14

Mother usually spent mornings at the shop. As soon as she entered she raised her eyebrows and didn’t lower them again until she left. As soon as she entered she considered everyone an enemy to be distrusted. It seems that’s a good method. First she attacked Mr Berenguer and came out the winner because her surprise attack had caught him with his guard down and he was unable to fight back. When he was very, very old, he explained it to me himself, I think with a hint of admiration towards his bosom enemy. I never would have thought that your mother knew what a promissory note was or the differences between ebony and cherry wood. But she knew that and she knew many things about the shady dealings that your father—

‘Shady dealings?’

‘More like murky.’

So Mother took the reins at the shop and began to say you do this and you do that, without having to look them in the eye.

‘Mrs Ardèvol,’ said Mr Berenguer one day, entering Mr Ardèvol’s office, which he had tried, unsuccessfully, to convert into Mr Berenguer’s office. And he said Mrs Ardèvol with his voice sullied by rage. She looked at him, with an eyebrow raised and in silence.

‘I should think that I have some rights earned over so many years of working at the highest level. I am the expert in this shop; I travel, I buy and I know the buying and selling prices. I know how to negotiate prices and, if necessary, I know how to swindle. I am the one your husband always trusted! It’s not fair that now I … I know how to do my job!’

‘Well, then do it. But from now on I will be the one who says what your job is. For example: of the three console tables from Turin, buy two if they don’t give you the third for free.’

‘It’s better to have all three. That way the prices will be m

‘Two. I told Ottaviani that you would go there tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’

It wasn’t that he minded travelling; in fact, he enjoyed it immensely. But going to Turin for a couple of days meant leaving the shop in the hands of that witch.

‘Yes, tomorrow. Cecília will go and pick up the tickets this afternoon. And come back the day after tomorrow. And if you think you need to make a decision that isn’t the one we’ve discussed, check with me by telephone.’

Things had changed in the shop. Mr Berenguer was so constantly surprised that he hadn’t shut his mouth in weeks. And Cecília had spent that same time carefully trying to conceal her smugly innocent smile; she hid it pretty well, but not perfectly because she wanted Mr Berenguer to see that for once she had the whip hand. Vengeance is so sweet.

But Mr Berenguer didn’t see it the same way and that morning, before Mrs Ardèvol arrived at the shop to put everything on its head, he stood in front of Cecília, with his hands on her desk and his body leaned towards her, and said what the hell are you laughing about, eh?

‘Nothing. Just that finally someone is getting things in order and keeping you on a short lead.’

Mr Berenguer debated between smacking her and strangling her. She looked into his eyes and added that’s what the hell I’m laughing about.

It was one of the few times that Mr Berenguer lost control. He went around the desk and grabbed Cecília’s arm roughly, so hard that he sprained it, and she shrieked with pain. So when Mrs Ardèvol entered the shop, after the ten o’clock bells had rung, into a silence so thick it could only be cut with a straight razor, all sorts of bad things could happen.

‘Good morning, Mrs Ardèvol.’

Cecília couldn’t pay much attention to the boss because a customer came in with an urgent need to buy two chairs that matched the chest of drawers in the photo, you see, with these kind of legs, you see?

‘Come to my office, Mr Berenguer.’

They prepared the trip to Turin in five minutes. Then, Mrs Ardèvol opened Mr Ardèvol’s briefcase and pulled out a file, put it on the desk and, without looking at her victim, said now you’ll have to explain why this, this and this don’t add up. The buyer paid twenty and fifteen went into the till.

Mrs Ardèvol began to drum her fingers on the desk, deliberately imitating the best detective in the world. Then she looked at Mr Berenguer and passed him this, this and this, which were the accounts of about a hundred objects defrauded from the company. Mr Berenguer looked, with a disgusted face, at the first this and he’d had enough. How the hell had that woman been able …

‘Cecília helped me,’ said Mother as if she could read his thoughts, the way she did to me. ‘I wouldn’t have been able to on my own.’

Fucking cunts, both of them. That’s what I get for working with women, damn it.

