CLOUDS HUNG LOW in the afternoon sky. A greenish aura filtered through them, making the Raval quarter look like a small village sunk beneath the waters of a swamp. They walked up Calle Hospital until they reached the Ramblas and from there Alicia guided Vargas through the crowds towards Plaza Real.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“In search of the magnifying glass you mentioned.”
They crossed the square, heading for the passageway under the arches that surrounded it. Alicia stopped in front of a shop window through which one could glimpse a small jungle of wild animals, frozen in a moment of fury and staring at eternity with glass eyes. Vargas looked up to see the notice over the entrance and, a little further down, to the letters printed on the glazed door:
MUSEUM
WIDOW OF L. SOLER PUJOL
TELEPHONE 404451
“What’s this?”
“People call it the Beast Museum, but in fact it’s a taxidermist’s establishment.”
As soon as they stepped into the shop, Vargas was struck by its rich collection of stuffed animals. Tigers, birds, wolves, apes and a whole troop of exotic species inhabited this improvised museum of natural sciences, which would have delighted, or terrified, more than one expert on exotic fauna from any of the continents. He strolled among the glass cabinets, admiring the skill shown in those pieces of taxidermy.
“Now you’ve really stopped hiccupping,” said Alicia.
Hearing footsteps behind them, they turned to discover a young woman, thin as a rake, observing them with her hands joined over her chest. Her eyes and her general demeanour reminded Vargas of a praying mantis.
“Good afternoon. How may I help?”
“Good afternoon,” said Alicia. “I’d like to speak to Matías, if at all possible.”
The look of suspicion that coloured the eyes of the praying mantis deepened. “And that will be about . . . ?”
“A technical enquiry.”
“And may I ask who wishes to see him?”
“Alicia Gris.”
The praying mantis gave them a thorough going-over, screwing up her nose with disapproval, before she walked off unhurriedly to the back room.
“I’m discovering a most welcoming Barcelona,” whispered Vargas. “I’m thinking of moving here.”
“Don’t you have enough stuffed glories in the capital?”
“I wish we did. I’m afraid they’re all alive and kicking. Who is this Matías? An ex-boyfriend?”
“More like an ex-candidate.”
“Heavyweight?”
“Featherweight, I’d say. Matías is a technician here. This place has the best magnifying glasses in town, and Matías has the best eye.”
“What about the lamia?”
“I think her name is Serafina. Years ago she was his fiancée. She must be the wife now.”
“Maybe one of these days he’ll stuff her and put her on one of the shelves, next to the lions, as a finishing touch for the museum of horrors.”
“Alicia!” came Matías’s euphoric voice, as he welcomed her with a warm smile.
Matías was a small man with nervous gestures. He sported a white lab coat and round spectacles that enlarged his eyes and gave him a rather comical appearance. “It’s been a long time,” he cried, visibly excited. “I thought you’d left Barcelona. When did you come back?”
Serafina watched, half hidden behind the back-room curtain, with eyes as black as tar and an unfriendly expression.
“Matías, this is my colleague, Don Juan Manuel Vargas.”
Matías studied him as he shook his hand.
“You have an impressive collection here, Don Matías,” Vargas said.
“Oh, most of the pieces are the work of Señor Soler, the founder of the establishment. My teacher.”
“Matías is very modest,” Alicia interrupted. “Tell him about the bull.”
Matías shook his head humbly.
“Don’t tell me you also stuff fighting bulls?” asked Vargas.
“No task is impossible for him,” said Alicia. “A few years ago a famous matador came here and asked Matías to stuff a beast weighing over five hundred kilos. He’d fought it that afternoon at the Monumental bullring and wanted to present it to a film star with whom he was madly in love . . . Wasn’t it Ava Gardner, Matías?”
“The things we do for women, eh?” added Matías, who obviously preferred not to broach the subject.
Serafina coughed threateningly from her sentry post; Matías stood at attention and his smile disappeared.
“So, what can I do for you? Do you have a pet you wish to immortalize? Some memorable piece of game?”
“The truth is that we have a rather unusual request,” Alicia began.
