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

“Well, then, make her yours before someone else takes her, especially the little tin soldier.”

“You talk as if Bea were a trophy.”

“No, as if she were a blessing,” Fermín corrected. “Look, Daniel. Destiny is usually just around the corner. Like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor: its three most common personifications. But what destiny does not do is home visits. You have to go for it.”

I spent the rest of the journey considering this pearl of wisdom while Fermín had another snooze, an occupation for which he had a Napoleonic talent. We got off the bus on the corner of Gran Vía and Paseo de Gracia under a leaden sky that stole the light of day. Buttoning his raincoat up to his neck, Fermín announced that he was departing in a hurry toward hispensión, to smarten up for his meeting with Bernarda.

“You must understand that with rather modest looks such as mine, basic beautification entails at least ninety minutes. You won’t get far without some looks; that’s the sad truth about these dishonest times.Vanitas peccata mundi. ”

I saw him walk away down Gran Vía, barely a sketch of a little man sheltering himself in a drab raincoat that flapped in the wind like a ragged flag. I started off for home, where I planned to recruit a good book and hide away from the world. When I turned the corner of Puerta del Ángel and Calle Santa Ana, my heart missed a beat. As usual, Fermín had been right. Destiny was waiting for me in front of the bookshop, clad in a tight gray wool suit, new shoes, and nylon stockings, studying her reflection in the shop window.

“My father thinks I’ve gone to twelve o’clock mass,” said Bea without looking up from her own image.

“You could as well be there. There’s been a continuous performance since nine o’clock in the morning less than twenty yards from here, in the Church of Santa Ana.”

We spoke like two strangers who have casually stopped by a shop window, looking for each other’s eyes in the pane.

“Let’s not make a joke of it. I’ve had to pick up a church leaflet to see what the sermon was about. He’s going to ask me for a detailed synopsis.”

“Your father thinks of everything.”

“He’s sworn he’ll break your legs.”

“Before that he’ll have to find out who I am. And while they’re still in one piece, I can run faster than him.”

Bea was looking at me tensely, glancing over her shoulder at the people who drifted by behind us in puffs of gray and wind.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing at,” she said. “He means it.”

“I’m not laughing. I’m scared shitless. It’s just that I’m so happy to see you.”

A suggestion of a smile, nervous, fleeting. “Me, too,” Bea admitted.

“You say it as if it were an illness.”

“It’s worse than that. I thought that if I saw you again in daylight, I might come to reason.”

I wondered whether that was a compliment or a condemnation.

“We can’t be seen together, Daniel. Not like this, in full view of everyone.”

“If you like, we can go into the bookshop. There’s a coffeepot in the back room and—”

“No. I don’t want anyone to see me go into or come out of this place. If anyone sees me talking to you now, I can always say I’ve bumped into my brother’s best friend by chance. If we are seen together more than once, we’ll arouse suspicion.”

I sighed. “And who’s going to see us? Who cares what we do?”

“People always have eyes for what is none of their business, and my father knows half of Barcelona.”

“So why have you come here to wait for me?”

“I haven’t come to wait for you. I’ve come to church, remember? You yourself said so. Twenty yards from here…”

“You scare me, Bea. You lie even better than I do.”

“You don’t know me, Daniel.”

“So your brother tells me.”