The Heart Has Its Reasons (20 page)

“Good-bye,” he replied almost silently.

Finally he mustered the courage to take his eyes off that beautiful mouth and those large gray eyes, and left the pharmacy.

Never had the street seemed so cold.

Chapter 19

S
he wasn't out of his sight for a second as he walked behind her, following at a distance with no idea where her springy steps or his impetuous foolishness would take him. He knew that the reasonable thing to do would be to return to the pension, take his medications, and rest quietly. But he couldn't. Instead, he positioned himself at the corner to lie in wait, making an effort to hide behind a delivery truck parked nearby. Until he saw her emerge.

Earlier, the mother and the three brats had left, followed by an ailing old man who had managed to slip into the pharmacy at the last minute like a worm. At last she herself came out while putting on a blue coat, removing from her face another subversive lock, half closing her eyes against the noonday glare. Without the counter between them, Daniel was able to contemplate the full length of her body as she buttoned her coat and put her keys in her pocket. Once again he felt something he was unable to define, not even in his own language.

Adjusting his pace to the young lady's graceful stride as she crossed streets and made her way among other pedestrians, he saw her greet one and all, stopping occasionally to chat with someone for a minute or two. Meanwhile, to pass unnoticed, he'd pretend to stop and tie his shoelace, light a cigarette with his face half-hidden in the hollow of his
hands, or read an ad posted on the street. Several times he thought it was total folly: perhaps he should have approached her openly, asking her name, offering to accompany her, proposing to meet for a coffee. But he did not feel strong enough. He had difficulty thinking; he noticed his fever was still raging. Any other time he would have been up to it, but now he hesitated.

He continued behind her until they reached a short street that rose sharply. There was hardly anyone else in sight, and only rarely did a car drive by. He slowed down and retreated a few yards and again proceeded to follow her. Finally she turned onto a street that didn't quite seem like one: one side had a row of buildings of varying sizes and opposite was some sort of promenade with a hanging balustrade. Farther below was the port and, in the distance, the sea. The spell cast by the light, salt water, and peace hardly lasted the few seconds it took her to step into the doorway of what he imagined was her house.

A couple of seagulls shrieked above Daniel's head and the sun suddenly disappeared. As the wind picked up, he pulled up his jacket collar and buried his hands in his pockets. He'd return to the pharmacy in the afternoon; perhaps by then he'd feel better.

Before leaving the street, he saw that it was aptly named Paseo de la Muralla, or Rampart Promenade. He felt a pang in his stomach and realized two things in quick succession: the first was that sooner or later he would have ended up visiting this same spot, for this was where the fictional Mr. Witt, the protagonist of the novel that had brought him to this city, had lived; and the second was that, except for the sandwich given to him by the anonymous lady, he hadn't eaten in more than two days. Fortunately, this last matter was soon resolved at a local restaurant, and with a plate of stew before him he began to ponder his situation. By the time the sardines reached the table, the scales had tipped. The custard brought with it certainty: for the time being his research efforts would take a backseat. At the most unexpected moment—magically, almost—something had crossed his path that was much more urgent.

He returned to the pension to lie down for a while until the remedies that she'd prescribed took effect. It would do him good: again
he was cold, his legs felt weak, and he noticed that, although it lacked the virulence of the previous days, the fever still hadn't left him. He lay down dressed, thinking of her, determined to try and reestablish contact as soon as he'd rested a little. But he fell into such a deep slumber that when he woke up, disoriented and dulled, it was already nine fifteen in the evening. He left his room in a rush, putting on his jacket as he descended the steps three at a time, cursing his blunder with a loud “Fuck!” and combing his hair with his fingers as he ran outside. The few passersby were hurrying home to family dinners; the streets were practically empty and all the shops closed. He soon confirmed what he dreaded: the Carranza Pharmacy was too.

