The Labyrinth of the Spirits

by Carlos Ruiz Zafón

  “This is one of the big gaps in the story we have put together,” said Leandro. “Nobody knows where you were during those months, or who with. All we know is that one night in 1948, shortly after you returned to Madrid, the Ubach residence went up in flames. It was reduced to ashes, and both the banker and his wife Federica died in the blaze.”

  Leandro searched her eyes, but Victoria kept silent.

  “I do realize that it’s very difficult and painful to talk about this, but it’s important that we know what happened during those months when you disappeared.”

  She pressed her lips together, and Leandro nodded patiently. “It doesn’t have to be today,” he said, and continued with his story.

  Orphaned and heiress to a huge fortune, Victoria was left under the guardianship of a young lawyer named Ignacio Sanchís who had been named the executor of the Ubachs’ estate. Sanchís was a brilliant man whom Ubach had taken under his protection from a young age. An orphan, he had studied with a scholarship awarded by the Ubach Foundation. It was rumored that in fact he was the illegitimate son of the banker, the fruit of an illicit relationship he’d had with a well-known actress of the time.

  Little Victoria always had a special bond with Sanchís. They were both surrounded by all the luxuries and privileges the Ubach empire could buy, and yet they were alone in the world. Ignacio Sanchís often came to the family house, where he would conduct business matters with the banker in the garden. Victoria would spy on him from the attic windows. One day, after Sanchís came across her unexpectedly when she was swimming in the pool, he told her he’d never known his parents and had grown up in La Navata orphanage. From then on, whenever Sanchís came to the mansion, Victoria no longer hid and would come down to greet him.

  Señora Ubach didn’t like Ignacio, and did not allow her daughter to speak to him. He was a nobody, she said. The matriarch staved off her boredom by meeting her young lovers in luxury hotels in Madrid, or sleeping it off in her bedroom on the third floor. She never became aware that her daughter and the young lawyer had become good friends, that they shared books and a complicity that nobody in the world, not even Señor Ubach, could have imagined.

  “One day I told him we were the same,” Victoria confessed.

  After the tragic death of the Ubachs in the fire that destroyed their house, Ignacio Sanchís became her legal guardian until she came of age, when he married her. There was a lot of gossip, of course. Some called it the greatest marriage for money of the century.

  Victoria smiled bitterly when she heard those words.

  “Ignacio Sanchís was never a husband to you, at least not in the way everyone thought he was,” said Leandro. “He was a good man who had discovered the truth and married you to protect you.”

  “I loved him.”

  “And he loved you. He gave his life for you.”

  Victoria sank into a long silence.

  “For many years you tried to take justice into your own hands with the help of Ignacio and of Valentín Morgado, who had been in prison with your father and whom your husband hired as a chauffeur for you. Together you forged a plan to lay a trap for Valls, and you managed to capture him. What you didn’t know is that someone was watching you. Someone who couldn’t allow the truth to be disclosed.”

  “Is that why they killed Valls?”

  Leandro nodded.

  “Hendaya?” asked Victoria.

  He shook his head. “Hendaya is just a foot soldier. We’re looking for the person pulling the strings behind him.”

  “And who is that?”

  “I think you know.”

  Victoria shook her head slowly, confused.

  “Maybe you’re not aware of it right now.”

  “If I’d known, I would have ended up in the same cell as Valls.”

  “Then perhaps we can find out together, with your help and our resources. You have already suffered enough and put yourself in enough danger. It’s our turn now. You and your sister were not the only ones. You know that. There are many, many more. Many don’t even suspect that their life is a lie, that everything was stolen from them . . .”

  She nodded.

  “How did you find out? How did you come to the conclusion that you and your sister hadn’t been the only ones?”

  “We managed to get a list with document numbers. Numbers of birth and death certificates that had been forged by Valls.”

  “Who did they belong to?” asked Leandro.

  “To children of the prisoners who’d been locked up in Montjuïc Castle after the war, when he was the prison governor. All disappeared. Valls would first jail and murder the parents. Then he kept the children. He made out a death certificate at the same time as he forged a birth certificate with a new identity for the children, and then sold them to well-positioned families in the regime in exchange for favors, money, and power. It was a perfect plan, because once the new parents had accepted the stolen children, they became accomplices, and had to keep their mouths shut forever.”

  “Do you know how many of these cases there were?”

  “No. Ignacio suspected there may have been hundreds.”

  “We’re talking about a very complex operation. Valls couldn’t have done all that on his own.”

  “Ignacio thought he must have had an accomplice, or various.”

  “I agree. In fact, I daresay that Valls was possibly only a cog in the machine. He had the access, the opportunity, and the greed. But I find it hard to believe that he could devise such a complex plot.”

  “That’s what Ignacio said.”

  “Somebody else, someone we still haven’t uncovered, is the brain of this whole operation.”

  “The black hand,” said Victoria.

  “Excuse me?”

  She smiled weakly. “It’s from a story my father used to tell me when I was a child. The black hand. The evil that always stays in the shadows and pulls the strings . . .”

  “You must help us find him, Ariadna.”

