39
That same morning I abandoned my work for the boss. While Cristina slept I went up to the study and put the folder containing all the pages, notes and drafts for the project in an old trunk by the wall. My first impulse had been to set fire to it, but I didn’t have the courage. I had always felt that the pages I left behind were a part of me. Normal people bring children into the world; we novelists bring books. We are condemned to put our whole lives into them, even though they hardly ever thank us for it. We are condemned to die in their pages and sometimes even to let our books be the ones who, in the end, will take our lives. Among all the strange creatures made of paper and ink that I’d brought into the world, this one, my mercenary offering to the promises of the boss, was undoubtedly the most grotesque. There was nothing in those pages that deserved anything better than to be burned, and yet they were still flesh of my flesh and I couldn’t find the courage to destroy them. I abandoned the work in the bottom of that trunk and left the study with a heavy heart, almost ashamed of my cowardice and the murky sense of paternity inspired in me by that manuscript of shadows. The boss would probably have appreciated the irony of the situation. All it inspired in me was disgust.
Cristina slept well into the afternoon. I took advantage of her sleep to go over to the grocer’s shop next to the market and buy some milk, bread and cheese. The rain had stopped at last, but the streets were full of puddles and you could feel the dampness in the air, like a cold dust that permeated your clothes and your bones. While I waited for my turn in the shop I had the feeling that someone was watching me. When I went outside again and crossed Paseo del Borne, I turned and saw that a boy was following me. He could not have been more than five years old. I stopped and looked at him. The boy held my gaze.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ I said. ‘Come here.’
The boy came closer, until he was standing about two metres away. His skin was pale, almost blue, as if he’d never seen the sunlight. He was dressed in black and wore new, shiny, patent leather shoes. His eyes were dark, with pupils so large they left no space for the whites.
‘What’s your name?’ I asked.
The boy smiled and pointed at me with his finger. I was about to take a step towards him but he ran off, disappearing into Paseo del Borne.
When I got back to my front door I found an envelope stuck in it. The red wax seal with the angel was still warm. I looked up and down the street, but couldn’t see anybody. I went in and double-locked the main door behind me. Then I paused at the foot of the staircase and opened the envelope.
Dear friend,
I deeply regret that you were unable to come to our meeting last night. I trust you are well and there has been no emergency or setback. I am sorry I couldn’t enjoy the pleasure of your company, but I hope that whatever it was that did not allow you to join me is quickly and favourably resolved and that next time it will be easier for us to meet. I must leave the city for a few days, but as soon as I return I’ll send word. Hoping to hear from you and to learn about your progress in our joint project, please accept, as always, my friendship and affection,
ANDREAS CORELLI
I crushed the letter in my fist and put it in my pocket, then went quietly into the apartment and closed the door. I peeked into the bedroom and saw that Cristina was still asleep. Then I went to the kitchen and began to prepare coffee and a light lunch. A few minutes later I heard Cristina’s footsteps behind me. She was looking at me from the doorway, clad in an old jumper of mine that went halfway down her thighs. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were still swollen. Her lips and cheeks had dark bruises, as if I’d hit her hard. She avoided my eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘Are you hungry?’ I asked.
She shook her head, but I ignored the gesture and motioned for her to sit at the table. I poured her a cup of coffee with milk and sugar and gave her a slice of freshly baked bread with some cheese and a little ham. She made no move to touch her plate.
‘Just a bite,’ I suggested.
She nibbled the cheese and gave me a smile.
‘It’s good,’ she said.
We ate in silence. To my surprise, Cristina finished off half the food on her plate. Then she hid behind the cup of coffee and gave me a fleeting look.
‘If you want, I’ll leave today,’ she said at last. ‘Don’t worry. Pedro gave me money and—’
‘I don’t want you to go anywhere. I don’t want you to go away ever again. Do you hear me?’
‘I’m not good company, David.’
‘That makes two of us.’
‘Did you mean it? What you said about going far away?’
I nodded.
‘My father used to say that life doesn’t give second chances.’
‘Only to those who never had a first chance. Actually, they’re second-hand chances that someone else hasn’t made use of, but that’s better than nothing.’
She smiled faintly.
‘Take me for a walk,’ she suddenly said.
‘Where do you want to go?’
‘I want to say goodbye to Barcelona.’