‘Even if she were dead, I wouldn’t say a prayer for her soul, not after she tried to kill Ibai and almost succeeded in killing me. I’m not that forgiving.’
Amaia smiled; this was precisely the attitude that made her love her aunt so much.
‘I’ve invited Flora to lunch. In fact, they’ll all be coming here after the service, so I’d better get changed and start preparing the food.’
‘Do you need any help?’
‘Yes, but not in the kitchen. Your sisters are going to give us an earful for not attending the funeral, and when they do, I’d like you to remain calm so we don’t end up quarrelling. Do you think you can manage that?’
‘I can now that I know you feel the same way I do. We can remain calm together. I’m capable of anything with you on my side.’
‘I’m always on your side, my dear,’ Engrasi said, winking at her.
30
The penetrating cold and damp that reigned outside seeped into the sitting room, vying with the intense heat from the fireplace.
Flora held Ibai in her arms, bouncing him up and down gently as she sang to him:
Sorgina pirulina gainean
Ipurdia zikina, kapela buruan,
Sorgina sorgina ipurdia zikina
Tentela zara tu?
Ezetz harrapatu.fn1
Ibai was laughing aloud, while Amaia looked at Flora, incredulous: her two sisters had always been fascinated by babies, perhaps because neither had been able to have kids, but this was the first time she’d seen Flora clowning and crooning over Ibai. She found it at once intriguing and surprising, because it was so out of character. She remembered what her aunt had said about Flora’s fondness for him.
James looked rather solemn as he gave her a peck on the cheek. He poured a glass of wine and handed it to her, then asked:
‘Busy morning at work?’
‘Yes, I arrived late so I decided to stay here with Auntie.’
‘We’ll talk later,’ he said curtly, and busied himself pouring wine for the others.
Flora insisted on giving Ibai his feed. They exchanged comments about the funeral, the marvellous service, and how many people had attended, but made no allusion to Amaia or Engrasi’s absence. Amaia was sure this was down to her aunt’s decision not to attend. Engrasi was the head of the family, a woman who had never been shy when it came to voicing her opinions, who had lived her life according to her own rules, and continued to do so; a woman who respected people’s freedom to do as they wished, provided they took responsibility for their actions and didn’t tell her what to do or think.
Amaia put Ibai to bed then helped her aunt to serve the roast leg of lamb in beer sauce, and everyone sat down to lunch.
‘There’s something I want to talk about, but I was waiting until we were all here together,’ said Flora, looking pointedly at her two sisters, ‘to avoid any possible misunderstandings,’ she added, glancing at the others. ‘I got up early this morning, and went for a walk. I felt like a cup of coffee, so I stopped by the bakery, only to find that I couldn’t unlock the door. Do you know anything about this?’
‘It’s true,’ said Amaia. ‘The other day, when I tried to get in, I realised—’
‘I’ve changed the lock,’ Ros cut in.
‘Well, well!’ exclaimed Flora. ‘And were you planning to let us know?’
‘Of course, but, like you, I was waiting until we were all together to avoid any misunderstandings,’ she said, staring straight at her sister.
Holding Ros’s gaze, Flora picked up her glass and said: ‘You’ll need to give me a copy.’
Ros laid her knife and fork on her plate, still looking at her sister.
‘Actually, I won’t,’ she retorted. At this, everyone around the table seemed to freeze, riveted by this turn of events; even Flora remained perfectly still, glass held aloft. ‘I’m in charge of the bakery now. I manage the employees, the schedules, the recipes, the orders, the accounts, the paperwork – everything is organised by me. You’re both welcome to drop by and see me, but I see no reason for anyone to go there in my absence. Any interference with my way of working, however small, upsets the whole process, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate.’
Amaia glanced at her aunt and at James, then said: ‘I think you’re right. We carry on as if Aita were still alive, coming and going as we please. I respect that it’s your place of work, Ros, and I agree that there’s no need for us to go to the bakery when you aren’t there.’
