The House of Bonmati

by Claudio Hernández

  He wiped again his sweat off and the handkerchief became more yellowish. However, the long branches of the trees offered them shade where they were. Those branches would look like large monsters without eyes moving on that windy night.

  “Now my brother will give you the keys.” Angels hasten to say.

  “Yes. I was going to say it. Now I will give you the keys of the house. I hope you take good care of it.” The keys tinkled when he gave them to Antonia. At first he had thought to give them to Pedro, it would be more appropriate, but he was behaving like a three year old kid, unknowingly. The woman was the dominant partner in this marriage.

  “You are very kind, Mr. Valenti.” She said, almost bowing to him. It was a good deal, they were going to be able to live there without paying for anything, in exchange for taking care of the house.

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Antonia” Valentí’s eyes sparkled for a moment, like two glasses stuck in the mud.

  “And remember, you have to come and pick me up at Angles next Sunday. I want to spend a few days with you.” Angels reminded them stretching her neck.

  Antonia put on a disgusted face.

  Luckily nobody saw it. Juan had made them direct their gaze towards him.

  “Ouch! It hurts!” He had his hands around his right ankle.

  “You see that? You have already hurt yourself! Stand up!” His mother yelled while the others remained silent. Then Juan stopped complaining.

  “Kid stuff” Valenti just said, and then added: “Please remember not to open that room...”

  And now Pili saw two figures standing between the trees. They were motionless and greyish like smoke, but they were human-shaped, as if they had set on fire and now they were smoking.

  “Dad...” She started mumbling, while her father was caressing her hair. Then she stopped talking. But the figures were still there. They were watching her. Or maybe were they watching all of them?

  12

  A month later the family had settled and they were perfectly adapted to their new home. Yes, they had got used to the constant sounds of footsteps, doors opening or creaking as if they were dreadful dungeons. However, only Pili could see those figures in the house and the woods.

  Maybe the cows and sheep did, as they lived in the barn and they cried at night, disturbingly anxious the following day.

  But this tranquility did not last long. Pili would not be the only one to see them.

  But of course, it did not happen when Mrs. Angels went to visit them. It would happen afterwards.

  13

  Although it was summer, it was the middle of August, and the fireplace was red-hot, Pili felt the chilly air on her skin. She was shivering while standing inside a large basin full of hot water and soap.

  “Pili, don’t you know it is summer?” Her mother said with the sponge on her hand. The soap, watery and dull, slid across her closed fist.

  “I feel its hands.” The little girl said.

  Antonia stared at her with a furrowed brow.

  “You are as mad as your father!” She ranted.

  “They’ve got cold hands.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Mum, I’m cold.”

  “I’ve already told you it is summer time.”

  “But the house is always cold.”

  “That’s nonsense!”

  The sponge slid through the soft skin of her back and the soup spread stealthily all over her body.

  “Can’t you hear all those noises?”

  “Yes. They are the bloody rats...”

  “They are here” Pili interrupted with a high-pitched voice, although it was not a sharp voice.

  “Sit down!” Her mother yelled, with her eyes swollen as two white balloons.

  Pili was a good girl, and she sat down inside the basin obediently.

  “Rats make a different noise.” She explained.

  Her mother sponged her head. Rivers of white sparkling liquid came down her forehead and part of it went into her eyes. That made Pili let out a little cry.

  “Don’t complain” Her mother told her.

  She remained silent, but not for long. When the burning of her eyes calmed down and she started getting a blurred vision, her mother’s figure appeared with the sponge on her hand. But later on, when everything seemed to have become clear enough, she saw it.

  Then she started pointing out with her index to the fireplace.

  The smoke had turned suddenly into something more solid, it was grey, with something similar to empty sockets in the middle. It was the blurry shape of a head. A sort of vague shadow reflected in the smoke, as if it was a mirror. It was wider at the bottom, as if they were two shoulders and a chest with two long arms made of smoke. At the end of these arms, there was something darker, like imaginary long fingers. Right then it seemed as if he was opening a hidden mouth, as dark as night, and it came closer to her.

  “Mom!” She shouted then, pointing towards that incorporeal form.

  Her mother snapped strongly her head. Then both of them were gone, the shout and the silhouette.

  14

  A week later, something new happened in the house. They had been hearing the sound of the barn door opening and closing every night until the early hours.

  Juan was in the attic. The window had been removed and now there was a big gap that let a lot of wind enter. There were some lifeless strings of garlic hanging on one side of the wall.

  Even though Juan did not dare to go up the stairs to the attic at night, because it scared him, he used to do it on daylight because he used it as the entrance of his playhouse.

  He was testing a sort of super antennae he had made to be able to receive Hertzian waves and watch television. The antenna consisted of two sticks taking the form of a cross, and he had weaved copper wire to them, as if it was a spider web. He had found cooper wire in one of the rooms that kept all those cart wheels and old stuff. The wire was from an alternator.

  How had an alternator come up there? What if it had been a battery? Would they plug it in the horse ass? He couldn’t help giggling to himself thinking about those things.

