8
Doctor Sanjuán found me in the hotel dining room, sitting by the fire next to a plate of food I hadn’t touched. There was nobody else there except for a maid who was going round the deserted tables, polishing the cutlery. Outside it had grown dark and the snow was still falling, like a dusting of powdered blue glass. The doctor walked over to my table and smiled at me.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ he said. ‘All visitors end up in this hotel. It’s where I spent my first night in the village when I arrived ten years ago. What room were you given?’
‘It’s supposed to be the newly-weds’ favourite, with views over the lake.’
‘Don’t you believe it. That’s what they say about all the rooms.’
Away from the sanatorium and without his white coat, Doctor Sanjuán looked more relaxed, even friendly.
‘I hardly recognised you without your uniform,’ I remarked.
‘Medicine is like the army. The cowl maketh the monk,’ he replied. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m all right.’
‘I see. I missed you earlier, when I went back to the office to look for you.’
‘I needed some air.’
‘I understand. I was hoping you wouldn’t be affected quite so much.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I need you. Or rather, Cristina needs you.’
I gave a deep sigh.
‘You must think I’m a coward,’ I said.
The doctor shook his head.
‘How long has she been like this?’
‘Weeks. Practically since she arrived here. And she’s getting steadily worse.’
‘Is she aware of where she is?’
‘It’s hard to tell,’ the doctor replied with a shrug.
‘What happened to her?’
Doctor Sanjuán exhaled.
‘She was found, four weeks ago, not far from here – in the village graveyard, lying on her father’s grave. She was delirious and suffering from hypothermia. They brought her to the sanatorium because one of the Civil Guards recognised her from last year, when she spent a few months here, because of her father. A lot of people in the village knew her. We admitted her and she was kept under observation for a night or two. She was dehydrated and had probably not slept in days. Every now and then she regained consciousness, and when she did, she spoke about you. She said you were in great danger. She made me swear I wouldn’t call anyone, not even her husband, until she was capable of doing so herself.’
‘Even so, why didn’t you let Vidal know what had happened?’
‘I would have but… You’ll think this is absurd.’
‘What?’
‘I was convinced that she was fleeing from something and thought it was my duty to help her.’
‘Fleeing from what?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he said with an ambiguous expression.
‘What is it you’re not telling me?’
‘I’m just a doctor. There are things I don’t understand.’
‘What things?’
Doctor Sanjuán smiled nervously.
‘Cristina thinks that something, or someone, has got inside her and wants to destroy her.’
‘Who?’
‘I only know that she thinks it has something to do with you, and that it frightens her. That’s why I think nobody else can help her. It’s also why I didn’t let Vidal know, as I ought to have done. Because I knew that sooner or later you would turn up here.’
He looked at me with a strange mixture of pity and despair.
‘I’m fond of her too, Señor Martín. The months Cristina spent visiting her father… we ended up being good friends. I don’t suppose she talked to you about me – there was no reason why she should. It was a very difficult time for her. She confided a lot of things in me, and I in her, things I’ve never told anyone else. In fact, I even proposed to her. So you see, even the doctors here are slightly nuts. Of course she refused me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’
‘But she’ll be all right again, won’t she, doctor? She’ll recover…’
Doctor Sanjuán turned his head towards the fire.
‘I hope so,’ he replied.
‘I want to take her away from here.’
The doctor raised his eyebrows.
‘Take her away? Where to?’
‘Home.’
‘Señor Martín, let me be frank. Aside from the fact that you’re not a relative, nor, indeed, the patient’s husband – which is a legal requirement – Cristina is in no fit state to go anywhere.’
‘She’s better off here with you, locked up in a rambling old house, tied to a chair and full of drugs? Don’t tell me you’ve proposed to her again.’
The doctor observed me carefully, ignoring the offence my words had clearly caused him.
‘Señor Martín, I’m glad you’re here because I believe that together we can help Cristina. I think your presence will allow her to come out of the place into which she has retreated. I believe it, because the only word she has uttered in the last two weeks is your name. Whatever happened to her, I think it had something to do with you.’
The doctor was watching me as if he expected something from me, something that would answer all his questions.
‘I thought she had abandoned me,’ I began. ‘We were about to run away together, leaving everything behind. I had gone out for a moment to buy the train tickets and do an errand. I wasn’t away for more than ninety minutes but when I returned home, Cristina had left.’
‘Did anything happen before she left? Did you have an argument?’
I bit my lip.
‘I wouldn’t call it an argument.’
‘What would you call it?’
‘I caught her looking through some papers relating to my work and I think she was offended by what she must have taken as a lack of trust.’
‘Was it something important?’
‘No. Just a manuscript, a draft.’
‘May I ask what type of manuscript it was?’
I hesitated.
‘A fable.’
‘For children?’
‘Let’s say for a family audience.’
‘I see.’
‘No, I don’t think you do. There was no argument. Cristina was slightly annoyed because I wouldn’t let her have a look, but that was all. When I left, she was fine, packing a few things. That manuscript is not important.’
The doctor acquiesced, more out of courtesy than conviction.
‘Could it be that while you were out someone else visited her?’
‘I was the only one who knew she was there.’
‘Can you think of any reason why she would have decided to leave the house before you returned?’
‘No. Why?’
‘It’s only a question, Señor Martín. I’m trying to understand what happened between the moment you last saw her and her appearance here.’
‘Did she say what, or who, had got inside her?’
‘It’s just a manner of speaking, Señor Martín. Nothing has got inside Cristina. It’s not unusual for patients who have suffered a traumatic experience to feel the presence of dead relatives or imaginary people, or even to disappear into their own minds and close every door to the outside world. It’s an emotional response, a form of self-defence against feelings or emotions that seem unacceptable. But you mustn’t worry about that now. What matters and what’s going to help is that, if there is anyone who is important to her right now, that person is you. From what Cristina confided in me at the time, I know that she loves you, Señor Martín. She loves you as she’s never loved anyone else, and certainly as she’ll never love me. That’s why I’m asking you to help me. Don’t let yourself be blinded by fear or resentment. Help me, because we both want the same thing. We both want Cristina to be able to leave this place.’
I felt ashamed.
‘I’m sorry if-’