“As you’ve asked for a quick reply, we’ll address the issue immediately. I wasn’t thinking of marrying, for the moment.”
“Have you given it proper thought?”
“I’ve thought about it to the extent that one can think about such things.”
“Are you of the opinion that it wouldn’t be right for you? Are you of the opinion that I’d not be right for you?”
“It’s not really to do with you. I’m speaking generally. I’d say the exactly the same, if it involved someone else. I mean, it’s not really about marrying you or someone else, I have simply decided that I won’t marry.”
“Don’t you want to make an exception? I suspect that you’ll regret …”
Tàpies was visibly very unsure of himself when he said this, his voice quivered painfully.
“It’s very likely I’ll regret my decision, but so what?”
“Believe me, we should get married! I’m very lonely, I’m very homesick, I don’t have any family and need something to work for. I believe you should look at it the same way as I do, that is, from the perspective of what would be convenient in life. I’d like to marry because of something that is essentiaclass="underline" for the sake of convenience. Why don’t you want to copy me?”
“Tàpies, ask anything else of me … I don’t know how to put this. I regard you highly. I like you. You’ve made a strange, uncanny impression on me. But …”
“Is that your final word? Is it a question of taking or leaving it?” he asked drawing on commercial vocabulary.
“I’m leaving it!” answered Claudette, who was also familiar with the vocabulary.
“I’m sorry! Good evening!” said Tàpies, bowing his head ever so slightly as he headed towards the door.
It was Saturday and must have been around four P.M. In London, in the whole of England, people in boarding houses devote that time to their own individual hobbies. It is a quiet, charming period when one can’t indulge noisy hobbies, a period that is indescribably empty for those who’ve got nothing better to do than feel homesick.
Niubó had gone out and Tàpies faced the whole afternoon, literally overwhelmed by melancholy.
These very commonplace developments implied inevitable consequences for the household.
My compatriots were deeply disgusted by the young lady’s refusal to marry Tàpies. Even so, the latter remained relatively discreet. Niubó, on the other hand, adopted a caustic, shamelessly unpleasant attitude. They both broke off all contact with Claudette, without any proper grounds. What’s more, Niubó started to talk about her quite garrulously, in a downright frivolous, flippant tone. I thought that was unacceptable and vulgar and I told them so. Niubó reacted poisonously; Tàpies, sarcastically. We ceased to share a table in the dining room. Given their ill-tempered reactions, I coined a phrase that then caught on — or so people said. “When abroad,” I declared, “the Catalan is an animal who becomes homesick, and when a Catalan is homesick he is prickly to deal with, and when you bump into one, it’s best to walk on the other side of the road.”
The admirable order that reigned in the boarding house, thanks to Claudette’s kind generosity, was totally disrupted. The mademoiselle was disgusted and weary, she ate her meals in a restaurant in Soho and only came back to sleep. This new way of life caused her countless upsets. The boarders sided with her, even though the majority ignored the details of what had happened. Respect for the right to marry the person of one’s choosing was enough for them to be appalled by the behavior of those homesick backwoodsmen.
“These fellows,” Mr Morton, holding a glass of whisky, inquired, “must be followers of Mahomet … is that so?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “One is from Bellpuig and the other from Matadepera.”
“Oh, of course …!” laughed Mr Morton.
To begin with I hoped that the conflict would be naturally resolved by Tàpies and Niubó abandoning the establishment — as a result of the setback they had experienced — for greener pastures. But time went by and I saw that they weren’t making a move. They were very homesick and real backwoodsmen, but they didn’t feel obliged to make a change. The sedentary spirit is a characteristic of people who have always lived in boarding houses. It’s very hard to get them to exchange one void for another.
One day the rumor did the rounds that Claudette had left the household. The rumor was quickly confirmed. Everyone put on a brave face in the dining room, but insides were in turmoil. People chewed in deep silence: one could feel dreams fading behind the foreheads of those present.
A Conversation in St. James’s Park
One afternoon in March when strolling through St. James’s Park with my friend Vinyals, I wrestled with the idea of justice. Vinyals was in London to perfect his skills as a dentist, although he’d already qualified and could remove and insert teeth scientifically, with impunity. He was an easy-going, eminently sensible young man who kept abreast of the latest trends and sported a trim mustache.
We were walking leisurely past the wrought-iron gate that closed the fence surrounding the lake. An astonishing sight suddenly halted Vinyals in his tracks. Motionless on the mown grass the other side of the gate, a penguin was opening and closing its long, weary brute of a beak. We stopped opposite the bizarre animal and were shocked to see that the penguin had just stunned and caught a sparrow it was now softening up for consumption. It kept opening and closing the hard, elongated funnel of its beak, and, under the impact, the sparrow gradually assumed a highly flattened disposition. Passersby stopped to watch the bizarre spectacle and were quite upset. The creature toiled perhaps for two minutes. With a greedy look in its bloodshot eyes, it labored away, apparently ignoring its audience. It might possibly have turned around if they’d tried to snatch its prey … In any case, when it felt the sparrow was soft enough it stretched its neck and swallowed it without a second thought. A lump appeared beneath its mouth that slowly slipped down its gullet. Then it twitched its head, twisted its neck and the sparrow entered its body. Nothing remained of the bird: beak, toenails, feathers were all thought worthy of digestion. My impression was that the animal had enjoyed every morsel, for it preened itself for a moment before flapping its wings like a gypsy flamenco dancer about to dance a sevillana. The penguin finally waddled a few steps over the damp grass and we watched it totter off into the distance with a solemn yet sprightly air.
“My dear Vinyals,” I commented as the onlookers drifted disconsolately away, “I believe we have just witnessed a performance that was both instructive and dramatic. The penguin swallowed the sparrow as easily as we swallow a sugar lump before drinking a cup of coffee. The act itself is most regrettable. Sparrows are cheerful, amusing creatures that spend their lives fornicating in full sight of whoever happens to be passing. Sparrows are perhaps the beings on the planet most prone to acts of love and procreation. Not that we humans ever catch a glimpse. Our powers of sight aren’t sharp enough to capture certain subtle movements. However, aided by their sophisticated instruments, naturalists and other close observers testify to their existence. Particularly in the morning, sparrows cheep most beautifully. And, you know, the racket made by these tiny birds early on is, it seems, simply a series of spasmodic chirps of voluptuous pleasure. Their erotic acts are extremely swift and their way of pleasuring cannot last for more than a quarter of a second. They do it quickly, and not just once. God made them like that. The penguin, however, ate the sparrow without pursuing any reflections in this vein and not a feather was spared; this is the stark truth.”