“My father, for his part, decided to take some time out, and he traveled beyond the borders of Europe, following the trade routes to Asia. For once Lür didn’t insist on keeping us together. He simply made us promise we’d return to Monte Castillo for the summer solstice a Celtic century hence.
“None of us appeared until three hundred years had passed. First Lür and I, then Nagorno, and finally Lyra. But it was never the same again. We would get together, catch up, live together for a time and then, feeling uncomfortable, leave on any pretext. And we’ve juggled with time in this way until today.”
We were all silent. In reality, no one felt like saying anything more. And then the man disguised as Death passed by us and stirred up a gust of icy cold air. The blood froze in my veins.
A well-known shadow made its way up the embankment stairs.
67
ADRIANA
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Halloween
What the devil are you doing here, Nagorno?” demanded Héctor, placing himself between me and Jairo, as if he feared a sudden, wordless attack.
Héctor’s reaction scared me more than the calm and stealthy gait of his son.
“I, too, have the right to honor Boudicca, don’t forget,” Nagorno replied in his own defense without losing either his calm or his smile at any stage.
“That’s true, Héctor,” Kyra interjected. “You can exile him, but you can’t prevent him from visiting the dead. They’re as much his as they are ours.”
Iago had taken my hand, which was our way of communicating with each other when there were other people around. He squeezed it, silently asking me to stay calm, while at the same time he discreetly moved forward, acting as a shield between his brother and the rest of us. I would have said that Jairo was somewhat changed, his sneer more severe, his voice more metallic and less human. Or maybe it was the masterfully tailored black suit he was wearing over a silk shirt, also black. He pulled up the lapels of his jacket with a gesture that intimidated me more than usual, perhaps because of the dismal madness that surrounded us that Halloween night.
“Adriana, I’d like to talk to you on your own, if that’s possible,” he said, addressing me directly.
The mere idea of being with him in the dark lanes of London made me swallow, though I tried to make sure no one noticed.
“How about sending me an email?” I answered, calling on my black sense of humor, as I always did when I felt under pressure. “You have to understand, Jairo, my throat’s still hurting from the last time we were alone.”
“As you like. I intended to speak to each of you in private, but I see you’re not going to make it easy for me, and I can understand that.”
Héctor and Iago exchanged a quick glance while I stood there, my body still tense, but it seemed our state of alertness made no impact on Jairo. He continued to speak as he approached the monument to Boudicca with the same veneration as the rest of his family and placed his hand on the granite block.
“Father, I’m well aware that I shouldn’t approach the family again for several generations, and I’ll respect your orders if you deem it necessary, but first I owe Adriana an apology.” He turned toward me and said, “I’ve treated you as I’ve done all efímeros throughout the millennia, but I’ve come to realize that I was behaving out of habit. I allowed myself to be carried along by my habitual anger and pride, and so I waited for you on that rock ledge. I could have killed you before my brother arrived, but for the first time I saw your life as something valuable, something that was worth being lived, even if it was for just a short time.”
Then he addressed Iago: “Brother, I understand your bitterness, and I understand that you don’t want me to be part of your lives while Adriana is alive. I’m conscious of the fact that I attacked what was most precious to you, and that if I’d killed her, I would have caused you irreparable damage. I ask your forgiveness for that.”
Iago didn’t reply; in fact, he remained so still he seemed to be another of the monument’s statues.
Undaunted by his brother’s lack of reaction, Jairo continued: “These few months in which I’ve been wandering the world on my own have been enough to make me aware of the change that our most recent period together has wrought in me. I’ve achieved something close to a calm and pleasant life during these years in Santander. Like all of you, I feel at ease with this identity. That’s why I’ve come tonight: because before Boudicca and my nieces, who have meant so much to all of us, I beg you all to forgive me and give me another chance. I understand your reticence, and I understand that you’ll subject me to a trial period until you trust me completely, but I’ll prove to you that I’m worthy of that trust. I think we all deserve a little harmony.”
When Jairo had finished his speech, I looked at Héctor again. He had remained calm, and I couldn’t see the slightest sign of tension on his face. It was as if he’d believed him.
“So be it,” he acceded, finally. “You’ll understand why we don’t welcome you with open arms, but I believe that your words and your intentions are sincere. Don’t let me down, Son.”
“I won’t, Father. I won’t.”
That’s it? I thought. But Iago anticipated my bewilderment and again called for me to be calm with a squeeze of my hand. I obeyed reluctantly, and that was how the rest of the evening ran its course until Héctor drove us back to the hotel and we all went to our rooms. Jairo, for his part, since he hadn’t made a reservation at the same hotel, paid a hefty tip so they’d give him a room on the same floor, next to ours.
68
IAGO
Mercury Day, Samhain
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Two hours after midnight I opened the door to our suite. My father was waiting outside and came in with the stealth of someone well aware of the risk. The lights in our room were switched off, with the exception of the small lamp on the bedside table. Dana was sitting on one of the enormous velvet sofas and gestured to my father to come and sit down beside her.
