I nodded, astounded by the appearance of intelligent life in that den of horrors.
'And what for?'
'I'm her grandson.'
'And I'm the Marquis of Cremebrulee. You're a terrible liar, that's what you are. Tell me why you want to see her or I'll play the madman. It's easy here. And if you intend to ask these poor wretches one by one, you'll soon see what I mean.'
Juanito and his gang of inhalers were still howling with laughter. The soloist then gave off an encore, more muted and prolonged than the previous one. It sounded like a hiss, like a punctured tyre, and proved Juanito's virtuoso control over his sphincter. I yielded to the facts.
'You're right. I'm not a relative of Senora Coronado, but I need to speak to her. It's a matter of the utmost importance.'
The old man came up to me. He had a wicked, catlike smile the smile of a mischievous child, and his eyes were full of cunning.
'Can you help me?' I begged.
'That depends on how much you can help me.'
'If it's in my power, I'd be delighted to help you. Would you like me to deliver a message to your family?'
The old man laughed bitterly. 'My family were the ones who stuck me in this hole. They're a load of leeches; they'd steal my underpants while they're still warm. To hell with them. I've kept them and put up with them for long enough. What I want is a woman.'
'Excuse me?'
The old man looked at me impatiently.
'Being young is no excuse for slow wit, child. I'm telling you I want a woman. A female, a maid, or a well-bred young filly. Young - under fifty-five, that is - and healthy, with no sores or fractures.'
'I'm not sure if I understand.
'You understand me perfectly. I want to have it off with a woman who has teeth and won't pee on me, before I depart for the other world. I don't mind whether she's good-looking or not; I'm half blind, and at my age any girl who has anything to hold onto is a Venus. Am I making myself clear?'
'Crystal. But I don't see how I'm going to find a woman for you. . . .'
'When I was your age, there was something in the service sector called "ladies of easy virtue". I know the world changes, but never in essence. Find one for me, plump and fun-loving, and we'll do business. And if you're asking yourself about my ability to enjoy a woman, I want you to know I'm quite content to pinch her backside and feel up her bumpers. That's the advantage of experience.'
'Technicalities are your affair, sir, but I can't bring a woman to you here right now.'
'I might be a dirty old man, but I'm not stupid. I know that. Your promise is good enough for me.'
'And how do you know I won't say yes just to get you to tell me where Jacinta Coronado is?'
The old man gave me a sly smile. 'You give me your word, and leave any problems of conscience to me.'
I looked around me. Juanito was starting on the second half of his recital. Hope was ebbing away. Fulfilling this horny granddad's request seemed to be the only thing that made any sense in that purgatory. 'I give you my word. I'll do what I can.'
The old man smiled from ear to ear. I counted three teeth.
'Blonde, even if it's peroxide. Pneumatically endowed and good at talking dirty, if possible. Of all the senses, the one that still works the best is my hearing.'
'I'll see what I can do. Now, tell me where I can find Jacinta Coronado.'
31.
'You've promised what to that old Methuselah?'
'You heard.'
'You were joking, I hope.'
'I can't lie to an old man who is at death's door, no matter how fresh he turns out to be.'
'And that does you credit, Daniel, but how do you think you're going to slip a whore into this holy house?'
'By paying her three times as much, I suppose. I leave all the specifics to you.'
Fermin shrugged resignedly. 'Oh, well, a deal's a deal. We'll think of something. But remember, next time a negotiation of this nature turns up, let me do the talking.'
'Agreed.'
Just as the crafty old devil had instructed, we found Jacinta Coronado in a loft that could only be reached by a staircase on the third floor. According to the old man, the attic was the refuge for the few patients whom fate had not yet had the decency to deprive of understanding. Apparently this hidden wing had, in its day, housed the rooms of Baltasar Deulofeu, aka Laszlo de Vicherny, from which he governed The Tenebrarium's activities and cultivated the loving arts newly arrived from the East, amid clouds of perfume and scented oils. And there was no lack of scent now, though of a very different nature. A woman who could only be Jacinta Coronado sagged in a wicker chair, wrapped in a blanket.
'Senora Coronado? I asked, raising my voice, in case the poor thing was deaf, half-witted, or both.
The elderly woman examined us carefully, with some reserve. Her eyes looked bleary, and only a few wisps of whitish hair covered her head. I noticed that she gave me a puzzled look, as if she'd seen me before but couldn't remember where. I was afraid Fermin was going to rush into introducing me as the son of Carax or some similar lie, but all he did was kneel down next to the old lady and take her trembling, wrinkled hand.
