Obsession (Year of Fire) (5 page)

“Monsieur?” It was Esther. “Your seat in first class is ready, monsieur. Please come with me.”

Eliah thought for a moment: in first class he would be able to sleep the whole night through; the seats lay flat. His reply caught Esther off guard.

“I’ve decided to stay here.” The reason for his sudden change of mind was sitting to his right.

Esther stared at him until a bright-blonde head entered her visual field. She had to admit that the girl was certainly adorable.

“Have a good trip,” she said, adding in Spanish, “Please fasten your seat belt, miss.”

Matilde put down her book and picked up each end of the seat belt. She made a few unsuccessful attempts at fitting the tongue into the buckle. A pair of dark hands closed over hers and, before she could withdraw them, silently showed her how to do it. For the first time, she deigned to acknowledge the person sitting next to her and looked him in the eye.

“Thanks,” she whispered, turning away after a moment’s eye contact.
My God!
She said to herself, squeezing the book between her legs. She had always disregarded physical beauty; it wasn’t at all important to her and, rather than finding it attractive, she generally found it to be an obstacle. She often found beautiful people to be superficial and stupid. Juana chastised her for being unfair and her psychologist assured her that behind this indifference to beauty lay a hidden shield that protected her from being attracted to someone. Nonetheless, in that moment, the rugged beauty of the face in front of her knocked the wind out of her and upset her composure, as if she were in the presence of something sacred or supernatural. She was clearly affected by these particular eyes, which
didn’t seem superficial or stupid; to the contrary, they shone with brilliant intelligence. What color were they? Blue green, yes, but what shade? She had to force herself not to study him further.

Did she flap her eyelashes like that on purpose, so slowly, like the flutter of a butterfly as it balanced on a flower? His intuition told him that she didn’t. He prided himself on his ability to decipher people’s hidden motives from a simple exchange of words or the analysis of certain gestures, and he could tell that this creature didn’t have a drop of artificiality about her. For a fraction of a second, she had honored him with a glance, and he, an unfeeling cynic, felt pierced through, naked and enthralled. She had dominated him with all the surefootedness of a wise and serene soul. He wondered again how old she was. Twenty? Not more than that. What color were her eyes? Was it possible for someone to have silver irises? He had never seen eyes like that before. He continued to study her, unable to rouse himself from his stupor.

“Hey, Mat!” Juana broke the spell, kneeling on her seat and appearing above her backrest like a puppet. “Here, put on a little Organza. I got the salesgirl to give me a free sample.”

Al-Saud knew Organza; Céline used it. It was a voluptuous fragrance, a combination of flowers and vanilla. Still, he wanted “Mat” to keep on smelling like she did. She granted his wish.

“No, thanks, Juani. I’ve got some perfume on.”

“Oh, yes, your Upa la-lá for babies. God forbid that one of the best perfumes on the market ruin Upa la-lá.”

Eliah covered his mouth so as not to let the laugh that bubbled up in his throat escape.

“I like it,” “Mat” replied mildly; she spoke in a very soft voice. “Anyway, children…”

“Don’t say
children
, Mat. It makes you sound like you’re from the last century. Say kids.”

Juana had recently learned the meaning of the word
anachronism
, and since then she had used it to define her childhood friend. “You’re a living anachronism, darling
Matita
,” she would repeat every time Matilde uttered an outdated word. She never cursed or used contemporary slang words; she never spoke in
lunfardo
, the slang used in Buenos Aires—it was a major event when she deigned to use informal rather than formal forms. In Juana’s opinion she dressed like an Amish person, and,
just like the Amish, she knew how to make homemade jams, candy and pickles, to knit (classic and crochet) and sew, and she had just recently started to learn the art of decoupage. It was hardly her fault. Born in a fifty-room mansion, attended by dozens of servants and educated by her grandmother Celia, a Córdobese version of the evil Miss Rottenmeier from
Heidi
, “poor” little Mat hadn’t had much chance to be normal. What confused Juana was that Matilde’s older sisters, Dolores and Celia, who had been victims of the same educational regimen, were as far from being described as Amish as the Earth was from being mistaken for Pluto.

“Fine,” Matilde acquiesced. “
Kids
find this scent more palatable than a French perfume.”

The flight attendant passed down the aisle, handing out little toiletry cases. Al-Saud refused his with a wave of his hand.