‘When did you start this illegal practice that goes against the company’s interests?’

Dignified silence, like Jesus before Pilate.

‘The very beginning?’

Even more dignified silence, surpassing Jesus’s.

‘I will have to turn you in.’

‘I did it with Mr Ardèvol’s permission.’

‘Come on now!’

‘Do you doubt my word?’

‘Of course! And why would my husband allow you to swindle us?’

‘It’s not swindling anyone: it’s adjusting prices.’

‘And why would my husband allow you to adjust prices?’

‘Because he recognised that my salary was low considering all I do for the shop.’

‘Why didn’t he raise it?’

‘You’ll have to ask him that. Excuse me. But it’s true.’

‘Do you have any document proving that?’

‘No. It was a verbal agreement.’

‘Well, I will have to turn you in.’

‘Do you know why Cecília gave you those receipts?’

‘Because she wants my ruin.’

‘Why?’ Mother, curious, leaning back in her chair with a questioning stance.

‘It’s a long story.’

‘Go ahead. We have time. Your plane leaves in the mid-afternoon.’

Mr Berenguer sat down. Mrs Ardèvol placed her elbows on the desk and held up her chin with both hands. She looked him in the eye, inviting him to speak.

‘Come on, Cecília, we don’t have time.’

Cecília made that lewd smile she did when no one was watching and she let Mr Ardèvol grab her by the hand and take her into his office, here.

‘Where is Berenguer?’

‘In Sarrià. Emptying out the Pericas-Sala flat.’

‘Didn’t you send Cortés?’

‘He doesn’t trust the heirs. They want to hide things.’

‘What sneaks. Take off your clothes.’

‘The door is open.’

‘More exciting. Take off your clothes.’

Cecília naked in the middle of the office, her eyes lowered and that innocent smile of hers. And I wasn’t emptying out the Pericas-Sala flat because the inventory was very specific and if even a drawing-pin were missing I would have demanded it back. The nasty girl, sitting on top of this desk, doing things to your husband.

‘You get better every day.’

‘Someone could come in.’

‘You just do your job. If someone comes in, I’ll deal with them. Can you imagine?’

They started laughing like crazy as they knocked things over and made a mess, the inkwell fell to the floor and you can still make out the stain, see?

‘I love you.’

‘Me too. You’ll come with me to Bordeaux.’

‘What about the shop?’

‘Mr Berenguer.’

‘But he doesn’t even know where the

‘Don’t stop what you’re doing. You’ll come to Bordeaux and we’ll have a party every night.’

Then the little bell on the door sounded and in came a customer who was very interested in buying a Japanese weapon he’d looked at the week before. While Fèlix helped him, Cecília did what she could to tidy up her appearance.

‘Can you help him, Cecília?’

‘One moment, Mr Ardèvol.’

Without underwear, trying to erase the trail of lipstick smudged all over her face, Cecília emerged from the office bright red and waved for the customer to follow her while Fèlix watched the scene with amusement.

‘And why are you telling me this, Mr Berenguer?’

‘So you know everything. It went on for years.’

‘I don’t believe a word.’

‘Well, there’s more. And we are all tired of the song and dance.’

‘Go ahead, I already told you, we’ve got time.’

‘You are a coward. No, no, let me speak: a coward. It’s been five years of the same old song and dance, yes, Cecília, next month I’ll tell her everything, I swear. Coward. Coward. Five years of excuses. Five years! I’m not a little girl. (…) No, no, no! I’m talking now: we will never live together because you don’t love me. No, you be quiet, it’s my turn to talk. I said be quiet! Well, you can stick your sweet words up your arse. It’s over. Do you hear me? What? (…) No. Don’t say a word. What? Because I’ll hang up when I’m good and ready. No, sir: quan a mi em roti.’

‘I already told you that I don’t believe a word. And I know of which I speak.’

‘As you wish. I suppose I’ll have to look for a new job.’

‘No. Each month you’ll pay me back a part of what you’ve stolen and you can continue working here.’

‘I’d rather leave.’

