Traces of Ink

by Antonio J. Fuentes García

  Lost in those memories he didn’t realize that they had left Madrid’s community, and that the wagon in which he was travelling had almost emptied. On the tray of the front seat his notebook was kept on and the newspaper’s anagram floated from one side to another in a screensaver appearance. He mechanically shut it and tried to sleep a bit, although he didn’t believe he could do it.

  A rattle startled him, and he realized that against all forecast he had ended up sleepy. He tried to peep through the window, but from his seat he could not even peek more than some sky. As the wagon was almost empty —only himself and a couple that was very busy doing cuddles to each other on the other side remained in it—, he changed to another seat to be more comfortable. A succession of fields and some other almost destroyed store couldn’t give him the faintest idea where he was, so he looked at the hour in his cell. He had slept for more than two hours!

  That travel was supposing to Jonás a superhuman effort, that is why he had wanted to do it in the most unpainful way, so he could return the same day. The reading was arranged to be realized about one at the midday, so he had bought a one-way ticket with the departure from Madrid at 07:05 and that arrived in Murcia at 11:05. From there he would take the surroundings, that would leave him in Águilas at 12:30, just in time to get there, leave his signature and get out from there. The returning train would leave from Murcia at 16:35, so it gave him time to eat something and come back. He would be back in Madrid for dinner.

  When he was becoming to sleep again, his cell rang up and again he startled when he heard an AC/CD’s song, Highway to Hell. In the screen appeared his father’s number, he cracked a smile. For sure the wit of Juandi his friend kept on and on surprising him, as he had hit the nail on the head, he was in a highway to hell in that precisely moment. He hanged down and tried to sleep again.

  Chapter 7

  The office that the lawyer had in Carlos III street was of an almost overwhelming pomposity. It was situated in one of the converted mansions in the main street in Águilas, gathered to other real states brokers business and organisms that had rented the other households. Jonás had found some delay in the surroundings Murcia-Águilas and had arrived two to one. The taxi had left him in Carlos III at 13:15 and when he got in the office, his parents were already there. He had the hope to arrive with a certain margin of time and not have to see them, but knowing his father, for sure they were planted there in the waiting room from an hour before the meeting.

  When he called at the door —with a presumptuous sign that indicated a lawyers’ buffet—, he heard his father’s angry voice complaining about the hour. That was going to go harder than what he expected.

  —Come in, the door is opened —it was heard from the background—. Come in.

  As he imagined for the rest of the building and the room where an educated secretary had indicated him his way to the office, the stay was ornate up to the extremes. Jonás thought that in that room you could film without any kind of decoration or flourish some sixties’ TV series.

  —Ah, Jonás —the lawyer greeted him standing up and giving his hand to him—. We were waiting for you.

  —For fifteen minutes —his father added from the other side.

  Jonás refused to answer and decided that he wanted to finish what he had come to do.

  —Well, where do I have to sign my renouncement? —he asked.

  The lawyer that was still with his extended hand waiting for the shaking hands that never arrived, put a face of not understanding.

  —How do you say?

  —I want to renounce to my part —he repeated—. My father can keep it. My father or the little nuns of the Holy Sepulcher, I don’t care, I don’t want anything.

  —I fear is not so easy —the lawyer ventured, that had put away his hand and had taken a seat gain—. The testament has very explicit bases that...

  —I have informed myself —interrupted Jonás—. I can give up any kind of benefits if I wish so.

  His father annihilated him with his eyes.

  —Are you going to let Mr. Carrasco talk or you going to spend the whole morning pissing? —he recriminated.

  Jonás made a gesture to the jurist to continue.

  —Testaments are unique, each one in its style, inside legality —he started to explain pompously—. The usual are the common ones, open or shut and that consist on the last requests of the testator, in this case Mr. María Millán Onófre, well before a notary openly, or well before several witnesses and in a closed form, in which case it couldn’t be opened until the death and the meeting with all the relatives.

  —To the point— Antonio José cut.

  —Yes, of course Mr. Ulloa— the lawyer rubbed off his smile and adopted a more professional attitude—. The fact is that Mr. Millán did a closed own hand testament.

  —And what the hell is that? — Jonás asked wondered.

  —That is, in a few words, that your grandfather, Mr. Millán, wrote a testament in the presence of several witnesses, he gave it to a notary with a closed “document” and with instructions to be opened and read the day after his death. The peculiarity in this case is that the witnesses had died themselves a long time ago, and the notary has become in charge of the verification.

  —But that has nothing special —Jonás exasperated— The last wills are read by the notary and the inheritance is disposed of.

  —Yes and no— the lawyer was enjoying his moment of leadership—. In the document rules were clearly specified. Those rules must be accomplished for the validity of the will.

