“No way, me too, what a coincidence. Do you live there?”
Emma decided to start lying again.
“No. I’m only going to spend a day with some family. Tomorrow, I’m going back to Vigo.”
The young man remembered the heavy suitcase that he had just lifted, and started to look serious. The kind of seriousness that shows on the face of one beginning to suspect that they are being tricked, in an uncalled-for way. But Emma was quick:
“You know how we women are. We plan on packing only the essentials, and by the end of it, you’ve got back-up clothes, back-up makeup, presents for the children... I’m aware of the fact that I’m not going to need half of the things I’ve brought with me, but...”
“You have children?” asked Alberto, cutting her short.
This time, it was Emma who became serious.
“No.”
In spite of the reaction that this question had just elicited, the lad decided to take another step forward in his advance:
“Well, you’re very attractive to not have any children. You must at least have a partner.”
Too many questions, too many forced replies, and it was a bad road that her young companion was going down. Emma decided that it was the time to put an end to her polite little exchange with this arrogant, aspiring Don Juan:
“If you don’t mind, I am going to rest for a while,” she said, with exquisite good manners, “I slept badly last night”.
Alberto did not press the conversation any further. He limited himself to watching as the woman closed her eyes, completely isolating herself from her surroundings.
Hardly an hour and a half later, the train slowed to stop at Ourense Empalme station, and the city lights could be seen through the window. Emma hurriedly got out of her seat before her fellow traveller could. With a serious expression on her face, she asked for his help in getting her luggage back down, and then made a beeline for the exit, so he could not follow her. After the conversation they had had, she did not want him to find that, of all those family members she was going to visit, not one of them had been bothered to come and wait for her at the station. She thought that might seem strange to him. Basically, she was trying to prevent the innocent young man from discovering that, in reality, she had arrived alone, would stay in the city alone, and when she left, in just one week, she would be leaving alone.
At the moment when the train stopped, Emma waited impatiently for the doors to open. Without wasting a second, she alighted onto the platform and crossed the small station without looking back.
Once on the street, she went to the nearest taxi, which was waiting in front of the building, and handed the driver a piece of paper.
“Could you take me to this address, please?”
The driver looked at the note with a certain level of disinterest, and started to drive towards the university area of the city, where numerous apartments of all types were occupied, during the winter months, by students. He stopped at the address.
Emma rang an old doorbell and waited, whilst the taxi drove away behind her. It was not long before a girl appeared. She was short in stature, had the face of one who had drunk a shameful amount of alcohol the previous night, and a more than evident nervousness. Perhaps finding another flatmate was of absolute necessity from an economic point of view. But, looking at the building, finding that flatmate was no easy task.
“There’s no intercom or lift, but I presume Marta’s already told you,” said the girl, just after she had opened the door.
“Yes, but I’m not bothered about that. I already told her on the phone that this was the type of flat I was looking for.”
“You’ve already decided you want to stay?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Then, to all intents and purposes, can I consider you our new flatmate?”
Emma nodded, as the two of them began to make their way up to the second floor via an old staircase that had clearly not been cleaned in a long time.
“So, what’s your name?” asked the girl, as she opened the door to the apartment.
“Elena. Elena Monteagudo,” said Emma. “Will there be any need for me to sign any contract?”
“No, no need. We already signed the contract at the beginning of the course. We just needed someone to help with paying for it. There are three of us in this flat: four, with you. We’re all students, and this week we’ll all be away on holiday. The others have already gone, and I am also leaving now, so until next Sunday, you’ll be all alone here. Are you a student too?”
“No, I’m starting work.”
The girl, who was walking to the end of the hall, turned around and looked incredulously at Emma.
“This place is an absolute dump,” she ended up saying. “It’s barely fit for human habitation. But it’s cheap, and as you can imagine, with us being students, any money we can save can only be a good thing. That’s why we were looking for another flatmate. But you; are you sure you want to live somewhere like this?”
“Yes, at least whilst I don’t have a better job. I still don’t know how much I’ll be earning.”
Faced with the resolve of her new flatmate, the girl decided not to press the point any further, and opened the old wooden door.
“This is your room,” she said, turning on the light, “and the bathroom is opposite. The kitchen is communal, and everyone buys and prepares their own food. You can let anyone in, and there are no neighbours to bother about, because the other flats are empty. That being said; make sure to close the main door, so that the beggars don’t come in to sleep.”
“Okay.”
“What I do need from you now is your part of the rent. I still have to go and pay the landlord for this month before I go.”
Emma took out one hundred euros and handed them to her now new flatmate, who immediately seemed to relax. It was the agreed price.
An hour later, Emma was alone in the old building with its yellowed, peeling walls in the entryway, and rent-free inhabitants.
