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

“No. You’re very much alive. Don’t you remember me?”

“I remember you as well as I remember my first pair of shoes, young man, but seeing you like this, looking so pale, I thought it might be a vision from beyond. Don’t hold it against me. Here one loses what you outsiders call discernment. So this isn’t a vision?”

“No. The vision is waiting for you downstairs, if you’ll do the honors.”

I led the grandpa to a gloomy cell, which Fermín and Rociíto had decorated festively with some candles and a few puffs of perfume. When his eyes rested on the abundant beauty of our Andalusian Venus, the old man’s face lit up with intimations of paradise.

“May God bless you all.”

“And may you live to see it,” said Fermín, as he signaled to the siren from Calle Escudillers to start displaying her wares.

I saw her take the old man with infinite delicacy and kiss the tears that fell down his cheeks. Fermín and I left the scene to grant them their deserved intimacy. In our winding journey through that gallery of despair, we encountered Sister Emilia, one of the nuns who managed the hospice. She threw us a venomous look.

“Some patients are telling me you’ve brought in a hooker. Now they also want one.”

“Most Illustrious Sister, who do you take us for? Our presence here is strictly ecumenical. This young lad, who tomorrow will be a man in the eyes of the Holy Mother Church, and I, have come to inquire after the patient Jacinta Coronado.”

Sister Emilia raised an eyebrow. “Are you related?”

“Spiritually.”

“Jacinta died two weeks ago. A gentleman came to visit her the night before. Is he a relative of yours?”

“Do you mean Father Fernando?”

“He wasn’t a priest. He said his name was Julián. I can’t remember his last name.”

Fermín looked at me, dumbstruck.

“Julián is a friend of mine,” I said.

Sister Emilia nodded. “He was with her for a few hours. I hadn’t heard her laugh for years. When he left, she told me they’d been talking about the old days, when they were young. She said that man had brought news of her daughter, Penélope. I didn’t know Jacinta had a daughter. I remember, because that morning Jacinta smiled at me, and when I asked her why she was so happy, she said she was going home, with Penélope. She died at dawn, in her sleep.”

Rociíto concluded her love ritual a short while later, leaving the old man merrily exhausted and in the hands of Morpheus. As we were leaving, Fermín paid her double, but Rociíto, who was crying from the sight of those poor, helpless people, forsaken by God and the devil, insisted on handing her fees to Sister Emilia so that they could all be given a meal of hot chocolate and sweet buns, because, she said, that was something that always made her forget the sorrows of life.

“I’m ever so sentimental. Look at that poor old soul, Mr. Fermín…. All he wanted was to be hugged and stroked. Breaks your heart, it does….”

We put Rociíto into a taxi with a good tip and walked up Calle Princesa, which was deserted and strewn with mist.

“We ought to get to bed, because of tomorrow,” said Fermín.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to get any sleep.”

We set off toward La Barceloneta. Before we knew it, we were walking along the breakwater until the whole city, shining with silence, spread out at our feet like the greatest mirage in the universe, emerging from the pool of the harbor waters. We sat on the edge of the jetty to gaze at the sight.

“This city is a sorceress, you know, Daniel? It gets under your skin and steals your soul without you knowing it.”

“You sound like Rociíto, Fermín.”

“Don’t laugh, it’s people like her who make this lousy world a place worth visiting.”

“Whores?”

“No. We’re all whores, sooner or later. I mean good-hearted people. And don’t look at me like that. Weddings turn me to jelly.”

We remained there embracing that special silence, gazing at the reflections on the water. After a while dawn tinged the sky with amber, and Barcelona woke up. We heard the distant bells from the basilica of Santa María del Mar, just emerging from the mist on the other side of the harbor.

“Do you think Carax is still there, somewhere in the city?” I asked.