'Jacinta, I'm Fermin, and this handsome young lad is my friend Daniel. Father Fernando Ramos sent us. He wasn't able to come today because he had twelve masses to say - you know what the calendar of saints' days is like - but he sends you his best regards. How are you feeling?'
The old woman smiled sweetly at Fermin. My friend stroked her face and her forehead. She appreciated the touch of another skin like a purring cat. I felt a lump in my throat.
'A stupid question, wasn't it?' Fermin went on. 'What you'd like is to be out there, dancing a foxtrot. You look like a dancer; everyone must tell you that.'
I had never seen him treat anyone with such delicacy, not even Bernarda. His words were pure flattery, but the tone and expression on his face were sincere.
'What pretty things you say,' she murmured in a voice that was broken from not having had anyone to speak to or anything to say.
'Not half as pretty as you, Jacinta. Do you think we could ask you some questions? Like on a radio contest, you know?'
The old woman just blinked in response.
'I'd say that's a yes. Do you remember Penelope, Jacinta? Penelope Aldaya? It's her we'd like to ask you about.'
Jacinta's eyes suddenly lit up and she nodded.
'My girl,' she murmured, and it looked like she was going to burst into tears.
'The very one. You do remember, don't you? We're friends of Julian. Julian Carax, the one who told scary stories. You remember that, too, don't you?'
The old woman's eyes shone, as if those words and the touch on her skin were bringing her back to life by the minute.
'Father Fernando, from San Gabriel's, told us you adored Penelope. He loves you very much, too, and thinks of you every day, you know. If he doesn't come more often, it's just because the new bishop, a social climber, loads him with such a quota of masses that his voice gives out.'
'Are you sure you eat enough?' the old lady suddenly asked, with a worried expression.
'I eat like a horse, Jacinta. The trouble is, I have a very manly metabolism and I burn it all up. But believe me, under these clothes it's all pure muscle. Feel, feel. Like Charles Atlas, only hairier.'
Jacinta nodded and looked reassured. She couldn't take her eyes off Fermin. She had forgotten about me completely.
'What can you tell us about Penelope and Julian?'
'Between them all, they took her from me,' she said. 'My girl'
I took a step forward and was about to say something, but Fermin threw me a look that told me to remain silent.
'Who took Penelope from you, Jacinta? Do you remember?'
'The master,' she said, raising her eyes fearfully, as if she thought someone might hear us.
Fermin seemed to be gauging the emphasis of the old woman's gesture and followed her eyes to the ceiling, weighing up the possibilities.
'Are you referring to God Almighty, emperor of the heavens, or did you mean the master, Miss Penelope's father, Don Ricardo?'
'How's Fernando?' asked the old woman.
'The priest? Splendid. One day, he'll be made pope and will set you up in the Sistine Chapel. He sends you all the best.'
'He's the only one who comes to see me, you know. He comes because he knows I don't have anyone else.'
Fermin gave me a sideways look, as if he were thinking what I was thinking. Jacinta Coronado was much saner than her appearance suggested. Her body was fading away, but her mind and her soul were still blazing with anguish in that wretched place. I wondered how many more people like her, or like the lusty little old man who had shown us how to find her, were trapped in there.
'He comes because he's very fond of you, Jacinta. Because he remembers how well you looked after him and how you fed him when he was a child. He's told us all about that. Do you remember, Jacinta? Do you remember those days, when you went to collect Jorge from school, do you remember Fernando and Julian?'
'Julian She whispered the name slowly, but her smile betrayed her.
'Do you remember Julian Carax, Jacinta?'
'I remember the day Penelope told me she was going to marry him. ..'
Fermin and I looked at one another in astonishment.
'Marry? When was that, Jacinta?'
'The first day she saw him. She was thirteen and didn't know who he was or what he was called.'
'Then how did she know she was going to marry him?' 'Because she'd seen him. In her dreams.'
