by Enrique Laso
"What matters to me now is that you don't run away, that you don't leave me behind because of this small slip up. I need to teach you, to train you so you get to be a real taxidermist. I'm proud of this, and I do it purely for selfish reasons, I must admit. Teaching you is a pleasure for me, and may be one last action to give my existence its final chance to reach glory".
I was speechless. A ridiculous, intense heat rapidly flooded my whole body, until it finally reached my cheeks. I felt embarrassed and vain at the same time, in equal parts and without any control. For a moment, I remember that I thought that, perhaps, morphine wasn't quite such a bad, damaging drug.
"José..." I mumbled.
"Enrique, try to be happy now, work to make your dreams come true and don't do anything you may regret later. When you get to my age, childhood and the teenage years attack the mind mercilessly, relentlessly. On occasions I find myself here, sitting on this very chair and surrounded by these very trees, confused and disturbed, when I believed I was in an entirely different place, so distant in space and time. Such is the perversity and wondrousness of the human brain."
I must admit that those reflections caught me by surprise and that it has taken me many a year to unravel only part of their meaning. But not all of it yet. Despite all this, the taxidermist's words stayed with me until the night came and I closed my eyes in bed, ready to sleep. The dull echo of his voice resounded in my head. Somehow, I understood that his thoughts were a sort of supreme, unquestionable truth that my young brain couldn't quite grasp yet.
V
José never gave a repeat performance of what I had seen that day, but Adela secretly told me that he kept on injecting himself three times a week.
"The effect is getting worse. Sometimes he lies there drowsy for hours, and then, of course, there's no getting him to go to bed at night," the woman said, quite distressed.
I had investigated morphine and found out that one of its effects was the increasing tolerance that addicts developed. After a while, what would have been a mortal dose for a person who'd never had morphine before, could be taken without problems by those who were hooked on it. That only caused me to worry even more, because I thought the taxidermist was taking larger doses every time. But I could not find the way to broach the subject. There was always a good excuse to tell myself that it wasn't the right day for it, that another time would be better.
April arrived, as the Spanish saying goes, lashing the city with endless rain which shortened and dulled the days, making them somewhat darker. I rarely left the house: in this city, a few drops of rainfall feel like a deluge, and we, its inhabitants, are so reluctant to get wet that we prefer the dry, covered refuge of our homes. That morning in mid April, Adela left me alone in the long corridor, of which I knew the dark doors from the only time I had been inside the house, in the now distant month of November. The corridor was, exactly as I remembered it, still shrouded in the darkest shadows.
"Wait for him here, he'll be down in a minute. I have to go back to my cooking," said the woman, with whom I now had a friendly relationship.
"Wait a minute, Adela," I hurriedly blurted out, "I don't like this place."
She gave me a surprised, yet understanding look. She stretched her hands to gently thump me.
"I can't believe this! I thought you were a big boy? Don José will be just a minute, I've already let him know you're here."
"But, why is there not a single light bulb in this corridor? Somebody could get hurt," I added, trying to hide my fear behind a fake practical consideration.
"Because that's the way Don José likes it," replied Adela, sarcastically, turning away and going back to the kitchen.
So I was left alone, terrified. After a few minutes, my ears got used to the apparent silence and I began to hear more. Then I noticed that somebody was walking very slowly above my head, going from one side to the other. I thought he might be looking for something very carefully, knowing the room but unable to remember the exact spot where this thing was. A little while later I thought that, maybe he wasn't looking for something but rather he was looking at something, calmly, finding pleasure in going around it. All these reflections were nearly automatic, as if part of my mind was trying to distract the irrational fear suffered by the other part with these amateur detective musings. Suddenly, as my body went rigid with terror, I heard the footsteps walking away with a disturbing crack in the wooden ceiling. A few seconds later, the taxidermist appeared from behind one of the doors in the corridor, his face dull and sombre. Still paralysed, I could not utter a word. When José saw me, his expression changed to the elegant, kind look he always wore.
"Enrique, what a surprise! I'm sorry, have you been waiting long? Adela told me the bell had rung and that it was probably you... but I was so engrossed that I lost track of time," said the taxidermist with a wide smile on his lips.
"Yes... Well, actually..." I stammered.
"What is the matter? You're shaking and as cold as ice," José said, taking me by the shoulders and frowning with pretend worry.
"It's just.. I don't like this corridor much."
The taxidermist looked to both ends of the corridor, as if considering something, and then he gave me another of his seductive, warm smiles he managed so well.
"You're right. Now that you mention it, it does look gloomy. To be honest, I keep it this way to protect my library from the light and the damp... and also the things I have in the attic."
"Yes, of course."
"If you want, today we can go for a long walk in the forest, It'll do us both a lot of good to be out of the house and talking in the open air."
"It's raining."
"Come on, man! A few raindrops won't do us any harm."
"Well... I have an umbrella..." I said, not particularly taken with the idea, although desperate to leave the corridor behind as soon as possible.
"Forget about it. I'll lend you a cagoule, you'll be comfier in it. Besides, there's work to do in the forest, and you'll need both your hands."
