by Rosa Montero
“I know.”
“I’ve transferred all my money to you.”
“I’ll return it to you, don’t worry.”
They sat quietly for a short while.
“Everything’s happened so quickly: adolescence, youth, the death of my son, the rest of my life. One day you wake up and you’re an old man. And you can’t understand what’s happened. How quickly it’s all gone by.”
“If you don’t carry out any more idiocies like the one today, you’re still going to live longer than me. Don’t make me angry.”
“‘Non ignoravi me mortalem genuisse—I have always known I was mortal’; Cicero used to say that.”
“‘Neque turpis mors forti vito potest accedere—death is not ignominious for those who are strong.’ Also Cicero.”
The archivist looked at her, delighted.
“You remember!”
“Of course, Yiannis. You’ve taught me many things. I’ve already told you that you’re useful to me in all sorts of ways.”
They were silent again, but it was a companionable silence. Suddenly, Bruna visualized the seat they were sitting on, the circular garden, the city of Madrid, the Iberian Peninsula, the greenish-blue globe of the Earth, the small solar system, the multiarmed galaxy, the vast cosmic darkness dotted with constellations, red dwarves, and white giants...the entire universe. And in the middle of that indescribable immensity, she wanted to believe for just one moment in the consoling illusion that she wasn’t alone. She thought about Yiannis. And Maio and Mirari. About Oli. Even about Nopal. And in particular, she remembered Lizard, to whom she dedicated a very light thought, a barely there thought, holding her breath. There was a time to laugh, a time to embrace. Although bears might only come together to mate, maybe she would be different in this, too.
“Well,” sighed the old man. “Then I’ll have to see if I can rent my apartment again, And I’ll go to the archive to see if they’ll rehire me now that everything’s over. Although, you know—and I’m not saying that I want to kill myself, not anymore—but there’s something marvelous about getting rid of oneself. That supreme liberty of ceasing to be who you are. Putting myself back in my old existence seems quite depressing to me.”
“Then don’t do it. Find yourself another apartment. And work with me. I’m suggesting that you become my business partner.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. You know a lot about everything and you’re very good at research, comparing information, and analyzing things logically. We’d make a formidable team.”
Yiannis smiled.
“It would be fun.”
“It will be fun.”
The public screen closest to them started to broadcast some breaking news: “Parliament has declared that it is illegal to charge for clean air.” Yiannis gave a small shout of joy.
“You see. I told you. We mustn’t give up hope! We mustn’t stop pushing for things to improve!”
Even Bruna was impressed, although the rep wasn’t as convinced as the archivist. The owners of the clean air would undoubtedly find some loophole, and the Zero Air Zones would continue to be miserable, contaminated ghettos that poor people would have real difficulty leaving. But even so, the constitutional resolution was very important. Bruna had been able to experience a fundamental social change in her short rep life after all. With a bit of luck, perhaps even that child deported by the tax police would experience one, too.
“Congratulations, Yiannis. You’re going to be very useful to me. So let’s test your powers of deduction: Why me?”
“Why you?”
“Yes. Why did RoyRoy pick me?”
“I don’t know. Let me see...Well, you’re a combat rep; you look pretty terrifying with that line that divides you; you suited her purposes very well from a media point of view in terms of what she wanted to achieve; you’re a detective, so it was likely you’d have weapons...And besides, it gave Habib an excuse to hire you. In fact, you had the perfect profile. It could be that they used a profile search program and your file came up.”
Ah yes, the ubiquitous electronic affinity programs. People used them all the time to find employees, carpenters, lovers, friends. Yes, maybe Yiannis was right; maybe she had found herself caught up in this nightmare thanks to a stupid, blind machine. There was always a degree of banality in every tragedy.
“It’s a good hypothesis. You see. You did really well. Shall we go to Oli’s bar to celebrate?”
As she got up, Bruna noticed that there was something on the ground next to the bench. She moved it with the tip of her shoe. It was a torn, dirty 3-D poster: “Repent!—February 3—The End of the World.” The words flashed faintly, almost out of power. It was one of the banners belonging to the Apocalyptics.
“Today is the third, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Bruna looked around her. The splendid morning, the peaceful garden.
“Well, it looks like the world isn’t ending today after all,” said the rep.
“I think not.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
A BRIEF NOTE
As more than one reader will no doubt have guessed, the beautiful quotation at the beginning of this book, “What I do shows me what I seek,” is not from Sulagnés, the artist from the planet Gnío, but from the French abstract artist Pierre Soulages—creator, among other things, of a fascinating series of huge, completely black paintings.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photograph © Violeta de Lama, 2011
Rosa Montero is an acclaimed novelist and an award-winning journalist for the Spanish newspaper El País. A native of Madrid and the daughter of a professional bullfighter, Montero published her first novel at age twenty-eight. She has won Spain’s top book award, the Qué Leer Prize, twice—for The Lunatic of the House in 2003 and Story of the Transparent King in 2005. A prolific author of twenty-six books, her other titles include the short-story collection Lovers and Enemies and the novels Beautiful and Dark, My Beloved Boss, and The Heart of the Tartar.
ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
Lilit Žekulin Thwaites is a Hispanist specializing in contemporary Spanish literature, a literary translator, and former Head of the Spanish department of La Trobe University, Melbourne, Australia. She lives in Melbourne with her husband, Tim, and their three children.