘And now it doesn’t?’

  ‘There’s something that worries me more, Daniel.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That he may be the one looking for you.’

  We stared at each other.

  ‘Have you any idea why?’ I asked.

  Fermín, who always had a reply for everything, slowly shook his head and looked away.

  We spent the rest of the journey in silence. When I got home I went straight up to the flat, took a long hot shower and swallowed four aspirins. Then I lowered the blinds and, hugging a pillow that smelled of Bea, fell asleep like the idiot I was, wondering where she was – that woman for whom I didn’t mind having made such a huge fool of myself.

  13

  ‘I look like a hedgehog,’ declared Bernarda, staring at her hundredfold image reflected in the mirrored room of Modas Santa Eulalia.

  Kneeling down at her feet, two seamstresses went on marking the bridal dress with dozens of pins, watched closely by Bea, who walked in circles round Bernarda inspecting every pleat and every seam as if her life depended on it. Bernarda, standing with arms outstretched in the hexagonal fitting room, hardly dared breathe, but her eyes were riveted on the different angles of her figure, as she searched for signs of swelling around her belly.

  ‘Are you sure it’s not noticeable, Señora Bea?’

  ‘Not a bit. Flat as a pancake. Where you should be, of course.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know …’

  Bernarda’s ordeal and the seamstresses’ efforts to adjust and tailor continued for another half-hour. When there didn’t seem to be any pins left in the world with which to skewer poor Bernarda, the firm’s star couturier and creator of the dress drew the curtain aside and made an appearance. After a quick survey and a few corrections on the lining of the skirt, he gave his approval and snapped his fingers at his assistants, ordering them to make themselves scarce.

  ‘Not even Balenciaga could have made you look so beautiful,’ he concluded happily.

  Bea smiled and nodded.

  The couturier, a slender gentleman with affected manners and theatrical gestures who went simply by the name of Evaristo, kissed Bernarda on the cheek.

  ‘You’re the best model in the world. The most patient and long-suffering. It has been hard work, but well worth it.’

  ‘And do you think, sir, that I’ll be able to breathe in this dress?’

  ‘My darling, you’re marrying an Iberian macho buck in the Holy Mother Church. Your breathing days are over, believe me. Anyhow, a wedding dress is like a diving bell: it’s not ideal for breathing, the fun begins when they take it off you.’

  Bernarda crossed herself at the couturier’s insinuations.

  ‘What I’m going to ask you to do now is remove the dress with the greatest care. The seams are loose and with all those pins I wouldn’t like to see you walking up to the altar looking like a colander,’ said Evaristo.

  ‘I’ll help her,’ said Bea.

  Casting a meaningful look at Bea, Evaristo inspected her from head to toe.

  ‘And when am I going to be able to dress and undress you, my love?’ he asked, flouncing off through the curtain.

  ‘What a look the rascal gave you!’ said Bernarda. ‘I didn’t think he was into female company, if you get my meaning.’

  ‘I think Evaristo keeps all sorts of company, Bernarda.’

  ‘Is that possible?’ she asked.

  ‘Come on, let’s try to get you out of this without dropping a single pin.’

  While Bea freed Bernarda from her captivity, the maid swore under her breath.

  Ever since she’d found out the price of that dress, which her employer, Don Gustavo, had insisted on paying out of his own pocket, Bernarda had been in a terrible state.

  ‘Don Gustavo should never have spent such a bundle. He insisted that it had to be here, the most expensive shop in Barcelona I’m sure, and on hiring this guy Evaristo, who is a half-nephew of his or something like that. Apparently Evaristo says that any fabric that isn’t from Casa Gratacós gives one a rash. And they’re so pricey!’

  ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth … Besides, Don Gustavo is thrilled that you’ll be getting married in style. He’s like that. You’re the daughter he never had.’

  ‘I’m his maid, and I would have been quite happy wearing my mother’s wedding dress, with a couple of alterations, and Fermín doesn’t care. Every time I show him a new dress all he wants to do is take it off me … And look what that’s led to, may God forgive me,’ said Bernarda patting her belly.

  ‘Bernarda, I was also pregnant when I got married and I’m sure God has far more pressing things to worry about.’

  ‘That’s what my Fermín says, but I don’t know …’

  ‘You listen to Fermín and don’t worry about anything.’

  In her slip, and exhausted after standing for two hours in high heels with her arms stretched out, Bernarda fell into an armchair and sighed.

  ‘Poor thing, he’s lost so much weight, he’s as thin as a rake. I’m really worried about him.’

