78

ADRIANA

Sunday, November 25, 2012

I woke up as the first light of day spilled onto Iago’s bed, but he was no longer lying beside me. He hadn’t left a note either, so I prepared myself for having breakfast on my own, assuming that he had gone to the cemetery to spend some time by Lyra’s grave, as he had been doing for the past few weeks. As it turned out I was wrong, because he came home a short while later in an excellent mood.

“Do you want to spend the day out there?” he asked me with a smile.

For a moment I thought I caught a glimpse of an Iago free of concerns. I looked outside and nodded. It was a calm winter’s day, and a warm sun was caressing the bay, inviting people to abandon their lairs and venture outdoors. We got into my car, and I headed out of Santander.

“Did you have somewhere in mind?” I said, sounding him out, although I wasn’t sure he had heard me. He was looking out of the open window with a distracted air, closing his eyes when the breeze became too annoying. Despite that, nothing could wipe that mysterious smile from his face.

“You know, my father once told me you reminded him of Atalanta,” he said happily, ignoring my question.

“The one in the Greek myth? I vaguely remember it from when I studied Greek history as part of my degree. She spent her life running away, didn’t she?” I said, smiling.

“Right. I remember that when the lioness attacked you in Cabárceno, I thought it was the goddess Aphrodite sending us a warning, as happened in the original legend.”

“What would she have been warning us about?”

“According to the legend she got angry with Melanius because he and Atalanta didn’t consummate their love on sacred ground. That’s why she changed them into lions.”

So that was it. What was it with this mania the longevos had for wandering off the subject?

“Sacred ground?” I said. “Do you have somewhere in mind?”

“Well, what could be more sacred for a Cro-Magnon and an archaeologist than Monte Castillo?”

“To Monte Castillo, then.”

I smiled and abruptly changed the car’s direction.

Not long after, the conical hill presented itself in front of us, but when we had parked and I set off toward the entrance to the cave, Iago grabbed me by my arm.

“We’re going this way,” he indicated.

I followed him without understanding why, along a small path that was visible on the right, though it was covered by so much vegetation that it dissuaded people from attempting to head along it.

“Monte Castillo, as your grandfather might well have told you, is full of galleries and caves. What you don’t know yet is that many of them still haven’t been discovered. Today I’m going to show you an entrance my father and I use when we want to go into our home without asking permission.”

We walked for almost thirty minutes, heading farther and farther into the forest away from the entrance, until I lost all sense of direction. Iago noticed my confusion and slowed down. A short time later we stopped in front of a rock covered in moss that was partially obscured by the twisted trunk of a lime tree.

“It’s through here,” he said, showing me a narrow crevice I didn’t think I’d be able to squeeze through.

Against all odds, the two of us made it through and, holding hands, I accompanied Iago through a shadowy gallery until, some yards farther on, I made out the flickering light of an oil lamp. Intrigued, I continued on with him, turning around hidden corners and sliding down steep inclines, all of them marked out with small lamps like the first one. Finally, we reached the end of the gallery. To my surprise we weren’t alone. Héctor was waiting for us there, more Lür than ever, with a beard just like the one at the Monument to the Santander Fire, and strange ochre markings on his arms and his naked torso. Concentric circles around his neck and parallel lines from his shoulders to his wrists. Pure Paleolithic man.

He addressed us in the same language he and Iago had spoken the day Lyra died. It was only the second time I had heard it, but it sounded so distinctive that I recognized it immediately.

“Welcome, my children,” Iago translated for me.

Then I noticed Lür was holding a hollow tube in one hand and a small pot with a reddish mix of pigment in the other.

“We’ve always been linked to Mother Rock, and she has demonstrated that she has a memory,” Iago explained to me as he removed his long-sleeved T-shirt and displayed the same markings as his father. “The ochre has remained tattooed on the rock for millennia, and here it will remain. Dana, I’d like our union to be sealed in this sacred place. Do you agree to this?”

I nodded without shifting my gaze from his ancient eyes. I extended my hand and placed the back of it against the rock wall. It was cold and damp, but even so it felt welcoming, as if my skin naturally belonged there. I would never have expected it.

Iago placed his hand level with mine, and Lür blew on them, staining our hands red and leaving the silhouettes outlined on the rock.

“Now Mother Rock knows of your bond; be worthy of her,” Lür intoned, first in his language and then in mine.

Then Iago took a little of the ochre and spread it over the scar on my forehead. “Now you are one of us,” he said.

Not entirely , I thought.

When the ceremony was over, the three of us sat down, happy and relaxed. I remember that we chatted for hours. I was conscious that Lür was saying good-bye to us. I was also aware he and Iago had finally had that outstanding conversation, and Lür had relinquished his search for Nagorno. I could see it in Iago’s relaxed face. A completely happy man, finally.

“The hour has come,” said Lür, glancing at Iago’s watch. “You two have a Prehistory Hall to open, and I ought to go. I intend to be absent for a good while. Urko, my son, we’ll see each other at the solstice, a century from now.”

Then he turned to me.

“I guess I won’t see you again, then,” I said.

“Oh, I think you will,” he replied, looking at Iago and giving him a conspiratorial look I didn’t understand.

That was the last time I saw Héctor del Castillo. I watched his outline disappearing inside the cave, like one more shadow of the sort that used to hypnotize me when I was a little girl and used to accompany my grandfather on his visits to Monte Castillo.