I was reading an article about the crisis in Juventus’ game in Turin, possibly due to a widespread and growing interest in Satanism in that city, or perhaps I had let myself be misled by the apparent similarities between the two languages – that probably explains my loss of concentration and why I was not as alert as I should have been, or perhaps it was simply because I didn’t have to wait as long as I had expected, not even a quarter of an hour had passed, which is why I wasn’t on my guard – and when I glanced up at the doorway for the umpteenth time in those eleven or thirteen minutes and, instead of a blank – the door was open – or some unknown neighbour – two had come out in that brief space of time – I saw the face and astonished eyes of Luisa Téllez only a few steps away and another face and another familiar pair of eyes looking up at me from infinitely lower down, from the height of a two-year-old: Eugenio was well wrapped up and was wearing a quilted gaberdine cap with a strap buckled under his chin, reminiscent of those worn by pilots in the old days, although his cap had a small peak. He was holding Luisa’s hand and she was far less loaded down now, in her other hand she was carrying only a handbag and one of the two Armani bags, she had left the other one upstairs – Téllez’s birthday present, the top or the skirt – along with the bag containing Lolita, perhaps her own present, not much, a paperback book; either that, or a most unusual commission – and the beers and the sausages and the ice cream, those were doubtless the ingredients for the quick and simple supper that María Fernández Vera would not have had the time to buy having spent part of the morning and part of the afternoon looking after the boy, her sister-in-law must have promised to do some shopping for her and Guillermo on her way to collect their orphaned nephew. They were standing there before me, the aunt and the boy, they were two steps away, they must have come out just after I last glanced at the door and that had given them time to walk over, without my noticing, to where I was standing, reading about Satanism and soccer in Italian: they were about to turn the corner. Or perhaps there was a simpler explanation and I had actually allowed myself to be seen, tired of moving in the shadows. I wondered if the boy would recognize me, I don’t know how much small boys remember or if it varies from individual to individual, it had been more than a month since he had seen me, but he had been with me over a period of a good few hours and on a night that for him had proved catastrophic, the end of his world: throughout the whole of a seemingly interminable supper during which he had played the role of guardian to his mother and had refused to go to sleep precisely because I was there. He had heard my name several times as I had heard his (“Come on, Eugenio, love,” Marta had said at one point, “off to bed now, otherwise Víctor will get angry,” and it wasn’t true that I would get angry, although I was getting impatient), and he had seen me again when his simple dreams had been interrupted and he had pushed open the bedroom door that had been left ajar and, without his mother realizing, he had leaned in the doorway clutching his dummy and his rabbit, he had placed one hand on my forearm and I had led him away from there, concealing the bra, or trophy, which I still have, and preventing him from saying goodbye when he did not even know that he would have to, the end of his world and the last time that he would have seen her alive. Had it been otherwise, I would have let him come in, even though she was half-naked.
“Ictor,” said the boy, pointing at me, he said it with a smile, he remembered my name. I think I found that rather touching.
Having recovered from her surprise, Luisa Téllez stood looking at me curiously, fixedly. Then it occurred to me how ridiculous both my presence and my appearance must seem, standing there reading a foreign newspaper with, next to me, on the ground, a bag containing a video of 101 Dalmatians, which didn’t interest me in the least, and an ice cream that would soon be melting, indeed, it probably already was, I realized then that it would be some time before I went home. I also had one sodden shoe that squelched every time I took a step, it was a sound more suited to the deck of a ship.
“What on earth are you playing at?” she said pityingly, and now she addressed me unhesitatingly as “tú”, the way young people do and the way we all do when we address someone mentally, even when it is not to insult them or curse them or desire their ruin, shame and death, or to put them under a spell.
I felt embarrassed, I must have blushed a bit as she had when she opened the freezer door and was enveloped for a moment in that cold air, but I know that I also felt happy and relaxed, it meant an end to dissembling and an end to secrecy, at least as far as she was concerned, one less area of darkness for Luisa the sister.
“So, what did you choose in the end, the skirt or the top?” I asked, at the same time making as if to peer into the bag she was still carrying. I equally unhesitatingly addressed her as “tú” as well.
