The Barcelona Brothers (23 page)

So the perpetually invisible man now has the power to make things move at his whim. He’s changed the order of events and the lives of the people around him. This would be a good lesson for all of them. Apparently, he’s not as predictable and docile as everyone thinks.

The sense of his power is a lot like being high, combined with the vertigo he feels while he contemplates Tiffany’s face, her eyes, her tears, her snotty nose, the blood in one of her nostrils. Nevertheless, Epi would like to know that he can stop; when you’re on the Ferris wheel and the rush comes, you need to be holding on to the handrail. But he’s not sure he can do it, not sure he can restrain himself in time.

He approaches Tiffany with caution and looks at her closely. He’s going to tell her it’s passed now, it’s over. He gently lifts the girl’s chin, and she recites a kind of litany: “Coward, bastard, faggot—”

Epi’s hand shoots out again and explodes in a hard slap across her face. When the hand comes back, he can feel it burning. The blow makes a pure and lovely sound that nonetheless almost frightens him. The contact of his hand with that yielding surface, a woman’s face. It’s absurd; it’s as though he wants to do her harm only so that he can then take care of her. It’s the endless game the two of them play.

Voices outside the door. Epi turns to answer them. At that moment, Tiffany springs onto his back. He feels her
fingernails gouging his face, her teeth tearing at his arm, her weight. For an instant, this too seems enjoyable and exciting, but the pain from the girl’s bite makes him instinctively defend himself. With all his strength, he snatches her off of him and dashes her to the floor. And then he starts kicking her: in the legs, in the butt, in the back. When she protects herself with her hands, Epi viciously slaps and punches her, remembering fights in the barrio and the pitiless treatment that was a vanquished enemy’s lot. Only when he realizes that she’s motionless, sobbing, finally overcome, does he stop.

“You son of a bitch …”

Why does she keep insulting him? What is it she hasn’t understood? Who started all this? Did he have any other conceivable option? When will Tiffany come to her senses and grasp that all this is for her own good? Is it so hard to see things as they are? Now he wants to caress her. He wants her to say she forgives him. To admit that it was all partly her fault. That he’s the one who must forgive her, and not the reverse.

“Epi, for the love of God, open the door.”

He recognizes his brother’s voice. How different everything would be if Alex had hurried up and arrived sooner, Epi thinks. But now he’s no longer sure he wants more characters in this scene. He knows Alex well enough to be certain he’ll scold him; he’ll tell him he’s done everything wrong. He’ll tell him to apologize to someone, to put the blame on somebody else, to shut his eyes so tight that when he opens them, everything
will have disappeared. But Epi has no intention of opening the door. Nobody can take away his leading role in this film. And no one but him will decide how to end it.

“I’m not letting you in, so just leave me alone.”

“Epi, you’ve spent the whole fucking day sending me messages, telling me to come here, and now—”

“You just said it: the whole fucking day. Now it’s too late.”

“Don’t talk nonsense. Who’s with you?”

“Nobody.”

Alex turns around and sees Allawi coming up the stairs toward him. With an unequivocal gesture, he cautions the Algerian to keep quiet.

“Is Tiffany in there?”

“No one’s in here.”

“Fuck, man, haven’t you had enough?”

“No! Get out of here! Do you have any cigarettes?”

“No. Yes …” Allawi’s holding out a pack of Winstons. “How can I give them to you?”

“I’m going to open the door. It’s on a chain, so don’t try any tricks.”

The door opens immediately. Alex can see only his brother’s hand. He presses the cigarette pack against Epi’s palm but doesn’t let go until their hands touch. Alex wants this gesture to convey positive feelings and deep affection, like a sort of electrical charge. Epi closes the door, takes out a cigarette, and lights up. It tastes good.

“Don’t let me in if you don’t want to, but at least listen to me. Will you listen to me?”

“Talk,” Epi replies from inside, wreathing the word in smoke.

“Look, the thing in the bar’s under control. Most of the complications came because nobody knew where you were. Salva and I saw a Paki take him out, you understand? The Paki came out of the bathroom and went for him, who knows why, and then he took off running. Salva and I couldn’t see him well enough to say any more about what he looked like. Okay? That’s what we told the cops. That’s what happened. Are you still there?”