‘Well, I find that utterly unacceptable,’ replied Flora. ‘It’s different for you, Amaia, you’ve never worked there, but let me remind you that up until a year ago I was the one running the bakery.’
‘Yes, but now it’s me,’ said Ros calmly.
‘I still own half the business,’ retorted Flora.
‘Yes, and that’s why I pay you a half share of the profits every month. But now that you’re no longer living in Elizondo, or working at the bakery, I don’t see why you need open access to a place you scarcely have any connection to.’
Flora raised her head, opening her mouth to speak, but paused for a few seconds while she ate another forkful, smiling as she prepared her assault. She chewed slowly, setting her cutlery on her plate and taking a sip of wine before she spoke:
‘You always were a stupid child, little sister.’ Ros began to shake her head, her lips curving into a faintly menacing smile. ‘Yes,’ Flora went on. ‘You always depended on someone else to do the difficult work for you. I know lots of people like you, always in the shadows, quiet and retiring, until you see an opportunity and then, in a flash, you usurp the throne that doesn’t belong to you. Who do you think you are? Don’t talk to me about clients, orders, schedules and recipes … I built up that client list, so any orders you have are thanks to me. As for recipes, I’ve written a whole book of them. For God’s sake, are you worried I might want to steal yours? It’s laughable!’
Amaia broke in.
‘Flora, Ros never said that.’
‘Be quiet, Amaia,’ Ros snapped. ‘Keep out of it, this is between Flora and me.’ Then she turned to Flora: ‘I have double the number of orders you had a year ago. We have new clients, and the old ones are much happier. Our new recipes and the changes we’ve made to the old ones are a great success. But you must have realised that from the amount of money going into your account every month.’
‘I couldn’t care less about the money,’ Flora said dismissively. ‘The fact remains that the bakery is as much mine as it is yours, and I’m considering coming back to live in Elizondo. I’ve met a man,’ she said, giving Amaia a meaningful look, ‘and we’re in a stable relationship. Besides, now that my programme has been bought by one of the main TV channels, I only need go to the studio one week a month to record all the episodes.’
Ros’s expression betrayed her disquiet at her sister’s announcement.
Flora continued: ‘I could manage the bakery again, but if you disagree, then I can think of only one solution: I buy you out and we dissolve the partnership.’
‘Flora, you can’t be serious!’ cried Engrasi.
‘I’m not the one making trouble, Auntie. If Ros doesn’t think there’s room for both of us, then one of us has to go. If I buy her out, she’ll be sitting pretty.’
‘Or I could buy you out,’ said Ros, with icy calm.
Flora turned to her, feigning surprise.
‘You? Don’t make me laugh! Either the business is making more money than you claim and you’re cooking the books, or you’ve won the lottery, because as I recall, the house you lived in with Freddy was mortgaged to the hilt, and he went through all your savings, so I can’t imagine where you’d get the money from.’
Ros contemplated her sister in silence, holding her gaze with rare defiance. Amaia saw Flora look away and smile, trying to show that she was in control of the situation, though she was clearly disconcerted.
‘Well, now that’s all cleared up, we’ll call in the auditors and get a valuation, and if you can afford to—’
/>
Ros nodded, raising her glass. They finished lunch, James, Engrasi and Amaia making all the conversation. Amaia had anticipated that if anyone tried to pick an argument over lunch, she or Engrasi would be the target; it had never occurred to her that Flora and Ros would end up having words.
Just then, Engrasi looked at her eldest niece with a mischievous glint in her eye, and said:
‘So, Flora, who is this gentleman who has succeeded in stealing your heart and making you give up your idyll by the sea?’
‘Ask Amaia, it seems she has a soft spot for him herself,’ Flora retorted, rising from her seat, and glancing at her watch. ‘Speaking of which, I have to go now. We’ve arranged to meet, and I’m late.’
Amaia waited for her to leave, then shook her head.
