The Shadow of the Wind (30 page)

“When?” asked Penélope.

“In six days' time,” said Julián. “This coming Sunday.”

Miquel reckoned it would be best if Julián didn't see Penélope during the days left prior to the elopement, so as not to arouse suspicions. They should both agree not to see each other again until they met on that train on their way to Paris. Six days without seeing her, without touching her, seemed interminable to Julián. They sealed the pact, the secret marriage, with their lips.

It was then that Julián took Penélope to Jacinta's bedroom on the third floor of the house. Only the servants' quarters were on that floor, and Julián was sure nobody would discover them. They undressed feverishly, with an angry passion, scratching each other's skin and melting into silences. They learned each other's bodies by heart and buried all thoughts of those six days of separation. Julián penetrated her with fury, pressing her against the floorboards. Penélope received him with open eyes, her legs hugging his torso, her lips half open with yearning. There was not a glimmer of fragility or childishness in her eyes or in her warm body. Later, with his face still resting on her stomach and his hands on her white, tremulous breasts, Julián knew he had to say good-bye. He had barely had time to sit up when the door of the room was slowly opened and a woman's shape appeared in the doorway. For a second, Julián thought it was Jacinta, but he soon realized it was Mrs. Aldaya. She was watching them, spellbound, with a mixture of fascination and disgust. All she managed to mumble was “Where's Jacinta?” Then she just turned and walked away without saying a word, while Penélope crouched on the ground in mute agony and Julián felt the world collapsing around him.

“Go now, Julián. Go before my father comes.”

“But…”

“Go.”

Julián nodded. “Whatever happens, I'll wait for you on Sunday on that train.”

Penélope managed a faint smile. “I'll be there. Now go. Please…”

She was still naked when he left her and slid down the servants' staircase toward the coach houses and out into the coldest night he could remember.

The days that followed were agony. Julián had spent all night awake, expecting that at any moment Don Ricardo's hired assassins would come for him. The following day, in school, he didn't notice any change of attitude in Jorge Aldaya. Devoured by anguish, Julián told Miquel Moliner what had happened. Miquel shook his head.

“You're crazy, Julián, but that's nothing new. What's strange is that there hasn't been an upheaval in the Aldayas' house. Which, come to think of it, isn't so surprising. If, as you say, Mrs. Aldaya discovered you, it might be that she herself still doesn't know what to do. I've had three conversations with her in my life and came to two conclusions from them: one, Mrs. Aldaya has the mental age of a twelve-year-old; two, she suffers from a chronic narcissism that makes it impossible for her to see or understand anything that is not what she wants to see or believe, especially if it concerns herself.”

“Spare me the diagnosis, Miquel.”

“What I mean is that she's probably still wondering what to say, how to say it, when, and to whom. First she must think of the consequences for herself, the potential scandal, her husband's fury…. The rest, I daresay, she couldn't care less about.”

“So you think she won't say anything?”

“She might take a day or two. But I don't think she's capable of keeping such a secret from her husband. What about the escape plan? Is it still on?”

“More than ever.”

“I'm glad to hear that. Because I really believe that now there's no turning back.”

The week stretched out interminably. Julián went to school every day with uncertainty hard on his heels. He passed the time merely pretending to be there, barely able to exchange glances with Miquel Moliner, who was beginning to be just as worried as him, or more so. Jorge Aldaya said nothing. He was as polite as ever. Jacinta had not turned up again to collect Jorge from school. Don Ricardo's chauffeur came every afternoon. Julián felt like dying, wishing that whatever was going to happen did happen, so that the time of waiting would come to an end. On Thursday afternoon, after classes, Julián began to think that luck was on his side. Mrs. Aldaya had not said anything, perhaps out of shame, stupidity, or for any of the reasons Miquel suspected. It mattered little. All that mattered was that she kept the secret until Sunday. That night, for the first time in a number of days, he was able to sleep.

On Friday morning, when he went to class, Father Romanones was waiting for him by the gate.

“Julián, I have to speak to you.”

“What is it, Father?”

“I always knew this day would come, and I must confess I'm happy to be the one who will break the news to you.”

“What news, Father?”

Julián Carax was no longer a pupil at San Gabriel's. His presence in the precinct, the classrooms, and even the gardens was strictly forbidden. His school items, textbooks, and all other belongings were now school property.

“The technical term is ‘immediate and total expulsion,'” Father Romanones summed up.

“May I ask the reason?”

“I can think of a dozen, but I'm sure you'll know how to choose the most appropriate one. Good day, Carax. And good luck in your life. You're going to need it.”

Some thirty yards away, in the fountain courtyard, a group of pupils was watching him. Some were laughing, waving good-bye. Others looked at him with pity and bewilderment. Only one smiled sadly: his friend Miquel Moliner, who simply nodded and silently mouthed some words that Julián thought he could read in the air: “See you on Sunday.”

When he got back to the apartment on Ronda de San Antonio, Julián noticed Don Ricardo's Mercedes-Benz parked outside the hat shop. He stopped on the corner and waited. After a while Don Ricardo came out of his father's shop and got into the car. Julián hid in a doorway until the car had set off toward Plaza Universidad. Only then did he rush up the stairs to his home. His mother, Sophie, was waiting there, in floods of tears.

“What have you done, Julián?” she murmured without anger.

“Forgive me, Mother….”

Sophie held her son close to her. She had lost weight and had aged, as if between them all they had stolen her life and her youth. I more than anyone, thought Julián.

“Listen to me carefully, Julián. Your father and Don Ricardo Aldaya have got everything set up to send you to the army in a few days' time. Aldaya has influences…. You have to go, Julián. You have to go where neither of them can find you….”

Julián thought he saw a shadow in his mother's eyes that seemed to take hold of her.