I followed José to the lobby, still watched over by the deer head I found so impressive, and he gave me a raincoat. I put it on right away, but soon regretted it: it was too big and I looked ridiculous.
"I look terrible!" I exclaimed, stretching my arms in despair.
The taxidermist looked at me and tried, rather unsuccessfully, to stifle a spontaneous burst of laughter. Then he came closer and, taking my waist, shook me a bit.
"No one will see us. I doubt many young girls will go to the forest in this weather. What sort of idiot would go out with this foul weather?" he cynically asked.
"Just the two of us..."
"I'll go and tell Adela that we're leaving, and that we'll be back in about an hour. You don't have to come with me if you don't want; to save yourself the embarrassment of being seen in that, " he winked at me slyly.
I went outside and devoted myself to scrutinising the façade, which I had barely glanced at since the first time I'd come here. The walls seemed to have been painted many times; this was apparent where the paint was flaking and several overlapping coats of various colours could be seen. Despite the many cracks and flaking paint, the walls looked solid, robust, and the mild decadence of the paintwork only lent it a certain romantic air, like one of those derelict Victorian mansions. There were large windows on both sides, which surely belonged to the first two rooms, accessible by the first opposite doors in the corridor I found so disturbing. These windows were protected by green-painted bars, the same colour as the fence that surrounded the small property. It had surely been Adela who had put in them some pots with geraniums, carnations and other typical flowers of the region, that could endure the climate quite well. The top floor had been built after the ground floor, or at least that could be deduced from its different colour and shape, slightly narrower. There were no windows on that floor, and only a small skylight allowed the ventilation needed to prevent the air becoming stuffy. For some reason, my mind went back to the footstep
s José had taken in the loft, and I shuddered. I remembered his face, mournful and circumspect when he first appeared in the corridor, and I wondered what the hell he could have been doing , what strange pursuits he had up there in the attic.
"Come on, there's no time to waste, if you want to be back home for lunch!" exclaimed the taxidermist gleefully, appearing suddenly and scaring me half to death.
"I was admiring the plants..." I spontaneously lied.
"If you want, Adela can give you some cuttings, so you can plant them in your room."
We went together up to the poorly paved, climbing road, first joining the cemetery with the house, and then further on, leading to the forest. José's agile, light gait surprised me. He seemed used to the steep hill and he climbed it efficiently.
"Do you often go to walk in the forest?" I asked, suspecting a positive answer.
"As a matter of fact, I do. At least a couple of times a week. It's my only exercise, otherwise I spend most of my time sitting by the fountain or reading some book or other beside the fireplace. I generally go out on Wednesdays and Sundays, but I thought it would be a good idea to make an exception today."
I noticed that the taxidermist was making use of a thick mountain stick, quite modern-looking, which updated and rejuvenated his usual anachronistic, early-20th-century look. He had also brought a tiny satchel, now carried across his chest, which looked empty.
"What's that little bag?"
"Ah, you've noticed it... Ours won't be a pointless walk. We're going to collect some edible flowers," José declared, in quite a grandiloquent manner.
I was a bit puzzled by this but I chose not to say anything else. I decided that the best thing I could do was to wait and see what he had in store for me, since I could not remember ever eating flowers. Suddenly, I felt a strange shudder, then I realised that we were close to the cemetery. Through the gates I could see some graves and tombstones and, further back, almost invisible because of the fog, the niche wall.
"Don't you like cemeteries?" José asked me, pointing at the graveyard with his stick.
"Not much, to be honest. And a lot less on a day like today."
"I would like to visit it with you someday, though. It's so close to home that I've almost lost all fear of it. I like sitting by the graves and I entertain myself by reading the writing on them. Some of them are true manifestos; other ones, mere vengeances. Most of them, though, are simple periods for dull, humdrum lives."
After the cemetery, the road was not tarmacked anymore, it was also narrower and covered in pebbles. Then there seemed to be a fork in the road, splitting it into three narrow but easily identifiable paths. The taxidermist confidently chose one of them, the steepest one, the one that seemed to try and reach the mountain's summit. I had to follow him, walking behind him - it was no longer possible to walk side by side. The trees were mostly pine trees although there were some holm oaks among them. They were denser in that area, covering us from the soft rain.
"I've been thinking of the dragonflies," said the taxidermist, turning to watch my weary progress.
"What do you mean?"
"I haven't told you this, but I also began my passion for preservation with an insect with a wonderful name: the butterfly.
I had always been fascinated by butterflies, but I had never dared trying to catch them. I thought preserving their wings had to be complicated, or even catching them without ruining them brutally."
"So, did you catch them in this forest?"
"No, it would've been impossible. The ones you can find here are very small, and there are too few of them. It was another time, I lived somewhere else. I spent my childhood far away from here, although I was born in this land, and this land will see me die..."
He pronounced those last words with a certain pride, but also with palpable melancholy, something it was easy to identify with a vague feeling of immediacy.
"That won't happen any time soon," I announced, with the naïve, quick estrangement only the young are capable of.
