The Shadow of the Wind (13 page)

Sons of ANTONIO FORTUNY

Established in 1888 82

The night I returned to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, Isaac had told me that Carax used his mother's surname, not his father's, which was Fortuny. Carax's father had a hat shop in Ronda de San Antonio. I looked again at the portrait of that couple and knew for sure that the young man was Julian Carax, smiling at me from the past, unable to see the flames that were closing in on him.

CITY OF SHADOWS 1954

14

The following morning Fermin came to work borne on the wings of Cupid, smiling and whistling boleros. In any other circumstances, I would have inquired about his outing with Bernarda, but that day I was not in the mood for his poetic outbursts. My father had arranged to have an order of books delivered to Professor Javier Velazquez at eleven o'clock in his study at the university. The very mention of the professor made Fermin wince, so I offered to take the books myself.

'That sorry specimen is nothing but a corrupt pedant. A fascist buttock-polisher,' Fermin declared, raising his fist and striking the pose he reserved for his avenging moods. 'He uses the pitiful excuse of his professorship to seduce women. I swear he would even have it off with Gertrude Stein, given the chance.'

'Calm down, Fermin. Velazquez pays well, always in advance, and besides, he recommends us to everyone,' my father said.

'That's money stained with the blood of innocent virgins,' Fermin protested. 'For the life of God, I hereby swear that I have never lain with an underage woman, and not for lack of inclination or opportunities. Bear in mind that what you see today is but a shadow of my former self, but there was a time when I cut as dashing a figure as they come. Yet even then, just to be on the safe side, or if I sensed that a girl might be overly flighty, I would not proceed without seeing some form of identification or, failing that, a written paternal authorization. One has to maintain certain moral standards.'

My father rolled his eyes. 'It's pointless arguing with you, Fermin.'

'Well, if I'm right, I'm right.'

Sensing a debate brewing, I picked up the parcel, which I had prepared the night before - a couple of Rilkes and an apocryphal essay attributed to a disciple of Darwin claiming that Spaniards came from a more evolved simian ancestor than their French neighbours. As the door closed behind me, Fermin and my father were deep in argument about ethics.

It was a magnificent day; the skies were electric blue and a crystal breeze carried the cool scent of autumn and the sea. I will always prefer Barcelona in October. It is when the spirit of the city seems to stroll most proudly through the streets, and you feel all the wiser after drinking water from the old fountain of Canaletas - which, for once, does not taste of chlorine. I was walking along briskly, dodging bootblacks, pen pushers returning from their midmorning coffee, lottery vendors, and a whole ballet of street sweepers who seemed intent on polishing the streets, using their brooms like paintbrushes, unhurriedly and with a pointillist's strokes. Barcelona was already beginning to fill up with cars in those days, and when I reached the traffic lights at the crossing with Calle Balmes, I noticed a brigade of grey office clerks in grey raincoats staring hungrily at a blood red Studebaker sedan as they would ogle a music-hall siren in a negligee. I went on up Balmes toward Gran Via, negotiating traffic lights, cars, and even motorcycles with sidecars. In a shop window, I saw a Philips poster announcing the arrival of a new messiah, the TV set. Some predicted that this peculiar contraption was going to change our lives forever and turn us all into creatures of the future, like the Americans. Fermin Romero de Torres, always up to date on state-of-the-art technology, had already prophesied a grimmer outcome.

'Television, my dear Daniel, is the Antichrist, and I can assure you that after only three or four generations, people will no longer even know how to fart on their own. Humans will return to living in caves, to medieval savagery, and to the general state of imbecility that slugs overcame back in the Pleistocene era. Our world will not die as a result of the bomb, as the papers say - it will die of laughter, of banality, of making a joke of everything, and a lousy joke at that.'

Professor Velazquez's office was on the second floor of the Literature Faculty, in Plaza Universidad, at the end of a gallery paved with hypnotic chessboard tiling and awash in powdery light that spilled down onto the southern cloister. I found the professor at the door of a lecture room, pretending to be listening to a female student while considering her spectacular figure. She wore a dark red suit that drew attention to her waistline and revealed classically proportioned calves covered in fine silk stockings. Professor Velazquez enjoyed a reputation as a Don Juan; there were those who considered that the sentimental education of a respectable young lady was never complete without a proverbial weekend in some small hotel on the Sitges promenade, reciting Alexandrines tete-a-tete with the distinguished academic.

My commercial instincts advised me against interrupting his conversation, so I decided to kill time by undressing the pupil in my mind. Perhaps the brisk walk had raised my spirits, or perhaps it was just my age, not to mention the fact that I spent more time among muses that were trapped in the pages of old books than in the company of girls of flesh and bone - who always seemed to me beings of a far lower order than Clara Barcelo. Whatever the reason, as I catalogued each and every detail of her enticing and exquisitely clad anatomy -which I could see only from the back, but which in my mind I had already visualized in its full glory - I felt a vaguely wolfish shiver run down my spine.

'Why, here's Daniel,' cried Professor Velazquez. 'Thank goodness it's you, not that madman who came last time, the one with the name like a bullfighter. He seemed drunk to me, or certifiable. He had the nerve to ask me whether I knew the etymology of the word "prick", in a sarcastic tone that was quite out of place.'

