Cathedral of the Sea by Ildefonso Falcones Page A

was so startled he lost his balance and nearly fell from his perch. He looked all around to discover who had spoken, but could not see a soul.
    “Over here,” he heard.
    The voice had come from somewhere inside the tree, but he still saw nothing. Eventually he caught sight of some branches moving, and in among them he could make out the face of a boy waving at him. He was sitting astride one of the forks of the tree, peering at him with a serious look on his face.
    “What are you doing here, sitting in my tree?” Arnau asked him sharply.
    The filthy-looking boy was unimpressed.
    “The same as you,” he said. “Watching.”
    “You’re not allowed to,” Arnau asserted.
    “Why not? I’ve been doing it a long time now. I used to see you down there before too.” The boy fell silent. “Don’t they love you anymore? Why do you cry so much?”
    Arnau realized that a tear was rolling down his cheek, and felt annoyed: he had been caught.
    “Get down from there,” he ordered the other boy, climbing down himself.
    The stranger jumped lightly to the ground and stood facing him. Arnau was a head taller than him, but the boy did not seem afraid.
    “You’ve been spying on me!” Arnau accused him.
    “You were spying as well,” the boy retorted.
    “Yes, but they’re my cousins, so I’m entitled to.”
    “Why don’t you play with them then, like you used to?”
    Arnau could not prevent a sob from escaping, and his voice trembled as he tried to find an answer.
    “Don’t worry,” the other boy said, trying to reassure him. “I also cry a lot.”
    “Why do you cry?” Arnau asked with difficulty.
    “I don’t know ... Sometimes I cry when I think of my mother.”
    “You have a mother?”
    “Yes, but ...”
    “What are you doing here if you have a mother? Why aren’t you playing with her?”
    “I can’t be with her.”
    “Why? Isn’t she at your house?”
    “No,” the boy said reluctantly. “Or yes, she is there.”
    “So why aren’t you with her?”
    The grimy-looking boy did not reply.
    “Is she ill?” Arnau asked.
    The boy shook his head.
    “No, she’s well enough,” he said.
    “What then?” Arnau insisted.
    The boy looked at him disconsolately. He bit his lower lip several times, then finally made up his mind.
    “Come with me,” he said, tugging at Arnau’s sleeve.
    The strange little boy ran off at a speed that belied his small size. Arnau followed, trying hard not to let him out of sight. That was easy enough when they were crossing the open yards of the potters’ quarter, but became much more difficult when they reached the narrow alleyways of the city, crammed with people and stalls. It was almost impossible for them to make their way through the crowds, or for him to keep the boy in view.
    Arnau had no idea where he was, but did not care: he was too busy trying to spot his companion’s quick, agile figure as he picked his way among all the people and stallholders, some of whom shouted in protest. He was less adept at avoiding the obstacles, and paid the consequences of the anger his fleet-footed companion’s passage aroused. One of the stallholders cuffed him round the ear; another tried to grab him by the shirt. Arnau managed to avoid them both, but by the time he had escaped, the other boy was nowhere to be seen. He found himself all alone, on the edge of a large square full of people.
    He recognized the square. He had been there once before, with his father. “This is Plaza del Blat,” Bernat had told him. “It’s the center of Barcelona. Do you see that stone in the middle?” Arnau looked in the direction his father was pointing. “That stone divides the city into quarters: La Mar, Framenors, El Pi, and La Salada or Sant Pere.” Now Arnau reached the end of the silkmakers’ street and stood under the gateway of the Veguer castle. There was such a crowd in the square it was impossible for him to make out the figure of the boy in the square. He looked round: on one side of