Traces of Ink

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Traces of Ink Page 6

by Antonio J. Fuentes García


  ****

  What outside seemed one more of those calamities that populated that ruined construction, inside was more like a little studio from any office. The walls, perfectly plastered and painted with a light blue, contrasted with the vermilion tones of the upholstery of the two chairs and the little desk that were all the furniture there. The small dimensions of the store had obliged his grandfather to use all the inventiveness he could to be able to move inside that reduced room. The desk could be folded, and it didn’t occupy more than a square meter, just like the chairs, that were folded too and saved under the table. The four walls almost totally covered with wooden shelves that gave shape to an intricated labyrinth, and were crowded with books, magazines and old newspapers. Besides the table and the two chairs, the only furniture that was not nailed to the wall was a small stool that had a padded seat. Jonás took off the dust with the hand. “Let’s see what you had to say to me grandpa”.

  He spent the rest of the afternoon in the store, looking at his grandpa’s wonders and reading old published articles. The books’ collection was practically based on historical themes and the civil war, I which between figured the classics “Greta battles of the civil war”, “The myths of the July 18th” or the acclaimed “Myth of Franco’s crusade”. His grandfather had made notes in several pages, and many papers had been stuck on the edges with a tight calligraphy.

  In another shelf hundreds of essays about journalism were accumulated. Jonás took with care one of them, “Essay on old journalism”. Jonás went to a pile of old newspapers that were tied up with a sting with the name: “The Weekly patriot”, by Manuel José Quintana. He realized that it dated from 1815, and he left it again with care where it was.

  After more than an hour of inspection, Jonás realized that his grandfather had in that shed a treasure mine for collectors. From books, articles and essays, to letters and poems that had several centuries of antiquity.

  When the sun’s light evaporated, he decided to leave. He put inside his backpack a series of folders that he had been separating in a pile with several of those copies and he left the little shed, without even imagine that he was not going to see it again.

  He decided to take a walk along the roundabout’s stores to kill the time before dinner and bought many presents for Mar and her parents —surely to silence the feeling of guilty that kept on rumbling in his head because he was not with her that night—.

  In the hotel’s dining he had dinner with Luis, the owner and Laura his wife, that had prepared a roasted suckling pig worthy of the best Segovia’s restaurants. A Belgian former pilot of the French army sat down to the table with them, and a couple of Galicians that spent their second honey moon due to their silver weddings. The dinner went between jokes and anecdotes, in which Luis had the singing voice and Gerard, the retired pilot contributed with his battles. For Jonás that atypical Christmas Eve’s dinner made him forget the strange events that occurred on that nonsensical day. At next morning —and after giving thanks to Luis for the wonderful attention—, Jonás took the train that would take him again to Madrid.

  Chapter 9

  Antonio José received the call, and immediately after he went into the house. It smelled closed and bad, but even though he didn’t pay much attention to that detail. He checked over the rooms of the first floor one by one without touching anything, and then proceeded to do the same with upper floor. As he left one room to enter to another one, the memories of a whole childhood lived behind those walls became crowded in the form of tears behind the eyelids. He closed strongly his eyes a kept from crying.

  —Damn old selfish man! —he muttered between sobs—. I wish you had died that night. Anyone who had seen the scene from outside would had assured that Antonio José was crying for his father’s death, but those tears weren’t due to sadness, they were for anger. He took again his mobile and pressed the first number of the Speed Dial.

  —It’s mine already —he said biting his lips—. You can bring the equipment.

  He left the house with a feeling of inexplicable restlessness. He took again the mobile and dialed again.

  —Honey, I pick you up for dinner?

  After talking with his wife, Antonio José felt a little more relaxed.

  Chapter 10

  He spent Christmas’ morning in the train, and when he arrived in Madrid he decided to go to his apartment before he went Mar’s parents’ house. Those folders and the ancient books that he had brought from his grandfather’s store were incinerating his backpack with a bunch of burning coals. For some reason he could not stop thinking in the documents that he left in the old store, and that have not been mentioned in his grandfather’s testament. He felt tempted in looking at them even though the wagon was practically empty, he did not dare —for some reason that he could not detail—, to take them out of the comfortable hand luggage where he kept them. He told himself that they were only old papers and books, and that it was not a fearsome Pandora’s box with monsters inside, but even though, he concluded that it was better to leave the review for a personal place.

  He tried to sleep, but his head bubbled with stupid conspiracy theories, and was unable to relax. He tried to put his attention in another thing, and it was in that moment when he warned him. He was sure that he had seen before that man that was sleeping a few seats in front He could only see his nape and a brief face contour, but he would have sworn he had stayed in Madrid’s hotel, and that same morning he was at the Murcia’s station’s bar. It was for sure that it could be a coincidence, but Jonás hated coincidences, and considered them a sixth sense signs. He convinced himself that he was moonstruck and left the matter run.

