“I alone was involved,” replied Gri?án. “álvaro made his desires clear on that point from the very first.”
A shadow passed over the kindly face of the executor. Manuel was about to ask about it, but Gri?án got to his feet. “Well, that’s enough for today. The driver will take you back to the hotel.” Manuel declined the offer of a ride. He wanted instead to walk through streets overhung by that odd sky of rain clouds, so he could think about what Gri?án had said.
“Very well,” the executor said. “Take the pills and get some sleep. You need it. I’ll come by tomorrow to pick you up and escort you to the funeral. We’ll have time to talk after that. But believe me when I say that it’s a relief to the whole clan not to have to take charge of the businesses. Not a single person you’ve seen today has lent a hand or shown the least interest in them. Family members don’t work; they’ve never worked, unless you count raising gardenias, hunting, or horse riding as work.”
Manuel left the management offices expecting gentle breezes outside, but instead the odd, cool September weather of Galicia gave him a rude shock. Instead of providing the mild reassurance he needed in order to think, it made him feel tired and hungry. His eyes burned from the brilliance reflected from the clouds. He felt like an orphan, a traveler from afar, alien to a city that refused to accept him. He hurried to seek refuge from the light, the voices, and the cacophony of the Greek chorus in his head.
He took the two pills Gri?án had given him and consumed half a bottle of mineral water. As he shed his clothing he looked down from his hotel room window at the facades of the buildings along the street. The cruel, inescapable light of the gray noonday sky overwhelmed their colors and decors. He closed the curtains and went to bed. He slept almost immediately.
He dreamed of a six-year-old boy who couldn’t stop crying. The child’s weeping awoke him, and in the darkness it took him a few moments to remember where he was. He slept again. The sky was completely dark when he again became aware of his surroundings. He rang room service and ordered a huge quantity of food. He devoured it while watching the evening news on television. After the meal he went back to bed and fell asleep again. He next opened his eyes at 5:00 a.m., just in time to see Clint Eastwood on the screen pointing a finger at him and pretending it was a pistol. The effect was just as threatening as if it were a real gun.
He felt clearheaded. For the first time since the beautiful sergeant in Madrid arrived with the bad news, he had overcome the sluggish confusion that had surrounded him as he trudged onward like a soul in purgatory. He settled into a curious serenity, relieved at last of the noisy mad-ghost voices that had hounded him since the sergeant told him of álvaro’s death. He recognized that serenity as his natural habitat. His lucid mind and unassuming thoughts were always distracted by noise and disorder. He sighed, realizing he was alone in the silence of the night. Completely alone. He looked around.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered to himself.
There was no answer. Eastwood gave him a steely glance with an unmistakable message: Get out of here. This is no time to look for trouble.
“I will,” he said aloud to the television screen.
It took only forty minutes to shower, shave, and pack his few belongings. He settled before the television and waited patiently until seven o’clock. Then he picked up his phone. He’d kept it turned off since the day before, but now he was going to call Gri?án. The phone listed forty-three missed calls, all of them from Mei. It began to vibrate as he looked down at it. He thought of not answering, but he knew Mei wouldn’t give up. He accepted the call, lifted the phone to his ear, and said nothing, too tired to deal with it.
She sobbed before she spoke. “Manuel, I’m so sorry. You have no idea how much this hurts. These have been the worst days of my life. I loved him, Manuel, you know that.”
He shut his eyes and just listened. He said nothing.
“I know you have every reason to be angry with me, but you should understand I was just doing what he told me. He said it was for your own good.”
“For my own good?” he exploded. “Lying to me for my own good? What kind of people are you? What kind of people would claim something like that is good for me?”
Mei’s distress on the other end became twice as loud. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! If only I could do something . . .”
Mei’s abject apology just made him that much angrier. He rose in fury, unable to contain himself. “Go ahead and be sorry. The two of you fucked up my life, the one I have now and everything I had before. Now I know. Everything I thought I could depend on was just one lie after another, and I was the only one being kept in the dark. I hope you enjoyed yourselves!”
“It wasn’t like that!” Mei shrieked, still racked with tears. “It’s not like that at all! álvaro loved you and so do I, and you know we’d never do anything to hurt you. álvaro told me that’s how things had to be, because he wanted to keep you safe.”
“Safe? Safe from what, Mei? What kind of crap story are you trying to put over on me now?” he shouted. He remembered where he was and desperately rubbed his face. He lowered his voice. He told her almost in a whisper, “I met the family. They’re not monsters, Mei; they don’t have two heads, and they don’t eat children. What I found here is a group of people as surprised and frightened as I am by what happened. The only person safe in this whole mess was álvaro. Safe from explaining, safe from the life with me he was ashamed of, safe to live his double life as a Spanish grandee!”
“A grandee?” Mei responded. “What on earth are you talking about?” The surprise in her voice sounded real.
“I’m astonished you didn’t know. álvaro’s family are aristocrats. He was a marquis.”
“I don’t know what you’re assuming, but the truth is that I knew hardly anything. Three years ago he told me his father had died and he had to take charge of the family businesses. From then on he ran them from this office. He said his family members were horrible, and he had no contact with them except for the businesses. He warned me they were very destructive, and he wanted to protect you from them, so you were never to know anything about them. I was supposed to avoid mentioning anything about them in front of you.”
“And that seemed normal to you?”
“Manuel, what was I supposed to do? He made me promise. And it didn’t seem so strange to me. Lots of gay men are estranged from their families. You know that.”
Manuel couldn’t find the words to respond.
“Manuel, I’m coming, I have my tickets and I take the train today at noon—”
“No.”
“Manuel, I want to be with you, I don’t want you to have to face this alone.”
His refusal was obdurate. “No.”
“Manuel!” She again burst into sobs. “If you don’t want me there, at least let me tell some of your friends . . .”
He sagged into the armchair, exhausted. The air escaped from his lungs in a long miserable sigh. “And what are you going to tell them, Mei? Since I still have no idea what I’m doing here or what happened? What was álvaro doing so far from home? I just want it all to be over so I can go home.”
She dissolved in tears on the other end of the line. Dazed with fatigue, he listened to her and felt an entirely justified envy of her ability to weep. His anguish seized his voice so fiercely his throat seemed to be tearing apart. He vomited all his anxiety in a rush of bile and resentment. “I’m fifty-two years old, Mei. I promised myself this would never happen again. I never thought álvaro would be the one to make me feel this way. This is more than I can handle. I’ve been here for two days, his funeral is in two hours, and I’m still not able to weep. You know why? Because I don’t understand a thing, because none of it makes sense. This is insane; it’s a goddamn tasteless practical joke.”