Yes, he’s still here. It’s good news, no doubt, and yet it leaves him with a bitter taste. Although it’s absurd to feel disappointed about skating on a thousand years in prison, disappointment is what Epi feels. It seems as though nothing he does has any importance at all; nothing he accomplishes is ever assessed at its just value. Not even killing a man. He has the sudden sensation that he’s in the wrong plot. In a story someone else is writing, not him. According to Alex, nobody wants him for Tanveer’s murder. If that’s so, then what’s the sense of staging this episode, shut up in this apartment? What’s the sense of this fight with Tiffany? His inability to think clearly returns.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it’s the truth.”

Behind Epi, Tiffany has stopped panting. It’s obvious that she’s listening intently and carefully. And because she is, Epi wants everything made clear. He wants to take back the initiative.
He
’s the hero.
He
’s the lover whom love has driven crazy. It’s
his
life he’s wrecking.

“But it was me, Alex. You know it was.”

“I know, I know, but shut up. I’m not alone. The barber’s with me.”

“How you doin’, man,” Allawi interjects. “Listen to your brother. You still have time to get out of this all right.”

“I don’t care,” Epi says, thinking about Tiffany, who’s standing behind him. “I don’t care about anything. I’m in all the way. If I could take that motherfucker out, I can just as easily end it all. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Calm down, Epi, calm down.”

“But it was me, it was me who—”

“Christ on a crutch, it was you, it was you, you are the guilty bastard! But enough with that! You want them to put your ass in the slammer for twenty years, or what?”

Silence falls on both sides of the door. Alex and Allawi are glued to it, hoping Epi will react. But he says nothing. There’s no sound at all.

“Are you with him, Tiffany?” Alex risks asking.

“Yes, and Percy, too,” the young woman shouts.

Allawi sighs and curses. Alex is afraid a neighbor will arrive and show too much interest in why they’re talking through an apartment door. He knows that’s going to happen sooner or later.

“Holy shit, Epi! What in the hell are you doing? You’re fucking up, that’s what!” Furious but not surprised, Alex spits out the words. Faced with one good solution and one bad solution, Epi always manages to find a third that’s even worse.

Downstairs, the building’s main door opens. Allawi leans over the railing and looks down into the stairwell. No, it’s not
the police. It’s a neighbor lady, coming home from shopping. She begins to mount the stairs. Two loaves of bread are sticking up out of the little cart she’s pulling. The woman climbs slowly, and the bottles inside her cart clink at every step. Before she reaches the third-floor landing, Allawi’s there to meet her.

“Excuse me, señora, but do you know a locksmith? They’ve locked themselves in, and they can’t get out …”

“No, I don’t know anybody. There was one down the street, but he closed.”

“That’s all right, ours should be here before too long,” Alex says, going along with the farce. “They told me five minutes.”

“Thanks anyway, señora. Let me help you with your things.”

“No thanks, really, no …” the neighbor answers distrustfully. Not for nothing is she a defenseless old lady and he a
Moro
terrorist.

Allawi’s aware that he shouldn’t give her time to think. He knows by heart that look she’s giving him. So familiar is it, in fact, that he no longer minds it. Such poor brutes, these Spaniards, either arrogant or frightened. With full bellies, dead libidos, and hearts withered by solitude. The lady tries to stop him from helping her, but Allawi’s already on the stairs leading to the fourth floor, and he’s got her cart in his hands. He asks her where she’s going, and when the neighbor lady, resigned, designates her fourth-floor apartment, Allawi heads on up at a good clip. Alex has to acknowledge that he was probably right to bring the Algerian along. He remembers some episodes in the adventures of Captain America and the Falcon: “Falcon, why do you always give me bad news when we’re fighting?”
asks the Captain, standing back to back with his companion as they face the forces of evil.

Vagi tranquilla, senyora. I que tingui bon dia
, Alex says, wishing the old woman a good day in Catalan. His words achieve their object. The lady firmly believes that no Catalan would attack and rape his neighbor, not even through a third party. After she climbs the stairs, Allawi comes back down and the conversation through the door resumes.

“Hey, Epi, listen up,” Alex says. “Listen to me, and then think a little, all right? Do you promise? Nobody knows it was you who did that son of a bitch Tanveer. The cops have no fucking idea. They’re surprised you disappeared, but that’s not a crime. Their focus is on the van. What went on in that van? Is it the one you use for work?”

