asked.
‘Ah, I see he’s mentioned her to you … You should see her,’ said the governor while he wiped his glasses with a handkerchief. ‘Young, really young, with that firm schoolgirl flesh … You don’t know how often she’s been sitting here, right where you are now, pleading for that poor wretch Martín. I won’t tell you what she’s offered me because I’m a gentleman but, between you and me, the devotion this girl feels for Martín is very telling. If I had to make a bet, I’d say that kid, Daniel, isn’t her husband’s but Martín’s. He might have abysmal taste when it comes to literature but an exquisite eye for sluts.’
The governor stopped when he noticed that the prisoner was giving him an impenetrable look which he didn’t appreciate.
‘What are you staring at?’ he challenged him.
He banged the table with his knuckles and instantly the door behind Fermín opened. The two guards grabbed him by his arms, hauling him up from his chair until his feet were dangling in the air.
‘Remember what I’ve told you,’ said the governor. ‘In four weeks’ time I want you in that chair again. If you bring me results, I can assure you your stay here will change for the better. If not, I’ll book you into the basement cell with Fumero and his toys. Are we clear?’
‘Crystal.’
Then, with a bored expression, the governor signalled to his men to take the prisoner away and downed his glass of brandy, sick and tired of having to talk to those uncultured yokels, day in, day out.
10
Barcelona, 1957
‘Daniel, you’ve gone pale,’ murmured Fermín, rousing me from my trance.
The dining room in Can Lluís, the streets we had walked down to get there, had all disappeared. All I could see before me was that office in Montjuïc Castle and the face of that man talking about my mother with words and insinuations that seared my very soul. At the same time, something cold and sharp moved inside me, an anger I had never known before. For a split second what I most yearned for in the world was to have that son-of-a-bitch before me so I could wring his neck and watch him until the veins in his eyes burst.
‘Daniel …’
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them again I was back in Can Lluís, and Fermín Romero de Torres was looking at me, completely vanquished.
‘Forgive me, Daniel,’ he said.
My mouth was dry. I poured myself a glass of water and drank it down, waiting for words to come to my lips.
‘There’s nothing to forgive, Fermín. Nothing of what you’ve told me is your fault.’
‘For a start, it’s my fault for having to tell you,’ he said, in such a soft voice it was barely audible.
I saw him lower his eyes, as if he didn’t dare look me in the face. He seemed so overcome with pain from remembering that episode and having to reveal the truth to me that I felt ashamed of my own bitterness.
‘Fermín, look at me.’
Fermín managed to look at me out of the corner of his eye and I smiled at him.
‘I want you to know that I’m grateful to you for having told me the truth and that I understand why you preferred not to tell me anything about this years ago.’
Fermín nodded weakly but something in his eyes made me realise that my words were no comfort to him at all. On the contrary. We sat in silence for a few moments.
‘There’s more, isn’t there?’ I asked at last.
Fermín nodded.
‘And what follows is worse?’
Fermín nodded again.
‘Much worse.’
I looked away and smiled at Professor Alburquerque, who was now leaving, not without raising a hand in farewell.
‘Well then, why don’t we ask for another bottle of water and you tell me the rest?’
‘Better if it’s wine,’ Fermín considered. ‘The strong stuff.’
11
Barcelona, 1940
A week after the meeting between Fermín and the prison governor, a couple of individuals nobody in the cell block had ever set eyes on before – though they reeked of the political branch from a
‘Ah, I see he’s mentioned her to you … You should see her,’ said the governor while he wiped his glasses with a handkerchief. ‘Young, really young, with that firm schoolgirl flesh … You don’t know how often she’s been sitting here, right where you are now, pleading for that poor wretch Martín. I won’t tell you what she’s offered me because I’m a gentleman but, between you and me, the devotion this girl feels for Martín is very telling. If I had to make a bet, I’d say that kid, Daniel, isn’t her husband’s but Martín’s. He might have abysmal taste when it comes to literature but an exquisite eye for sluts.’
The governor stopped when he noticed that the prisoner was giving him an impenetrable look which he didn’t appreciate.
‘What are you staring at?’ he challenged him.
He banged the table with his knuckles and instantly the door behind Fermín opened. The two guards grabbed him by his arms, hauling him up from his chair until his feet were dangling in the air.
‘Remember what I’ve told you,’ said the governor. ‘In four weeks’ time I want you in that chair again. If you bring me results, I can assure you your stay here will change for the better. If not, I’ll book you into the basement cell with Fumero and his toys. Are we clear?’
‘Crystal.’
Then, with a bored expression, the governor signalled to his men to take the prisoner away and downed his glass of brandy, sick and tired of having to talk to those uncultured yokels, day in, day out.
10
Barcelona, 1957
‘Daniel, you’ve gone pale,’ murmured Fermín, rousing me from my trance.
The dining room in Can Lluís, the streets we had walked down to get there, had all disappeared. All I could see before me was that office in Montjuïc Castle and the face of that man talking about my mother with words and insinuations that seared my very soul. At the same time, something cold and sharp moved inside me, an anger I had never known before. For a split second what I most yearned for in the world was to have that son-of-a-bitch before me so I could wring his neck and watch him until the veins in his eyes burst.
‘Daniel …’
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them again I was back in Can Lluís, and Fermín Romero de Torres was looking at me, completely vanquished.
‘Forgive me, Daniel,’ he said.
My mouth was dry. I poured myself a glass of water and drank it down, waiting for words to come to my lips.
‘There’s nothing to forgive, Fermín. Nothing of what you’ve told me is your fault.’
‘For a start, it’s my fault for having to tell you,’ he said, in such a soft voice it was barely audible.
I saw him lower his eyes, as if he didn’t dare look me in the face. He seemed so overcome with pain from remembering that episode and having to reveal the truth to me that I felt ashamed of my own bitterness.
‘Fermín, look at me.’
Fermín managed to look at me out of the corner of his eye and I smiled at him.
‘I want you to know that I’m grateful to you for having told me the truth and that I understand why you preferred not to tell me anything about this years ago.’
Fermín nodded weakly but something in his eyes made me realise that my words were no comfort to him at all. On the contrary. We sat in silence for a few moments.
‘There’s more, isn’t there?’ I asked at last.
Fermín nodded.
‘And what follows is worse?’
Fermín nodded again.
‘Much worse.’
I looked away and smiled at Professor Alburquerque, who was now leaving, not without raising a hand in farewell.
‘Well then, why don’t we ask for another bottle of water and you tell me the rest?’
‘Better if it’s wine,’ Fermín considered. ‘The strong stuff.’
11
Barcelona, 1940
A week after the meeting between Fermín and the prison governor, a couple of individuals nobody in the cell block had ever set eyes on before – though they reeked of the political branch from a