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

“Make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”

I nodded, not very convinced, and began to continue the work Fermín had started while my father returned to his correspondence. Between paragraphs my father would look over at me. I pretended not to notice.

“How did it go with Professor Velázquez yesterday? Everything all right?” he asked, eager to change the subject.

“Yes. He was pleased with the books. He mentioned that he was looking for a book of Franco’s letters.”

“TheMoorslayer book. But it’s apocryphal…a joke by Madariaga. What did you say to him?”

“That we were on the case and would give him some news in two weeks’ time at the latest.”

“Well done. We’ll put Fermín on the case and charge Velázquez a fortune.”

I nodded. We continued going through the motions of our routine. My father was still looking at me. Here we go, I thought.

“Yesterday a very nice girl came by the shop. Fermín says she’s Tomás Aguilar’s sister?”

“Yes.”

My father nodded, considering the coincidence with an expression of mild surprise. He granted me a moment’s peace before he charged at me again, this time adopted the look of someone who has just remembered something.

“By the way, Daniel, we’re not going to be very busy today, and, well, maybe you’d like to take some time off to do your own thing. Besides, I think you’ve been working too hard lately.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“I was even considering leaving Fermín here and going along to the Liceo Opera House with Barceló. This afternoon they’re performingTannhäuser, and he’s invited me, as he has a few seats reserved in the stalls.” My father pretended to be reading his letters. He was a dreadful actor.

“Since when do you like Wagner?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth…. Besides, with Barceló it makes no difference what it is, because he spends the whole show commenting on the performance and criticizing the wardrobe and the tempo. He often asks after you. Perhaps you should go around to see him at the shop one day.”

“One of these days.”

“Right, then, if you agree, let’s leave Fermín in charge today and we’ll go out and enjoy ourselves a bit. It’s about time. And if you need any money…”

“Dad. Bea is not my girlfriend.”

“Who said anything about girlfriends? That’s settled, then. It’s up to you. If you need any money, take it from the till, but leave a note so Fermín doesn’t get a fright when he closes at the end of the day.”

Having said that, he feigned absentmindedness and wandered into the back room, smiling from ear to ear. I looked at my watch. It was ten-thirty in the morning. I had arranged to meet Bea at five in the university cloister, and, to my dismay, the day was turning out to be longer thanThe Brothers Karamazov.

Fermín soon returned from the watchmaker’s home and informed us that a commando team of women from the neighborhood had set up a permanent guard to attend to poor Don Federico, whom the doctor had diagnosed as having three broken ribs, a large number of bruises, and an uncommonly severe rectal tear.

“Did you have to buy anything?” asked my father.

“They had enough medicines and ointments to open a pharmacy, so I took the liberty of buying him some flowers, a bottle of cologne, and three jars of peach juice—Don Federico’s favorite.”

“You did the right thing. Let me know what I owe you,” said my father. “And how did you find him?”

“Beaten to a pulp, quite frankly. Just to see him huddled up in his bed like a ball of wool, moaning that he wanted to die, I was filled with murderous intentions, believe me. I feel like showing up at the offices of the Crime Squad and bumping off half a dozen pricks with a blunderbuss, beginning with that burst boil, Fumero.”

“Fermín, let’s have some peace and quiet. I strictly forbid you to do anything of the sort.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Sempere.”

“And how has Pepita taken it?”

“With exemplary courage. The neighbors have doped her with shots of brandy, and when I saw her, she had collapsed onto the sofa and was snoring like a boar and letting off farts that pierced bullet holes through the upholstery.”