“Perhaps I did hear something once … many years ago …”
“Who mentioned it?” he rasped.
“Perhaps it was my mother … or perhaps it was someone else, I’m not sure.”
“And what did she say?”
“I don’t know, I really don’t … It was so long ago! Besides, Senyor Salvat, you should realize that I’m not really interested, not at all, to be blunt.”
I now struggle to remember how I could have said that courteously, even shyly. He probably noticed and laughed nervously, in a mocking, self-satisfied tone that depressed me even more.
“In any case, it wasn’t that long ago!” he exclaimed clearly appalled. “Why do you want to make me any older than I am? You youngsters are sometimes far too cocky. Your time will come too … Time forgives nobody, Senyor Joncadella. Well, as I was saying a moment ago, I knew your mother intimately. She was a splendid specimen, a charming woman. And very pretty …”
“And still is!” I interrupted him, with a chuckle.
“I don’t doubt it. She was very pretty and extremely nice. She was so fond of music. I whiled away many a delightful hour listening to her sing as she played the piano. If I remember correctly, I gave her several albums of songs by the Romantics … What else could one do in Valls? I expect you’ll agree that Valls is a sleepy little town. At the time I was assigned to the Railways Division. My position was hardly onerous. I was acquainted with very few families in the town, three or four at most. We used to meet at the Ricards, a young married couple who were childless. We enjoyed their company. What ever happened to the Ricards? We met, went for walks, went on excursions, and made music. Everyone admired Maria Camps and I think all the men were in love with her. She must have been fifteen or sixteen and was always laughing. I shouldn’t say this, but she did have a soft spot for me. She made a great impression on me. I think we came to love each other. It was a drawn-out process, because we were going out for three or four years. By the end, I think we really were in love …”
He paused briefly, and began again:
“She and I …”
“Hey!” I shouted, cutting him dead.
“Go on …”
“Are you mad or simply acting as if you were? Do you know what you are saying? It’s quite intolerable …”
“Quite intolerable!” he repeated modestly, crestfallen, his head lolling on his shoulder. “Why do you attribute to my words a meaning they don’t possess? I think it’s what one does: people in love kiss and that’s that. What’s wrong if they do? Don’t you agree? You too must have been in love. Would you think it right if I spoke slightingly of your loves? So many things happen, so many small, indescribable things when one is in love! Trifles, really. Kisses … Who would ask for anything more? It’s so harmless and varied! However, there’s something else that you will never understand, and that is the way people were in love twenty-five years ago. It was — how should I phrase it? — warmer, more tender, more musical … Naturally, material matters were as important as they were then. Enough said: I was poor, I had a wage, and was a young engineer just out of college, I had nothing to show I might be a man with brilliant prospects. There’s the rub. She very likely wanted to marry me, but I was so paltry! She married your father, laughing with the same smile on her face as if she’d been marrying me. Odd, isn’t it?”
I couldn’t think what to say. Then he rattled on: “I’ll never say what I was thinking about last night … No. I will tell you because you’ve been such a surprise. Listen: The Camps family, in Valls, lived in a house on the outskirts with a huge garden fenced off at the rear by a line of cypresses that hid a low wall with a gate. Beyond that were fields and open country. In the evening I used to stroll there and watch Maria’s lighted window: I could sometimes see the moon behind the cypresses. At that hour of the day, they seemed to be tickling the earth. A moist glow above a thousand small sounds and movements, the fresh green grass glistened, the irrigation channel swallowed water, crickets and toads sang and croaked endlessly in the distance. I would sit on a rock near the cypresses and spend ages gazing at the window, and sometimes saw a shadow pass behind the light curtain. One day … Perhaps you’d rather not know? If not, just tell me …”
“Go on, go on …” I replied, more dead than alive.
“One moonlit night, I’m sure you’ll find this so very trite … I saw her walking down the garden, towards the cypresses. Where was she going? I thought about that for a second, and then thought of other things. Youth is a time for feelings in turmoil. Blurred impressions flooded past my eyes, upsetting me, and were so numerous I felt I was losing consciousness. It was too lovely. I’d been visiting that spot for months hoping to encounter her there one day. Well, it had happened. She had crossed the garden and I heard her turning the key in the garden gate. I saw her come out into the open country. I saw her look up at the stars. For how long? I couldn’t say. The fact is I suddenly found myself opposite her, I don’t know how. When she saw me, she made a strange face, but said nothing. She put a finger to her lips, signaling me to be quiet, and then I saw her look up at the lighted window, as she nervously chewed the corner of a handkerchief she was gripping. She was wearing the dress I liked: white, with blue polka dots. I’m speaking about something that happened over twenty years ago. When the weather was fine, girls her age used to wear socks and show off their delightfully fresh, pink legs. We walked slowly looking for the rock where I sat every night. What should I do? She kept her eyes on the lighted window. In fact, I kissed her on the cheek, and said nothing. She looked at me, laughed, and made me blush. Then she turned around and rested her head on my shoulder. My heart thudded, and I remember taking my hat off and looking up at the stars. I don’t know if we held hands … A long time later I kissed her again. I was dazzled and her skin seemed so cold …”
At that point I must have made a strange face, because he stopped dead with an ingenuous look on his face. I found that man so repugnant I could stand no more. I was tempted to pull the alarm chord. I lost my presence of mind. Perhaps I simply grabbed him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked sheepishly, slightly surprised and disconcerted.
That heated moment passed and I restrained myself. What could I do? He clearly wanted to annoy me. I found his affable, polite manner and sardonic tone bewildering. I felt deeply distressed. What kind of man was he? I’d used every means to suggest that his words were hurtful. I’d insulted him. He’d ignored me. I opted for the only solution: to get dressed and go into the corridor.
“I don’t think it’s such a big deal!” he exclaimed knowingly. “Does it upset you to think that I went out with your mother? What’s wrong with that? How can I ever think it was unnatural, if I was there? I personally was there; understand? Don’t doubt it for one moment. You’d rather not believe I was in a relationship with her? Well, you’re wrong. The Ricards will tell you. You must know them, of course. Ask them. I almost married her. I’ll repeat that. It is really true that … And, to return to what we were saying: she kissed me too that evening. What were we expected to do? It was a noisy kiss. It was all quite innocent. Then she laughed and said she thought she had sinned and that she’d have to confess. You see what young things we were. I became very serious and she put her finger back on her lips. Perhaps it was her first kiss. Some people don’t think these things are important: I’m the more emotional, sentimental kind. It depends on character. I’ve always remembered those moments. And do you know how all that ended? I saw her keep looking up at the lighted window, and suddenly her eyes bulged out of their sockets and she seemed to freeze. A shadow was moving behind her bedroom curtain. The curtain seemed to rip and a bright light shone out from her room. Someone screamed and a silhouette appeared in the square of light.