  When he arrived in Madrid it was just midday, so he took a taxi that left him at home. After a relaxing shower —and putting away the folders in a good place— he went to Mar’s home, where both had arranged to go to her parents’ lunch. Although the capital’s cold, Jonás decided to go walking, since his girlfriend lived less than one kilometer and he had the intention to buy a bottle of wine in one of the liquor stores in the famous Isaac Albéniz street. At the side of the store there was one of that sportive bars where the clients had breakfast and made bets at the same time. A glance into the big glassware that offered lunch at low prices between neon lights left him frozen. There in the bar, with a big sandwich and a huge Coke cup there was a man that greeted him when their eyes met. He was contemplating the tv that was in front of the dining room and emitted sequences of sports’ results, and when he realized that Jonás was looking at him through the glass, he greeted again in the old fashion way, taking his hand to his inexistence hut and leaning his head some centimeters. Jonás didn’t answer him and walked the few meters up to his girlfriend’s house in a hurry a with an effervescent mind.

  When the man had centered again his attention in the tv’s game, he had uncovered the butt of a gun on his hip.

  Chapter 11

  The Interventor went on sale, and although that in the editorial office there were only four or five persons that morning, a small party was celebrated.

  The special Christmas’ number had been thoroughly prepared from the beginning of September, and more the half of the weekly workers had collaborated in it, and almost the totally of the columnists. Although nobody used to attend, Raquel kept celebrating Christmas’ release every year.

  —He doesn’t pick it for me— Juandi told nervous to Raquel—. I have not heard from him since he went to that stupid heritage reading.

  —Calm down neurotic —she joked—. For sure he is out there frolicking with Mar.

  —Frolicking? —he made an exaggerated grimace—. For Goodness Sake, who keeps saying frolicking in XXI century? —he went away shaking a hand—. Really eh, I’m very worried about you, you could have an acute case of identity’s mimicry with Isabel La Católica that...

  She made an obscene gesture with her finger. They have been spending almost three months sneaking around, and although they didn’t want to make public their
romance, it was an open secret in the office that only they believed that they hide it in the right way. For both, those clandestine encounters brought the necessary touch to the relationship that they believed it was complicated.

  He tried again to call his friend, and although Raquel’s words had a degree of possibility, Juandi didn’t believe that a guy like Jonás didn’t answer him the phone while he was on a shopping day with Mar. At least, that never happened before. The mobile made those typical sounds when you are calling, but nobody answered until the voicemail appeared. He left a message feeling as a stupid by on two counts. On one side ha was worried about his friend —undoubtfully he was a grown up and he knew how to take care of himself—, and on the other side he had to talk to the machine. He hanged up, leaving the message up to the middle, and he returned to the “party”.

  —I don’t understand why he hasn’t come —he attacked again. Raquel rolled her eyes. When Juandi gets his mind on something he could be very heavy. —he had never missed before, and that it’s not like him.

  —Cro-Magnon, stop twisting yourself up in knots for your colleague —she whispered with a honey tongue—. And take those heavies the hell out of here.

  In fact, that year’s party had been a Raquel’s excuse to be again with him. Every year there was less attendance to that meeting, due that people matured, had children, married and preferred to spend Christmas’ day with their family and not in the editorial office where they worked daily. That year had been especially disappointing with the attendance confirmations, but Raquel had organized it the same way, in spite that only a few employees would attend. In fact, she had organized it with the secret intention that only one person would attend.

  She funny observed how the blonde giant joked with his companions, demanding for their help in picking up all that mess, exclaiming loudly that if they didn’t have a home where to go. After twenty minutes, only remained she and the man with she was falling in love more quickly than she wished.

  —And what do we do now, my lucky titan? —she murmured putting her arms round his neck.

  —I can think in several options — he corresponded—. But I don’t understand why in all of them I finish looking for a pot of cream. As I’m not very witty, in this case ladies choose.

  They kissed passionately I the empty editorial office.

  —We could go to El Asador —Raquel proposed—. You must have a reservation, and more on a day like this one, but for my “Nordic God” I could pull some strings.

  —That would be wonderful! —he exclaimed—. I’ve been wanting to eat there

  for years but I never find a table.

  —That are the advantages in dating a powerful woman.

  The mention of a formal relationship made them uncomfortable instantly, and both separated as if between them an invisible crystal barrier had emerged. The sound of a mobile broke the uncomfortable silence. Juandi took it without looking at the name that appeared in the screen.

  —Yes?

  —Juandi, I’m Jonás.

  The man took a leap and he almost dropped the phone.

  —Dude, where have you been? —he said—. The editorial’s office’s party has been a success, and we couldn’t...

  —Listen to me —Jonás cut—. I’m all scrambled. I need you to do me favor.

  Chapter 12

  Antonio José Ulloa arrived to Recoletos in less than ten minutes, and he waited the date’s hour to be accomplished. He was a punctual man, but he had learned that in certain type of “meetings”, to appear five minutes later and leave the other attendee waiting, it exercised a certain type of advantage. He looked at his Timex, and when exactly four minutes passed he walked to the busy Teatro Cafeteria. In the same table in the corner that they had met before, a man with gray hair impeccably well dressed and gloomed was holding a coffee cup that seemed giant in his small and careful hands. Antonio José approached to him, and he greeted him politely.

