It was about midnight when we heard more banging on the door, this time weaker, almost fearful. My father, who was dabbing iodine on the bruise left on my cheek by Fumero's gun, stopped in his tracks. Our eyes met. There were three more knocks.
For a moment I thought it was Fermin, who had perhaps witnessed the whole incident hidden in some dark corner of the staircase.
'Who's there?' asked my father.
'Don Anacleto, Senor Sempere.'
My father gave out a sigh. We opened the door to find the teacher, looking paler than ever.
'Don Anacleto, what's the matter? Are you all right?' my father asked, letting him in.
The teacher was holding a folded newspaper. He handed it to us with a horrified look. The paper was still warm, the ink still damp.
'It's tomorrow's edition,' murmured Don Anacleto. 'Page six.'
What first caught my eye were the two photographs under the heading. The first was a picture of Fermin, with a fuller figure and more hair, perhaps fifteen or twenty years younger. The second showed the face of a woman with her eyes closed and skin like marble. It took me a few seconds to recognize her, because I was used to seeing her in the half-light.
TRAMP MURDERS WOMAN IN BROAD DAYLIGHT Barcelona Press Agency Police are looking for the tramp who stabbed a woman to death this afternoon. Her name was Nuria Monfort Masdedeu, and she lived in Barcelona.
The crime took place in midafternoon in the neighbourhood of San Gervasio, where the victim was assaulted by the tramp with no apparent motive. According to Central Police Headquarters, it would appear that the tramp had been following her for reasons that have not yet been made clear.
It seems that the murderer, 55-year-old Antonio Jose Gutierrez Alcayete, from Villa Inmunda in the province of Caceres, is a well-known criminal with a long record of mental illness, who escaped from La Modelo Prison six years ago and has managed to elude the authorities by assuming different identities. At the time of the murder, he was dressed in a cassock. He is armed, and the police describe him as highly dangerous. It is not yet known whether the victim and her murderer knew one another, although sources from Police Headquarters indicate that everything points towards this; nor is it known what may have been the motive behind the crime. The victim was stabbed six times in her stomach, chest, and throat. The attack, which took place close to a school, was witnessed by a number of pupils, who alerted the teachers. They in turn called the police and an ambulance. According to the police report, death was caused by multiple wounds. The victim was pronounced dead on arrival at Barcelona's Hospital Clinico at 18.15.
41.
We had no news from Fermin all day. My father insisted on opening the bookshop as usual, as if nothing had happened and as a declaration of Fermin's innocence. The police had posted an officer by the door to our stairs, and another watched over the Plaza Santa Ana, sheltering beneath the church door like the effigy of a saint. We could see them shivering under the heavy rain that had arrived with the dawn, the steam from their breath becoming less visible as the day wore on, their hands buried in the pockets of their raincoats. A few neighbours walked straight past, with a quick glance through the shop window, but not a single buyer ventured in.
'The rumour must have spread,' I said.
My father only nodded. He'd spent all morning without speaking to me, expressing himself only through gestures. The page detailing the news of Nuria Monfort's murder lay on the counter. Every twenty minutes he would wander over and reread it with an inscrutable expression. All day long he had been bottling up his anger, letting it accumulate inside him.
'However many times you read the article, it's not going to be true,' I said.
My father raised his head and looked at me severely. 'Did you know this person? Nuria Monfort?'
'I'd spoken to her a couple of times.'
Nuria Monfort's face took over my thoughts. My lack of honesty was nauseating. I was still haunted by her smell and the touch of her lips, the image of that desk so impeccably tidy and her sad, wise eyes. 'A couple of times.'
'Why did you have to speak to her? What did she have to do with you?'
'She was an old friend of Julian Carax. I went to see her to ask her what she remembered about Carax. That's all. She was Isaac's daughter, the keeper. He was the one who gave me her address.'
'Did Fermin know her?'
'No.'
'How can you be sure?'
'How can you doubt him and believe these lies? All Fermin knew about that woman was what I told him.'
'And is that why he was following her?'
'Yes.'
'Because you'd asked him to.'
I didn't answer. My father heaved a sigh.
'You don't understand, Dad.'
'You can be sure of that. I don't understand you, or Fermin, or-'
'Dad, from what we know of Fermin, what it says there is impossible.'
