THAT AFTERNOON, IGNORING common sense, Alicia walked down the stairs with an inkling of where her feet would take her. The shops on Calle Fernando were already lit up, shedding strokes of colour on the pavement. A scarlet halo faded in the sky, outlining cornices and rooftops high above the street. People came and went on their way to the metro station, their daily shopping, or their ticket to oblivion. Alicia joined the flow of pedestrians towards the City Hall square, where she passed a squadron of nuns flocking in perfect formation. She smiled at them, and one nun crossed herself at the sight of her. She continued navigating the river of walkers along a street bordering the walls of the cathedral.
There she walked under the papier-mâché Gothic bridge, letting herself be enveloped, as the tourists were, by the charm of that medieval-looking citadel, a set design most of which was barely ten years older than her. Past the bridge, a photographer on the hunt for liquid shadows had mounted a fabulous Hasselblad on a tripod and was framing the perfect composition and exposure for the fairy-tale image. He was a severe-looking individual with shrewd eyes hiding behind enormous square glasses, which conferred on him the air of a wise, patient turtle.
The photographer became aware of her presence and gazed at her with curiosity. “Would you like to look through the lens, mademoiselle?”
Alicia nodded timidly. The photographer showed her how to do it. She peeped into the artist’s eyes and laughed at the perfect artifice of shadows and perspectives he’d created, reinventing a corner she had passed by hundreds or thousands of times in her life.
“The eye sees; the camera observes,” the photographer explained. “Like it?”
“It’s astonishing,” Alicia admitted.
“This is just the composition and the perspective. The secret is in the light. You must look through the lens, imagining there will be a liquid glow. The shadow will be tinged by a soft, evanescent layer, as if it had been raining light . . .”
The photographer had all the hallmarks of a true professional, and Alicia wondered where that image would end up.
The turtle of the magic light read her thoughts. “It’s for my book,” he explained. “What’s your name?”
“Alicia.”
“Don’t be alarmed, but I’d like to take a picture of you, Alicia.”
“Of me? Why?”
“Because you’re a creature of light and shadow, like this city. What do you say?”
“Here? Now?”
“No. Not now. Something on your mind is weighing you down today, and doesn’t allow you to be yourself. And the camera would pick that up. At least, mine would. I want to take a picture of you when you’ve taken that load off your mind and the light can see you as you are, not as you’ve been made to be.”
Alicia blushed for the first and last time in her life. She had never felt so naked as she did, facing the eyes of that peculiar character.
“Think about it,” said the photographer. He pulled a card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her with a smile.
Alicia put the card away and hurried off, leaving the master alone with his art and his keen eye. Hiding among the crowds teeming around the cathedral area, she pressed on, walking straight up Puerta del Ángel until she reached Calle Santa Ana and could see the window of the Sempere & Sons bookshop.
You’re still in time not to ruin everything. Walk past and keep walking.
She positioned herself on the other side of the street, taking shelter in a doorway from which she could see inside the shop. The sombre blue evening of a Barcelona winter was falling over the city, an invitation to defy the cold and wander through the streets.
Leave this place. What do you think you can do?
She caught sight of Bea helping a customer. Next to her stood an older man who Alicia guessed must be her father-in-law, Señor Sempere. Little Julián was sitting on the counter, leaning on the cash register, engrossed in a book that he held over his knees, a book almost bigger than him. Alicia smiled.
Suddenly Daniel emerged from the back room, carrying a pile of books that he left on the counter. Julián raised his head and looked at his father, who ruffled his hair. The boy said something, and Daniel laughed. He leaned over and kissed the boy’s forehead.
You have no right to be here. This is not your life, and this isn’t your family. Clear off and crawl back to the hole you came out of.
She observed Daniel as he sorted out the books he’d left on the counter. He was separating them into three different piles, almost stroking them as he dusted them and lined them up neatly. She wondered what the touch of those hands and those lips would be like. She forced herself to turn her head and move away a few steps. Was it indeed her duty, or her right, to reveal what she knew to people who surely would live more happily in blissful ignorance? Happiness, or the closest to it any moderately intelligent creature can aspire to, spiritual peace, is what evaporates on the way between belief and knowledge.
One last look. To say goodbye. Goodbye forever.
Before she even realized it, she was standing opposite the shop window again. She was about to leave when she noticed that little Julián was watching her, as if he’d smelled her presence. Alicia stood motionless in the middle of the street, the people walking past dodging her as if she were a statue. With considerable skill, Julián clambered off the counter, using a stool as a step. Without his parents noticing – Daniel was wrapping up the books, and Bea, together with her father-in-law, was still with the customer – Julián walked across the shop to the door and opened it. He stood in the doorway looking at Alicia, grinning from ear to ear. Alicia shook her head. Julián started to walk over to her. By then Daniel had realized what was happening, and his lips formed his son’s name. Bea turned around and rushed into the street. Julián had reached Alicia’s feet and was hugging her. She took him in her arms, and that is how Bea and Daniel found them.