  “So do you think that Hendaya is receiving orders from Valls’s partner?”

  “That’s the most likely thing, yes.”

  “That means it must be someone inside the government. Someone powerful.”

  Leandro nodded. “That’s why it’s so important not to rush into anything and act very cautiously. If we want to capture him, we must first know the whole truth, with names, dates, and details, and discover who knew about this matter and who is implicated. Only if we find out who was in the know will we be able to get to the bottom of all this.”

  “What can I do?”

  “As I said, help me reconstruct your story. I’m sure that if we join up all the pieces of the jigsaw, we’ll find the mastermind behind the plot. Until then, you won’t be safe. That’s why you must stay here and let us protect you. Will you?”

  Victoria looked uncertain at first, but then she nodded.

  Leandro leaned forward and took her hands in his. “I need you to know that I’m grateful for your bravery, for your courage. Without you, without your fight and your suffering, none of what we are trying to do would be possible.”

  “I just want justice to be done. Nothing else. Never in my whole life have I thought that what I wanted was revenge. Revenge doesn’t exist. All that matters is the truth.”

  Leandro kissed her on the forehead: a paternal kiss, protective and noble, which made her feel less alone, even if only for an instant.

  “I think we’ve done enough for one day,” he said. “You need to rest. We have a difficult task ahead.”

  “Are you leaving?” asked Victoria.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be close by. And I want you to know that you’re guarded and protected. I’m going to ask your permission to let us shut this door. It’s not to keep you locked in, but to stop anyone who is not allowed to enter from trying to get in. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you need anything, all you have to do is press this bell, and someone will be with you in a ma
tter of seconds. Whatever you may need.”

  “I’d like to have something to read. Would it be possible to get hold of some of my father’s books?”

  “Of course. I’ll have them sent up to you. Now you must try to rest.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.”

  “If you like, we can help you . . .”

  “Sedate me again?”

  “It’s just a help. It will make you feel better. But only if you want.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. We’ll start to piece together everything that has happened, bit by bit.”

  “How long will I have to stay here?”

  “Not long. A few days. A week at most. Until we know who is behind all this. Until the culprit has been arrested, you won’t be safe anywhere else. Hendaya and his men are looking for you. We managed to rescue you from El Pinar, but that man isn’t going to give up. He never gives up.”

  “How did it happen? I don’t remember.”

  “You were dazed. Two of our men lost their lives to get you out of there.”

  “And Valls?”

  “It was too late. Don’t think about that now. Rest, Ariadna.”

  “Ariadna,” she repeated. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” said Leandro on his way to the door.

  As soon as she was left alone, she was gripped by a sense of unease and an emptiness she couldn’t quite understand. There wasn’t a single clock in the entire room. When she drew back the curtains, she saw that the windows were locked and covered on the outside with a translucent paper that let in the light but completely blocked the view.

  She began to wander aimlessly around the room, struggling to stop herself from pressing that bell Leandro had left on the table in the lounge. At last, after exploring every corner of the suite, she returned to her bedroom, worn out. She smiled at herself.

  “The truth,” she heard herself whisper.

  5

  Leandro studied the pale, sorrowful face on the other side of the mirror. Ariadna exuded the perfume of broken souls who have become lost along the way, though they think they’re moving forward. He had always been fascinated by the idea that if one knew how to read the language of looks and of time, one could guess, just by gazing at a face, what that face had looked like as a child, and relish the moment when the world had stuck its poisoned dart in it, and its spirit had begun to grow old. People were like puppets or clockwork toys. They all had a hidden mechanism that allowed one to pull their strings and make them run in whatever direction one wished them to run. The satisfaction he felt, or perhaps it was only a sustenance, came from that surrender, that confused desire to which sooner or later they succumbed to give themselves over to his wishes, to receive his blessing and offer him their soul in exchange for a smile of approval and a look that would make them believe.

  Sitting next to him, Hendaya watched her suspiciously. “I think we’re wasting our time, sir,” he said. “If you give me an hour, I’ll get everything she knows out of her.”

  “You’ve had more than enough hours already. Not everything is meat for slicing. You do your work, and I’ll do mine.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Shortly afterward the doctor appeared on the scene. Leandro had selected him with great care. He had the good-natured look of a family doctor, a kindly, bespectacled sixty-year-old with the mustache of a judicious man, someone who could well have been a lovable uncle or grandfather; someone before whom not even the most sanctimonious woman would feel embarrassed to undress, but rather would let his tepid hands palpate her private parts while she looked up to heaven and murmured, “What hands you have, Doctor.”

  He wasn’t a qualified doctor, but nobody would have said so when they saw him in his gray suit, with his doctor’s bag and his experienced older man’s limp. He was a chemist, in fact, and one of the best. Leandro watched him help Ariadna lie down on her bed, uncover her arm, and search her pulse. The syringe was small and the needle so fine that she didn’t seem to notice it. Leandro smiled to himself when he saw how Ariadna’s eyes glazed over and her body lost its rigidity. In a matter of seconds she had fallen into that chemically induced drowsiness that would keep her there for at least sixteen hours, possibly more, considering her fragile constitution. She would float in a dreamless calm, in a state of utter suspension and pleasure that would slowly dig its claws into her guts, veins, and brain. Day by day.

