Sharing grief is the only way a good man can find release from his own pain. Each was afflicted. Nogueira carried within himself the devouring wolf of guilt for discovering himself to be that creature he most despised. Lucas, who’d been there on the day of horror and never known of it, now was horrified and frightened as he reviewed images that in this still hazy context took on new meaning. Ortu?o, the direct witness of the horror, ferocious at being stripped of his faith, was still dragging the appalling events of that night behind him, serving a life sentence without possibility of appeal.
Manuel looked up at them. They were supporting him and keeping him from falling to pieces even as they themselves crumbled. These devastated and guilt-ridden men were nevertheless capable of empathy and pity. Manuel felt a profound gratitude toward them, toward all men who take responsibility for the horrors committed by others, who condemn themselves for injustices wrought elsewhere. He couldn’t contain his tears. His very soul gave way, the final strong dike burst, the rush of emotion engulfed him so violently he struggled against the temptation to give up and drown. But he was not alone, for they were with him. He embraced Lucas, covered Nogueira’s hand with his own, and met Ortu?o’s eyes as he returned the pressure of the man’s hand.
A very long time later newly brewed cups of coffee stood on the table. Ortu?o stared downcast at them. His body language made it clear he was still deeply conflicted. With elbows planted on the table he leaned forward, his hands over his mouth, fingers intertwined, and he stayed in that position for a long time. He looked as if he were officiating at a ceremony or praying over the untouched coffee Susa had served them to help counteract the effects of the brandy. Ortu?o sat as if hypnotized. His gaze pierced the veil of time and penetrated the shadows of the material world to return to that night.
“That was more than thirty years ago. I’ve never been able to forget those children. That night, the little one seemed to be recovering as the hours passed. The older boy, on the other hand, understood the enormous gravity of what he’d done, but a calm settled over him, as if the event were both devouring him and strengthening him. After the little one fell asleep I convinced álvaro to sit down with me for the breakfast they’d delivered. His appetite amazed me. Years later when I served as a medic in Bosnia, I saw soldiers react the same way: they consumed their food with ferocious appetite but never looked at it. Their eyes were fixed on the void. When at last I managed to attract his attention back from that place where soldiers go, I asked him what had happened in Brother Verdaguer’s room. He answered with the absolute calm of someone who’s come to terms with disaster. ‘What happened is that I killed a man.’ And then he told me.
“Verdaguer gave special tutoring to boys who were falling behind, and apparently the little boy wasn’t doing too well in class. Santiago stayed every afternoon for an hour of extra tutoring. That wasn’t unusual; many boys received such help. But Verdaguer insisted on tutoring Santiago in his office. I don’t know if the older boy saw something or the little one told him, but for a whole week álvaro went to bed fully dressed. Every night he got up and checked the dorm room his brother shared with another boy of his age. On that particular night sleep had overcome him and he was dead to the world. He woke with a start, and when he discovered his brother was missing, he ran to Verdaguer’s cell.”
Ortu?o sighed and energetically rubbed his face, as if his hands could erase the revolting narrative. Susa, at his side, took one of his hands and trapped it between her own, immediately calming him. Ortu?o gave her a grateful smile that expressed more than words could say.
“He entered the room and saw Verdaguer naked from the waist down. The man was hefty and fat. álvaro didn’t see his brother but there was no need. He heard the child whimpering and knew that the boy half crushed by the weight of that monster had to be Santiago. álvaro didn’t shout. He didn’t say anything at all. He ripped his belt out of his trousers, leaped on Verdaguer’s back, and wound it around the man’s neck. Thrown off-balance by that unexpected attack, the man pulled away from the little one and fought back, tried to grab the belt and loosen it. He fell to his knees. The boy didn’t let go. He told me the man stopped resisting immediately, but álvaro held on tight. He was afraid Verdaguer would get up again. I remember álvaro as tall and thin; he couldn’t have weighed much, particularly compared to Verdaguer. But the man was already doomed. It’s all in the physician’s report. The violence of the first yank on the belt crushed his trachea. Even if the youngster hadn’t kept pulling on the belt the way he did, the man would have drowned in his own blood in a matter of minutes.”
Manuel closed his eyes and heard the Raven’s message loud and clear: The marquis smelled in him the cruelty and strength required to preserve his legacy, our family line, at any cost . . . He didn’t disappoint . . . His father knew he wouldn’t, because he’d proved himself capable of it before.
Ortu?o pointed to Manuel’s cell phone on the table. “I wrote a detailed description of the two boys’ physical condition. I left nothing out. I guarantee that you won’t find the words contagious influenza anywhere. That’s why they blacked out the report.”
Nogueira spoke. “Did you take photographs? Did you keep any evidence? Is there any other document that records this event?”
Ortu?o shook his head. “This was back in the 1980s. There wasn’t a standard medical protocol for cases of child abuse. Or for any type of abuse. But I wrote a detailed letter of resignation explaining the reasons I felt impelled to leave the order, which I sent to the prior of the monastery, with a copy to the bishop.”
“You’re saying the bishop was informed?” Manuel was amazed. “Did he ever contact you?”
“Never. Anyhow, why would he? I wasn’t going to make trouble. The accused brother was dead, the disobedient student had been expelled.” Ortu?o’s disgust was apparent. “I suspect the prior was congratulated for his outstanding management of an extremely delicate matter.”
Later they would remember how Mario Ortu?o resolutely lowered the bar’s metal shutters and walked home, supported by his wife. That afternoon little was left of the fierce gaze and dark expression that met them across the counter when they arrived. Exhausted and maimed by the past, he walked away up Calle Real. They took the road out of Corme.
Little was said during the drive. The story they’d heard lay heavy as a tombstone upon them, and that shared knowledge took its toll in the form of a silence heavy with Ortu?o’s final words: “Nobody knew. I said nothing about it until I told my wife many years later. I’ve thought many times about what happened that night and the following morning, and I swear to you that after I left the order, I thought seriously about going to the police. But what good would that have done? It would have been my word against those of the prior, Brother Matías, and the well-respected rural doctor who signed the death certificate. And even those of the children. I was sure álvaro would tell the truth, but the little one had seemed so ready to embrace the prior’s idiotic idea of staging a suicide. All that for what? The only result would have been an investigation that was likely to implicate a courageous boy who’d just done what had to be done. There was no one else to punish. Verdaguer was dead and was no longer a threat, and the little one had been rescued. I decided the best thing both for álvaro and for me was to get out of there.”
Nogueira’s phone buzzed and broke the silence inside the car. Manuel had been wishing Nogueira would at least turn on the radio for some music. The lieutenant glanced at his phone and made a sour face. The sharp curves on the road between Corme and Malpica obliged him to keep his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. The phone went silent but began to buzz again a few seconds later.
“See who that’s from, please,” Nogueira said to Lucas, who was in the passenger seat.
In the backseat Manuel lay back with his eyes shut. Nogueira knew he wasn’t sleeping—Poor man, he’ll be lucky ever to sleep again in his life!—but he understood why Manuel preferred to close out the rest of the world.