‘Then I will turn you in, Mr Berenguer.’

Mother pulled a sheet with some figures out of her briefcase.

‘Your salary, from now on. And here is the amount you won’t receive, as the repayment. I want you to give back every last red cent and from prison you won’t be able to do that. So what do you say, Mr Berenguer? Yes or yes?’

Mr Berenguer opened and closed his mouth like a fish. And he still had to feel Mrs Ardèvol’s breath on his face. She had sat up and leaned over the desk, to say, in a soft voice, if anything funny happens to me, you should know that I have all this information and instructions for the police in a notary’s safe in Barcelona, on the twenty-first of March of nineteen fifty-eight; signed, Carme Bosch d’Ardèvol. Notary xxx bore witness. And after another silence she repeated yes or yes, Mr Berenguer?

And while she was at it, seizing the momentum, she requested an appointment with Barcelona’s Civil Governor, the loathsome Acedo Colunga. In her role as General Moragues’s widow, Mrs Carme Bosch d’Ardèvol went before the Governor’s personal secretary and demanded justice.

‘Justice for what, madam?’

‘For my husband’s murder.’

‘I will have to look into it in order to know what you are referring to.’

‘The form they had me fill out explained the reason behind my request to be seen. In detail.’ Pause. ‘Have you read it?’

The Governor’s secretary looked at the papers he had in front of him. He read them carefully. The black widow, trying to even out her breathing, thought what am I doing here, wasting my breath over a man who ignored me from the very start and never loved me in his entire ffucking life.

‘Very well,’ said the secretary. ‘And what do you want?’

‘To speak with His Excellency the Civil Governor.’

‘You are already speaking with me, which is the same thing.’

‘I wish to speak with the Governor personally.’

‘That’s impossible. Forget about it.’

‘You cannot do that.’

And she could not do it. When she left the governor’s offices, her legs shaking with rage, she decided to let it go. Perhaps she was more worried about the miraculous apparition of my guardian angel than the disdain of the Francoist authorities. Or the maddening insistence of various parties that Fèlix was an impossibly compulsive fornicator. Or, who knows, maybe she’d finally arrived at the conclusion that it wasn’t worth her while demanding justice for a man who had been so unjust with her. Yes. Or no. Really I have no idea, because after Father, the biggest question mark in my life, before meeting you, has always been my mother. I can say that, only two days later, things shifted slightly and her plans changed, and that I can speak of first-hand without making any of it up.

‘Rrrrrrrrinnnnnnng.’

I opened the door. Mother had just arrived from wreaking havoc in the shop and I think she was in the bathroom. The first thing that entered the house was the stench of Commissioner Plasencia’s tobacco.

‘Mrs Ardèvol?’ He screwed up his face in what may have been an attempt at a smile. ‘We’ve met, haven’t we?’ he said.

Mother had the Commissioner and his stench enter the study. Her heart went boom, boom, boom and mine went bam, boom, bom because I urgently assembled Black Eagle and Carson, without his horse, to avoid making any noise. Little Lola was in the gallery with the window, so I had to do something desperate and I slipped, like a thief, behind the sofa just as Mother and the policeman were sitting down and making noise with their chairs. It was the last time I used the sofa as a base for spying: my legs were too long. Mother went out to tell Little Lola not to let anyone disturb her even if the shop is on fire, you hear me, Little Lola? And she turned around and closed the door with the five of us inside.

‘Commissioner.’

‘It seems you’ve tried to discredit me to His Excellency the Civil Governor.’

‘I’m not discrediting or criticising anyone. I am only demanding the information I am owed.’

‘Well, now I will give you the information and let’s see if you can make an effort to understand the situation.’

‘Let’s see,’ she said sarcastically. And I applauded her in silence, as the best wife of the best palaeographer in the world had done.

‘I am sorry to tell you that if we dig into your husband’s life we will find unpleasant things. Do you want to hear them?’

‘Of course.’

I suppose that Mother, after the appearance of my Italian angel (I lovingly touched the medallion I secretly wore around my neck), was prepared for anything. So she added, go ahead, Commissioner.

