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“So I seem absurd to you.”
“No. You seem fretful. I know that at your age these things look like the end of the world, but everything has a limit. Tonight you and I are going on a binge in a club on Calle Platería, which is apparently all the rage. I hear there are some new Scandinavian girls straight from Ciudad Real that are real knockouts. It’s on me.”
“And what will Bernarda say?”
“The girls are for you. I’ll be waiting in the hall, reading a magazine and looking at the nice bundles of stuff from afar, because I’m a convert to monogamy, if not in mentis, at least de facto.”
“I’m very grateful, Fermín, but—”
“A young boy of eighteen who refuses such an offer is not in his right mind. Something must be done immediately. Here.”
He searched in his pockets and handed me some coins. I wondered whether that was the enormous sum with which he was going to finance the visit to the sumptuous seraglio of Iberian nymphs.
“With this we won’t even get a ‘Good evening,’ Fermín.”
“You’re one of those people who fall off a tree and never quite reach the ground. Do you really think that I’m going to take you to a whorehouse and bring you back, covered with gonorrhea, to your dear father, who is the saintliest man I have ever met? I told you about the chicks to see whether you’d react, appealing to the only part of your person that seems to be in working order. This is for you to go to the telephone on the corner and call your beloved with a bit of privacy.”
“Bea told me quite clearly not to phone her.”
“She also told you she’d call you on Friday. It’s already Monday. It’s up to you. It is one thing to believe in women, and another to believe what they say.”
Convinced by his arguments, I slipped out of the bookshop, walked over to the public telephone on the street corner, and dialed the Aguilars’ number. At the fifth ring, someone lifted the telephone on the other end and listened in silence, without answering. Five eternal seconds went by.
“Bea?” I murmured. “Is that you?”
The voice that answered struck my stomach like a hammer.
“You son of a bitch, I swear I’m going to beat your brains out.”
It was the steely tone of pure, contained anger. Icy and serene. That is what scared me most. I could picture Mr. Aguilar holding the telephone in the entrance hall of his apartment, the same one I had often used to call my father and tell him I would be late because I’d spent the afternoon with Tomás. I stayed where I was, listening to the breathing of Bea’s father, dumb, wondering whether he’d recognized my voice.
“I see you don’t even have the balls to talk, you swine. Any little shit is capable of doing what you’ve done, but a man would at least have the guts to show his face. I would die of shame if I thought that a seventeen-year-old girl was ballsier than me—because she hasn’t revealed your name and she’s not going to. I know her. And since you don’t have the courage to show your face for Beatriz’s sake, she’s going to have to pay for what you’ve done.”
When I hung up, my hands were shaking. I wasn’t conscious of what I’d done until I left the booth and dragged my feet back toward the bookshop. I hadn’t stopped to consider that my call would only make things worse for Bea. My only concern had been to remain anonymous and hide my face, disowning those whom I professed to love and whom I only used. I had done this already when Inspector Fumero had beaten up Fermín. I had done it again when I’d abandoned Bea to her fate. I would do it again as soon as circumstances provided me with another opportunity. I stayed out on the street for ten minutes, trying to calm down before returning to the bookshop. Perhaps I should call again and tell Mr. Aguilar that yes, it was me. That I was crazy about his daughter, end of story. If he then felt like coming by in his general’s uniform and beating me up, he had every right to do so.
I was on my way back when I noticed that somebody was watching me from a doorway on the other side of the street. At first I thought it was Don Federico, the watchmaker, but a quick glance was enough to make me realize this was a taller, more solid-looking individual. I stopped to return his gaze, and, to my surprise, he nodded, as if he wished to greet me and prove that he didn’t mind at all that I’d noticed his presence. The light from one of the streetlamps fell on his face. His features seemed familiar. He took a step forward, buttoning his raincoat to his neck; he smiled at me and walked away toward the Ramblas, mingling with other passersby. Then I recognized him: the police officer who had held me down while Inspector Fumero attacked Fermín.
When I entered the bookshop, Fermín looked at me inquisitively.
“What’s that face for?”
“Fermín, I think we have a problem.”
That same evening we put into action the plan we had conceived with Don Gustavo Barceló.
“The first thing is to make sure that you are right and we’re under police surveillance. We’ll walk over to Els Quatre Gats, casually, to see whether that guy is still out there, lying in wait. But not a word of all this to your father, or he’ll end up with a kidney stone.”
“And what do I tell him? He’s suspicious enough as it is.”
“Tell him you’re going out to buy sunflower seeds or something.”
“And why do we need to go to Els Quatre Gats, precisely?”
“Because there they serve the best ham sandwiches in a three-mile radius, and we have to talk somewhere. Don’t be a wet blanket—do as I say, Daniel.”
Welcoming any activity that would distract me from my thoughts, I obeyed meekly, and a couple of minutes later was on my way out into the street, having assured my father that I’d be back in time for dinner. Fermín was waiting for me on the corner. As soon as I joined him, he raised his eyebrows to indicate that I should start walking.
“We’ve got the rattlesnake about twenty yards behind us. Don’t turn your head.”
