They awoke early, with the nestlings. As dawn broke, the first to emerge was Pedro Orce, from the front of the wagon, then Joaquim Sassa and José Anaiço from the back, and finally the women, as if they were all coming from different worlds and were about to meet here for the first time. At first they scarcely looked at one another, nothing but furtive glances, as if to confront another face would have been intolerable, too much to bear in their weak state after the crisis from which they had just emerged. Once they had drunk their morning coffee, an occasional word could be heard, bits of advice, a request, an order cautiously phrased, but now the first delicate problem had to be tackled, how were the travelers to accommodate themselves in the wagon, in the light of everything that now made the previous arrangement impossible. They were all agreed that Pedro Orce must travel in the driver's seat, but the men and women in open conflict could not continue to keep their distance. Try to imagine this distasteful and equivocal situation. If Joaquim Sassa and José Anaiço were to sit up front with Pedro Orce, what conversation could they possibly hold with the driver, or more embarrassing still, were Joana Carda and Maria Guavaira to ride next to the driver, what would they say to him, what memories would they evoke, and meantime, under the awning, what biting of nails would there be, the two men asking each other, What can they be saying. These are situations that make us laugh when seen from outside, but any temptation to laugh soon disappears if we imagine ourselves in the same distress that now envelops these men. Fortunately, there's a remedy for everything, death alone has yet to follow this rule. Pedro Orce was already seated in his place, holding the reins and waiting for the others to reach a decision, when José Anaiço said, as if addressing the invisible spirits of the air, The wagon can go ahead, Joana and I will walk for a bit. And we'll do the same, Joaquim Sassa announced. Pedro Orce shook the reins, the horses gave the first sharp tug, the second one was more convincing, but even had they wanted to, they could not have gone quickly this time, the road is uphill all the way, amid mountains higher on the left than on the right. We're in the foothills of the Pyrenees, Pedro Orce thinks to himself, but it's so peaceful up here that it's hard to believe this is where those dramatic ruptures we've described took place. Trailing behind come two couples, apart, obviously, for what they have to discuss is between man and woman in the absence of witnesses.
The mountains are no good for selling, especially these wares. In addition to the sparse population typical of these mountainous regions, one must take into account the terror of the local inhabitants, who still haven't got used to the idea that this side of the Pyrenees is no longer complemented or supported on the other side. These villages are almost deserted, some completely abandoned. As the wagon passes, between doors and windows that remain firmly closed, the sound of Deux Chevaux's wheels on the stony roads is lugubrious. I'd rather be in the Sierra Nevada, thinks Pedro Orce, and these magical and entrancing words filled his heart with longing, or añoranza, as the Spanish would say. If there is any advantage to be gained from such desolation, it will be that the travelers, after so many nights of discomfort, and some promiscuity, will be able to get a good night's sleep. We are not referring to the recent and particular manifestation of promiscuity, about which opinion is divided and which the interested parties have been discussing, but simply pointing out that they will be able to sleep in the houses abandoned by their owners. For while possessions and valuables were carried off in the general exodus, the beds were generally left behind. How remote that day now seems when Maria Guavaira vehemently rejected the suggestion of sleeping in someone else's house, let us hope this ready complacency is not an indication of a lowering in moral standards, but simply the outcome of lessons learned from hard experience.
Pedro Orce will sleep alone in a house of his choice with the dog for company. Should he decide to go for a nocturnal stroll, he's free to go out and return whenever he wishes, and this time the other men will not sleep apart from their women, Joaquim Sassa will finally be back sleeping with Maria Guavaira and José Anaiço with Joana Carda, they've probably already said all they had to say to each other and they might go on talking into the night, but human nature being what it is, out of weariness and displeasure, out of tender sympathy and sudden love, it's only natural for a man and a woman to come together, to exchange a first, uncertain kiss, and then, blessed be whoever made us so, the body awakens and desires the other body, it might be madness, it might, for the scars still throb, but the aura grows, if Pedro Orce should be walking along these slopes at this hour, he will see two houses lit up in the village, perhaps he'll feel jealous, perhaps tears will come to his eyes once more, but he will not know that at this moment the reconciled lovers are sobbing in joyful sorrow and in sudden flaring passion. Tomorrow will truly be another day, it will no longer be important to decide who should travel inside the wagon and who in the driver's seat, all combinations are now possible and none of them ambiguous.
The horses are tired, the slopes are never ending and ever upward. José Anaiço and Joaquim Sassa went to have a quiet word with Pedro Orce, using the utmost tact lest their motives be misunderstood. They wanted to know if he thought they had seen enough of the Pyrenees or if he wanted to carry on until they reached the uppermost summits, and Pedro Orce replied that it was not so much the summits that attracted him as the end of the earth, although he was aware that from the end of the earth one always sees the same sea. That's why we didn't go in the direction of Donostia, what's so special about looking at a beach that has been cut in two, of standing at the edge of the sand with water on either side. But for us to see the sea from such a height, I'm not sure that the horses can make it, rejoined José Anaiço. We don't need to climb two or three thousand meters, assuming there are actually trails all the way up, but I'd rather we went on climbing until we see for ourselves. They opened the map. Running his finger between Navascués and Burgui, and then pointing in the direction of the frontier, Joaquim Sassa said, We must be about here. There don't seem to be any great elevations on this side, the road follows the river Esca, then moves away to keep on climbing, here's where things start to get difficult, on the other side there's a peak of more than one thousand seven hundred meters. There isn't any longer. There was, said José Anaiço. Yes, of course, there was, agreed Joaquim Sassa, I must ask Maria Guavaira for some scissors to cut the map along the frontier. We could try this path and if it gets too hard on the horses we can always turn back, suggested Pedro Orce.