“Uncle!” He heard behind him the little boy’s shrill voice.
Manuel turned and saw Samuel come running in that clumsy manner of small children, looking every moment as if he were about to fall flat on his face. Those cheeks flushed with the morning chill and the arms held out in insistent appeal brought a smile to his face as he reached down to receive the boy. He lifted the child high, deeply moved by the boy’s enthusiastic attention. Against his chest the boy’s body was as solid and uncontrollable as a huge fish, the little arms wrapped around Manuel’s neck like strong sprouting vines. The boy kissed his cheek with a smack that left the moist cold trace of his lips. Manuel held on to him, overwhelmed and not at all sure what to do as he waited for Elisa to catch up with them.
“I thought I could keep up!” she excused herself cheerfully as she tried to catch her breath. The youngster reached out, jumped down, and hurled himself toward her; she opened her arms and received him. “Come back to see us. We’d both love that.”
He nodded and then joined the administrator, who accompanied him in silence back to where they’d parked. When Manuel reached the car he turned to look back and saw the mother and son looking after them. Before he got into the car he waved, and they waved back.
THE LABORS OF THE HERO
The police weren’t surprised to see him. As soon as he mentioned álvaro Mu?iz de Dávila, an officer escorted him to the captain’s office. He hid his surprise at the sight of a copy of one of his novels on the desk. The captain expressed his condolences once more, brought out a cardboard box, opened it, and read out the inventory of the contents. “A wallet, eighty euros in cash, two sets of keys, identity documents, two cell phones, and a bag with the clothes, belt, and shoes removed at the hospital after his”—he cleared his throat—“his admission.”
“Two cell phones?”
“That’s not correct?”
“I suppose so,” he admitted in tacit acknowledgment of Nogueira’s cynical views. Why not? Two sets of keys, two phones, two lives. Why should he be surprised?
“I’m sorry, we haven’t located the wedding ring.”
Manuel nodded without knowing what to say. He stood up. “I’ll also need the keys to the car.”
“Of course. And please sign this receipt. It’s part of the routine when we transfer possession.” The captain clicked a ballpoint pen and held it out.
Manuel scrawled his signature. The captain held out the keys but then took them back at the last moment. “Se?or Ortigosa, would you autograph this for my wife?” He gestured at the book, with an uncertainty quite unlike the confidence he’d manifested up to that point.
Manuel looked at the dust jacket. He and álvaro had chosen it from two designs proposed by the publisher. Back in the days when every cover design and every translation into another language were miracles to be celebrated with champagne toasts.
The captain fell all over himself with apologies and jolted Manuel out of those memories. “I know this is hardly the best time to ask and maybe . . . if you’d rather not . . . I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Of course,” Manuel said, pocketing the keys and picking up the book. “What’s your wife’s name?”
He put the cardboard box into the trunk of his BMW. He would deliver it to Nogueira that night so the medical examiner could check the clothing. He put the two cell phones into his jacket pocket. He went out to the parking area to look for álvaro’s car. It was in the very back between two patrol cars, and from a distance it showed no sign of any accident. He didn’t intend to drive it away, since to do that he’d have to leave his own car behind. He hadn’t foreseen that complication. He went up to the vehicle and shaded his eyes to look inside. The interior looked clean and orderly except for a few dark spots on the seat and the steering wheel. He pressed the remote and unlocked the car.
And álvaro was there. Manuel sensed his presence as if they were standing shoulder to shoulder—the scent of his skin, the imprint of his life, his very essence. And it was as physical and real as if his ghost were about to appear or had just vanished.
Manuel reeled back in astonishment, his head spinning from the distinctive scent. His heart raced, his eyes filled with tears, and his knees buckled. He backed away, holding on to the adjacent patrol car and sliding in retreat along its entire length. He gasped in fright at the impact of the presence linked to the odor trapped in the cramped interior, as if a crystal bottle of strong perfume had suddenly exploded. He shut his eyes, trying to retain every atom of aroma, as it rapidly faded and lost itself in the vulgar smells of the rest of the world, robbing him of the miracle of álvaro’s instantaneous presence.
Devastated, he shook his head and mentally cursed the torment that had played such a trick on him. In a final attempt to hold on to his husband, Manuel lunged forward and shut the car door, denying himself that aroma in a final attempt to keep the little that remained from vanishing forever. He sank down, shattered by álvaro’s absence, his eyes filled with tears of rage. He became aware of a young patrolman watching him, hesitant, concerned and yet afraid to approach.
“Are you all right, sir?” the officer asked with careful formality.
Manuel looked at him and almost broke into laughter. Here was that famous writer on the ground with his back against a police cruiser, weeping desperate tears, and the kid was asking if he was all right.
Yes, I fucking well am.
He groped in his pockets for a handkerchief he knew wasn’t there and encountered the ominous shape of the second cell phone from the undisclosed life. The touch of it was enough to exorcise álvaro and replace him with the memory of a stranger he’d once thought he knew. That humiliating realization cut short his blubbering with the power of a magic spell. He looked back at the car door, clicked the remote to lock it, and pushed himself to his feet. He brushed off the dirt. “Yes. Don’t worry, I’m fine. I just got a little dizzy.”
The young man didn’t say anything. He pressed his lips together and nodded.
Manuel sat motionless behind the wheel of his own car, too exhausted to drive and too confused to make any decisions. In his hand he held the latest model of an iPhone he’d never seen before. He inspected it anxiously. It was as sleek and black as some repulsive beetle guarding a secret that humanity couldn’t live without. He turned it on and the display warned that the battery was almost dead. He plugged it into his car’s phone charger and used his own cell phone to call Mei.
“Manuel?”
“Mei, álvaro had a business phone, different from his personal one.”
Mei didn’t reply immediately, and that provoked him. “For the love of God, Mei, I’m not asking for confirmation. I have it here. álvaro’s dead. There’s no reason to cover up for him.”
“I’m sorry, Manuel, that’s not what I was thinking. It’s just that I can’t get used to the idea . . . Yes, he had a second cell phone.”
“I assume it was billed to the office, since I knew nothing about it.”
“Yes, the statements came here. The firm paid.”
“All right, I need the itemized statements for this phone.”
“If you have the phone, you can use the app and see them yourself. But if you want me to send them, I can do that. Give me your address.”
“I’m staying at an inn. I’ll text it to you as soon as I hang up. I’ll need his appointment book with his meetings and travel.”
“Those are on his calendar in the iPhone. But I’ll send you a hard copy.”
He switched on álvaro’s business phone and swiped through the icons until he located the calendar. It displayed a jumble of notes, color-coded deadlines, assignments, and meetings. The confusing mess of notes and dates provided no hints or obvious clues.
“I need your help, Mei. How can I find one particular piece of information in all of this?”