  —Which are those rules? — Jonás was losing his patience—. Tell them at once and let us finish this for Goodness’ sake!

  —Mr. Millán left all his belongings to you— the lawyer said—. And with well-specified guidelines in case you request the resignation.

  —How do you say, I cannot give it up?

  —Yes, yes you can. The lawyer showed again a sardonic smile that expressed that you know something that the others do not know—. In the first instance, you had to attend the reading as first imperative.

  Jonás understood why his father insisted so much, and he marveled at his grandfather’s insight. He knew perfectly well that Jonás didn’t want nothing from the heritage and this way he obliged him to attend the meeting. He still didn’t understand why it was like this.

  —Your grandfather was very clear in saying that you could do with the heritage whatever you wanted —the lawyer look for some papers in his briefcase— provided that and this he left it as an inescapable requirement, you would be present for this reading.

  —I don’t understand anything —Jonás cleared his throat.

  —The testament says that you can’t give up to whatever are the properties that you don’t want, arranging that these pass into the hands of the beneficiaries that you indicate.

  The man removed the papers before his father’s increasingly exhausted patience, that look as a granite sphinx. Jonás didn’t see him that he had moved a muscle since he came into the office.

  Can we finish this? —his father growled.

  I want nothing — the young man repeated, and he turned around towards his father and said to him—. You win, I leave you all that grandpa had.

  The lawyer broke the tense moment between father and son.

  —Well in that case —he went to the door— you can follow me Mr. Millán.

  Jonás looked at the man without understanding.

  —Mr. Millán, you must come with me to make effective the renunciation to your inheritance.

  Both went out of the office, leaving his parents in the more absolute silence.

  In another of those full decorated rooms, the lawyer had given him an extensive contract, that Jonás had signed without even looking. When this was done, Carrasco took the documents and put an envelope and a little box in front of him. Jonás stayed motionless, without knowing what that was or what it was supposed that he had to do with those things. When he came back, Jonás was still in the
same position. The envelope and the little box were in the same place, untouched.

  —Mr. Millán —the lawyer seemed ill-at-ease—. Your grandfather’s only request was that if you renounced to the heritage, we had to give you that envelope and the box.

  Jonás continued speechless.

  —Sir, we can’t...

  —Leave me alone for a second —he cut.

  “Dear Jonás.

  I suppose that if you are reading this is because I went to the other neighborhood. I hope that in the end I had gone in a good way, without bothering too much, and if it didn’t happen that way, worst for you. The case is that I write you this letter because I suppose that you are upset or at least surprised. I want to reveal you something that I never told, and I don’t trust in nobody in the world except you, my dearest grandson. You have been the only one that has always believed and understood journalism from my point of view, although not always you can tell or do what you want, at least you had try. You must believe in only one thing. And that thing is that is no matter whatever they say to you or they try to make you believe, I have always loved you and I have never left my beliefs, this store that I left you is not what it seems, as this whole story, appearances deceive and what it appears true is not.

  In the other page, very well folded there were two more notes. He started with the first one.

  “Dear Jonás, I’m sure that this all seems every time strange to you, and even more, if “they” have already noticed. Frist, to apologize, and second ask you a second favor. I would have told when I was alive, but I trusted to solve it before “leaving”. The document that you have in the box is the deed of a little print of my property, a business that has been closed for so much years that I even remember when was the last time that it was open to public. This print is in Mula (Murcia), my native city, and it’s named Victoria. I ask you something that is going to seem insane for you, but trust me, because in spite what many will tell you, or even what you might believe, I’m not crazy. If you want to know a little more my story, there you have the explanation, but if what you want is to forget everything and don’t get into troubles, burn it. I fact, I advise you with all my heart to do this last thing. The print although it is in ruins it has an interesting insurance, so at least you could receive a good money as the owner, but I beg you not to leave it forgotten. Burn it, cause a little sparkle, there is plenty of combustible material that would do the rest, but please, as my last wish, do what I didn’t have the courage to do and destroy it, don’t leave it in the wrong hands.

  Loves you, your grandfather.

  With closed eyes due to the tears, he opened the box. Inside there was what it seemed to be a little property’s note neatly folded —as the sheets from the envelope—, and a ring from where two keys hanged. A label prayed: Printing Office, and in the other one store 266. When Carrasco came back, Jonás had put away the two things in his backpack.

  —I am going to send you a copy of the document that you have just signed to the address that you indicated me this morning—. But if you need it before, you can call me, and I’ll send it you by email.

  —Excuse me, do you know a good hotel near? — the young man asked absently.

  —Of course! —he exclaimed—. The Madrid, right in front here.

  Jonás looked at an old green facade that had seen better times.

  —Outside it seems a little old, but the rooms are new —the lawyer informed as he had read his mind—. The owner is also a Basque that includes the foods in the price, and I assure you that is not better hand for roasting in all Águilas.