“Unusual is usual here. A few months ago, Salvador Dalí himself came through this door to ask whether we could stuff two hundred thousand ants for him. It’s not a joke. When I told him I thought it wasn’t feasible, he offered to paint my Serafina in an altarpiece of insects and cardinals. Quirks of genius. As you can see, we’re never bored here . . .”
Alicia pulled the notebook out of her handbag and opened it. “What we wanted to ask you is whether you could help us decipher the text that appears in relief on this page, using your lenses.”
Matías took the paper carefully and examined it against the light. “Alicia always with her mysteries, eh? Come into the workshop. Let’s see what can be done.”
The taxidermist’s workshop and laboratory was a small cave of alchemy and wonders. A complex device with lenses and spotlights hung from the ceiling on metal cables. The walls were crammed with glass cabinets, filled with countless bottles and chemical solutions. Large ochre-coloured anatomical atlases flanked the room, presenting the visitor with images of the internal organs, skeletons and muscles of all types of creatures. Two wide slabs of marble dominated the workshop’s centre, making the room look like an operating theatre conceived for otherworldly specimens. Next to the slabs, small metal tables covered with crimson cloths displayed a collection of the most extravagant surgical instruments Vargas had ever seen.
“Don’t mind the smell,” the taxidermist warned. “After a few minutes you won’t even notice it.”
Doubting this, but not wishing to contradict Matías, Alicia accepted the chair she was being offered next to one of the tables and smiled affectionately at him, aware of the longing in the eyes of her old suitor.
“Serafina never comes in here,” he said. “She says it smells of dead bodies. But I find it relaxing. Here one sees things the way they are, with no illusions or deceits.” He took the piece of paper and extended it over a glass plate. Using a dimmer close to the marble table, he lowered the main light until it was barely visible, then turned on a couple of spotlights hanging from the ceiling. Next, he tugged at a bar held up by pulleys, bringing down a set of lenses articulated on metal arms.
“You never said goodbye,” he said without looking up from his work. “I had to find out through the caretaker, Jesusa.”
“It was all a bit of a rush, from one day to the next.”
“I understand.” Matías placed the glass plate between one of the spotlights and a magnifying glass. The beam of light outlined the marks on the page. “Numbers,” he remarked.
Adjusting the angle of the magnifying glass, he studied the page with great care. “I could apply a contrast to the paper, but that would probably damage it and we might lose some of the digits . . .”
Vargas went up to a desk in a corner of the room, picking up a couple of blank pieces of paper and a pencil.
“May I?” he asked.
“Of course. Feel free.”
The policeman came over to the table and, his eyes fixed on the magnifying lens, began to copy the numbers.
“They look like numbers in a series,” suggested Matías.
“Why do you say that?” Alicia asked.
“They’re correlated,” Matías replied. “If you observe the first three digits of the column on the left, they seem to be part of a series. The rest is also in a sequence. The last two digits only change every three or four numbers.”
Matías paused to look at them both with a note of irony. “I suppose it’s not worth my asking you what your job is?”
“I’m just an errand boy,” Vargas replied, still copying down the numbers.
Matías nodded and gazed at Alicia. “I wanted to send you a wedding invitation, but I didn’t know where to send it.”
“I’m sorry, Matías.”
“It doesn’t matter. Time is a great healer, isn’t it?”
“That’s what they say.”
“Over the moon.”
Matías laughed. “Same old Alicia . . .”
“Unfortunately. I hope Serafina doesn’t mind that I’ve come here.”
Matías sighed. “Well, I imagine she has some idea of who you are. There’ll be a bit of trouble at dinnertime, but that’s all. Serafina seems a bit surly when you don’t know her well, but she has a good heart.”
“I’m glad you’ve found someone who deserves you.”
Matías looked into her eyes but said nothing. Then he turned around and patted Vargas on the back. “Have you got it all?”
“I’m working on it,” said Vargas. He’d been trying to keep out of that hushed conversation, playing the role of the uninvited guest as he copied down the numbers on a piece of paper, barely daring to speak.
