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At night Antoni Fortuny often writhed in his bed with anger and frustration, unable to get any sleep. At the bottom of his heart, he loved that child, he told himself. And although she didn’t deserve it, he also loved the slut who had betrayed him from the very first day. He loved her with all his soul, but in his own way, which was the correct way. All he asked God was to show him how the three of them could be happy, preferably also in his own way. He begged the Lord to send him a signal, a whisper, a crumb of His presence. God, in His infinite wisdom, and perhaps overwhelmed by the avalanche of requests from so many tormented souls, did not answer. While Antoni Fortuny was engulfed by remorse and suspicions, on the other side of the wall Sophie slowly faded away, her life shipwrecked on a sea of disappointment, isolation, and guilt. She did not love the man she served, but she felt she belonged to him, and the possibility of leaving him and taking her son with her to some other place seemed inconceivable. She remembered Julián’s real father with bitterness, and eventually grew to hate him and everything he stood for. In her desperation she began to shout back at Antoni Fortuny. Insults and sharp recriminations flew around the apartment like knives, stabbing anyone who dared get in their way, usually Julián. Later the hatter never remembered exactly why he had beaten his wife. He remembered only the anger and the shame. He would then swear to himself that this would never happen again, that, if necessary, he would give himself up to the authorities and get himself locked up in prison.
Antoni Fortuny was sure that, with God’s help, he would end up being a better man than his own father. But sooner or later, his fists would once more meet Sophie’s tender flesh, and in time Fortuny felt that if he could not possess her as a husband, he would do so as a tyrant. In this manner, secretly, the Fortuny family let the years go by, silencing their hearts and their souls to the point where, from so much keeping quiet, they forgot the words with which to express their real feelings and became strangers living under the same roof, like so many other families in the vast city.
It was past two-thirty when I returned to the bookshop. As I walked in, Fermín gave me a sarcastic look from the top of a ladder, where he was polishing up a collection of theEpisodios Nacionales by the famous Don Benito.
“Who is this I see before me? We thought you must have set off to the New World by now, Daniel.”
“I got delayed on the way. Where’s my father?”
“Since you didn’t turn up, he went off to deliver the rest of the orders. He asked me to tell you that this afternoon he was going to Tiana to value a private library belonging to a widow. Your father’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He said not to wait for him to close the shop.”
“Was he annoyed?”
Fermín shook his head, coming down the stepladder with feline nimbleness.
“Not at all. Your father is a saint. Besides, he was very happy to see you’re dating a young lady.”
“What?”
Fermín winked at me and smacked his lips.
“Oh, you little devil, you were hiding your light under a bushel! And what a girl, eh? Good enough to stop traffic. And such class. You can tell she’s been to good schools, although she has fire in her eyes…. If Bernarda hadn’t stolen my heart, and I haven’t yet told you all about our outing—there were sparks coming out of those eyes, I tell you, sparks, it was like a bonfire on Midsummer Night—”
“Fermín,” I interrupted. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“About your fiancée.”
“I don’t have a fiancée, Fermín.”
“Well, these days you young people call them anything, sugar pie, or—”
“Fermín, will you please start again. What are you talking about?”
Fermín Romero de Torres looked at me disconcertedly.
“Let me see. This afternoon, about an hour or an hour and a half ago, a gorgeous young lady came by and asked for you. Your father and yours truly were on the premises, and I can assure you without a shadow of doubt that the girl was no apparition. I could even describe her smell. Lavender, only sweeter. Like a little sugar bun just out of the oven.”
“Did little sugar bun say she was my fiancée, by any chance?”
“Well, not in so many words, but she gave a sort of quick smile, if you see what I mean, and said that she would see you on Friday afternoon. All we did was put two and two together.”
“Bea…” mumbled.
“Ergo, she exists,” said Fermín with relief.
“Yes, but she’s not my girlfriend.”
“Well, I don’t know what you’re waiting for, then.”
“She’s Tomás Aguilar’s sister.”
“Your friend the inventor?”
I nodded.
“All the more reason. Even if she were the pope’s niece, she’s a bombshell. If I were you, I’d be on the ready.”
“Bea already has a fiancé. A lieutenant doing his military service.”
