The young man filled a cup, and the older man laid slabs of cheese and a thick slice of bread on a plate. He slid it down the bar without a word. Manuel sipped the wine and tasted the cheese—very creamy but with a surprisingly intense and long-lasting flavor. He finished off the snack, realized he was still hungry, and asked for more wine.
The men carried on an animated conversation and laughed from time to time. When he listened closely he could make out some of the talk in Gallego, but he quickly lost interest. From where he stood watching the lady of the house tending to the kitchen—he assumed the older man leaning on the bar receiving his friends like a godfather was her husband—Manuel began to feel he’d slipped into the house of folks who were treating him with just the right amount of indifference to put him at ease. The tempest battering the shores of his soul gradually subsided, and his self-awareness reasserted itself.
He inspected his hands for evidence of the tension that had tormented him. There was none. He noticed, however, that the nails of his thumb and index finger were stained a brownish-yellow color from his nervous picking at the chunk of plane tree bark, scraping off small crescent-shaped pieces. Childhood memory reminded him it was useless to try to scrub those stains away, for they’d linger under his nails for days as tenaciously as walnut stains.
“Could I have some soup?” he asked.
The younger man motioned him to one of the tables. He gave Manuel a pitcher of wine, half a round loaf of fragrant brown bread, and two cloth napkins, one as a placemat and the other for his lap.
Manuel sat with his back to the door with a good view of the television, where a program from Galicia’s regional broadcasting service was playing with the sound muted. A bowl was placed before him almost immediately. He wouldn’t have dared to try to lift it with both hands. The young man warned him it was very hot.
The strong, salty aroma of the brew enveloped him. He tried a spoonful and then eagerly slurped the steaming liquid. Each spoonful comforted him with the deep flavor of greens and the strong taste of lard. The soup had the powerful consistency of a dish meant to strengthen body and soul, a welcome relief for travelers, and a source of warmth on winter nights. After finishing half of it he set down the spoon, picked up the bowl with both hands, and drank directly from it. He swallowed repeatedly and felt the fiery drafts of cauterizing brew descend to his stomach. His field of vision narrowed to the inside of the bowl, and his sensations were reduced to the most elemental. With the soup, he ate heavy dark bread so flavorful that he seemed to be tasting real bread for the first time in his life. Instead of dessert he had another piece of cheese and a pot-brewed coffee in a glass the lady of the house brought to him from the kitchen. She had to go outside and walk around the house to deliver it.
He paid a ridiculously small amount for that feast. He thanked the family sincerely when he said goodbye. He felt restored, as if he’d gone for a time to that ideal home portrayed in Christmas ads, the place of comfort we all yearn for. He stepped outside, returned to the towering plane trees, and pulled off another section of bark. He ceremoniously placed it on the dashboard of his vehicle where he could keep it in his sight.
Now he knew he’d be returning to As Grileiras.
CAFé
He drove up the driveway and parked next to the gardenia hedge. Two other vehicles were there, the veterinarian’s black all-wheel-drive SUV and a white pickup drawn up to the garden entrance with its tailgate lowered.
Santiago was walking toward the stables. He wore a tight-fitting blue long-sleeved shirt and trousers tucked into riding boots.
The newest marquis stopped in midstride and stared at him. Santiago’s expression clearly indicated he was offended and saw Manuel as an intruder. His disapproving stare of reproach and physical posture were those of an archangel defending the gates of paradise.
Manuel refused to be intimidated. He took his time removing his jacket and laying it carefully on the backseat. He locked his car and strode confidently toward the new marquis.
Despite his defiant posture Santiago was the first to speak, an indication he was unnerved by Manuel’s unannounced visit. “I didn’t know you were still in the area. I thought you’d left after the funeral.”
Manuel smiled. “I’d intended to, but I needed to clear up a couple of things.”
“Oh.” A shadow of uncertainty showed in Santiago’s face.
Manuel very nearly asked the marquis to share his thoughts. “I thought you might help.”
Perhaps the suggestion Manuel was still planning to leave encouraged Santiago. He was positive but far from effusive. “Of course, if I can.”
“You certainly can,” Manuel said firmly. “álvaro was here because of you.”
Santiago looked away for the first time, for just a moment, but when he met Manuel’s eyes again he was composed. His eyes glinted with steely dislike. “I have no idea what you’re referring to.” He shifted as if to resume his walk toward the stables.
“I hear you asked the administrator for three hundred thousand euros. That’s a huge sum. He telephoned álvaro. Whatever was going on was serious enough for him to drop everything and come here.”
Santiago looked away again and pressed his lips together in a childish pout. He obviously wasn’t used to having to account for his actions and looked as though he found this particularly annoying. Manuel had had his share of confrontations with surly students in his years as a university lecturer, and he knew how to handle such recalcitrance. He took pleasure in insisting. “Look at me!”
Santiago did so. His eyes burned with anger at this humiliation.
“álvaro came but he didn’t give you a cent. I want to know what you wanted it for.”
Santiago’s pout narrowed to a sneer; he sniffed loudly and squinted in scorn. “That’s none of your—” He bit his lower lip.
“Surprise, surprise. Yes, in fact, it is my business.” Manuel kept his tone even.
Santiago exhaled. “Very well.” He blurted out his reply as if trying to spit out the explanation and end this disagreeable conversation as quickly as possible. “It was for a horse. Last year álvaro agreed to add to the stables. As an investment. The administrator knew about it, and in the course of a few months we added a number of horses. A few days ago I had the opportunity to make a good deal on a racehorse, but the decision had to be made quickly. I asked my brother for the money, but because of a recent unfortunate business deal he didn’t trust my judgment. He didn’t approve the deal. That’s all.”
“And he came all the way out here to tell you he wasn’t going to authorize the funds?”
“I don’t know what made álvaro tick. You think I could tell you? You certainly know he had lots of business dealings. He never told me when he was going to pop up or disappear.” Santiago’s expression relaxed into the wicked ghost of a smile. “And apparently he didn’t tell you either.”
Manuel looked at Santiago with renewed interest, intrigued to find that this guy seemed to have guts after all. He wondered how long the man’s courage would last. He ignored Santiago’s gibe and challenged him instead. “And am I my brother’s keeper?”
Santiago jerked up his chin. In alarm or indignation? Was he surprised or intimidated when Manuel quoted Cain on the death of Abel?
Yelps and laughter from little Samuel distracted them. Catarina appeared with the boy in her arms. At her side, Elisa and Vicente were carrying armloads of flowers to the pickup. The boy shouted anew in his shrill voice, “Uncle! Uncle!”