the other. At the last moment, Sr Ferrer declared that if he had to choose between the perils of catching a cold traveling in the open or being sick inside the carriage, he was decidedly in favor of the second option. Ferrer was a gentleman notoriously sensitive to subtle shades. This ensured we were tightly packed.
The bench with the biggest accommodated Bramson, Pickel, Don Manuel Ferrer and a Majorcan who lived on private income, spent the springtime in Barcelona, and whom we called Sr Tomeu. Sr Tomeu was finicky, stiff, and quite miserly, judging by what he owed the landlady. In any case, he was a gentleman who never poked his nose in, always said yes to everyone, and seemed to specialize in clichés and colorful commonplaces worthy of a conservative provincial snob. Helvetian Pickel was a large, stout young man, who wore spectacles with extremely thick lenses and sometimes sank into recalcitrant silence for long periods as if he didn’t care a fig about anything around him. Then, out of the blue, most unexpectedly, he would come out with a scintillating phrase, or make a barbed comment that shocked everyone.
I sat on the other bench with Don Natali Verdaguer, Sr Riera and a dapper old man who had only been lodging with us for a mere four or fivedays, one Don Martí Dalmau, and a young pharmaceutical student from Tarragona by the name of Boada. Don Martí Dalmau was a smartly dressed, respectable gentleman; slightly hunchbacked, his skin was so ivory white it seemed bled dry; his skull and features were cold and flat and his impressive teeth, gold-capped. He wore a magnificent blue suit with piping and patent leather shoes. Apparently he had come to the boarding house on the recommendation of Sr Verdaguer, but then gossip suggested he had known Sra Paradís for years.
When a spectral analysis of Sr Dalmau got underway in the boarding house, some lodgers said he passed himself off as a journalist, and others that they’d met him as a croupier in a music hall. All unanimously agreed he was not known to have any trade, source of gain, or substantial income.
There are always two basic groups in lodging houses: the group of those who pay and the group of those who don’t and who never intend to as a matter of principle. In this class of establishment when the payers are generous, easy-going, and unconcerned about the small detail, preferring to nurture the business of living, then peace is guaranteed and a system accepting of parasites develops naturally and successfully. However, sometimes the payers don’t feel like being generous and aspire rather to a situation where everyone keeps to the straight and narrow. In this case the issue of eradicating bugs inevitably generates huge conflicts. Don Martí Dalmau had been a lodger for very few hours and had already signed up – intuitively, we would say – to the free, gratis, and for nothing group. This reinforced the majority view that his arrival would mean the Maggi got Maggier by the day, the hake came even less fresh, and the steak would be even more symbolic. This personage was thus most unwelcome and Don Natali, who had introduced him, fell into bad odor with almost every lodger.
Despite the rumors Sr Verdaguer never attempted to justify himself. Infact, he became increasingly unpleasant and bad-tempered, a vociferous grumbler. It was curious how Don Natali remained neutral or at least silent when faced by things that truly demanded a response yet, conversely, any trifle that one could swallow with a grain of good will unleashed his fury and he literally lost it. All this coincided with the news that Sr Verdaguer was about to open a shop that promoted typewriters. After the pertinent inquiries had been made, it turned out that this was a simple misunderstanding. He wasn’t going to open a shop or embark on any business involving that type of machine. A lifelong friend had simply set up a small repair shop and had suggested he could work a few hours cleaning the
The bench with the biggest accommodated Bramson, Pickel, Don Manuel Ferrer and a Majorcan who lived on private income, spent the springtime in Barcelona, and whom we called Sr Tomeu. Sr Tomeu was finicky, stiff, and quite miserly, judging by what he owed the landlady. In any case, he was a gentleman who never poked his nose in, always said yes to everyone, and seemed to specialize in clichés and colorful commonplaces worthy of a conservative provincial snob. Helvetian Pickel was a large, stout young man, who wore spectacles with extremely thick lenses and sometimes sank into recalcitrant silence for long periods as if he didn’t care a fig about anything around him. Then, out of the blue, most unexpectedly, he would come out with a scintillating phrase, or make a barbed comment that shocked everyone.
I sat on the other bench with Don Natali Verdaguer, Sr Riera and a dapper old man who had only been lodging with us for a mere four or fivedays, one Don Martí Dalmau, and a young pharmaceutical student from Tarragona by the name of Boada. Don Martí Dalmau was a smartly dressed, respectable gentleman; slightly hunchbacked, his skin was so ivory white it seemed bled dry; his skull and features were cold and flat and his impressive teeth, gold-capped. He wore a magnificent blue suit with piping and patent leather shoes. Apparently he had come to the boarding house on the recommendation of Sr Verdaguer, but then gossip suggested he had known Sra Paradís for years.
When a spectral analysis of Sr Dalmau got underway in the boarding house, some lodgers said he passed himself off as a journalist, and others that they’d met him as a croupier in a music hall. All unanimously agreed he was not known to have any trade, source of gain, or substantial income.
There are always two basic groups in lodging houses: the group of those who pay and the group of those who don’t and who never intend to as a matter of principle. In this class of establishment when the payers are generous, easy-going, and unconcerned about the small detail, preferring to nurture the business of living, then peace is guaranteed and a system accepting of parasites develops naturally and successfully. However, sometimes the payers don’t feel like being generous and aspire rather to a situation where everyone keeps to the straight and narrow. In this case the issue of eradicating bugs inevitably generates huge conflicts. Don Martí Dalmau had been a lodger for very few hours and had already signed up – intuitively, we would say – to the free, gratis, and for nothing group. This reinforced the majority view that his arrival would mean the Maggi got Maggier by the day, the hake came even less fresh, and the steak would be even more symbolic. This personage was thus most unwelcome and Don Natali, who had introduced him, fell into bad odor with almost every lodger.
Despite the rumors Sr Verdaguer never attempted to justify himself. Infact, he became increasingly unpleasant and bad-tempered, a vociferous grumbler. It was curious how Don Natali remained neutral or at least silent when faced by things that truly demanded a response yet, conversely, any trifle that one could swallow with a grain of good will unleashed his fury and he literally lost it. All this coincided with the news that Sr Verdaguer was about to open a shop that promoted typewriters. After the pertinent inquiries had been made, it turned out that this was a simple misunderstanding. He wasn’t going to open a shop or embark on any business involving that type of machine. A lifelong friend had simply set up a small repair shop and had suggested he could work a few hours cleaning the
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