“Let’s hear your hypothesis,” Héctor said to me, his voice lowered.
“He hasn’t altered his appearance. When he went into exile, he intended to return quickly.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Don’t make excuses for him,” I said, losing patience.
Dana made a gesture to remind both of us that we should keep our voices down.
“A few days ago,” I said, changing tack, “I thought I spotted Patricio in the Esperanza Market carrying various bags of provisions. That means Jairo’s already installed himself back in Santander and, with or without our permission, he intends to stay there. So we’re not the main focus of his attention, but whatever that might be, it’s something in Santander. I think his return has to do with our telomere breakthrough.”
“Do you think Kyra alerted him?”
“That wouldn’t be very smart. Why risk breaking our pact if it provides her with everything she’s been longing for?” I was, in fact, thinking out loud, but I looked at my father and Dana, and they agreed with me: it was highly improbable.
“Anyway, the most likely outcome is that he’ll stick close to Kyra over the next few days. He knows he won’t get anything out of us.”
“Does he suspect that we suspect?” asked Dana.
“He’s an expert chess player, so what do you think?” I replied.
Dana weighed things up briefly. “Well, then, let him carry on. Let’s see where it takes us,” she said to us.
“Okay, but watch your back,” I warned her.
“I will, don’t you worry. One scar is enough.”
We decided our meeting was over, and my father left the room as silently as he’d entered it. Dana and I went to bed, but as soon as she’d fallen asleep I couldn’t stop myself from getting up and endlessly pacing the room, wearing out the spotless carpet. I became so deeply involved
in anticipating Jairo’s chess moves that dawn caught me by surprise, leaving me with dark bags under my eyes and black stubble on my face. Dana woke up a short time later, and even though she guessed the reason for my dreadful appearance, she didn’t say anything. She simply came over to me and covered my face and hair with kisses, totally unaffected by the smell of my tiredness and sweat from a very long day and night.
What I didn’t tell her about was the brief conversation I’d had with Jairo when the rest of the family was distracted with other things.
“We have to talk. Alone.” It was an order rather than a request on my part.
“Come to my villa tomorrow evening after my flight gets to Santander,” he’d replied without bothering to look at me.
Samhain had once again become the beginning of my nightmares.
69
ADRIANA
Thursday, November 1, 2012
The Day of the Dead
We’re running out of time,” Kyra had said as soon as we landed in Santander, just after 6 p.m. “We’re not going to make it to the cemetery.”
“If you like, you can drop me and Héctor off, and you and Adriana go on,” Iago offered.
Then he bent over toward me and lowered his voice. “I’m really tired. You don’t mind, do you, Dana?”
I gave him my blessing without taking my eyes off my watch. There were only a couple of hours to go before the Ciriego cemetery closed, so I picked up my car from the airport parking lot and rushed off to the suburb of San Román, while Kyra took off in Iago’s 4x4, dropping off Héctor and Iago on the way. The weather was no better than what we had left behind in London—unpleasant, with a cold, bothersome wind. When I reached the cemetery gates I discovered that all of Santander had had the same idea as us. The road had been reduced in width by rows of cars squashed in tightly on either side, like shoppers on the day of a sale. So I left my Clio parked in the first available space and called Kyra to let her know where I was headed.
“I’m nearly there. By the way, Jairo’s right behind me,” she said.
And sure enough, the owner of Little Bastard parked next to his sister. Jairo, who was in the same burgundy velvet suit he was wearing the day I met him, got out holding several white chrysanthemums.
“It’s the flower of immortality in Asia,” he explained to me as he offered me one with the gesture of a Florentine gentleman. “I can’t allow you to buy one of those horrible prepackaged bunches they’re selling in the stalls at the entrance. They’re too vulgar as far as I’m concerned.”
“Jairo, what on earth are you doing here?” Kyra demanded.
“I’ll be honest with you: I’ve got nothing else to do, and I’d like to reinsert myself into family routines as quickly as I can. Later, you can have dinner at my villa. We have more than enough food.”
I glanced over at Kyra, whose shrug suggested a resigned surrender. Jairo gave a satisfied smile and escorted us to the cemetery gates, through which a swarm of Santanderinos were already leaving, deeming their Day of the Dead to be over. We managed to make headway against the current of serious faces, bored children, and wreaths. The graves looked radically different from their customary uninspiring gray granite. The flowers spread like an out-of-control rash, as if inhaling the scent of hothouse lilies would comfort the dead.
I wondered where Kyra’s husband was buried, although it wasn’t long before I came face-to-face with the answer. In front of us were three spotless graves, better maintained than those around them. Fénix was in the middle grave. On one side of him, Vega, in a smaller one of white marble. On the other, in an identical grave, Syrio. Kyra bent down and distributed her flowers equally among all three of them.
“They’re . . . your children?”
Kyra nodded.
“I thought you’d only lost your husband.”