“Nothing went on. The brakes failed when we were coming down into the city. We left the van up on the road,” Epi says, successfully spinning out a half-lie. “I used to lend it to Tanveer sometimes, and—”

“Good, good, it makes no difference. Look, nobody knows who killed him, and the cops won’t bust their asses to find out, right? Right. But don’t you give them any help, damn it. If they find out you’re holding the
Moro
’s girlfriend and her kid, they won’t need to ask many questions. It’ll be like drawing them a fucking map, don’t you get it? On the other hand, if you let them leave and Tiffany keeps her mouth shut, it will be as if nothing happened. You’ll go to the
mossos
and tell them the van’s life story and that’ll be that. They’ve got nothing. Nothing. You understand me?”

“…”

“How’s the kid? I don’t hear him.”

“He’s asleep.”

“Did you understand everything I just told you?”

Epi pauses for a few seconds before answering, “Yes … yes …” Defeat is swooping down on him. Until this moment he seems not to have thought about the consequences of what’s been happening ever since he shut himself up in the toilet in Salva’s bar. One thing has led to another, and that other to something else.

Good luck and misfortune keep getting mixed up together. Epi remembers his father saying something like that. Alex can no doubt recall it exactly. The gods mark your path, even though you don’t know it.

“I understood everything perfectly.”

As always, what his brother says makes sense. If Epi lets Tiffany and the child go and she keeps quiet, it will be as if nothing happened. And if he doesn’t give himself away, he’ll be free, and without Tanveer. Tiffany will be prepared to forgive him once she grasps that what he did he did for her and for their happiness, hers and his. He’ll have all the time in the world to explain to her who Tanveer was and what he spent his time doing when he wasn’t with her. He just needs to think clearly, to concentrate on taking the right steps.

“Listen, Epi,” the girl says, breaking in on his thoughts. “I won’t say anything. I swear to you. At least let Percy leave. He’s waking up. Percy, sweetie, everything’s all right. Come to Mama.”

“Shut up!”

The child is indeed awakening. His mother shelters him in her arms.

“At least Percy, Epi … please.”

“Epi, can you hear me?”

“Shut up, goddamn it! Both of you, just fucking shut up! I’m trying to think. Let me think! If you keep on talking and talking, how can I think?”

HOSTAGE TAKERS ALWAYS COME TO A BAD END. ALEX’S
ideas on that are clear. You see it in movies again and again, it’s on the TV news, anybody you talk to knows it. The promised airplane is a trap, the negotiator’s a cardsharp, your head’s about to break, and after you free the hostages, you step outside and someone puts a bullet between your eyes. Moreover, kidnappers and hostage takers are obstinate tightrope walkers who range from innately idealistic to innately stupid. Now, it’s true that up to this point, Epi wasn’t conscious of having kidnapped anybody. In his mind—before his brother spoke—the entire matter was reduced to a door he didn’t want to open.

Tiffany’s holding the little boy in her arms, stroking his head as he buries his face in the yielding warmth of her body. Epi turns and sees them. He smiles, but the child pays no attention, and Tiffany remains serious, pretending not
to notice him. A few minutes ago, she seemed frightened, but now she’s merely alert, and sufficiently stressed to try anything.

“It doesn’t have to be this way. None of it does.”

“Then let us leave.”

“After you listen to me.”

“I’m listening to you, but don’t you see this is no way to behave? At least let Percy go to your brother.”

“You okay, kid?”

The boy doesn’t answer. He’s still woozy. He turns deeper into his mother’s embrace, hiding his little head against her as if he wants to disappear or become part of her, part of her blood and her scent.

“Hey, kid, are you all right? Come on, champ! We’re still friends, no? You crazy little guy. We played hard, didn’t we? Your boy’s got a good strong punch, Tiffany, yes he does. Come on, give it to me.”

Epi stretches out one arm, offering his clenched fist to the kid for a knuckle bump, the way he’s seen the hard-asses in South American gangs do. With the child in her arms, Tiffany takes a step backward. Contempt and fear, in equal measure, show in her eyes.

“What’s up? You’re not going to bump with me, Percy? You don’t want to bump with me? You don’t want us to be friends? Is that it? Are we going to stay mad?”