  The thing is that he was leaning against the stone edge where a windowsill had been before, when suddenly the wind changed direction. Now it was as if the wind had come from the inside of the attic and it had pushed him violently outward. His eyes were wide open and he felt his heart pounding. The super antenna went out flying like a kite. And the bulbs of garlic started dancing and darting through the gap in the window.

  Juan thought he was going to fly far from the floor to start falling later in free fall, but luckily it did not happened because he clutched at the stones with his hands. It seemed to last forever, but it only happened for a few seconds. And when the wind finally stopped, his butt hit the ground loudly.

  Of course, he would never tell his father, but his sister soon knew about it.

  15

  Three days later the rooster died. Juan was quite fond of it and he decided that the animal deserved a proper burial. His mother said that throwing it to the embankment would be enough. Pedro did not say a word about it, but he touched gently the animal’s head, which still showed its open eyes.

  “What a mess for a fucking rooster” Antonia complained, in the shade of the fig tree. “Just buy another one and that’s it.”

  “But mom, it was my pet” Juan said with weepy eyes.

  “How can a rooster be a pet?” Her mother eyes were usually dark and cold. But now they had an inquisitive look.

  “Yes, it was, mom. He used to come out to greet me every morning.”

  “Bollocks, what a kid.”

  “Antonia, I think the boy is right.” Pedro was very gentle to animals, but his wife wasn’t.

  “And where are you going to bury it? Are you going to do it near here? That’s exactly what I needed, more bloody rats scratching the whole night to eat it.

  “No, no” Juan said with the rooster on his lap. It was cold and stiff, as if it had just been taken out fro
m the freezer.

  “God knows how a dead rooster stinks...”

  “I will bury it in the woods.” Juan answered.

  Her mother’s eyes were wide open.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Mr. Valenti said there was a pet cemetery in the woods.”

  “Now I’ve heard everything!”

  “Let the child do whatever he wants to do” Pedro said with a tear in his right eye. Pili stood beside him, staring blankly.

  “Look at him. You are so pathetic. You have red eyes.” Antonia said looking at her husband. “Crying for a fucking animal or watching films but unable to cry for me. You are not even good in bed.”

  “Oh!” Juan exclaimed covering his mouth with one hand.

  Their marriage was falling apart. Juan and Pili knew it very well. They looked at each other. Here they are again, embroiled, they thought at the same time.

  But the rooster was dead.

  16

  Juan was quite familiar with the woods surrounding the house and those that were all the way to Bonmati. Thus, he was going to take the narrow path once again to go to the pet cemetery. And the rooster seemed to be looking at him from his lap with its open eyes.

  The sun was blazing relentlessly that afternoon, and Juan felt his head was a smoking torch. He had chosen the right side, where the pines were and it was dry and dusty, where there was no moss at all.

  The path could be walked along in less than twenty minutes, without jogging, at a slow pace. He was dodging stones and walking into every nook and cranny of the path. As he was walking, the heat became stifling and the rooster started warming, although it was still stiff as a board.

  From that height he could see River Ter and the woods on the other side of the road. From there the republicans had dropped bombs, he remembered. This time Juan was walking silently, unlike he used to do, as he used to talk to himself with excessive gabbiness. But he was sad this time.

  And he wondered how on earth the poor animal had croaked. Had he seen anything during the night? It was a young animal, goddamn it, it could not be dead. But here it was, on his lap, on its way to the cemetery where he would bury it in a hole. He would put two straws in the shape of a cross.

  “What was the rooster’s name?”

  Gallo Claudio.

  He had a name now. Juan remembered that cartoon character featuring many Warner Brothers’ stories, the Looney Tunes. He remembered it very well. And he also remembered how he cracked up every time Gallo Claudio ran rampant on television every Saturday.

  “Hi, Gallo Claudio” He said to the air, those words being carried off by the wind.

  The dry leaves and branches caused a crackling sound every time he put his feet on them. He looked at the many pine leaves, also called Acicula. He had heard his father saying it, and he knew it had a lot of Vitamin C. He wondered how on earth anyone could swallow those pine needles. But he would probably brew it into a beverage, he thought.

  He climbed on top of a rock that stood in the way and jumped to the other side to go on. He walked for another five minutes and finally he reached the top, where the path turned into a huge esplanade. It was full of bushes and stones, but these stones were much smaller. Juan was sweating copiously and Gallo Claudio was already almost roasted. He saw at the end of the esplanade two intertwined trees, their branches growing towards each other forming an arch, with many little crosses under them. Some of the crosses were on the floor and some others had been carried away by the wind.

  But what really shocked him was the series of holes that had been dug by animals, who had taken away the bones in their closed mouths, so as to be able to get some licks during the rest of the night.

  He came closer and he removed the earth mounds next to the holes with his feet. Most of them were quite small. However, one of them was as big as a pig and he thought that maybe a pig or a goat had been buried there.

  There were bones on the ground, mixed with the straws that had been used to make the crosses, and there were inscriptions. Some of them had been written in pen, some of them on a tin. But none of them were readable as they had become just a blur on the dark and yellowish papers.