José stopped walking and looked at me with indulgence. He pulled back the cagoule's hood and looked up to the top of the trees.
"That day is not really that far away. In fact, I must hurry up with your training. But I mustn't rush things either," he said, coldly, not a hint of sentimentalism in sight.
"I don't like you talking like that, or about that subject."
"Are you afraid of death?"
"I don't know..." I replied, since it was a matter that at my age wasn't among my main worries.
"I'm just speaking rubbish, aren't I? Let's go, we still have a bit to go before we get to the right place."
We walked for about ten minutes in absolute silence. The path, which at first had seemed willing to reach the top of the hill, was actually skirting it, and it finished in a small hollow, where many bushes and thickets grew, like rosemary and lavender. The taxidermist stopped in front of a group of polished rocks, in the cracks of which there were a number of bushes with many long branches.
"We're there. Our mission today is collecting caper buds, do you know them?"
"I've heard about them," I said, unconvincingly.
José taught me to pick the capers very carefully, choosing only the smallest ones, the ones on the top part of the bush, and also to be careful not to prick my fingers on the thorns, which were few but caused intense pain.
"Is picking caper buds also part of my training?" I asked, somewhat playfully.
"Of course it is! Besides, in a few week's time you'll be able to enjoy them yourself. They're great in salads, you'll see..."
I was having a good time, with my back bent over and acting like a medieval peasant, and yet I couldn't help but finding the whole experience quite unusual. José was in reasonably high spirits, picking the flower buds with unexpected skill and speed. When the satchel was full he seemed satisfied and decided it was time to go back.
"We've done it faster than I thought. You're a great helper."
I accepted the compliment and followed the taxidermist, who walked quicker. We were back in the house in under a quarter of an hour. It had stopped drizzling but the sky still looked heavy, dyeing everything in a steel-colour; the fruit trees around the swimming pool were bathed in a languid, faint light that seemed more appropriate for dusk than for midday.
"Now we just need to finish our work. We are going to embalm these buds, so to speak. Once this is done, we can taste them for months on end without fearing any intoxication," José proudly said.
He put the capers in two large glass jars, which he then filled three-quarters full with water. He then put a handful or two of salt in each jar, and closed them before shaking them. Finally, he added vinegar until it nearly spilled out of the jars and put the lids firmly on, leaving them by the edge of the swimming pool.
"Will you just leave them there?" I asked, intrigued.
"That's right. The sun will finish the job. I'll change the water in two weeks' time, and then I'll leave them for another two weeks. Then, I'll put them in smaller jars with water, salt and vinegar, and we'll have enough to enjoy them for the whole summer," the taxidermist replied with a wide smile.
"I must go back," I said, pointing at my watch.
"Any day you like, you can stay for lunch. Both Adela and I would be delighted."
I said goodbye to José and went down the hill to get the bus that would take me back home, with a strange sensation in my body. Something was niggling me but I couldn't identify it, like when you are trying to name a thing you can see clearly in your mind but you cannot find the exact noun for it. I was surprised to see some people in the houses that were scattered along the road. It was the first time they had been there, or at least, the first time they'd let themselves be seen. For a second, I thought I'd been in a fictitious, unreal world, where nothing was as my eyes perceived. The way down seemed to get longer, endless, and the sky went heavier, to the point I could feel its weight on my head, nearly crushing me. When I arrived at the bus st
op, I was worn out, with the sort of exhaustion of someone who has just run a marathon in record time. The bus arrived five minutes later and I greeted the driver - with whom I was now on friendly terms - with the sort of rejoicing a castaway would have felt towards his saviours.
"You look tired. You must have gone for a good walk today..."
"To be honest, I'm tired just climbing down the hill."
"So it's not physical tiredness, but rather mental tiredness."
The driver had said that in a casual manner, almost as a joke, and yet the effect it caused on me was shattering. The bus was completely empty, only he and I were on it. Once again, I noticed that reality was fading around me, that I was sliding down the unpredictable slide of wild imagination. How could all this be happening to me? What on earth was causing this? All of a sudden, I was not on the bus anymore, I was not looking out the window, I could not see the back of the driver's head... All of a sudden I was in the corridor, at the taxidermist's house, in the dark, and I could hear his steps above me, in the loft, walking stealthily, stalking some piece or other. I was petrified, scared to death. A sheer terror was gripping me, and it had just one source, one cause that I could now see precisely, as clear as day: José.
VI
Two weeks passed and I didn't return to the taxidermist's. I would call and speak only to Adela, who somehow excused my snubs, although explaining them in a way that was quite different from the truth.
"I understand you. That man can sometimes be so wrong. I'm used to it by now, but it's unacceptable that a man of his age... I told you that day that it was better for you to go back home, as if nothing had happened," the poor woman argued, while I silently nodded at the other end of the line, like a coward.
Fear is a strange phenomenon, often completely irrational. There's a theory that says that when something scares us, it's because our brain is wisely warning us about that act, thing or person being more dangerous than our conscious discernment can tell. The thing is that I could not put my finger on the reason why I harboured that unjustifiable fear of José.