  —Good morning Mr. Asensio —he greeted as the same time that he took a seat in front of him—. I hope that you have not been waiting for a long time. Madrid’s traffic, you know.

  —Oh, not at all —he said with an affable smile—. Besides, I love this store’s coffee —he sipped a little bit, just to corroborate it—. It’s one of my favorite places every time I come to the capital.

  —I’m glad.

  For José Antonio, to endure people like that old man was a torture that he had to take almost daily. But that he tolerated it thanks to the generous economic compensations that reverted him for advertising. Mr. Asensio was one of those tortures, and to tell the truth, the most unbearable for Antonio. That old man distilled parsimony on all four sides and seemed not to value that it was incredibly expensive for a person like him to waste time in trivial conversations and several trifles, as the good weather or the country’s politics.

  —Besides, I like to seat here, in the same table and appreciate the hustle and bustle of the youngest —his denture, false without doubt, sparkled with a wide smile—. It is...relaxing.

  —Of course, yes... —Antonio José hesitated—. The case, Mr. Antonio...

  —Call me Cristobal.

  —Sorry?

  —I want you to call me Cristobal —he repeated—. We already know each other, and besides that, it makes me look older Antonio.

  Ulloa cleared his throat. He hated that man and his catchphrases. That man represented the things that Antonio José hated the most, as his passivity, his old age, and those stupid syntaxes of badly constructed phrases.

  —In that case, Cristobal, it would be perfect —he affirmed—. But well Cristobal, I suppose that we are not here to talk about the coffee.

  The old man showed again his purchased denture, looked away to the window at his left, where the people calmly promenaded looking at the numerous stores of exclusive brands.

  —Don’t you feel as the owner of the world? —he asked to nobody, giving his attention to the street—. Sometimes for sure, come, tell me!

  Ulloa had had enough of that old man’s extravagances, although the lot of money that he injected in the newspaper. To begin, he hadn’t made an appointment, just a call and almost an urgent insolence to meet at that coffee store. He was not to waste time in those old cunts with plenty of money that payed for being listened, the guys of publicity were already for that task.

  —Sir, I’m afraid...—he made a movement that he was going to stand up, but the old man stopped him with a hand grooved with veins but delicately soft at the same time.

  —Antonio, please sit down.

  He obeyed. He was not one of those who attacked orders, but something in the old man’s steely eyes disturbed him.

  —Antonio José —he left the cup and looked right in his eyes—. I am feared that I have cheated on you.

  —How?

  The old man put his tiny hand on his mouth and choked a little child’s giggle that you have surprised in an innocent mischief.

  —Yes, I’m afraid I’ve cheated on you, also for some time ago.

  —Listen to me, I don’t have time...!

  —Sit down at once and let’s put the cards on the table —his tone was smooth but cutting at the same time—. Let’s talk please.

  —What do you want to talk about? —Ulloa wasn’t comfortable with that man—. I’m only interested in financing my newspaper, and I’m afraid...

  —I think we have maintained this charade for a long time and there is also something else that you are interested in. On top of that —he laughed again covering his mouth—. Isn’t true Mr. Ulloa? like that woman you have, or that son of yours.

  Antonio José felt for the very first time in that conversation that he had got into an ambush and he nodded docilely.

  Chapter 13

  As he had arranged with Juandi, he called at his door at 8 o’clock in the morning the day after Christmas. As soon he had opened the door, the blonde embraced him with a great hug that almost cut his breathing.

  What on earth i
s happening Jonás? —he threw it when he was inside the room—. You call on Christmas day to ask me to bring your stuff to a hotel, that is at less than one hundred meters from your home!

  —Shut up you caveman! —he tried to calm him down without success—. I’ll explain you all if...

  —And above all you don’t answer my calls!

  Juandi walked around the hotel’s room like a caged animal. Jonás opened the mini bar and took a couple of beers, giving them to his friend as a sign of truce.

  —Do you accept me these expensive beers and I’ll explain you? —he exhibited a friendly smile.

  —What a remedy —he sighed—. You never reject something that comes from a mini bar.

  After an hour they were sitting on the bed with the brief case between them. Jonás looked at the documents that were scattered on the bedspread while his friend read the letters again.

  This is so awesome! —Juandi whispered drawing a smile—. Have you blown a fuse isn’t it?

  —What?

  —Let’s see, I understand it —Juandi replied again leaving the papers carefully inside its envelope—. Your grandfather has died, and you are under a great pressure by your old man, but dude, seriously, relax and...

  —You don’t believe me —Jonás said bluntly.

  —Is not a matter of believing you or not my colleague —Juandi walked restless—. Is a matter that is happening nothing. You only have books and old newspapers that your grandfather kept in a storage room, as all the old men of the world put away their memories!

 

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