“Señorita Gris?” asked Bea, midway between surprise and alarm. All the kindness and warmth Alicia had perceived in Bea the day they’d met seemed to have disappeared the moment Bea saw that stranger with her son in her arms.
Alicia handed the boy to Bea and swallowed hard. Bea hugged Julián tightly and took a deep breath. Daniel, who was looking at Alicia with a mixture of fascination and hostility, took a step forward and stood between her and his family.
“Who are you?”
“It’s Señorita Alicia Gris,” Bea explained behind him. “She’s a customer.”
Daniel gave a nod, but a shadow of a doubt fell on his face.
“I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. The boy must have recognized me, and . . .”
Julián was still staring at her, mesmerized, unaware of his parents’ concern. To make matters worse, Señor Sempere looked out of the shop door. “Have I missed something?” he said.
“Nothing, Dad, just that Julián almost got away . . .”
“It’s my fault,” said Alicia.
“And you are . . .”
“Alicia Gris.”
“The lady who placed the big order? But please, come in, it’s cold outside.”
“In fact, I was just leaving . . .”
“I won’t hear of it. Besides, I see you’ve already made friends with my grandson. Don’t imagine he’ll go off with just anyone. Not at all.”
Señor Sempere held the door open and invited Alicia in. She exchanged glances with Daniel, who nodded, looking calmer now.
“Come in, Alicia,” Bea agreed.
Julián held a hand out to her.
“As you can see, you have no choice now,” said Granddad Sempere.
Alicia smiled and stepped into the shop. The perfume of books enveloped her. Bea had put Julián down on the floor. The child grabbed her hand and led her to the counter.
“He’s quite taken with you,” remarked the grandfather. “Tell me, have we met before?”
“I used to come here when I was a child, with my father.”
Sempere gazed at her. “Gris? Juan Antonio Gris?”
Alicia nodded.
“Good heavens! I can’t believe it . . . It must be years since I last saw him and his wife! They used to come by almost every week . . . Tell me, how are they?”
Alicia felt her mouth go dry. “They died. During the war.”
Grandfather Sempere sighed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Alicia tried to smile.
“So you have no family left?”
Alicia shook her head. Daniel noticed the young woman’s eyes shining with tears. “Dad, don’t interrogate her,” he said.
Granddad Sempere looked crestfallen. “Your father was a great man. And a good friend.”
“Thank you,” murmured Alicia, barely able to speak. An overlong silence ensued.
Daniel came to the rescue. “Would you like a drink? It’s my father’s birthday today, and we’re inviting all our customers to a glass of liqueur from Fermín’s vintage cellar.”
“I don’t recommend it,” whispered Bea behind Alicia’s back.
“By the way, where’s Fermín gone?” asked the granddad. “Shouldn’t he be back by now?”
“He should be,” said Bea. “I sent him to get the champagne for the dinner, but since he refuses to go to Don Dionisio’s grocery, he’s wandered off to some dive near the Borne. He says that Dionisio mixes rancid church wine with soda and a few drops of cat pee to give it colour. And I’m tired of arguing with him.”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said the grandfather, turning to Alicia. “Our Fermín is like that. When he was young, Dionisio was a member of the Falangist Party, and Fermín is always having a go at him. He’d rather die of thirst than buy a bottle of anything from him.”
“Happy birthday.” Alicia smiled.
“Listen, I’m sure you’ll say no, but . . . why don’t you stay and have dinner with us? There’ll be a big group, but . . . for me it would be an honour to have the daughter of Juan Antonio Gris among us tonight.”
Alicia looked at Daniel, who smiled weakly.
“Thank you so much, but—”
Julián gripped her hand.
“As you can see, my grandson insists. Go on, say you’ll stay. We’ll be among family.”
Alicia looked down and shook her head slowly. She felt Bea’s hand on her back and heard her whisper, “Stay.”
“I don’t know what to say . . .”
“Don’t say anything. Julián, why don’t you show Señorita Alicia your first book? Wait till you see this . . .”
Julián ran off to look for a notebook he had smudged with drawings, scribbles and incomprehensible inscriptions. He showed it to her enthusiastically.
“His first novel,” said Daniel.
Julián looked at her expectantly.
“It looks great . . .”
The child clapped, happy with the critical reception. Grandfather Sempere, who must have been the same age her father would have been had he lived, glanced at Alicia with the sad look that seemed to have followed him through life. “Welcome to the Sempere family, Alicia.”