“The old man offered him a deal. He more or less told his son, though certainly not in so many words, that he was aware of álvaro’s ‘condition’ and the life he was living in Madrid, because for all those years a detective agency had been providing him full reports. He said he’d given álvaro the freedom to live as he pleased all that time. He even hinted that he knew of your existence. None of it really mattered to him. ‘Every person has his own vices; I know it well because I have my own: gambling, betting, women . . . A man has to get it out of his system.’ álvaro couldn’t believe his ears. ‘I’m very ill. Cancer’s not going to kill me right away, but it’ll get me eventually, and when that happens, someone in this family’s going to have to take the reins and see to the estate and the businesses. Your brothers are good for nothing, and if I will it to your mother, she’ll just give it all to the Church.’ He said he knew they hadn’t gotten along since álvaro was a child, but he’d always admired álvaro’s courage. Though he was certain that the marquess would never accept anything concerning his ‘failing’ and he himself found it difficult to understand, he could put up with the fact his son had weaknesses just as he himself did. At that point in the conversation álvaro was beginning to think that perhaps, just perhaps, after all, his father, a man of the older generation educated in a different tradition, was admitting—insofar as such a man was capable of acknowledging such a thing—that he might be wrong.
“‘You must come back home, álvaro. I will put you in charge of all the family affairs, and I will execute a living will with you as the heir to everything except the title, which you’ll receive after I die, and I’ll do all of this immediately. Soon I’ll no longer be able to tend to our affairs, and I want to take advantage of the time remaining, knowing that everything has been secured and you’ll take care of our interests when I’m no longer here. You’re the only one qualified and able to do so, and I know you’ll safeguard the family honor, come what may. Come back home, marry a young woman of good family, and keep up appearances. Marriages of convenience are a long-standing tradition of the nobility. My marriage to your mother, arranged by my parents and hers, is the best example of the fact that such a pledge can be very convenient for both parties. You’ll be free to go off for flings in Madrid to help you blow off steam.’” Lucas paused. He studied Manuel’s eyes, conscious of the impact his revelation was having and hoping to see some sign of acceptance of it.
“Manuel, I said you were misjudging álvaro, that he was ashamed of them, not of you. álvaro had been expecting a reconciliation, and his father’s first words had seemed to promise a change of heart. He was crushed by the man’s hateful attitude and adamant rejection. álvaro stood up, looked his father in the eye, and answered, ‘All this I will give you if you fall down and worship me.’”
“The offer that the devil made to Jesus when he laid the world at his feet,” Manuel murmured.
Lucas nodded emphatically. His pride in his friend had been evident in the way he’d unconsciously straightened up to imitate álvaro’s defiant attitude. “His father didn’t answer. He looked away, shaking his head in total disgust. And of course you know what happened then. álvaro went back to Madrid and married you. For years he had no contact with his family, convinced that his refusal and disobedience meant he’d broken with them forever. He was astounded when after his father’s death, Gri?án called to say he’d inherited everything.”
“And at last álvaro accepted,” murmured Manuel, sickened by the thought.
“I don’t think he had any choice. What his father said about his brothers was true. Even as álvaro was trying to decide what to do, Fran’s sudden death complicated things horribly. Truly, Manuel, I don’t think he had any other option; but he did choose, and his choice was exactly the opposite of what his father wanted. He returned to live his true life in Madrid with you, leaving his hidden second life here.”
“But why, Lucas? You’re telling me all this as if he were a hero: his father’s rejection, his decision to live his own life and choose me over all that his father was offering. But why prolong it? Why keep hiding me from the eyes of his family if his father was dead? To spare the feelings of his mother and his brother? For God’s sake! This is the twenty-first century. Do you think it’d have been more traumatic for them to meet me three years ago than to face me now, in these circumstances?”
Lucas was upset. He’d obviously have given anything to be able to give a satisfactory answer to that question.