‘Don’t Flora’s dramatic exits always give you a feeling of déjà vu? They should study her in Hollywood, revive the lost glamour of Garbo. She’s seeing Fermín Montes.’
‘You mean Inspector Montes?’ said James, surprised.
‘Yes, the very same Inspector Montes who nearly blew his brains out because of her. But let’s have that conversation another day.’
31
The Berrueta family’s lawyer had asked if the owner of the Almandoz mines could make a statement at the police station in Elizondo rather than in France. Iriarte had agreed to take care of it; Amaia had received a call from him first thing that morning to tell her she needn’t be present; it was Saturday, and besides, she was officially on holiday.
‘Is Jonan there yet?’
‘No, he isn’t due in today.’
‘We agreed he’d bring me enlargements of the photos he took yesterday showing the inside of the tomb in Ainhoa …’
‘Have you checked your emails?’
‘Yes, there’s nothing. I expect he’ll email them to me later or take them in to the station this morning.’ She hung up.
She and Engrasi had sent James out to buy sponge cake with Ibai, while they made coffee and settled down for their women’s talk.
Amaia filled her cup and sat down opposite Engrasi.
‘Auntie,’ she said, making sure she had her full attention.
Engrasi switched off the television.
‘I first saw him in the forest a year ago, as clearly as I see you now, less than five metres away from me, and on at least three other occasions, two of them quite recently, he has come close enough for me to hear his whistle. That gamekeeper I met last year claimed he had seen him, although he had just been shot, so his perception could have been distorted by the shock. You told me you came across him by chance when you were sixteen, while out gathering kindling in the forest. And then there’s the case of Professor Vallejo; I can’t think of anyone less likely to have witnessed such an apparition. He has the most logical, scientific mind of anyone I know,’ she said, glancing at her aunt, who sat listening quietly. ‘But the thing that concerns me right now is not so much who has seen him but the number of sightings there have been of late. It was no accident that I saw him, Auntie. He wanted me to see him. And I need to know why.’
‘I’ve been giving this a lot of thought,’ said Engrasi. ‘I must have read everything that’s been written on the myth of the basajaun, the folk stories. He is considered the keeper of harmony, the lord of the forest who preserves the balance between life and death. That balance has been disrupted – the unnatural deaths of those girls last year, then the monster who incited men to kill women and leave their remains in our valley, not to mention the fate that almost befell Ibai in that cave – these were deeply disturbing, utterly unnatural crimes and they took place in the domain of the basajaun: the mountain and river. I believe he has been forced to show himself in order to try to restore the natural harmony.’
‘The river,’ murmured Amaia.
‘The river,’ repeated Engrasi.
Cleanse the river, wash away the crime, the voices of the lamias echoed in Amaia’s head.
‘But what does it mean?’ she asked. ‘What are we to make of the appearance of a mythical creature in the forest? Are we all under the influence of some hallucinogenic plant that grows on the mountain, causing us to see things? Or is there some ancient, enduring power, something that transcends those crimes?’
‘Oh, Amaia, I understand your need to find out more, but as I keep trying to tell you … I’m afraid for you, afraid of the doors you might open, the places where your search may lead you.’
‘But what else can I do? These abnormal things keep occurring in the valley, calling out to me, and I can’t extricate myself. It isn’t just the girls in the river, or the remains in the Arri Zahar cave, or even the bones of the mairus in the church … Now I’m learning of babies dying, and there’s a link to a sinister creature in our folklore.’
‘Inguma,’ breathed Engrasi.
‘The demon that robs people’s breath while they sleep.’ Amaia gave a wry smile as she thought of Father Sarasola. ‘An expert on the subject told me that an identical demon exists in other cultures and religions; the oldest known example appears in Sumerian demonology, but it crops up all over the place – Africa, America, Japan and the Philippines … And the nature of the attacks is the same in every case: the victims belong to a particular area, age group or gender, and death occurs during sleep. Even with modern medicine, it seems nothing can be done to prevent it. There are scientifically documented cases, and the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta put out an alert when faced with a spate of inexplicable deaths that seemed to them to constitute a kind of epidemic. What can you tell me about Inguma?’