  “Isn’t that going to kill her?” asked Hendaya.

  “Not with the right dosage,” said Leandro. “At least for now.”

  The doctor put his instruments back in his bag, covered Ariadna, and left the bedroom. As he walked past the mirror, he gave a respectful nod.

  “Anything else?” asked Leandro, hearing Hendaya’s impatient breathing behind him.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then I’m grateful to you for having brought her to me safe and sound, but there’s nothing more for you to do here. Go back to Barcelona and find Alicia Gris.”

  “She’s most probably dead, sir . . .”

  Leandro turned around. “Alicia is alive.”

  “With all due respect, how can you know?”

  Leandro stared at Hendaya as if he were a beast of limited intelligence in a stable.

  “Because I know.”

  6

  Alicia opened her eyes in the dim candlelight. The first thing she noticed was that she was too thirsty to be dead. The second thing was the face of a man with white hair and beard, sitting next to her. He was gazing at her from behind tiny round lenses, and his features reminded her vaguely of the God figure in one of the catechism books of her years in the orphanage.

  “Are you from heaven?” asked Alicia.

  “Don’t get carried away. I’m from the neighborhood.”

  Dr. Soldevila took her wrist and felt her pulse, checking his watch. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m very thirsty.”

  “I know,” said Dr. Soldevila, without making any move to offer her something to drink.

  “Where am I?”

  “Good question.” The doctor pulled back the sheets, and Alicia felt his hand over her pelvis. “Do you feel the pressure?”

  She nodded.

  “Pain?”

  “Thirst.”

  “I know. But you must wait.”

  Before covering her, Dr. Soldevila’s eyes paused on the black scar wrapping around her hip. Alicia could read the horror that his eyes were trying to hide. “I’ll give you something for that. But be careful. You’re still very weak.”

  “I’m used to the pain, Doctor.”

  Dr. Soldevila sighed and covered her up again.

  “Am I going to die?”

  “Not today. I know this sounds silly, but try to relax and rest.”

  “As if I were on holiday.”

  “Something like that. Try to, at least.”

  Dr. Soldevila stood up, and Alicia heard him murmur a few words. Footsteps approached, and a circle of figures appeared around her makeshift bed. She recognized Fermín, and Daniel and Bea. There was a man with them. He had sparse hair and eagle eyes, and she had the feeling she’d known him all her life but couldn’t quite place him. Fermín was whispering to Dr. Soldevila. Daniel smiled with relief. Bea, next to him, was looking suspiciously into Alicia’s eyes.

  Fermín knelt down beside her and placed his hand on her forehead. “This is the second time you’ve almost died on my watch, and I’m starting to get fed up to my back teeth. You have the mien of a corpse, granted, but other than that, you look like a million pesetas, so how are you feeling?”

  “Thirsty.”

  “That doesn’t make sense to me. You’ve swallowed at least eighty percent of my bloodstream.”

  “Until all the anesthetic has been eliminated, she mustn’t drink,” Dr. Soldevila explained.

  “Piece of cake, you’ll see,” Fermín remarked. “Cleansing the body of anesthetics is like shedding a few years of C
atholic school: free your nether regions a bit, and the rest will follow.”

  Dr. Soldevila threw him a poisonous look. “Try not to tire the patient with such filth, if that’s not too much to ask.”

  “The silence of the grave will be observed,” Fermín declared, crossing himself to make the point.

  Dr. Soldevila grunted. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Until then, you’d better take turns. At the slightest sign of a fever, inflammation, or infection, come and fetch me. Day or night. Who’s going to take the first turn? Not you, Fermín—I can see you coming.”

  Bea spoke first. “I’ll stay,” she said in a tone that made it very clear that this was not open to debate. “Fermín, I left Julián with Sofía, but I’m not too happy about it because he always gets his way with her. I’ve called Bernarda and asked her to come around and keep an eye on him. You can use our bedroom. I’ve left clean sheets on the chest of drawers, and Bernarda knows where everything is. Daniel will sleep on the sofa.”

  Daniel glanced at his wife, but kept his mouth shut.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the little one sleeps like a log. A dash of brandy and honey in his milk will work wonders.”

  “Don’t even dream of giving my son any alcohol. And for goodness sake don’t talk to him about politics, because then he goes around repeating everything.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Information power cut decreed sine die.”

  “Bea, remember the antibiotic injections. Every four hours,” said the doctor.

  Fermín grinned innocently at Alicia. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Doña Bea, who may seem a bit of a dragon today, gives injections like an angel. Her father is diabetic, you see, and although there is nothing sweet about him, she became so skillful at pricking, she’d be the envy of those panther mosquitoes on the Nile, or whatever those bugs are called in that part of the world. She learned to give injections as a child, since there was no one else in the family who dared, and now she pricks us all, me included, considering I’m a difficult patient because I have steel buttocks and I bend all the needles due to my muscular tension.”