“Look, Mat! It’s divine. So many little goodies…and you didn’t want to accept the upgrade your dad offered us!”

“I would have preferred it if you hadn’t insisted, Juani. I didn’t want to accept it.”

“Oh, yeah? The lady didn’t want to accept it, hmm? Well, I don’t know how you would have fit your enormous ass in a tiny little coach seat.”

Matilde lifted her head slowly and stared fixedly at her friend without blinking.

“Juana,” she said, in a lethal whisper.

“Matilde?” The other shot back phlegmatically.

Matilde!
What a beautiful name. It suited her well.

“Don’t worry about the stud. He doesn’t understand a word.”

“Juana, there is the possibility, however remote, that the gentlemen understands Spanish.”

“Mat, the Frogs are like the English pirates. They only speak their language. Did you see he’s wearing a Rolex?” As she pronounced the word
Rolex
, she put her hand over the right corner of her mouth and lowered her voice. “I think it’s a Submariner, the one with gold and stainless steel, a blue face and beveled edges. I love that model. I love the strap, the Oyster. I’d never seen one in real life before.”

As with perfumes, Juana was fascinated by the world of watches and knew all the famous names—Rolex, Breitling, Cartier—and other, more exclusive brands, like Breguet, Blancpain and Louis Moinet.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Matilde admitted.

“Obviously! As though you would notice something like that, tarantula.”

“Don’t call me tarantula.”

“You don’t like Gómez’s nickname for you? When he called you Treasure Chest Martínez, I almost pissed myself laughing.”

“I, on the other hand, had to put up with them all through high school.”

“Poor Gómez had no idea how to get your attention. That’s why he put so much emphasis on your attributes, front and rear. Oh, Mat!” she exclaimed, putting her hands over her mouth. “I think the Frog might know Spanish after all. He’s laughing. Hey!” Juana complained. “Why didn’t you let on that you understood us? You’ve been sitting there all innocently.”

Eliah let out the giggle that he had been suppressing for the last few minutes. If his friends or family had seen him at that moment, they would have been left openmouthed. He stopped as soon as he saw that Matilde was looking at him again.

“Forgive her, sir. She’s very crude.”

“Not at all. She made me laugh and that’s a good thing. Maybe if I let the little lady see my Submariner,” he offered, unfastening the strap, “she’ll find it in her heart to forgive me.”

“Oh!” It was the only thing that Juana was able to say, taking the watch with an ecstatic look on her face. “What an amazing watch!” she said, after checking that it was an original; the second hand rotated smoothly and not in little jumps. “It’s heavy, solid. This is the first time I’ve held a Rolex in my hands. Thank you!”

“Would you like to see it too?”

“No way!” Juana interrupted. “She doesn’t know how to appreciate the finer things in life. Look at her watch! A trashy quartz rubber one she won at McDonald’s that makes her late for everything.”

“Juana, I don’t think the gentleman is interested in my watch.”

“I’m interested,” Eliah assured her, leaning over to demonstrate his interest.

Juana, seeing how the Frenchman was acting, spread her lips into a smile.

“How is it that you speak Spanish so well? You’ve got a bit of an accent, but otherwise you speak it well.”

“My mother is Argentinean.”

The captain announced that takeoff would be soon. The flight attendants closed the door.

“Six-A is still free,” Matilde announced. “We can sit together.”

Eliah and Juana exchanged a fleeting glance.

“Don’t even think about it, tarantula. I wanna stretch out over both seats.”

“But you can’t lift the armrests,” Matilde objected, showing her.

“I couldn’t care less. I’m going to bend my knees. Stop bugging me,” she concluded as she returned the Rolex. “What’s your name?”

“Eliah.”

“Eliah, you already know ours, I imagine.”

“Yes,” Matilde noted, “and he knows
my
nicknames too.”

He laughed again.

Peace resumed when Juana went back to her seat.
She’s like an earthquake
, Eliah thought. He liked Juana, especially because her cheek and audacity seemed to bring Matilde out of her shell rather than overshadowing her. The two of them made a nice pair, and it was obvious that they were very fond of each other, though quite different. He thought about his childhood friends. They had also been a diverse group: Shiloah and Gérard Moses were Jewish; Shariar, Alamán and himself were the sons of a Saudi prince; while Anuar and Sabir Al-Muzara were Palestinian. They had loved each other in spite of their different backgrounds and the differences that separated them, in part thanks to the innocence of childhood that sheltered them from hatred; however, the cloud of blissful ignorance eventually faded away and harsh reality intruded. Now some were still friends; others were mortal enemies.