After showering, she returned to her room and attended to her suitcase. She filled a chest of drawers with her clothes, and the rest of her belongings she distributed on top of a study table to the left of the bed. Next to them, she placed seven golf balls in a perfect line. Once she had done this, she then searched inside her handbag for seven cuttings of paper, and placed one in front of each ball. Finally, she took out an old photograph and put it behind everything else, resting it up against the wall. On it could be seen the image of an attractive, middle-aged man, sitting on some grass and with a baby in his arms. Emma got into bed and, from there, she carried on looking at him. It was a gorgeous baby, with very little hair, a round face, and an expression of innocence.
Aurora watched as the train pulled out of the station, with Emma inside it. She remained there for a good while, even when it had already disappeared over the horizon and there was nobody else left on the platform.
Finally, she crossed the station and set off back to her flat, walking slowly, in no rush, observing those streets that had always been a part of her life. She thought about how, at one time, she had been happy in that world, very happy. But the problem was that it had been all too short-lived. And to make it worse, she knew that those days would never be coming back.
When she found herself in front of the entrance to her building, she went up to her apartment like an automaton. Her home had the same aroma as always. She had left the television on, and everything seemed normal. Everything except for the fact that her only daughter had left and would never be coming back; just like everybody else who had been a part of her family.
She went into the bathroom and stood facing the mirror. The image reflected back was unbearable to her, pathetic. She saw in herself the humble woman who had once had everything she had ever needed to be happy, and who was now left with nothing. She deeply cursed God and destiny.
She sat down in the kitchen and filled a large glass with whisky. She then downed it immediately. She coughed a few
times. She felt the burning heat of the alcohol in her throat and stomach. She filled the same glass with water and drank half of it. That reduced the burning. She then put the bottle away and retired to her bedroom, slowly, and carrying the glass of water.
There, she lay down on the bed, opened the top drawer of her bedside table, and proceeded to take every single one of the next three months’ worth of sleeping pills. She did not take them quickly, but in a slow and constant succession. When she finished, she drank the rest of the water, covered the top of the glass, and waited. As she waited, she remembered Manuel, her husband, Emma, Borja, and Salva too... he was such a good son-in-law. As her heart was now beating lazily, and sleep was beginning to gently rock her in its arms, she placed them all together, having dinner on some Christmas Eve, seated around a large dining table that had been lovingly prepared. Everybody was talking and laughing, joking amongst themselves, and drinking toasts as one big family. On Aurora’s lifeless face, a smile was visible. And she went to sleep for one last time.
The sweetest memory, the bitterest ending.
HOLY MONDAY
4
The previous night on the sixth floor in number ninety-eight on the Avenida de Santiago in Ourense had been a long one, especially long. Six uninterrupted hours in front of the computer, four social network sites open, and various private chat conversations maintained at the same time would undoubtedly wear anybody out. But he was an expert at it. He had done it many times, and bearing in mind that his family home in Lugo did not have an Internet connection, he thought that he would get his own back. For this, he had spent the entire weekend in Ourense, even though his university classes had finished several days ago. Besides, if his parents wanted him to spend more time with them, they should set up a connection in the house, or buy him an iPhone. He had mentioned this many times, and so they ought to be quite crystal clear on the matter.
From the bed, he looked at the alarm clock. The hands were dangerously approaching eleven, and he ought to get a move on. He would take the twelve o’clock bus to Lugo, but he wanted to go down with enough time to stop first by La Factoría, a modest café situated downstairs beneath his apartment, which facilitated his well-established custom of starting each day with a very strong coffee. These visits were a daily necessity to clear his head, and today it would also serve as an opportunity to say goodbye to his few friends. He was sure that someone would be there at this time.
After a quick shower, he returned to his room and began to get dressed, simultaneously looking at the clock and the computer. He was already lamenting at having left no more time to leave a last goodbye on the net, when his mobile started to ring on top of his bedside table. On all of his social networking sites, to all of his cyber friends, he was ‘Jackl’. But to his mother, he was just Javi.
“Hi son, will you be getting in on the two o’clock bus?”
How many times would he have to keep telling her? When had he ever gone back on his word...?
“Yes, mum. I already told you last night.”
“It’s so we can know what time your father should go and pick you up from the stop.”
Bullshit! It’s to make sure I’m coming, whether I want to or not, he thought.
“Well there you have it, I’m arriving at two,” he answered, with a certain level of weariness.
“Have you got everything? Don’t forget to bring back all of your dirty clothes.”
As if a travel bag could not be put together five minutes before leaving...
“Don’t worry, I have everything prepared.”
“And have you remembered to pack your books? You need to make the most of these next few days to study.”
Of course, because at twenty-five years old, a person has nothing better to do during the holidays...
“Yes, mum. I have them in my bag,” he answered, unable to avoid looking at the vast mountain of books residing on top of his study table.
“Oh, son, a girl’s just called asking for you.”
“A girl? Didn’t she leave her name?”
“No, she only wanted to know if today you would be in Lugo or Ourense.”
Surely it was nothing more than a typical mobile salesperson...
