“It’s a deal.”
We strolled down the Ramblas, Isabella’s arm in mine. When we reached Calle Arco del Teatro, we crossed over toward the dark alleyway that ran deep into the Raval quarter.
“Isabella, you mustn’t tell anyone what you’re about to see tonight.”
“Not even Sempere junior?”
I sighed.
“Of course you can tell him. You can tell him everything. We can hardly keep any secrets from him.”
…
When the doors opened, Isaac, the keeper, smiled at us and stepped aside.
“It’s about time we had an important visit,” he said, bowing to Isabella. “Am I right in supposing you’d rather be the guide, Martín?”
“If you don’t mind …”
Isaac stretched out his hand and I shook it.
“Good luck,” he said.
The keeper withdrew into the shadows, leaving me alone with Isabella. My ex-assistant—now the new manager of Sempere & Sons—observed everything with a mixture of astonishment and apprehension.
“What sort of a place is this?” she asked.
I took her hand and led her the remaining distance to the large hall that housed the entrance.
“Welcome to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, Isabella.”
Isabella looked up toward the glass dome and became lost in that impossible vision of white rays of light that crisscrossed a babel of tunnels, footbridges, and bridges, all leading into a cathedral made of books.
“This place is a mystery. A sanctuary. Every book, every volume you see, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and the soul of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens. In this place, books no longer remembered by anyone, books that are lost in time, live forever, waiting for the day when they will reach a new reader’s hands, a new spirit …”
…
Later I left Isabella waiting by the entrance to the labyrinth and set off alone through the tunnels, clutching that accursed manuscript I had not had the courage to destroy. I hoped my feet would guide me to the place where I was to bury it forever. I turned a thousand corners until I thought I was lost. Then, when I was convinced I’d followed the same path a dozen times, I discovered I was standing at the entrance to the small chamber where I’d seen my reflection in the mirror in which the eyes of the man in black were ever-present. I found a gap between two spines of black leather and there, without thinking twice, I buried the boss’s folder. I was about to leave the chamber when I turned and went back to the shelf. I picked up the volume next to the slot in which I had confined the manuscript and opened it. I’d only read a couple of sentences when I heard that dark laughter again behind me. I returned the book to its place and picked another at random, flicking through the pages. I took another, then another, and went on in this way until I had examined dozens of the volumes that populated the room. They all contained different arrangements of the same words, the same images darkened their pages, the same fable was repeated in them like a pas de deux in an infinite hall of mirrors. Lux Aeterna.
…
When I emerged from the labyrinth Isabella was waiting for me, sitting on some steps, holding the book she had chosen. I sat down next to her and she leaned her head on my shoulder.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said.
I suddenly understood that I would never see that place again, that I was condemned to dream about it and to sculpt what I remembered of it into my memory, considering myself lucky to have been able to walk through its passages and touch its secrets. I closed my eyes for a moment so that the image might become engraved in my mind. Then, without daring to look back, I took Isabella’s hand and made my way toward the exit, leaving the Cemetery of Forgotten Books behind me forever.
…
Isabella came with me to the dock, where the ship was waiting to take me far away from that city, from everything I knew.
“What did you say the captain was called?”
“Charon.”
“I don’t think that’s funny.”
I hugged her for the last time and looked into her eyes. On the way we had agreed there would be no farewells, no solemn words, no promises to fulfill. When the midnight bells rang in Santa María del Mar, I went on board. Captain Olmo greeted me and offered to take me to my cabin. I said I would rather wait. The crew cast off and gradually the hull moved away from the dock. I positioned myself at the stern, watching the city fade in a tide of lights. Isabella remained there, motionless, her eyes fixed on mine, until the dock was lost in the night and the great mirage of Barcelona sank into the black waters. One by one the lights of the city went out, and I realized that I had already begun to remember.