Manuel sighed in resignation. The alcohol had gone to his head, and the wine had dulled his emotions sufficiently for him to take a logical approach to a story that in other circumstances would have angered him and clouded his judgment. “His mother told me their father chose álvaro as his heir because of álvaro’s innate propensity for cruelty and the marquis’s conviction he’d do anything necessary, anything at all, for the sake of the family. And she said something else: álvaro had shown himself willing to defend his family’s sake before, on more than one occasion. You just said his father found him capable of doing anything to protect the family interests. Why were they so sure, Lucas? His mother told me her husband hadn’t made a mistake about him. What does that mean? What was this propensity for cruelty on álvaro’s part that prompted his father, despite álvaro’s disobedience, to make him the head of the family?”
Lucas stubbornly shook his head. “Pay no attention to her, Manuel. It’s meaningless. She said it only to hurt you.”
Manuel had no doubt of that, but he was also sure the Raven was telling the truth.
Daniel materialized behind them in the darkness. “We’ve finished for today. The warehouse team is locking up, and we’ll be back early tomorrow.” He noticed the empty bottles on the table and added, “I can leave you a key if you’re staying awhile longer. But I think it would be a good idea for me to give you both a ride home.”
Manuel got laboriously to his feet, staggered slightly, and gave them all a slightly foolish grin. “You know, that would probably—would probably be a good idea.”
THE AESTHETIC OF THE UGLY
Manuel became aware of the piercing brilliance of the morning light before opening his eyes. He was annoyed with himself for again having failed to close the wooden shutters the night before. He looked out upon a sullen gray dawn that belied the initial impression of luminosity. He heard the rattle of rain against the window. A timid sun peered between passing clouds with a momentary beam that shifted like a searchlight to illuminate here a tree or there a building, like a scene in experimental theater.
He couldn’t summon the energy to check the time. It looked early, the start of yet another day. It occurred to him that time had changed for him, and he was on a calendar of blank pages, all of them the same. The early confusion and lack of control of the first few days had been replaced by an immobile calm that reestablished balance by accepting whatever came and assuming that nothing mattered. álvaro’s death had removed anything that might have differentiated one day from the next. Acceptance gave him peace. It meant acknowledging absence and embracing the void. Dwelling in that merciful nothingness kept his soul from being torn to bits.
Café’s quiet snuffling and the rattle of rain against the windowpane assured that tranquility. Manuel heard the steady breathing of the little body pressed against his thigh. He pushed himself up a bit and was surprised to find that the shutters hadn’t been the only thing he’d neglected the night before. The bed was rumpled and wrinkled but the bedspread was still in place. He hadn’t crawled under the covers or even gotten out of his clothes.
He reached down to pet the dog. “Thanks for bringing me home, Café.”
The dog’s eyes opened for that evasive little glower. The little creature yawned.
“It must have been you. I don’t remember a thing.”
Café’s only answer was to leap off the bed, go to the door of the room, and sit there in perky expectation of a walk. The cell phone on the night table vibrated and beat a hollow tattoo on the thin wood of the tabletop. Manuel picked it up.
Nogueira’s voice was impatient. “I’m almost to your hotel. Get ready. We’ve got work to do.”
Manuel held the cell phone up close enough to make out the time. Nine o’clock in the morning. Baffled, he looked first at the dog waiting patiently before the door and then back at the phone.
“I don’t recall setting a time.”
“We didn’t. Something’s turned up.”
He studied his reflection in the mirror. He needed a shower and clean clothes. And a shave. “Listen, Nogueira, it’s going to take me a while. Ask the innkeeper to fix some eggs with chorizo. They’re from his own hens. And you can put it on my tab.”
“Fine, but don’t dawdle.”
Before the lieutenant rang off, Manuel looked over at Café waiting stolidly by the door. “Nogueira, the dog needs to go outside. Get out of your car and prop open the door to the bar so he can get outside. Hurry. He knows the way.”
He smiled as he clicked the button to cut off the lieutenant’s protests and let the dog out.