  He thanked him and left the office without saying goodbye to his parents. Carrasco was glad to see him disappear. The jurist whispered something, but Jonás didn’t answer. His mind continued centered in those two objects, that for a strange reason they caused an anxious distress. He had harbored the feeling that when he had signed those documents, he could escape from that place and forget all that issue forever, but now, that envelope and that little box obliged him in not to be able to shut the wound caused by his grandpa’s death. Jonás went to the Madrid hotel without stopping in thinking about it. The hotel’s name seemed an interesting coincidence to him, and he said to him that he would spend in the end a night in Madrid. He laughed before that insubstantial occurrence without a hint of humor.

  Chapter 8

  Half an hour later he was installed in the hotel, from where he called with his cellphone while he was lying down. A thousand conjectures went through his head that told him that he shouldn’t continue with that, but for some reason, none seemed powerful enough to leave aside the thing that his grandfather had taken care so much.

  —Mar? —he answered quickly when he heard that someone answered at the other side—. Do you hear me?

  —Yes Jonás —she didn’t seem cross, but tired for sure—. Where are you?

  —I’m still here —he confirmed.

  After a brief and uncomfortable silence, Jonás decided to drop it all at once, not to go in for half-measures.

  —Honey, I think I’m not going to be there this night.

  Mar continued without saying a word, and Jonás thought that she had hanged. A slight breathing indicated him that it wasn’t like that.

  —Mar, you don’t know...

  —Shut up. —she suggested in a low voice—. I don’t know what it’s happening, but you promised me that you were going to spend Christmas Eve with me and my family.

  —Yes, I already know it honey, but this is something related to my grandpa and the heritage —he excused— I’ve already mentioned it to you.

  —You mentioned it —she corroborated— But you said that it was only a one-day thing.

  —Mar, listen to me —he asked, that was becoming to sound desperate—. Today I’ll finish all the formalities and tomorrow I’ll be there. We can move Christmas Eve dinner to a Christmas lunch.

  —Really? —she cheered—. Look if I tell my parents that you are going to come and you not...

  —I’ll be there.

  —I forgive you! —she exclaimed with enthusiasm—. I’ll talk with my parents to fix everything.

  —All right.

  —Jonás —she warned—. Don’t fail me.

  —I will not.

  After hanging down, Jonás intuited that he had just lied in a shameless way to his girlfriend. He repeated himself again and again that it was not logical to stay there, that he should take that train and spend Christmas Eve with her girlfriend and his family, but something in those letters —and in the keys—, didn’t allow him to run away. The small label with that title store 266 kept him intrigued. He decided to visit a place that he hadn’t been since he was ten.

  ****

  A huge sign nailed to an old wooden fence indicate that the passage was totally prohibited. He put to aside the fence’s broken lateral that was joining the fence with the palisade with the wire fence, and he went through a hole. The floor was covered with alcohol broken bottles and condoms half decomposed by the sun. He tried to avoid the crystals, but the great quantity that was spread over the floor made it difficult for him. Although it was very early, the dock was full of old fishermen that had arrive and they had thrown their rods through the concrete laterals. Jonás felt uncomfortable, but no one of them lend him the slightest bit of attention. He tried to locate between the multitude of bricks and rocks’ waste that came off the old constructions, but he couldn’t recognize the old wagon’s railway. When he was about to go he observed the line of old sheds that lasted half collapsed were waiting that time finished with them and in that moment his heart skipped a beat. In one of those old doors there was a sign —the only one that had survived to the pass of the time—, it indicated: Store number 266.

  He palped the key that he carried in his pocket and read the colorless numbers —partially due to the sun—, that have been painted sometime in the past century on top of one of those doors. Most of them were bulged and chipped, and others completely shattered. As he move
d along inside one of the tunnels by those who formerly the wagons had transported mineral or esparto grass to the dock, the filth increased and accumulated in the borders full of spiny bushes. Jonás was on the point of returning almost a dozen times. At last he arrived up to the store’s door with the number 266. It was in a better condition that the other ones, but only partially. The facade seemed yellowish and colorless like the other ones, and big chips gave them an abandonment aspect as similar as to those half-demolished deposits. He realized that the lock was new, and he grabbed the key with strength against his palm. It cost him at least three attempts, but when he could introduce it through the groove, the mechanism rotated with an amazing softness. The inside was in a complete darkness and smelled like dust in suspension, but Jonás had been expecting that rancid smell that things have when they have been kept locked, and this was not the case. He groped for a switch, but for the fear of tripping with something, he connected the Iphone’s lantern application. As he inspected the walls he found an old plug and he activated it. Instantly, a light bulb big as a fist and naked, that was hanging, lighted the gloom of the small shed. Jonás was breathless.