“Is there anything else, Mother? Something you haven't told me?”

Sophie gazed at him with trembling lips. “You must go. We must both go away from here forever.”

Julián held her tight and whispered in her ear, “Don't worry about me, Mother. Don't you worry.”

Julián spent the Saturday shut up in his room, among his books and his drawing pads. The hatter had gone down to the shop just after dawn and didn't return until the early hours. He doesn't have the courage to tell me to my face, thought Julián. That night, his eyes blurred with tears, Julián said farewell to the years he had spent in that dark, cold room, lost amid dreams that he now knew would never come true. Sunday, at daybreak, armed with only a bag containing a few clothes and books, he kissed Sophie's forehead, as she lay curled under blankets in the dining room, and left. The streets seemed enveloped in a blue haze. Flashes of copper sparkled on the flat roofs of the old town. He walked slowly, saying good-bye to every door, to every street corner, wondering whether the illusions of time would turn out to be true and in days to come he would be able to remember only the good things, forget the solitude that had so often hounded him in those streets.

The Estación de Francia was deserted; the platforms, reflecting the burning light of dawn, curved off into the mist like glistening sabers. Julián sat on a bench under the vaulted ceiling and took out his book. He let the hours go by lost in the magic of words, shedding his skin and his name, feeling like another person. He allowed himself to be carried away by the dreams of shadowy characters, the only refuge left for him. By then he knew that Penélope wouldn't come. He knew he would board that train with no other company than his memories. When, just before noon, Miquel Moliner arrived in the station and gave him his ticket and all the money he had been able to gather, the two friends embraced without a word. Julián had never seen Miquel Moliner cry. Clocks were everywhere, counting the minutes that flew by.

“There's still time,” Miquel murmured with his eyes fixed on the station entrance.

At five past one, the stationmaster gave the last call for passengers traveling to Paris. The train had already started to slide along the platform when Julián turned around to say good-bye to his friend. Miquel Moliner stood there watching him, his hands sunk in his pockets.

“Write,” he said.

“I'll write to you as soon as I get there,” answered Julián.

“No. Not to me. Write books. Not letters. Write them for me, for Penélope.”

Julián nodded, realizing only then how much he was going to miss his friend.

“And keep your dreams,” said Miquel. “You never know when you might need them.”

“Always,” murmured Julián, but the roar of the train had already stolen his words.

 

“The night her mother caught them in my bedroom, Penélope told me what had happened. The following day Mrs. Aldaya called me and asked me what I knew about Julián. I said I didn't know anything, except that he was a nice boy, a friend of Jorge's…. She ordered me to keep Penélope in her room until she was given permission to come out. Don Ricardo was away in Madrid and didn't come back until early on Friday. As soon as he arrived, Mrs. Aldaya told him what she'd witnessed. I was there. Don Ricardo jumped up from his armchair and slapped his wife so hard she fell on the floor. Then, shouting like a madman, he told her to repeat what she had just said. Mrs. Aldaya was terrified. We had never seen Mr. Aldaya like that. Never. He looked as if he were possessed by all the devils in hell. Seething with anger, he went up to Penélope's bedroom and pulled her out of her bed, dragging her by the hair. I tried to stop him, but he kicked me aside. That same evening he called the family doctor and had him examine Penélope. When the doctor had finished, he spoke to Mr. Aldaya. They locked Penélope up in her room, and Mrs. Aldaya told me to collect my things.

“They didn't let me see Penélope. I never said good-bye to her. Don Ricardo threatened to report me to the police if I told anyone what had happened. That very night they threw me out, with nowhere to go, after eighteen years of uninterrupted service in the house. Two days later, in a
pensión
on Calle Muntaner, I had a visit from Miquel Moliner, who told me that Julián had gone to Paris. He wanted me to tell him what had happened, why Penélope hadn't come as arranged to the station. For weeks I returned to the house, begging for a chance to see her, but I wasn't even allowed to cross the gates. I would position myself on the opposite corner every day for days on end, hoping to see them come out. I never saw her. She didn't come out of the house. Later on, Mr. Aldaya called the police and, with the help of his high-powered friends, managed to get me committed to the lunatic asylum in Horta, claiming that nobody knew me, that I was some demented woman who harassed his family and children. I spent two years there, caged like an animal. The first thing I did when I got out was go to the house on Avenida del Tibidabo to see Penélope.

“Did you manage to see her?” Fermín asked.

“The house was locked and up for sale. Nobody lived there. I was told the Aldayas had gone to Argentina. I wrote to the address I was given. The letters were returned to me unopened….”

“What happened to Penélope? Do you know?”

Jacinta shook her head, in a state of near collapse. “I never saw her again.”

The old woman moaned and began to weep uncontrollably. Fermín held her in his arms and rocked her. Jacinta Coronado had shrunk to the size of a little girl, and next to her Fermín looked like a giant. I had questions burning in my head, but my friend signaled to me that the interview was over. I saw him gazing about him at that dirty, cold hovel where Jacinta Coronado was spending her last days.

“Come on, Daniel. We're leaving. You go first.”

I did what I was told. As I walked away, I turned for a moment and saw Fermín kneel down by the old lady and kiss her on the forehead. She gave him a toothless smile.

“Tell me, Jacinta,” I heard Fermín saying. “You like Sugus candies, don't you?”

 

O
N OUR CIRCUITOUS PATH BACK TO THE EXIT, WE PASSED THE REAL
undertaker and his two cadaverous assistants carrying a cheap pine coffin, rope, and what looked suspiciously like a recycled shroud. The committee gave off a sinister smell of formaldehyde and cheap eau de cologne. The men's bloodless skin framed gaunt, canine smiles. Fermín pointed to the cell where the body of the deceased awaited and proceeded to bless the trio, who nodded respectfully and made the sign of the cross.