'And what do we know about Fermin, eh? To begin with, it turns out that we didn't even know his real name.'
'You're mistaken about him.'
'No, Daniel. You're the one who's mistaken. Who asked you to go digging into other people's lives?'
'I'm free to speak to whoever I want.'
'I suppose you also feel free from the consequences.'
'Are you insinuating that I'm responsible for this woman's death?'
'This woman, as you call her, had a first name and a surname, and you knew her.'
'There's no need to remind me,' I answered with tears in my eyes.
My father looked at me sadly, shaking his head. 'Oh, God, I don't even want to think how poor Isaac must be feeling.'
'It's not my fault she's dead,' I said in a tiny voice, thinking that perhaps if I repeated those words often enough, I would end up believing them.
My father retired to the back room, still shaking his head.
'You know what you're responsible for and what you're not, Daniel. Sometimes I don't know who you are anymore.'
I grabbed my raincoat and escaped into the street and the rain, where nobody would know me.
I gave myself up to the freezing rain, going nowhere in particular. I walked with my eyes downcast, carrying with me the image of Nuria Monfort, lifeless, stretched out on a cold marble slab, her body riddled with stab wounds. I passed a crossing with Calle Fontanella and didn't stop to look at the traffic lights. It was only when a strong gust of wind hit my face that I turned to see a wall of metal and light hurtling towards me at full speed. At the last moment, a passer-by pulled me back and moved me out of the bus's path. I gazed at the metal behemoth that shimmered only an inch or two from my face; what could have been certain death speeding by, a tenth of a second away. By the time I realized what had happened, the person who had saved my life was walking away over the pedestrian crossing, just a silhouette in a grey raincoat. I remained rooted to the spot, breathless. Through the curtain of rain, I noticed that my saviour had stopped on the other side of the street and was watching me under the downpour. It was the third policeman, Palacios. A thick wall of traffic slid by between us, and when I looked again, Officer Palacios was no longer there.
I set off toward Bea's house, incapable of waiting any longer. I needed to recall what little good there was in me, what she had given me. I rushed up the stairs and stopped outside the door of the Aguilars' apartment, almost out of breath. I held the door knocker and gave three loud knocks. While I waited, I gathered my courage and became aware of my appearance: soaked to the skin. I pushed the hair back from my forehead and told myself that the dice had been cast. If Senor Aguilar was ready to break my legs and smash my face, the sooner the better. I knocked again and after a while heard footsteps approaching. The peephole opened a fraction. A dark, suspicious eye stared at me.
'Who's there?'
I recognized the voice of Cecilia, one of the maids who worked for the Aguilar family.
'It's Daniel Sempere, Cecilia.'
The peephole closed, and within a few seconds I could hear the sound of the bolts and latches being drawn back. The large door opened slowly, and I was received by Cecilia in her cap and uniform, holding a candle in a candleholder. From her alarmed expression, I gathered that I must look like a ghost.
'Good afternoon, Cecilia. Is Bea in?'
She looked at me without understanding. In her experience of the household routine, my presence, which lately had been an unusual occurrence, was associated only with Tomas, my old school friend.
'Miss Beatriz isn't here. . . .'
'Has she gone out?'
Cecilia, who at the best of times was a frightened soul, nodded.
'Do you know when she's coming back?'
The maid shrugged. 'She went with Senor and Senora Aguilar to the doctor, about two hours ago.'
'To the doctor? Is she ill?'
'I don't know, sir.'
'And which doctor did they go to?'
'That I don't know, sir.'
I decided not to go on tormenting the poor maid. The absence of Bea's parents opened up other avenues. 'What about Tomas? Is he in?'
'Yes, Master Daniel. Come in, I'll call him.'
I went into the hall and waited. In the past I would have gone straight to my friend's room, but I hadn't been to that house for so long that I felt like a stranger. Cecilia disappeared down the corridor wrapped in an aura of light, abandoning me to the dark. I thought I could hear Tomas's voice in the distance and then some footsteps approaching. I quickly made up a pretext to explain my unannounced visit to my friend. But the figure that appeared at the door of the entrance hall was Cecilia's. She looked at me contritely, and my forced smile vanished.