As a child, Maria Jacinta Coronado was convinced that the world ended on the outskirts of Toledo and that beyond the town limits there was nothing but darkness and oceans of fire. Jacinta had got that idea from a dream she had during a fever that had almost killed her when she was four years old. This dream was the first of many and they began with that mysterious fever, which some blamed on the sting of a huge red scorpion that appeared in the house one day and was never seen again, and others on the evil designs of a mad nun who crept into houses at night to poison children and who, years later, was to be garroted reciting the Lord's Prayer backwards with her eyes popping out of their sockets, while a red cloud spread over the town, discharging a storm of dead cockroaches. In her dreams Jacinta perceived the past and the future and, at times, saw revealed to her the secrets and mysteries of the old streets of Toledo. One of the characters she would see repeatedly in her dreams was someone called Zacarias, an angel who was always dressed in black and who was accompanied by a dark cat with yellow eyes whose breath smelled of sulphur. Zacarias knew everything: he had predicted the day and the hour of her uncle Benancio's death - a hawker of ointments and holy water. He had revealed the place where her mother, a sanctimonious churchgoer, hid a bundle of letters from an ardent medical student with few financial resources but a solid knowledge of anatomy, and in whose bedroom in the alleyway of Santa Maria she had discovered the doors of paradise at an early age. Zacarias had announced to Jacinta that there was something evil fixed in her stomach, a dead spirit that wished her ill, and that she would know the love of only one man: an empty, selfish love that would break her soul in two. He had augured that in her lifetime she would behold the death of everything she loved, and that before she reached heaven, she would visit hell. On the day of her first period, Zacarias and his sulphuric cat disappeared from her dreams, but years later Jacinta would remember the visits of the black angel with tears in her eyes, because all his prophecies had come true.
So when the doctors diagnosed that she would never be able to have children, Jacinta wasn't surprised. Nor was she surprised, although she almost died of grief, when her husband of three years announced that he was going to leave her because she was like a wasteland that produced no fruit, because she wasn't a woman. In the absence of Zacarias (whom she took to be an emissary of heaven, for, whether or not he was dressed in black, he was still a radiant angel and the best-looking man she had ever seen), Jacinta spoke to God on her own, hiding in corners, without seeing him or expecting him to bother with a reply, because there was a lot of pain in the world and her troubles were, in the end, only small matters. All her monologues with God dealt with the same theme: she wanted only one thing in life, to be a mother, to be woman.
One day, while she was praying in the cathedral, a man, whom she recognized as Zacarias, came up to her. He dressed as he always did and held his malicious cat on his lap. He did not look a single day older and still sported magnificent nails, like the nails of a duchess, long and pointed. The angel admitted that he was there because God didn't plan to answer her prayers. But he told her not to worry because, one way or another, he would send her a child. He leaned over her, murmured the word 'Tibidabo', and kissed her very tenderly on the lips. At the touch of those fine, honeyed lips, Jacinta had a vision: she would have a daughter without further knowledge of man (which, judging from the three years in the bedroom with her husband, who insisted on doing his thing while covering her head with a pillow and mumbling 'Don't look, you slut,' was a relief). This girl would come to her in a very faraway city, trapped between a crescent of mountains and a sea of light, a city filled with buildings that could exist only in dreams. Later Jacinta was unable to tell whether Zacarias's visit had been another of her dreams or whether the angel really had come to her in Toledo Cathedral, with his cat and his scarlet-manicured nails. What she didn't doubt for a moment was the truth of those predictions. That very afternoon she consulted the parish deacon, who was a well-read man and had seen the world (it was said that he had gone as far as Andorra and that he spoke a little Basque). The deacon claimed he did not know of an angel Zacarias among the winged legions of the heavens, but listened attentively to Jacinta's vision. After much consideration, and going by the description of some sort of cathedral that, in the words of the clairvoyant, sounded like a large hair comb made of melting chocolate, the wise man said, 'Jacinta, what you've seen is Barcelona, the great enchantress, and the Expiatory Temple of the Sagrada Familia.' Two weeks later, armed with a bundle of clothes, a missal, and her first smile in five years, Jacinta was on her way to Barcelona, convinced that everything the angel had described to her would come true.