You can tell when anger could just as easily tip over into laughter, you spend your whole life watching for it, trying to get back into someone’s good graces, in the broadest sense of the word “grace”, trying to make sure that they don’t notice your faults, outrages and abuses, the mistakes one makes and the disappointment they represent for those who trusted in you, the minor betrayals and minor insults. You can always tell who is going to forgive you, at least for a time, who is going to take no notice or turn a blind eye, to use a colloquial expression gradually falling into disuse, even idioms fade and disappear. Luisa would be like that, benevolent and lighthearted and practical and even frivolous if necessary, I saw it at that moment, I hadn’t seen it before, during lunch, but then she had hardly paid me any attention at all and she was finding her brother-in-law and father somewhat irritating, the former with his inability to reach a decision on something that affected her directly, and the latter with his irksome, backward-looking view of life, a man from another time who didn’t understand much and didn’t try to, he was no longer of an age to make changes or to make an effort, in keeping with the character or person he had ended up as. And yet even then, I must have glimpsed something of her natural cheeriness and helpfulness, her tacit defence of Deán, the compassion she felt for him, even though she did not perhaps actually feel much sympathy or liking for him, her sense of duty towards the boy, her readiness to help and to change her habits – her life – her desire for reconciliation between the people close to her, her silence during the argument between the two men who got on so badly, her need for clarity and probably for harmony too, her ability to imagine the worst aspects of another person’s death despite her own limited experience (“What would be frightening would be to think it,” she had said, “and to know it”). She had paid me no attention, but during that lunch I had been merely an employee, an intruder, an inappropriate presence that had facilitated Téllez’s careless indifference. Now, on the other hand, I was someone, not only my name had taken on considerable meaning in the boy’s truncated pronunciation, I had suddenly become more interesting and had acquired, so to speak, a new place in the hierarchy. Now I was someone chosen by her older sister, Luisa had no way of knowing that I had played second or even third fiddle: I was someone with whom Marta had been in intimate contact during her last hours, hours which she could not have imagined would be her last, but which were, and that final moment had, in part, defined her for ever, we end up seeing our life in the light of the latest or most recent event, the mother believes that she was born to be a mother and the spinster to be single, the murderer to be a murderer and the victim a victim, and the adulteress an adulteress if she realizes, in the middle of the adulterous act, that she is dying and, assuming too, that the word “adulteress” has not also fallen into disuse. Marta did not know it, but I did and I am the one who counts, the one telling the story and the one who decides who will speak, “None that speak of me know me, and when they do speak, they slander me”. It was also possible that Luisa had given her own partial, subjective, mistaken or even false version of the two sisters’ adolescence, that was now her privilege as this is mine, there was no one now to contradict her, therein lies the pathetic superiority o
f the living, our temporary motive for triumph. Had Marta been present, she would doubtless have denied what Luisa had said and would again have called her a copycat, she would have said that Luisa was the one who could never decide and that she had only to show an interest in a boy for her younger sister immediately to become interested too, and thus the mechanism of usurpation would be set in motion. Either of the two things could be true, just as one might say: “I never sought it, I never wanted it” or “I sought it, I wanted it,” in fact, everything is at once one thing and its contrary, no one does anything convinced of its injustice, which is why there is no justice and why justice never prevails, as the Lone Ranger said in his litany of disordered ideas: society’s view is never that of the individual, it is only the view of the time and time is as slippery as sleep and compacted snow and always gives one licence to say: “I am not the thing I was”, it’s easy enough, while there’s still time.
There was no laughter, not as such, just a half-repressed smile, I knew that, as well as being surprised and indignant, Luisa also felt flattered, I had followed her and spied on her, I had taken an interest in her, taken trouble over her, I had observed her and commented on her clothes and her purchases, I was someone chosen by Marta who was now turning all his attention on her, how that death gladdens me, saddens me, pleases me. “How easy it is to seduce someone or to be seduced,” I thought, “we are satisfied with so little,” and I felt safe and sound, my blushes and my embarrassment vanished, and I thought further, I thought something which, only a few seconds before, would never have occurred to me: “If Deán decided not to live with his son and Luisa went to live in his apartment, this child could, if I wanted, end up being mine, and then I would not be for him what I, at first, thought I would be, a shadow, a nobody, an almost unknown figure who watched him for a few moments from the door of his bedroom without his knowledge, without him ever knowing, and never therefore able to remember it, the two of us travelling slowly towards our dissolution. It wouldn’t be quite like that, the reverse side of his time, its dark back. Or, rather, it would be, but it would not only be that, it would be other things too, the partial substitution of his doomed, lost world, the secret and compensatory legacy of one fateful night, a vicariously paternal figure – the usurper in short – the two of us nevertheless travelling towards our dissolution, only much more slowly and creating more work for the waiting oblivion. And thus I will perhaps be able to speak to him one day about what he was that night.” And I thought further, I thought also of Luisa herself: “Perhaps I am the vague figure of the husband who has not yet arrived and who will help her to continue for many more years amongst the inconstant living, in a world of men, a world configured by comics and coloured prints and storybooks (and, above them, their model planes). We are united by more than one thing, we have both tied the same shoelace.”
“Ah, I see,” she said thoughtfully, her smile still hidden, “so you were there too.”
“The skirt really suited you,” I said. “Well, the top did too, but the skirt suited you best.” I did not hide my smile, I had to get into her good graces, I had been a bachelor again for some time now.
“And now what? Now what do we do?” she said. She had grown serious again or had succeeded in making her angry feelings prevail, but she was betrayed by that use of the first person plural, “Now what do we do?”, in the midst of her exasperation and severity which were simultaneously sincere and insincere.