“Perhaps we could clip the paper onto a cellophane sheet and place it on the projector.”
“I think I’ve got it all,” said Vargas.
Alicia had risen and was wandering around the room as if she were in a museum. Matías watched her, his head lowered. “You’ve known each other for a while?” he asked Vargas.
“Just a few days. We’re working together on an administrative job, that’s all.”
“Quite a character, right?”
“Excuse me?”
“Alicia.”
“Yes, she does have her ways.”
“Does she still use the harness?”
“Harness?”
“I made it for her, you know. Made to measure. A masterpiece, though I shouldn’t say so myself. I used whalebone and tungsten tapes. It’s what we call an exoskeleton. So fine, so lightweight and articulated it’s almost like a second skin. She’s not wearing it today. I know because of the way she moves. Remind her that she must use it. It’s for her own good.”
Vargas nodded, as if he understood what the taxidermist was talking about, and finished taking down the last numbers. “Thank you, Matías,” he said. “You’ve been a great help.”
“My pleasure.”
The policeman stood and cleared his throat. Alicia turned, and they exchanged glances. Vargas nodded. She approached Matías and gave him a smile that Vargas thought must have hurt him like a stab.
“Well,” said Matías tensely. “I hope we won’t have to wait another few years to meet again.”
“I hope not.” Alicia hugged him and whispered something in his ear. Matías nodded, although he left his arms hanging, not putting them around Alicia’s waist. After a bit she walked off towards the front door without saying another word.
Matías waited to hear her leave the workshop. Only then did he turn around. Vargas held out his hand, and the taxidermist shook it.
“Take good care of her, Vargas, because she’s not going to take care of herself.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Matías smiled weakly and nodded. He was a man who seemed young, Vargas thought, until you looked into his eyes and saw a soul aged by sadness and remorse.
As Vargas walked across the exhibition hall, past the animals posing in the dark, Serafina came out to meet him. “Don’t bring her here again,” she warned. Her eyes burned with anger, and her lips trembled.
Outside, Alicia was leaning on the edge of the fountain in the square, rubbing her right hip and grimacing with pain. Vargas walked over and sat beside her.
“Why don’t you go home and rest?” he said. “Tomorrow’s another day.”
One look at Alicia was all he needed to offer her a cigarette, and they sat smoking in silence.
“Do you think I’m a bad person?” she asked at last.
Vargas stood and held out his arm. “Come on, lean on me.”
In that way, limping and stopping every ten or fifteen metres to ease the pain, they managed to reach her front door. When she tried to pull the keys out of her bag, they fell on the ground. Vargas picked them up, opened the door and helped her in. Alicia leaned on the wall, moaning. The policeman checked the staircase and, without saying a word, picked her up in his arms and headed up the stairs.
By the time they reached the top floor, Alicia’s face was covered in tears of pain and anger. Vargas carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. He removed her shoes and put a blanket over her. The bottle with the pills was on the bedside table.
“One or two?” he asked.
“Two.”
“Are you sure?”
He gave her two pills and poured a glass of water from the jug on the chest of drawers. Alicia swallowed the pills, breathing with difficulty. Vargas held her hand and waited for her to calm down.
She looked at him, her eyes reddened and her face streaked with tears. “Don’t leave me alone, please.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Alicia tried to smile. He turned off the light.
“Get some rest.”
He kept her hand in his, listening to her in the dusky room as she held back her tears and shook with pain. Half an hour later he felt her grip loosen as she slipped into a state midway between delirium and sleep, murmuring words that made no sense to him. At last she slowly fell asleep, or lost consciousness. The faint light of evening filtered through the window, outlining her face on the pillow. For a moment Vargas thought she looked dead, and he checked her pulse. Were those tears caused by the wound on her side, or did the pain come from somewhere deeper?
After a while he too began to feel worn out. He retired to the dining room to lie on the sofa, closing his eyes and breathing in Alicia’s scent, which lingered in the air.
“No, I don’t think you’re a bad person,” he murmured under his breath, surprising himself. “But sometimes you scare me.”