  Juan reached for his pocket, but he found out with sorrow that he had no pencil. He used to carry a pencil in his pocket to take notes about everything he watched during his walks. He used to let his imagination run riot so as to write horror stories later on. However, he noticed he had his note book. Gallo Claudio was now hanging inert on his hand, but still stiff as a board.

  “Ok, I’ll write it on the ground. I’ll take a good pile of sand.” He said out loud, before the trees and under the stifling sun.

  He chose a part of that little cemetery of ploughed soil and straws and left Gallo Claudio on the ground with extreme care.

  He kneeled down, and looked around looking for something he could use to dig a medium size pit. There were only stones and pine needles. He had forgotten to bring something else. He slapped his forehead puffing.

  The sun rays were bathing his back, and his sweat was running from his forehead to the tip of his nose. He tasted it with the tip of the tongue, and it was salty.

  He chose a big stick, at least it was something, he thought. The stick was twisted, it was a branch forgotten by time, but it was still consistent. It was better than nothing, he thought ironically. He grabbed the stick with his right hand and he started scratching the ground surface.

  The little clouds of dust were carried away by the wind in silence while the deep lines on the ground started to form a hole. In the meanwhile Gallo Claudio was roasting under the sun, its eye white now, but still open and stubbornly looking at the sun.

  “I will always remember you, even if the wind blows slowly and silently what I have written.” Juan was talking to himself and his voice got stuck among the pine branches.

  Five minutes later, with many beads of sweat on the dry ground, he had dug a hole. The size was more or less appropriate. At least it was a deep hole, to avoid the night rodents, Juan thought while he was holding tight the stick, watching the soil getting darker before his eyes.

  Then he left the stick aside, and he tried to remember a prayer to dedicate to Gallo Claudio when he was inside the hole, but he couldn’t remember any. It was funny, because his father was all day long talking about the Gospels, as he was a member of the Evangelists and every weekend they visited the House to pig out and enjoy nature.

  It didn’t make sense. He should remember some paragraph. But of course his father was always preaching about the end of the world, that is, the Apocalypse. And the seven will sound their trumpets, Juan remembered, but nothing else. Or wasn’t exactly like that?

  He clenched his teeth and shook his head. His brown hair moved like a thousand threads from a frayed rug when it is shaken out. He stretched his hand and grabbed Gallo Claudio by its legs. It was warm. He took the rest of the body with the other hand, softly. He stood there staring at it for a long time and then he left it on the hole. He had dug it perfectly and the rooster stayed there with its peak pointing up into the blue sky and its wings folded. It would be a nest of worms soon, Juan thought. Because he knew it would.

  Then he started filling the hole up with the ploughed soil, and Gallo Claudio’s eyes disappeared in the darkness. His hands were earth-covered and his long nails broke when he scratched the ground. He did a good mound on top of the grave and then he saw two little straws near his swollen knees.

  He took them with his right hand, touching the rough and dry part of the straws. He realized then he had no strings to make a cross, so he left them crossed on top of the mound, sinking them a bit with his fingers.

  Then he wrote a sentence with his right index which read: Bye, Gallo Claudio, I wish I could see you tomorrow at the henhouse again.

  But he knew that the dead don’t come back to life.

  Or maybe he was wrong.

  The noises, Valentí’s sentence: I don’t want you to go into this room. It was my sister’s last w
ish.

  Where had he heard about death? What would have been Gallo Claudio’s last wish?

  He stood up and left, without turning back. There was a teardrop in his right eye.

  He knew nothing.

  17

  Gallo Claudio did not come back the following day, but something happened that turned his blood cold. There was a room inside the henhouse, on the right hand side of the wall, where goats were kept. It occurred there.

  The following morning, when the first rays of sun extended their long fingers along that land, Gerona, and Gallo Claudio did not crowed at seven o’clock, the five goats, who were locked up in their stable, started bleating. But that morning their bleat was different. It sounded like human cries.

  The sound was heard by Pedro and Antonia, who were at the rear of the house behind some walls that had been painted in pink. The woman was really kitschy.

  “What the hell is that noise?” Antonia ranted, with half-closed eyes. She sat up in the bed complaining, while Pedro jumped up as if forced back by a return spring.

  “The devil is here.” Pedro said.

  “Yes. And so is your father, too.”

  “I was only joking” Pedro explained, who was already sitting on the edge of the bed.

  The sunlight didn’t illuminate their room, but it illuminated Pili’s room, that was on top of the goats’ stable. The sun shone directly throughout the whole day.

  “Shit, I need a drink!” Antonia bellowed, covering her head with her pillow while trying to stop listening to those hysterical cries.

  “Maybe it is going into labor.” Pedro said. “That’s why it is shouting.”

  Actually he had bought two pregnant cows, who were about to give birth. And the previous days Juan had been squeezing their huge tits to extract as much milk as possible so as to make his favorite breakfast, curd.

  “All of them are shouting, not only one!” Antonia exclaimed, covered by the pillow. “Are you an idiot or are you deaf?”

  “I cannot hear very well from here” He answered in good faith.

  “Definitely, you are deaf.” Antonia whispered.