“Let’s go somewhere where we can talk quietly,” I replied.
She looked at me distrustfully, but it passed, her wariness lasted only a short time, or was overcome by the other questions she was asking herself, unable to contain herself, she asked me one of those questions.
“What about the boy? I have to leave him at Marta’s place, I was just taking him there now. You know the apartment well, don’t you, inside and out? I saw you waiting by a taxi one night, it was you, wasn’t it? The night afterwards. How could you have left the boy on his own?”
She still did not think of it as Eduardo’s or Eugenio’s place, it was still Marta’s, it takes a while to lose the habit of using certain phrases that will eventually, albeit slowly, fall into disuse. There was more bitterness in that last question, a more scolding tone, she pouted her lips slightly, but she had little talent for anger, though, doubtless, more for regret. The child was still gazing up at me, a friendly look on his face, he had recognized me and had nothing more to say to me, he had no reason to make a fuss of me, he left that to the grown-ups. I crouched down and put a hand on his shoulder, he showed me a chocolate bar he was holding in his hand. I expected him to say: “chockit”. His fingers and mouth were already covered in the stuff.
“He can come with us, it’s not that late, you can tell Deán that you were detained here.” And I indicated the doorway I had guarded so ineffectually. I was daring to propose to Luisa a concealment, it was inconceivable. I was replying not to her last question, but to her penultimate one. I added: “Or you can leave him at the other apartment and I’ll wait for you downstairs. Yes, I imagine it was me you saw, assuming you were the woman in Marta’s bedroom that night.”
“Did she die alone?” she asked abruptly.
“No, I was with her.” I was still crouching down, I answered without looking up.
“Did she realize? Did she know she was dying?”
“No, the thought never occurred to her. Nor to me. It was very sudden.” How did I know what had passed through her head, but I said it all the same, I was the one telling the story.
Luisa remained silent. I took a handkerchief out of my jacket pocket, removed the chocolate bar from the child’s hands with great skill and care so that he wouldn’t get annoyed, then I wiped his mouth and sticky fingers.
“He is in a state,” I remarked.
“I know. My sister-in-law just gave it to him,” replied Luisa, “to eat on the way home. Ridiculous.”
The boy started to protest, the last thing I wanted was to provoke his tears, I had to get into his aunt’s good graces.
“Sh, don’t cry, look what I’ve got for you,” I said, and I took the video of 101 Dalmatians out of my bag. “I know how much he likes cartoons, he’s got one of Tintin, I was watching it with him,” I explained to Luisa. She would never imagine that I had not, in fact, bought that video on purpose, that I had given not a thought to the child or to anyone, that it was pure accident. It would help me to get into her good graces, she would see that I was not entirely heartless. I looked for a nearby litter bin and threw away what remained of the chocolate bar and the wrapper, along with La Repubblica, which was beginning to annoy me, and the carton of ice cream and the bag, which was beginning to drip everywhere, it dripped on me and I used my handkerchief to wipe it off, the handkerchief was ruined by then. I threw that in the litter bin too, there; I thought: “What a bit of luck buying that video.”
“You could have washed it,” Luisa said.
“It doesn’t matter.” We didn’t talk in the taxi that we took at my suggestion, my hands were free again, I opened the door, the boy sat between us, a quiet child, he kept studying the cover of his video, he knew about videos, he was imagining what it might contain, he pointed at the dalmatians and said: “Dog.” I was glad he didn’t say “bow-wows” or something like that, as I understand most very young children do.
I behaved well during the journey to Conde de la Cimera, I realized that Luisa Téllez wanted to think and to gain time and to get used to that unexpected association, she was doubtless reconstructing scenes in which she had played a part and scenes where she had not, my night with Marta and the following night, when Deán was still in London and she had probably stayed alone in the apartment with Eugenio, in the bedroom and the bed in which the death, the disaster, had taken place, though not the fuck – only she couldn’t know that – she would have changed the sheets and aired the room, it would have been an awful night for her, one of sadness and dark thoughts and imaginings. I only risked a glance a
t her thighs out of the corner of my eye when I noticed that she was looking at my face out of the corner of her eye, she had had plenty of opportunity to look at it during lunch, but then she had hardly given it a glance, now she was putting my face to the person who, until that moment, had lacked a face, had been no one, a stranger without even a name – and my name is Víctor Frances, that’s how Téllez had introduced me to Luisa, not as Ruibérriz de Torres, my whole name is Víctor Francés Sanz, although I never use the second surname: only in England have I been called Mr Sanz – now she could imagine Marta with me, she could even decide if we would have made a nice couple or if Marta could have imagined that she was going to die in my arms. I wanted to ask her questions too, not many, I could wait, I did not open my mouth except to speak to the child and to confirm to him: “Yes, dogs, lots of dogs with spots.” He probably didn’t know the word “spots”.
Tomorrow in the Battle Think on Me Page 28