Months of great hardship were to pass before Jacinta would find a permanent job in one of the stores of Aldaya and Sons, near the pavilions of the old 1888 Universal Exhibition in Ciudadela Park. The Barcelona of her dreams had changed into a sinister, hostile city, full of closed mansions, full of factories that poured forth their foggy breath, poisoning the air with coal and sulphur. Jacinta knew from the start that this city was a woman, cruel and vain; she learned to fear her and never look her in the eye. She lived alone in a pension in the Ribera quarter, where her pay barely afforded her a miserable room with no windows, whose only source of light came from the candles she stole from the cathedral. She kept these alight all night to scare away the rats that had already gnawed at the ears and fingers of a six-month-old baby, the child of Ramoneta - a prostitute who rented the room next door and the only friend Jacinta had managed to make in Barcelona in eleven months. That winter it rained almost every day, and the rain was blackened by soot. Soon Jacinta began to fear that Zacarias had deceived her, that she had come to that terrible city to die of cold, misery and oblivion.
But Jacinta was prepared to survive. She went to the store every day before dawn and did not come out again until well after nightfall. There Don Ricardo Aldaya happened to notice her looking after the daughter of one of the foremen, who had fallen ill with consumption. When he saw the dedication and the tenderness that the young girl exuded, he decided to take her home with him to look after his wife, who was pregnant with what would be his firstborn. Jacinta's prayers had been answered. That night Jacinta saw Zacarias again in her dreams. The angel was no longer dressed in black. He was naked, and his skin was covered in scales. He didn't have his cat with him anymore, but a white snake coiled round his torso. His hair had grown down to his waist, and his smile, the honeyed smile she had kissed in Toledo Cathedral, was now lined with triangular, serrated teeth, like those she'd seen in some of the deep-sea fish that thrashed their tails in the fish market. Years later the young woman would reveal this vision to an eighteen-year-old Julian Carax, recalling how the day she left the pension in the Ribera quarter and moved to the Aldaya mansion, she was told that her friend Ramoneta had been stabbed to death in the doorway the night before and that Ramoneta's baby had died of cold in her arms. When they heard the news, the guests at the pension came to blows, shouting and scratching over the meagre belongings of the dead woman. The only thing they left was what had been Ramoneta's greatest treasure: a book. Jacinta recognized it, because often, at night, Ramoneta had asked her to read her one or two pages, for Ramoneta had never learned to read.
Four months later Jorge Aldaya was born, and although Jacinta was to offer him all the affection that his mother never knew how to give him, or never wished to - for she was an ethereal lady, Jacinta thought, who always seemed trapped in her own reflection - the governess realized that this was not the child Zacarias had promised her. During those years Jacinta gave up her youth and became a different woman. The other Jacinta had been left behind in the pension in the Ribera quarter, as dead as Ramoneta. Now she lived in the shadow of the Aldayas' luxuries, far from that dark city that she had come to hate so much and into which she did not venture, not even on her monthly day off. She learned to live through others, through a family that sat on top of a fortune the size of which she could scarcely conceive. She lived in the expectation of that child, who would be a female, like the city, and to whom she would give all the love with which God had poisoned her soul. Sometimes Jacinta asked herself whether that dreamy peace that filled her days, that absence of consciousness, was what some people called happiness, and she wanted to believe that God, in His infinite silence, had, in His way, answered her prayers.
Penelope Aldaya was born in the spring of 1902. By then Don Ricardo Aldaya had already bought the house on Avenida del Tibidabo, that rambling mansion that Jacinta's fellow servants were convinced lay under the influence of some powerful spell, but which Jacinta did not fear, because she knew that what others took to be magic was nothing more than a presence that only she could capture in dreams: the shadow of Zacarias, who hardly resembled the man she remembered and who now only manifested himself as a wolf walking on his two hind legs.
Penelope was a fragile child, pale and slender. Jacinta saw her grow like a flower in winter. For years she watched over her every night, personally prepared every one of her meals, sewed her clothes, was by her side when she went through her many illnesses, when she said her first words, when she became a woman. Senora Aldaya was one more figure in the scenery, a prop that came on- and offstage according to the dictates of decorum. Before going to bed, she would come and say goodnight to her daughter and tell her she loved her more than anything in the world, that she was the most important thing in the universe to her. Jacinta never told Penelope that she loved her. The nurse knew that those who really love, love in silence, with deeds and not with words. Secretly Jacinta despised Senora Aldaya, that vain, empty creature who slowly grew old in the corridors of the mansion, weighed down by the jewels with which her husband - who for years had set anchor in foreign ports - kept her quiet. She hated her because, of all women, God had chosen her to give birth to Penelope while her own womb, the womb of the true mother, remained barren. In time, as if the words of her husband had been prophetic, Jacinta even lost her womanly shape. She grew thin and austere in appearance, and wore the look of tired skin and tired bone. Her breasts withered until they were but scraps of skin, her hips were like those of a boy, and her flesh, hard and angular, didn't even catch the eye of Don Ricardo Aldaya, who only needed to sense a hint of vitality to send him off in a frenzy - as all the maids in the house, and in the houses of his close friends, knew only too well. Better this way, thought Jacinta. She had no time for nonsense.