“No. All three of them died in a stupid car crash. I know I’ve never mentioned them to you. I’m still incapable of saying their names out loud; I need more time. You can understand that, can’t you?”
I nodded my head, unable to find the right words.
“They were driving along the road from Santander to Somo, along that dangerous stretch. Fénix kept going straight ahead when he should have followed the bend.”
When I leaned forward to read the headstones, with Jairo and Kyra behind me, I felt a shock run down my spine like a flash of lightning, which left me rooted to the spot like a split tree. Something electric and devastating, which changes the very nature of the elements. The bronze lettering revealed the date of their deaths. It was the same date as my mother’s: December 8, 1997.
“What’s the matter, Adriana?” asked Kyra. “Your expression has changed.”
“It’s just a somewhat macabre coincidence. My mother died the same day as your family. Look,” I said, pointing to my mother’s niche, a few yards away in the next aisle. You could read the inscription from where we were.
Kyra looked astonished, and then she moved closer so that she could read the plaque more easily. Jairo and I moved, too.
“Your mother’s name was Sofía Almenara,” she asked, frowning.
“Yes, as you can see. Don’t tell me you knew her.”
“Was she a psychologist?” Kyra persisted, brushing her fringe away from her face.
I nodded.
“That’s strange. Your mother called me the day my family died. She was very nervous, and she’d barely identified herself and begun to talk to me when the line went dead. I didn’t have the faintest idea who she was and had no way of returning her call either, but I was completely intrigued for a few hours. Then the police rang to tell me about my family’s car crash, and I forgot about your mother. Until today.”
“My mother called you?” I asked, incredulous.
Shit, shit, shit.
But the Tetris pieces had already begun to fall into place inside my head, exactly like they do when you get to screen number twenty and they drop quickly, filling the rows, and you already have outlines showing you where to put them.
I turned toward Jairo, but he’d disappeared at some stage during our conversation. At precisely the moment when he’d put two and two together, earlier than me. Kyra turned around as well, searching for her brother, but still not making sense of it all.
“Where’s Jairo?”
I leaned against my mother’s faded photo, and she looked at me through the glass with a tense expression on her face. The chrysanthemum Jairo had given me for her fell to the ground.
“Tell me, did Jairo have a daughter who died round about that time?”
“Yes. Olbia died from cancer a year earlier.”
I banged my head against the niche.
“But isn’t Jairo sterile?” I asked harshly.
“Yes, but he went to an IVF clinic. He married one of his many potential candidates and played the role of devoted husband. Back then it was still difficult to make use of surrogate mothers and dispense with a wife altogether. In any event, Olbia was his first and last child because, after he lost her, he didn’t try to have any more. That’s why he came to us to start investigating how to have longevo offspring; he doesn’t want to go through that trauma again. Why the interrogation?”
“Let’s go!” I said, grabbing her by the arm and forcing her to follow me along the cemetery paths, dodging the people who were still praying to their loved ones.
But Kyra refused to keep moving, and I had to stop when I reached the main path as I watched Jairo weaving his way through the latecomers several yards in front of me.
“No, not until you tell me what’s going on,” she said with the hoarse voice she used whenever she became serious.
I looked over her shoulder, searching desperately for Jairo.
“Months before her death, my mother had a patient who came to see her because he’d lost his daughter to leukemia. The patient had
outrageous ideas to do with killing some of his in-laws, and my mother was convinced he really intended to do it, even though the police didn’t believe her. I know she located someone from that family and intended to call that person to warn them. She made that call on the very day she died.”
Kyra’s features stiffened like a roll of parchment, and she ran toward the exit, where we could see Jairo leaping into his convertible and disappearing down the road.
“Where’s he going?” I asked Kyra as she climbed into Iago’s car and I pressed the remote control button on my car key.
“He’ll go to the MAC lab. If he’s come back because of our investigations, he’ll try to steal all the material he can before he disappears, but I have no intention of letting him do that,” she shouted, slamming the car door and starting the engine.
I tried to follow them in my car, but after I’d stopped at the first traffic light—which neither of them had done—I lost them. Nevertheless, I kept driving on the A-71 toward the museum as I punched in Iago’s phone number.
“Jairo’s heading for the MAC,” I said, spitting out the first thing that emerged from the swarm of ideas buzzing around in my head.
“And why are you calling to tell me that?” he answered, a note of concern in his voice.
Common sense told me I had to start from the beginning. “Do you remember the phone call my mother wanted to make to the family of that depressed patient? It was Kyra she called. Jairo was with me and Kyra in the cemetery just now, listening to our conversation, but he raced away before we could ask him any questions.”
Iago took a second to react; I heard something smashing into little pieces on the other end of the line. Maybe he’d been drinking a glass of water and the glass had fallen to the floor. Maybe he’d been eating his dinner and had thrown the plate against the wall. Who knows?
The Immortal Collection (A Saga of the Ancient Family Book 1) Page 47