‘I warn you that you’ll say I’m making things up and you won’t believe me.’

‘Very well.’

The Commissioner paused and then he began to tell her the truth and nothing but the truth. He explained that Mr Fèlix Ardèvol was a criminal who ran two brothels in Barcelona and had got involved in a shady affair of inducing a minor into prostitution. Do you know what a whore is, madam?

‘Il fait déjà beaucoup de temps que son mari mène une double vie, madame Agdevol. Deux prostíbuls (prostiboules?) with l’agreujant (agreujant?) de faire, de … de … d’utiliser des filles de quinze ou seize ans. Je suis désolé d’être obligé de parler de tout ça.’

My foot had calmed down, thankfully, because my French was awful that day and I could go back to the Commissioner’s difficult, muttered Spanish. I think Carson winked at me when he saw that I managed to control my foot.

‘Do you want me to continue, madam?’

‘It seems that the father of one of these girls your husband prostituted took his revenge. Because before locking them up in the brothel, he tried them out personally. Do you understand me?’ With some emphasis: ‘He deflowered them.’

‘That’s two.’

‘Yes: brothel and deflower.’

‘It’s awful and hard to believe. Put yourself in those girls’ skins. Or the father of those girls’. Mind if I smoke?’

‘Yes, I do, Commissioner.’

‘If you’d like, we can investigate and find the desperate father who disappeared after taking justice into his own hands. But any movements on our part will make your husband’s unwholesome life more public.’

Silence. My foot threatened to bouger encore une fois. Little sounds. The Commissioner was probably putting away the small cigar he’d been denied. Suddenly, Mother: ‘Do you know what, Commissioner?’

‘You’re completely right. I don’t believe a word. You are making this up. Now I need to know why.’

‘You see? You see? I warned you.’ Raising his voice: ‘Didn’t I? Eh?’

‘That’s no argument.’

‘If you aren’t afraid of the consequences, I can keep pulling on loose ends. But only your husband knows what we’ll find.’

‘Farewell, Commissioner. I have to admit it was a good try.’

Mother spoke like Old Shatterhand, a bit cocksure. I liked it. Carson and Black Eagle were so gobsmacked that Black Eagle, that evening, asked me if I would call him Winnetou. I refused. Mother had said farewell and they hadn’t even stood up yet! Since she had started cracking the whip in the shop she had got much better at setting a scene. Because Commissioner Plasencia could only stand up and mutter something incoherent. And I was left wondering whether what the Commissioner had said about Father, which I hadn’t entirely understood, was true or not.

‘Yes. Brothel and what was the other one?’

‘Depowder?’ suggested Carson.

‘I don’t know. Something like that.’

‘Well, let’s look up brothel. In the Espasa dictionary.’

‘Brothel: whorehouse, bawdyhouse, cathouse.’

‘Wow. We’ll have to look up whorehouse now. Here, in this volume.’

‘Whorehouse: brothel, bawdyhouse, house of ill repute.’

Silence. All three of them were still confused.

‘And bawdyhouse?’

‘Bawdyhouse: whorehouse, cathouse, brothel. That’s annoying. Place or house that serves as a den of iniquity.’

‘Now cathouse.’

‘Cathouse: whorehouse, brothel.’

‘Hey, wait. House or place that lacks decorum and is filled with noise and confusion.’

So Father had cathouses, which are noisy public houses. And they had to kill him for that?

‘What if we look up depowder?’

‘How do you say depowder in Spanish?’

They were silent for a little while. Adrià was confused.

‘That’s all about sex, not noise.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure. When a warrior reaches adulthood, the shaman explains the secrets of sex to him.’

‘When I reach adulthood, nobody’s going to explain any sex secrets to me.’

Slightly bitter silence. I heard someone spitting curtly.

‘What is it, Carson?’

‘I could you tell you a few things.’

‘So, come on, tell me.’

‘No. You aren’t the right age for some things.’

Sheriff Carson was right. I was never the right age for anything. I was either too young or I’m too old.