“Okay.”
“Son, do you have a girlfriend?”
Girlfriend: person of the female sex, young, pretty, whom you habitually love like an idiot and who, in return, loves you back, cares for you, cuddles you, and every now and then gives you some sexual pleasure... Well, not so much: the closest thing to having something like that was two years ago when a girl, who was completely drunk, and who neither cuddled him, cared for him, and certainly never loved him, volunteered to endure with him something that initially promised to be an interesting sexual encounter, and which ended up being an absolute fiasco. Even today he could remember how much of a beating his masculinity took that day.
“No, mum,” Javi answered, unenthusiastically. “Are you sure that the girl asked for me?”
“Yes, definitely. She told me your first name, along with both your surnames, and knew you were living in Lugo and studying Law in Ourense. She knew you very well,” she concluded, convinced.
Well, maybe it wasn’t a salesperson after all...
“I don’t know, mum. I have absolutely no idea who it could be.”
“Well, wrap up warm, son, it’s cold here.”
“I will.”
When Javi hung up, he was now only thinking about that mysterious girl: although, deep down, he did not want to create too many illusions. Thinking it through carefully, what type of girl would take any notice of him? In reality, he was anything but attractive, and he was very conscious of that fact. Someday he would have to consider losing a few kilos, cut his hair, and dress decently. And even if he did, he would still be lacking a few centimetres in height. But of course, there was no remedy for that. In any case, the idea of improving his image and seriously devoting himself to his studies was something that had weighed heavily on him on many an occasion. Although right now, he was in no hurry. He would never give his friends in cyberspace the chance to see him in person, and the guy who he had strategically chosen for his profile photos was not exactly a great likeness.
He finished getting dressed, put some dirty clothes into his old bag and left. The voluminous Law textbooks remained on top of the table.
5
Javi promptly walked out of the front door and made his way towards La Factoría, with his travel bag on his back. Toño, the waiter, was waiting behind the bar. The usual relaxed manner in which he always received his young client was in sharp contrast to Javi’s obviously agitated state.
“How’s it going today, Javi?” greeted the waiter.
Javi’s response was nothing more than a sort of grimace which, coming from any other client, could well have been confused as a sign of indifference. But Toño had long since come to terms with his client’s peculiar character.
“Coffee?” he insisted, with his hand already on the coffee machine.
“Yes.”
The waiter started up the machine as Javi settled himself on one of the barstools, letting his bag fall carelessly to the floor. Whilst the coffee was filtering, he consulted his mobile, meticulously scouring through the numbers that corresponded to young women on the contacts list. He did not find anyone who fit the bill. Nor did it take him much time to deduce that, if he had had that young woman’s number on his phone, she would have called him, and not his mother. Reluctantly, he would have to view it as a cold-caller whose only interest was to sell him some new service. He was aware that there were businesses which would sell their clients’ information to marketing companies with commercial ends, and the contact details therein were not always up to date. Therefore, it was not completely out of the realms of possibility that it was all just a mistake. For a moment, his gaze became lost as he stared blankly at the wall, and he then reaffirmed to himself:
‘That’s what’s happened, no doubt,’ he thought.
Now much calmer, he left the telephone on top of the counter and focused his attention on the steaming cup of coffee that Toño had just placed in front of him.
“Are you going away somewhere?”
“Yes, back home, and I can’t stand it. I prefer going to classes.”
“Well ... but you must also be looking forward to seeing your parents...” surmised the waiter out loud, still conscious of the fact that he was applying a logic to the situation that did not always govern the mind of his young client.
“Yes, for five minutes. After that, they suffocate me,” insisted Javi. “You don’t know my mother. Talking to her, you’d think I was still twelve years old.”
Toño smiled, as he understood perfectly how the mother treated her son. In any case, he preferred not to delve any deeper into the subject. He took out from behind the bar a packet of cigarettes that was still practically full and, taking out two cigarettes, he offered one to Javi.
“Shall we go out for a smoke?”
The Spanish anti-tobacco law prohibited the smoking of cigarettes in enclosed public areas. This was something that everybody obeyed to the letter, even in cafés. As such, Javi finished off the last of his coffee and took the cigarette, whilst the waiter cast a glance over the room, making sure that he could leave for a few minutes. Toño was dark in complexion, with short hair and a friendly face, and he knew his profession better than anyone. In spite of having only just entered his thirties, he had spent many years attending to clients daily from behind a bar. Some of them also like Javi. As such, he knew when to be discreet and when, on the other hand, he could take some liberties. And of course, he distinguished between the regular customers and those who were just coming in to his establishment for the first and probably last time: even when it was a friendly and good-looking young woman.
Toño walked out ahead of Javi, and calmly leaned back against the wall by the door. Javi followed, lighting the cigarette:
“A short while ago a girl came in and asked for you,” said Toño. “It will have been about an hour ago, now.”
No Resurrection Page 2