  ‘You’ll see how he gets better from now on. Men are like that. They’re like geraniums. When they look as if they’re ready to be tossed into the bin they revive.’

  ‘I don’t know, Señora Bea. Fermín seems very depressed to me. He tells me he wants to get married, but I have my doubts.’

  ‘Come on, he’s crazy about you, Bernarda.’

  Bernarda shrugged.

  ‘Look, I’m not as stupid as I seem. Since I was thirteen all I’ve done is clean houses and I may not understand a lot of things, but I know that my Fermín has seen the world and he’s had his share of adventures. He never tells me anything about his life before we met, but I know he’s had other women and he’s been round the block a few times.’

  ‘And he’s ended up choosing you out of them all. So there.’

  ‘I know. But you know what I’m afraid of, Señora Bea? That I’m not good enough for him. When I see him looking at me spellbound and he tells me he wants us to grow old together and all that sweet-talk he comes up with, I always think that one morning he’ll wake up and look at me and he’ll say: “Where on earth did I find this dimwit?”’

  ‘I think you’re wrong, Bernarda, Fermín will never think that. He has you on a pedestal.’

  ‘Well, that’s not a good thing either. I’ve seen a lot of gentlemen, the sort who put their wives on pedestals as if they were the Virgin Mary, who then run after the first pretty young thing they see passing by, like dogs after a bitch on heat. You wouldn’t believe the times I’ve seen that with these little eyes God gave me.’

  ‘But Fermín isn’t like that, Bernarda. Fermín is one of the good ones. One of the few. Men are like chestnuts they sell in the street: they’re all hot and they all smell good when you buy them, but when you take them out of the paper cone you realise that most of them are rotten inside.’

  ‘You’re not saying that because of Señor Daniel, are you?’

  Bea took a while to reply.

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  Bernarda glanced at her.

  ‘Everything all right at home, Señora Bea?’

  Bea fiddled with a pleat on the shoulder strap of Bernarda’s slip.

  ‘Yes, Bernarda. The trouble is that I think we’ve both gone and got ourselves husbands who have a secret or two.’

  Bernarda nodded.

  ‘Sometimes they’re like children.’

  ‘Men. What do you expect?’

  ‘But the thing is, I like them,’ said Bernarda. ‘And I know that’s a sin.’

  Bea laughed.

  ‘And how do you like them. Like Evaristo?’

  ‘No, good heavens, no. If he keeps loo
king at himself in the mirror he’ll wear it out! A man who takes longer than me to get smartened up gives me the creeps. I like them a bit rougher, I’m afraid. I know my Fermín isn’t exactly what you’d call handsome. But he is to me – handsome and good. And very manly. In the end, I think that’s what matters, that he’s truly a good person and that he’s real. That he’s someone you can hold on to on a cold winter’s night and who knows how to make you feel warm inside.’

  Bea smiled in assent.

  ‘Amen. Although a birdie told me the one you liked was Cary Grant.’

  Bernarda blushed.

  ‘Don’t you? Not to marry, of course. I’d say he fell in love the first time he looked at himself in the mirror. But between you and me, and may God forgive me, I wouldn’t say no to a good squeeze from him …’

  ‘What would Fermín say if he heard you, Bernarda?’

  ‘What he always says. “After all, we’re all going to get eaten up by worms in the end …”’

  Part Five

  The Name of the Hero

  1

  Barcelona, 1958

  Many years later, the twenty-three guests gathered there to celebrate the occasion would look back and remember the historic eve of the day when Fermín Romero de Torres abandoned his bachelorhood.

  ‘It’s the end of an era,’ proclaimed Professor Alburquerque, raising his glass of champagne in a toast, voicing better than anyone what we were all feeling.

  Fermín’s stag night, an event whose effects on the global female population Gustavo Barceló compared to the death of Rudolf Valentino, took place on a clear February night of 1958. The venue was the magnificent dance hall of La Paloma, where the groom had in the past performed some heart-rending tangos, attaining moments that would now enter the secret dossier of a distinguished career at the service of the eternal female. My father, who for once in his life had been persuaded to leave home, had secured the services of a semi-professional dance band, La Habana del Baix Llobregat, who agreed to play for a knockdown price a selection of Fermín’s favourite fare: mambos, guarachas and sones montunos that transported the groom to his faraway days of intrigue and international glamour in the great gaming salons of a forgotten Cuba. Everyone, to a greater or lesser degree, let their hair down, throwing themselves on to the dance floor to shake a leg in Fermín’s honour.