‘Why don’t we go away?’ she asked.
‘Where to?’
‘Far away.’
I couldn’t help smiling, but she didn’t smile back.
‘How far?’ I asked.
‘Far enough that people won’t know who we are, and won’t care either.’
‘Is that what you want?’ I asked.
‘Don’t you?’
I hesitated for a second.
‘What about Pedro?’ I asked, almost choking on the words.
She let the blanket fall from her shoulders and looked at me defiantly. ‘Do you need his permission to sleep with me?’
I bit my tongue.
Cristina looked at me, her eyes full of tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I had no right to say that.’
I picked up the blanket and tried to cover her, but she moved away, rejecting my gesture.
‘Pedro has left me,’ she said in a broken voice. ‘He went to the Ritz yesterday to wait until I’d gone. He said he knew I didn’t love him, that I married him out of gratitude or pity. He said he doesn’t want my compassion and that every day I spend with him pretending to love him only hurts him. Whatever I did he would always love me, he said, and that is why he doesn’t want to see me again.’
Her hands were shaking.
‘He’s loved me with all his heart and all I’ve done is make him miserable,’ she murmured.
She closed her eyes and her face twisted in pain. A moment later she let out a deep moan and began to hit her face and body with her fists. I threw myself on her and put my arms around her, holding her still. Cristina struggled and shouted. I pressed her against the floor, restraining her. Slowly she gave in, exhausted, her face covered in tears, her eyes reddened. We remained like that for almost half an hour, until I felt her body relaxing and she fell into a long silence. I covered her with the blanket and embraced her, hiding my own tears.
‘We’ll go far away,’ I whispered in her ear, not knowing whether she could hear or understand me. ‘We’ll go far away where nobody will know who we are, and won’t care either. I promise.’
Cristina tilted her head and looked at me, her face robbed of all expression, as if her soul had been smashed to pieces with a hammer. I held her tight and kissed her on the forehead. The rain was still whipping against the windowpanes. Trapped in that grey, pale light of a dead dawn, it occurred to me for the first time that we were sinking.
39
That same morning I abandoned my work for the boss. While Cristina slept I went up to the study and put the folder containing all the pages, notes and drafts for the project in an old trunk by the wall. My first impulse had been to set fire to it, but I didn’t have the courage. I had always felt that the pages I left behind were a part of me. Normal people bring children into the world; we novelists bring books. We are condemned to put our whole lives into them, even though they hardly ever thank us for it. We are condemned to die in their pages and sometimes even to let our books be the ones who, in the end, will take our lives. Among all the strange creatures made of paper and ink that I’d brought into the world, this one, my mercenary offering to the promises of the boss, was undoubtedly the most grotesque. There was nothing in those pages that deserved anything better than to be burned, and yet they were still flesh of my flesh and I couldn’t find the courage to destroy them. I abandoned the work in the bottom of that trunk and left the study with a heavy heart, almost ashamed of my cowardice and the murky sense of paternity inspired in me by that manuscript of shadows. The boss would probably have appreciated the irony of the situation. All it inspired in me was disgust.
Cristina slept well into the afternoon. I took advantage of her sleep to go over to the grocer’s shop next to the market and buy some milk, bread and cheese. The rain had stopped at last, but the streets were full of puddles and you could feel the dampness in the air, like a cold dust that permeated your clothes and your bones. While I waited for my turn in the shop I had the feeling that someone was watching me. When I went outside again and crossed Paseo del Borne, I turned and saw that a boy was following me. He could not have been more than five years old. I stopped and looked at him. The boy held my gaze.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ I said. ‘Come here.’
The boy came closer, until he was standing about two metres away. His skin was pale, almost blue, as if he’d never seen the sunlight. He was dressed in black and wore new, shiny, patent leather shoes. His eyes were dark, with pupils so large they left no space for the whites.
‘What’s your name?’ I asked.
The boy smiled and pointed at me with his finger. I was about to take a step towards him but he ran off, disappearing into Paseo del Borne.
When I got back to my front door I found an envelope stuck in it. The red wax seal with the angel was still warm. I looked up and down the street, but couldn’t see anybody. I went in and double-locked the main door behind me. Then I paused at the foot of the staircase and opened the envelope.
Dear friend,
I deeply regret that you were unable to come to our meeting last night. I trust you are well and there has been no emergency or setback. I am sorry I couldn’t enjoy the pleasure of your company, but I hope that whatever it was that did not allow you to join me is quickly and favourably resolved and that next time it will be easier for us to meet. I must leave the city for a few days, but as soon as I return I’ll send word. Hoping to hear from you and to learn about your progress in our joint project, please accept, as always, my friendship and affection,
ANDREAS CORELLI
I crushed the letter in my fist and put it in my pocket, then went quietly into the apartment and closed the door. I peeked into the bedroom and saw that Cristina was still asleep. Then I went to the kitchen and began to prepare coffee and a light lunch. A few minutes later I heard Cristina’s footsteps behind me. She was looking at me from the doorway, clad in an old jumper of mine that went halfway down her thighs. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were still swollen. Her lips and cheeks had dark bruises, as if I’d hit her hard. She avoided my eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘Are you hungry?’ I asked.
She shook her head, but I ignored the gesture and motioned for her to sit at the table. I poured her a cup of coffee with milk and sugar and gave her a slice of freshly baked bread with some cheese and a little ham. She made no move to touch her plate.
‘Just a bite,’ I suggested.
She nibbled the cheese and gave me a smile.
‘It’s good,’ she said.
We ate in silence. To my surprise, Cristina finished off half the food on her plate. Then she hid behind the cup of coffee and gave me a fleeting look.
‘If you want, I’ll leave today,’ she said at last. ‘Don’t worry. Pedro gave me money and-’
‘I don’t want you to go anywhere. I don’t want you to go away ever again. Do you hear me?’
‘I’m not good company, David.’
‘That makes two of us.’
‘Did you mean it? What you said about going far away?’
I nodded.
‘My father used to say that life doesn’t give second chances.’
‘Only to those who never had a first chance. Actually, they’re second-hand chances that someone else hasn’t made use of, but that’s better than nothing.’
She smiled faintly.
‘Take me for a walk,’ she suddenly said.
‘Where do you want to go?’
‘I want to say goodbye to Barcelona.’
40
Halfway through the afternoon the sun appeared from behind the blanket of clouds left by the storm. The shining streets were transformed into mirrors, on which pedestrians walked, reflecting the amber of the sky. I remember that we went to the foot of the Ramblas where the statue of Columbus peered out through the mist. We walked without saying a word, gazing at the buildings and the crowds as if they were a mirage, as if the city were already deserted and forgotten. Barcelona had never seemed so beautiful and so sad to me as it did that afternoon. When it began to grow dark we walked to the Sempere & Sons bookshop and stood in a doorway on the opposite side of the street, where nobody could see us. The shop window of the old bookshop cast a faint light over the damp, gleaming cobblestones. Inside we could see Isabella standing on a ladder, sorting out the books on the top shelf, as Sempere’s son pretended to be going through an accounts book, looking furtively at her ankles all the while. Sitting in a corner, old and tired, Señor Sempere watched them both with a sad smile.