'It's just that the doctor has put him on some strong medication. Something to do with his liver.'

'No doubt because he's smashed all day,' said Velazquez. 'If I were you, I'd call the police. I bet you he has a file. And God, how his feet stank - there are lots of shitty leftists on the loose who haven't seen a bathtub since the Republic fell.'

I was about to come up with some other plausible excuse for Fermin when the student who had been talking to Professor Velazquez turned around, and it was as if the world had stopped spinning. I saw her smile at me, and my ears went up in flames.

'Hello, Daniel,' said Beatriz Aguilar.

I nodded at her, tongue-tied. I realized I'd been drooling over my best friend's sister, Bea. The one woman I was completely terrified of.

'Oh, so you know each other?' asked Velazquez, intrigued.

'Daniel is an old friend of the family,' Bea explained. 'And the only one who ever had the courage to tell me to my face that I'm stuck up and vain.'

Velazquez looked at me with astonishment.

'That was years ago,' I explained. 'And I didn't mean it.'

'Well, I'm still waiting for an apology.'

Velazquez laughed heartily and took the parcel from my hands.

'I think I'm in the way here,' he said, opening it. 'Ah, wonderful. Listen, Daniel, tell your father I'm looking for a book called Moorslayer: Early Reminiscences of the Generalissimo in the Moroccan War by Francisco Franco Bahamonde, with a prologue and notes by Peman.'

'Consider it done. We'll let you know in a couple of weeks.'

'I'll take your word for it, and now I'll be off. Thirty-two blank minds await me.'

Professor Velazquez winked at me and disappeared into the lecture room. I didn't know where to look.

'Listen, Bea, about that insult, I promise I—'

'I was only teasing you, Daniel. I know that was childish nonsense, and besides, Tomas gave you a good enough beating.'

'It still hurts.'

Bea's smile looked like a peace offering, or at least an offer of a truce.

'Besides, you were right, I'm a bit stuck up and sometimes a little vain,' she said. 'You don't like me much, do you, Daniel?'

The question took me completely by surprise. Disarmed, I realized how easily you can lose all animosity towards someone you've deemed your enemy as soon as that person stops behaving as such.

'No, that's not true.'

'Tomas says it's not that you don't like me, it's that you can't stand my father and you make me pay for it, because you don't dare face up to him. I don't blame you. No one dares cross my father.'

I felt the blood drain from my cheeks, but after a few seconds I found myself smiling and nodding. 'Anyone would say Tomas knows me better than I know myself.'

'I wouldn't put it past him. My brother knows us all inside out, only he never says anything. But if he ever decides to open his mouth, the whole world will collapse. He's very fond of you, you know.'

I raised my shoulders and looked down.

'He's always talking about you, and about your father and the bookshop, and this friend you have working with you. Tomas says he's a genius waiting to be discovered. Sometimes it's as if he considers you his real family, instead of the one he has at home.'

My eyes met hers: hard, frank, fearless. I did not know what to say, so I just smiled. I felt she was ensnaring me with her honesty, and I looked down at the courtyard.

'I didn't know you studied here.'

'It's my first year.'

'Literature?'

'My father thinks science is not for the weaker sex.'

'Of course. Too many numbers.'

'I don't care, because what I like is reading. Besides, you meet interesting people here.'

'Like Professor Velazquez?'

Bea gave me a wry smile. ‘I might be in my first year, but I know enough to see them coming, Daniel. Especially men of his sort.'

I wondered what sort I was.

'Besides, Professor Velazquez is a good friend of my father's. They both belong to the Society for the Protection and Promotion of Spanish Operetta.'

I tried to look impressed. 'A noble calling. And how's your boyfriend, Lieutenant Cascos Buendia?'

Her smile left her. 'Pablo will be here on leave in three weeks.'

'You must be happy.'

'Very. He's a great guy, though I can imagine what you must think of him.'

I doubt it, I thought. Bea watched me, looking slightly tense. I was about to change the subject, but my tongue got ahead of me.

Tomas says you're getting married and you're going off to live in El Ferrol.'

She nodded without blinking. 'As soon as Pablo finishes his military service.'

'You must be feeling impatient,' I said, sensing a spiteful note in my voice, an insolent tone that came from God knows where.

'I don't mind, really. His family has property out there, a couple of shipyards, and Pablo is going to be in charge of one of them. He has a great talent for leadership.'

'It shows.'

Bea forced a smile. 'Besides, I've seen quite enough of Barcelona, after all these years. . ..' Her eyes looked tired and sad.

'I hear El Ferrol is a fascinating place. Full of life. And the seafood is supposed to be fabulous, especially the spider crabs.'

Bea sighed, shaking her head. She looked as if she wanted to cry with anger but was too proud. Instead she laughed calmly.

'After ten years you still enjoy insulting me, don't you, Daniel? Go on, then, don't hold back. It's my fault for thinking that perhaps we could be friends, or pretend to be, but I suppose I'm not as good as my brother. I'm sorry I've wasted your time.'