Engrasi had been nodding emphatically as she listened to her niece; the subject was one she was clearly familiar with.
‘Nightmares are a kind of parasomnia,’ she said, ‘a way of expressing intense pain. I came across one case while I was practising in Paris, and I studied many more. Later, when I found out about your nightmares, I read everything I could on the subject. Nightmares can be part of a severe anxiety disorder, such as Ephialtes Disease, which in Greek literally means “the one that jumps”. Sufferers describe all manner of hallucinations, menacing presences leaning over them while they sleep; some speak of shadowy figures, ghostly auras at the foot of the bed or right next to them. In the most disturbing cases, the sufferer can feel the physical presence of the nocturnal visitor. That’s as far as the scientific explanation goes, but since ancient times such visitations were attributed to succubae, incubi or daimon – demonic spirits plague human beings with terrible visions or with their presence while they sleep. The most dangerous are those that produce respiratory hallucinations, a feeling of being strangled or asphyxiated.
‘In the case I treated in Paris, the victim was convinced that she was being raped each night by a repulsive creature that immobilised her, crushing her beneath its weight, and producing a terrifying sensation of suffocation and fatigue so that she was unable to cry out. I’m familiar with the cases your friend told you about; in the course of my studies, I saw a recording made by the Japanese army. They were concerned about the significant numbers of seemingly healthy soldiers who kept dying in their sleep, trapped in asphyxiating nightmares. The images made my hair stand on end; watching them struggle with an invisible assailant as it choked them and pinned them to the bed was truly horrifying. It’s hard to tell yourself these are just nightmares when you’re watching footage of young men who actually died.’
Amaia looked at her aunt, brow furrowed.
‘My informant also told me that there were valid reasons for the climate of hysteria and paranoia surrounding the phenomenon of witchcraft in the area, the denunciations and confessions of those practices, which were mostly generated by fear of the Inquisition. Following the auto-da-fé in Logroño in 1610, Salazar y Frías settled in Baztán, where he lived among the inhabitants for several months. History remembers him as the “just inquisitor” because he later reported to the Holy Office that he had found no evidence of Satanism in Baztán and was therefore unable to condemn anyone
to death. Even so, he received over three thousand allegations and half that many confessions relating to the practice of witchcraft in one form or another, which he recorded for posterity as something “other” than Satanism.’
‘That’s true,’ said Engrasi. ‘A century ago, more people in Baztán believed in witches than in the Holy Trinity.’
‘Salazar y Frías alleged that people would perform a number of rituals to ensure protection against witches, but also to obtain their collaboration, or even to control them. Such rituals invariably involved making an offering.’
‘I’ve seen them, and so have you. They would leave all sorts of things – cider, apples, coins – in Mari’s cave. Or they’d lay out bread and cheese on a rock, for the basajaun. But when people sought a different kind of power the nature of the offerings changed.’
‘My expert maintains that among the many papal bulls engendered by tales of witchcraft, some were based on fact: accounts of young girls being kidnapped, virgins sacrificed, and’ – she fixed her aunt with a look – ‘very young children, who were killed in rituals like the one they were going to perform that night in the cave.’
‘There’s no denying it. It’s been documented by anthropologists who have scoured these valleys and found human remains in places where witches’ covens traditionally met. The skull in Zugarramundi being the most famous example.’ She paused. ‘Do you think something similar could be going on now?’
‘What if it were? What if the desecrations and the remains of those murdered women were ritual offerings designed to summon those powers. Auntie, could someone be invoking Inguma to harvest a fresh crop of bodies? What other reason would someone have to steal the body of a dead baby?’
Engrasi covered her mouth with both hands, in a gesture that betrayed her reluctance to speak of such things.
Amaia sighed. ‘The use of corpses is common in many occult religions such as voodoo. The dead are seen as a conduit between the two worlds, and are only ever used to make offerings to the devil.’
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