'Master Tomas says he's very busy and cannot see you right now.'
'Did you tell him who I was? Daniel Sempere.'
'Yes, Master Daniel. He told me to tell you to go away.'
A stab of cold steel in my stomach took my breath away.
'I'm sorry, sir,' said Cecilia.
I nodded, not knowing what to say. The maid opened the door of the residence that, until not very long ago, I had considered my second home.
'Does the young master want an umbrella?'
'No thank you, Cecilia.'
'I'm, sorry, Master Daniel,' the maid repeated.
I smiled weakly. 'Don't worry, Cecilia.'
The door closed, leaving me in the shadows. I stayed there a few moments and then dragged myself down the stairs. The rain was still pouring down, relentlessly. I walked off down the street. When I reached the corner, I stopped and turned around for a moment. I looked up at the Aguilars' apartment. I could see the silhouette of my old friend Tomas outlined against his bedroom window. He was staring at me, motionless. I waved at him but he didn't return the greeting. A few seconds later, he moved away to the back of the room. I waited almost five minutes, hoping he would reappear, but he didn't.
42.
On my way back to the bookshop, I crossed the street by the Capitol Cinema, where two painters standing on a scaffold watched with dismay as their freshly painted placard became streaked under the rain. In the distance I could make out the stoical figure of the sentinel stationed opposite the bookshop. When I got to Don Federico Flavia's shop, I noticed that the watchmaker was standing in the doorway watching the downpour. The scars from his stay at police headquarters still showed on his face. He wore an impeccable grey wool suit and held a cigarette that he hadn't bothered to light. I waved to him, and he smiled back.
'What have you got against umbrellas, Daniel?'
'What could be more beautiful than the rain, Don Federico?'
'Pneumonia. Come on in, I have your repair ready.'
I looked at him, not understanding. Don Federico's eyes were fixed on mine, and his smile hadn't diminished. I nodded and followed him into his marvellous bazaar. As soon as we were inside, he handed me a small brown paper bag.
'You'd better leave right away. The scarecrow watching the bookshop hasn't taken his eyes off us.'
I looked inside the bag. It contained a small, leather-bound book. A missal. The missal Fermin had held in his hands the last time I'd seen him. Don Federico, pushing me back towards the street, vowed me to silence with a solemn nod. Once I was outside again, he recovered his happy expression and raised his voice.
'And remember, don't force the key when you wind it up, or it'll come loose again, all right?'
'Don't worry, Don Federico, and thanks.'
I walked away with a knot in my stomach that tightened with every step I took. When I passed in front of the plainclothes policeman guarding the bookshop, I greeted him with the same hand that held the bag given to me by Don Federico. The policeman looked at it with vague interest. I slipped into the bookshop. My father was still standing behind the counter, as if he hadn't moved since I'd left. He gave me a troubled look.
'Listen Daniel, about what I said 'Don't worry. You were right.'
'You're trembling.'
I nodded casually and saw him go off in search of the Thermos. I seized the moment to go to the small toilet by the back room and examine the missal. Fermin's note slipped out, fluttering about like a butterfly. I caught it in mid-air. The message was written on an almost transparent piece of cigarette paper in minute writing, and I had to hold it up against the light to be able to decipher it.
Dear Daniel, Don't believe one word of what the newspapers say about the murder of Nuria Monfort. As usual, it's nothing but a tall tale. I'm safe and sound, hiding in a secure place. Don't try to find me or send me messages. Destroy this note as soon as you've read it. No need to swallow it, just burn it or tear it up into small pieces. I'll use my wits to get in touch with you - and the help of friendly intermediaries. I beg you to transmit the essence of this message, in code and with all discretion, to my beloved. Don't you do anything. Your friend, the third man, FRdT I was beginning to reread the note when someone's knuckles rapped on the toilet door.
'May I come in?' asked an unknown voice.
My heart skipped a beat. Not knowing what else to do, I scrunched up the cigarette paper and put it in my mouth. I pulled the chain, and while the water thundered through pipes and cisterns, I swallowed the little paper ball. It tasted of wax and Sugus sweets. When I opened the door, I encountered the reptilian smile of the police officer who had been stationed in front of the bookshop.