All her time was devoted to Penelope. She read to her, she accompanied her everywhere, she bathed her, dressed her, undressed her, combed her hair, took her out for walks, put her to bed and woke her up. But above all she spoke to her. Everyone took Jacinta for a batty nurse, a spinster with nothing in her life other than her job in the house, but nobody knew the truth: Jacinta was not only Penelope's mother, she was her best friend. From the moment the girl began to speak and articulate her thoughts, which was much sooner than Jacinta remembered in any other child, they both shared their secrets and their lives.
The passing of time only strengthened this union. When Penelope reached adolescence, they were already inseparable. Jacinta saw Penelope blossom into a woman whose beauty and radiance were evident to more eyes than just her own. When that mysterious boy called Julian came to the house, Jacinta noticed that, from the very first moment, a current flowed between him and Penelope. They were joined by a bond, similar to the one that joined her to Penelope, but also different. More intense. Dangerous. At first she thought she would come to hate the boy, but soon she realized that she did not hate Julian Carax and would never be able to. As Penelope fell under Julian's spell, she, too, allowed herself to be dragged into it and in time desired only what Penelope desired. Nobody had noticed, nobody had paid attention, but, as usual, the essential issue had been settled before the story had even begun, and by then it was too late.
Many months of wistful looks and longings would pass before Julian Carax and Penelope could be alone together. Their lives were ruled by chance. They met in corridors, they looked at one another from opposite ends of the table, they brushed silently against each other, they felt each other's absence. They exchanged their first words in the library of the house on Avenida del Tibidabo one stormy afternoon when 'Villa Penelope' was filled with the dim light of candles - only a few seconds stolen from the darkness in which Julian thought he saw in the girl's eyes the certainty that they both felt the same, that the same secret was devouring them. Nobody seemed to notice. Nobody but Jacinta, who watched with growing anxiety the game of furtive glances that Penelope and Julian were playing under the very nose of the Aldayas. She feared for them.
By then Julian had begun to have sleepless nights, writing stories for Penelope from midnight to dawn. He would find any old excuse to go up to the house on Avenida del Tibidabo, then look for the moment when he could slip into Jacinta's room and give his pages to her so that she, in turn, could give them to the girl. Sometimes Jacinta would hand him a note that Penelope had written, and he would spend days rereading it. That game went on for months. While time brought them no good fortune, Julian did whatever was necessary to be close to Penelope. Jacinta helped him, for she wanted to see Penelope happy, to keep that light glowing. Julian, for his part, felt that the casual innocence of the beginning was now fading and it was time to start making some sacrifices. That was why he began to lie to Don Ricardo about his plans for the future, to fake an enthusiasm for a career in banking and finance, to feign an affection and an attachment for Jorge Aldaya that he did not feel, in order to justify his almost constant presence in the house on Avenida del Tibidabo; to say only what he knew others wanted to hear him say, to read their looks and their hopes, to put aside honesty and sincerity, and to feel that he was selling his very soul. He began to fear that if he ever did come to deserve Penelope, there would be nothing left of the Julian who saw her the first time. Sometimes Julian would wake up at dawn, burning with anger, longing to tell the world his real feelings, to face Don Ricardo Aldaya and tell him he had no interest whatsoever in his fortune, his opportunities for the future, or his company; that all he wanted was his daughter, Penelope, and was thinking of taking her as far away as possible from that empty, shrouded world in which her father had imprisoned her. The light of day dispelled his courage.
There were times when Julian opened his heart to Jacinta, who was beginning to love the boy more than she might have wished. She would often leave Penelope for a moment and, under the pretext of going to collect Jorge from school, would see Julian and deliver Penelope's messages to him. That was how she met Fernando, who, many years later, would be her only remaining friend while she awaited death in the hell of Santa Lucia -the hell that had been prophesied by the angel Zacarias. Sometimes the nurse would mischievously take Penelope with her to the school and facilitate a brief encounter between the two youngsters, watching a love grow between them such as she had never known, which had always been denied her. It was also around this time that Jacinta noticed the sombre and disturbing presence of that quiet boy whom everyone called Francisco Javier, the son of the school's caretaker. She would catch him spying on them, reading their gestures from afar and devouring Penelope with his eyes.