The next morning he set out with the firm intention of finding the nameless young lady. However, only the assistant was serving the crowded customers when Daniel entered the pharmacy. He patiently waited his turn while from the back room could be heard the radio broadcast of the Epiphany lottery. He listened to various customers speculating on how they'd spend the prize if they ever won.

“How can I help you, sir?”

“Aspirins, please.”

Although he didn't need them, he was hoping that, along with the painkiller, Gregorio would provide him with some clue regarding his young colleague. To Daniel's disappointment, however, all he got was the small medicine parcel skillfully wrapped in paper.

“Eight-fifty, just for you.”

“Excuse me?”

Daniel thought he was missing something. Perhaps the assistant was alluding in some way to seeing him the previous day. Or maybe making a joke about Daniel being a foreigner. Or, better yet, offering a cryptic message that might have to do with the absent girl. But he was mistaken. The assistant wasn't dispensing any type of personal treatment but rather repeating for the umpteenth time what he thought was a witty remark. “Eight-fifty, sir. Very cheap. And for you, Doña Esperanza, the usual, right? Two boxes of laxative suppositories and Carabaña seltzer water.”

While Daniel again discreetly slowed down the payment process,
just as he'd done with the girl, he realized that the opportunity to ask for her whereabouts was slipping away from him. Now or never, he thought.

“Is the young lady not in today?” he finally dared to ask, pointing to the back room.

Loudly, as if Daniel were not only a foreigner but also deaf, the assistant declared to the four winds:

“No! No! The young lady isn't in today! She's off shopping! The Three Wise Men: tonight the Kings come!”

Intoning at the top of his lungs, “
Here come the Three Wise Men
,
here come the Three Wise Men, on their way to Bethlehem . . .
” He rang up the next sale while the radio in the background was announcing the third-prize number, which had just been pulled out of the lottery drum.

For the rest of the morning Daniel wandered the streets in her pursuit, constantly changing course, sweeping his eyes past corners and over groups of friends, toward entrances to shops and café terraces. But the area of commercial activity was limited, and after making a couple of rounds Daniel realized it was already one thirty and the shops were preparing to close for the afternoon break.

And then, finally, he saw her, as graceful as a reed, with her rebellious curls once more eluding the bobby pin that tried to hold them down at her nape, wrapped in a beige raincoat firmly belted around her narrow waist. She walked sheltered by two elegant-looking women who appeared to be twice her age and who seemed to be deep in conversation. Then she spotted him as well: the handsome American with the flu whom she'd attended on the previous day; the student who aspired to the extravagant profession of teaching Spanish literature at some university in his distant country.

For the second time in his life the resolute Daniel Carter was at a loss about what to do. Fiercely independent from an early age, he had seen more of the world than many others in their entire existences; had been able to earn his keep working shoulder to shoulder with rough industrial workmen; had read all the Spanish classics; and had traversed countless dusty roads of that strange country, all on his own. Yet he was left totally disarmed as she approached.

“I hope the medicines took effect.”

He was never able to recall what he answered: perhaps some triviality plagued with grammatical and pronunciation mistakes. He realized that the encounter had come to an end only when he saw her back vanish in the crowd. He hadn't learned anything about her, again losing her without even finding out her name. But the memory of her face and voice accompanied him throughout lunch, and not for a moment was he able to dispel her from his mind as he distractedly tried to read in the first hours of the afternoon, lying like a prisoner on his narrow pension bed, feeling fragile as never before, with nothing to do, nowhere to go, nor anyone to share what was burning within him.

When he sensed that life once again filled the streets after the long break that Spanish families devote to the midday meal, he got ready to go out. He was still unaware that on that afternoon Melchior, Caspar, and Balthasar, in their annual miracle, were about to arrive simultaneously in hundreds of villages and cities throughout the country.

The unexpected merrymaking that Daniel encountered on the street astonished him—so much so that, for a few minutes, he was able to rid his mind of the young lady from the pharmacy and concentrate on the spectacle of the parade. He was fascinated by the children's reactions and the sumptuous garb worn by the Three Wise Men and their retinue. His forgetfulness was short-lived, however, for chance willed her to emerge unexpectedly.