He realized that while he had been thinking about his friends, he still hadn’t taken his eyes off Matilde’s profile. She was engrossed in her book. He noted the curve of her forehead, wide, pale and smooth as a baby’s; she didn’t wear makeup, which made the effect even more astonishing. His skin
was coarse and his chin always bore the shadow of stubble, regardless of whether he shaved in the morning. By early afternoon he always looked a little unkempt.

The fluttering of Matilde’s eyelashes soothed him. He studied them with the same level of attention that every one of her features seemed to elicit from him. Though long and curved, they were almost transparent. With her head down and her eyelids half-closed, Matilde’s eyes were concealed, and he couldn’t decide if he had imagined the silver irises. It made him nervous to face her head-on, with her attention fixed on him, but he had to admit that her indifference was starting to bother him. What did he want from this girl? She must be barely twenty years old, if that.
I’m bored
, he concluded, even though he had a report to analyze and a meeting to prepare.

The corners of Matilde’s mouth twitched. Something in the book had made her smile. Al-Saud tilted his head to see its title, and then smiled himself. She was reading
Rendezvous in Paris
.

“What do you think, Matilde? Is it a good book?”

With her head tilted to the left, she looked him in the eyes, blinked two or three times, and pursed her lips.
As impossible as it might seem, they really are silver
, Eliah decided.

“I think it’s the best I’ve read in years.”

As he saw that she was more than halfway through, he asked, “What do you think of the Étienne character?”

“Oh, have you read it?”

Eliah nodded but decided against mentioning that he had read the manuscript.

“Why do you ask about Étienne?”

“I identify with him.”

“I think Étienne is the person Salem loves and respects the most.”

“And you, what do you think of Étienne?” he insisted.

“I admire him as well. He’s intrepid and intelligent, but not too proud.”

“And as a woman, what do you think of him?”

She frowned, confused. “Well…as a woman I would say that he scares me.”

“Scares you?”

“Based on what happens in the plot, he’s incapable of commitment. His soul is never at rest. No place is
his
place. No woman,
his
woman, except the one he lost as a young man. He’s restless, he needs to keep moving, as though nothing were ever enough. I’m amazed by his ability to deal with so many different things at the same time, as if he can compartmentalize his brain.”

The captain announced that takeoff was delayed due to traffic on the runway.

“But as a woman you fear him.”

“Yes, I would fear him. Nothing is ever enough for Étienne, no place, no woman. He’s volatile, unpredictable. The world is too small for him.”

Good conclusion
, Eliah reflected, suggesting, “Maybe it’s because he hasn’t found the love of his life. Wherever she is, that will be Étienne’s place.”

Don’t look at me like that or I’ll kiss you right here and now.

Matilde looked away, confused by the brief conversation. Moreover, she couldn’t bear the intensity of those green eyes; they were a creamy emerald green. She hated stupid comparisons but really, they reminded her of the emerald on her mother’s ring. This man’s image was stuck in her head, and as much as she pretended he wasn’t there, she could feel him as she would a blast of hot air from an oven.

The Boeing 777 taxied down the runway and the engines’ rumble disconcerted Matilde. It was only the second time she had ever been on a plane. The first had been more than fifteen years before, when she was only eleven and they were still wealthy. Her parents had sent her to study English on a summer course organized by the aristocratic school of Eton, in Berkshire, England. She didn’t remember her stomach clenching like this then.

True to his pilot’s nature, Eliah watched the runway as the Boeing struggled into the air. It felt strange to him not to be in the cockpit, in charge of the controls. But generally, unless he had a lot of work to do, he would take off and land his planes, leaving the rest of the trip in Paloméro’s hands. The Boeing left the asphalt and climbed upward. Eliah waited for the bump that indicated that the landing gear had been stowed away. In his opinion, the pilot wasn’t particularly skilled. Failing to anticipate a sudden lull in the wind, he had just lost altitude—about
three hundred feet, by his reckoning—which would turn some of the passengers’ stomachs.