The Shadow of the Wind (The Cemetery of Forgotten 1)

“I’ve missed you, too, Bernarda. Come on, give me a kiss.”

She kissed me shyly, and I planted a couple of noisy kisses on each cheek. She laughed. In her eyes I could see she was waiting for me to ask her about Clara, but I had decided not to.

“You’re looking very pretty today, and very elegant. How come you’ve decided to pay us a visit?”

“The truth is, I’ve been wanting to come for a long time, but you know how things are, we’re all busy, and, for all his learning, Mr. Barceló is as demanding as a child. You just have to rise above it and get on with things. But what brings me here today is that, well, tomorrow is my niece’s birthday, the one from San Adrián, and I’d like to give her a present. I thought I could get her a good book, with a lot of writing and few pictures, but as I’m such a dimwit and don’t understand—”

Before I could answer, a whole hardback set of the complete works of Blasco Ibáñez plummeted from on high, and the place shook with a ballistic roar. Bernarda and I looked up anxiously. Fermín was sliding down the ladder, like a trapeze artist, a secretive smile lighting up his face, his eyes filled with rapturous lust.

“Bernarda, this is—”

“Fermín Romero de Torres, bibliographic adviser for Sempere and Son, at your service, madam,” Fermín proclaimed, taking Bernarda’s hand and kissing it ceremoniously.

“You must be confused, I’m no madam—”

“Marquise, at the very least,” interrupted Fermín. “I should know. I have stepped out with the finest ladies on Avenida Pearson. Allow me the honor of accompanying you to our classics section for children and young adults, where I notice that by good fortune we have an anthology of the best of Emilio Salgari and his epic tale of Sandokan.”

“Oh dear, I don’t know, I’m not sure about lives of saints. The girl’s father used to be very left wing, you know….”

“Say no more, for here I have none other than Jules Verne’sThe Mysterious Island, a tale of high adventure and great educational content, because of all the science.”

“If you think so…”

I followed them quietly, noticing how Fermín was drooling over Bernarda and how she seemed overwhelmed by the attentions showered upon her by the little man with scruffy looks and the tongue of a barker. He was devouring her with his eyes as greedily as if she were a piece of chocolate.

“What about you, Master Daniel? What do you think?”

“Fermín Romero de Torres is the resident expert here. You can trust him.”

“Well, then, I’ll take the one about the island, if you’d be kind enough to wrap it for me. What do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house,” I said.

“No it isn’t, I won’t hear of it.”

“If you’ll allow me, madam, it’s on me, Fermín Romero de Torres. You’d make me the happiest man in Barcelona.”

Bernarda looked at us both. She was speechless.

“Listen, I’m paying for what I buy, and this is a present I want to give my niece—”

“Well, then, perhaps you’ll allow me, in exchange, to invite you to an afternoon tea,” Fermín quickly interjected, smoothing down his hair.

“Go on, Bernarda,” I encouraged her. “You’ll enjoy yourself. Look, while I wrap this up, Fermín can go and get his jacket.”

Fermín hurried off to the back room to comb his hair, splash on some cologne, and put on his jacket. I slipped him a few duros from the till.

“Where shall I take her?” he whispered to me, as nervous as a child.

“I’d take her to Els Quatre Gats,” I said. “I know for a fact that it’s a lucky place for romance.”

I handed Bernarda the packet and winked at her.

“What do I owe you then, Master Daniel?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll let you know. The book didn’t have a price on it, and I have to ask my father,” I lied.

I watched them leave arm in arm and disappear down Calle Santa Ana, hoping there was somebody on duty up in heaven who, for once, would grant the couple a lucky break. I hung the CLOSED notice in the shop window. I had just gone into the back room for a moment to look through my father’s order book when I heard the tinkle of the doorbell. I thought Fermín must have forgotten something, or perhaps my father was back from his day trip.