They were on opposite sidewalks, almost directly facing each other as the procession passed between them, amid screams and applause. She was wearing the same raincoat as in the morning, now with a green scarf around her long neck. She laughed and spoke to someone by her side, suddenly shattering Daniel's hopes. A young man with cropped hair and a tanned face, who smiled, nodding his head as she said something to him, holding on to his arm with familiarity. Possibly her boyfriend. Perhaps her husband. Probably military, a navy officer.

Daniel's interest in everything that surrounded him suddenly evaporated like a soap bubble. The kids applauding enthusiastically no longer seemed adorable creatures and changed into small yelling demons. The majestic attire of the Three Wise Men and their attendants
suddenly seemed grotesquely ostentatious for that country in such need of other, more pressing things.

He felt a sudden wave of heat, and thought his fever was spiking. Suffocating, he decided to leave, to return to the pension, to flee from that roaring commotion, which now was unbearable. But he was unable to do so with the speed he wished, because he realized that he was immobilized by the crush of people, trapped within the crowd that, ignorant of his dashed hopes, was still delighting in the procession. As he made an effort to escape, she spotted him from the opposite sidewalk and waved. She seemed sure of herself, cordial, and he replied awkwardly, copying her gesture while beaming a forced smile, hiding an immense wish that he had never showed up in that diabolical city. He was finally able to jostle his way through the crowd, but before disappearing he was unable to avoid turning around one last time in their direction. They were speaking to each other, and he had no doubt it was about him.

Back in his room, the drums of the damn parade were still booming as he tried to read but was unable to concentrate. He remained lying there for what seemed an endless amount of time with his arms folded behind his head and his eyes fixed on a water stain on the ceiling. When he was finally able to analyze the situation calmly, he realized it had been absurd from the very start to think that she'd be accessible, and pure arrogance to have imagined that behind her friendliness, her smile, and her radiant eyes there was anything besides simple courtesy toward a lost foreigner.

Once he half convinced himself that there had never been a glimmer of hope, he was finally able to resume more mundane activities and realized he had a wolfish appetite. Although the procession had ended a while ago, he was in no mood to go out onto the deserted streets, in which there would still be a sad vestige of the extinguished racket. He went down to the reception desk hoping that the woman who had succored him the night he had a fever would prepare him a sandwich. As Señora Antonia would say, “Bread lessens all sorrows”—a piece of wisdom from her boundless catalog of popular sayings. He would see if it was so.

The clerk from the day of his arrival was there, again absorbed by his reading. This time he was riding across the Arizona desert, still not knowing if the judge would end up sentencing the cattle rustlers or not.
Born for the Gallows,
Daniel was able to read from the corner of his eye.

“Interesting?” he asked for the hell of it, although deep down he couldn't care less.

“Bah. I liked
Lead in the Chest
much better. And
The Coward's Trail
—no comparison. I have them here somewhere . . .” he said, momentarily disappearing beneath the counter. He presently resurfaced with a couple of well-worn little books in his hand. “If you want me to lend you one to pass the time, they're not due back at the kiosk until tomorrow.”

Daniel had seen many Westerns at the movies but had never read any in book form, not even those of his legendary countryman Zane Grey. It seemed silly to start with one written by a Spaniard; who knew what nonsense that could be?

“So, are you going to take any, my friend?” the clerk insisted. “If you want the truth, they're both worthwhile. And if you don't like these, tomorrow I can bring you others, like
The Coyote,
since I've got a bunch that I've had for years. Those are about California, and the characters seem Spanish. I'm not sure if you—”

“Thanks very much, but I've got my own books in my suitcase.”

He was not lying—he had reading to do—but more serious stuff, more essential to his career: Spanish contemporary authors with whom he was beginning to get acquainted.

“Well, it's up to you, but as far as I'm concerned, you're not going to find anything better than this. Come on, take one, man . . .”