Jacinta kept a photograph of Julian and Penelope taken by Recassens, the Aldayas' official portrait photographer, by the door of the hat shop in Ronda de San Antonio. It was an innocent image, taken at midday in the presence of Don Ricardo and of Sophie Carax. Jacinta always carried it with her. One day, while she was waiting for Jorge outside San Gabriel's, the governess absentmindedly left her bag by one of the fountains and, when she went back for it, found young Fumero prowling around the area, looking at her nervously. That night she looked for the photograph but couldn't find it and was certain that the boy had stolen it. On another occasion, a few weeks later, Francisco Javier Fumero went up to Jacinta and asked her whether she could give Penelope something from him. When Jacinta asked what this thing was, the boy pulled out a piece of cloth in which he had wrapped what looked like a figure carved in pinewood. Jacinta recognized it was a carving of Penelope, and felt a shiver. Before she was able to say anything, the boy left. On her way back to the house on Avenida del Tibidabo, Jacinta threw the figure out of the car window, as if it were a piece of stinking carrion. More than once Jacinta was to wake up at dawn, covered in sweat, plagued by nightmares in which that troubled-looking boy threw himself on Penelope with the cold and indifferent brutality of some strange insect.
Some afternoons, when Jacinta went to fetch Jorge and he was late, the governess would talk to Julian. He, too, was beginning to love that severe-looking woman. Whenever a problem cast a shadow over his life, she and Miquel Moliner were soon the first to know. Once Julian told Jacinta he had seen his mother and Don Ricardo Aldaya talking in the fountain courtyard while they waited for the pupils to come out. Don Ricardo seemed to be enjoying Sophie's company, and Julian felt a little uneasy, because he was aware of the magnate's reputation as a Don Juan and of his voracious appetite for the delights of the female sex. 'I was telling your mother how much you like your new school,' Don Ricardo told him. When he said goodbye to them, Don Ricardo gave them a wink and walked off laughing boisterously. His mother was quiet during the journey home, clearly offended by the comments Don Ricardo Aldaya had made to her.
Sophie was suspicious of Julian's growing bond with the Aldayas and the way he had abandoned his old neighbourhood friends and his family. She was not alone. But whereas his mother showed her displeasure in sadness and silence, the hatter displayed only bitterness and spite. His initial enthusiasm about the widening of his clientele to include the flower of Barcelona society had evaporated. He hardly ever saw his son now and soon had to employ Quimet, a local boy and one of Julian's former friends, as a helper and apprentice in the shop. Antoni Fortuny was a man who felt he could only talk openly about hats. He locked his deeper feelings in the prison of his heart for months on end, until they became hopelessly embittered. Every day, he grew more bad tempered and irritable. He found fault with everything - from the efforts of poor Quintet to learn the trade to Sophie's attempts to make light of Julian s seeming abandonment of them.
'Your son thinks he's someone just because those rich folk treat him like a performing monkey,' he'd say in a depressed tone, full of resentment.
One day, almost three years to the day since Don Ricardo Aldaya's first visit to the Fortuny and Sons hat shop, the hatter left Quimet in charge of the shop and told him he'd be back at noon. He boldly presented himself at the offices of Aldaya's consortium on Paseo de Gracia and asked to see Don Ricardo.
'And whom do I have the honour of announcing?' asked a clerk in a haughty manner.
'His personal hatter.'
Don Ricardo received him, somewhat surprised but well disposed, imagining that perhaps Fortuny was bringing him a bill. Small shopkeepers never quite understood the protocol when it came to money.
'So tell me, what can I do for you Fortunato, old fellow?'
Without further delay, Antoni Fortuny proceeded to explain to Don Ricardo that he was very much mistaken about his son Julian.
'My son, Don Ricardo, is not the person you think he is. Quite the contrary; he is an ignorant, lazy boy, with no more talent than the pretentious ideas his mother has put into his head. He'll never get anywhere, believe me. He lacks ambition and character. You don't know him. He can be very clever at sweet-talking strangers, making them believe he knows a lot about everything, when in fact he knows nothing about anything. He's a mediocre person. I know him better than anyone, and I thought I should warn you.'