The Prisoner of Heaven (The Cemetery of Forgotten 3) - Page 9

‘And what did you reply?’

‘That your father, as an exemplary widower, has reverted to a state of primal virginity, which has baffled the scientific community but earned him a fast-track application for sainthood at the archbishop’s office. I don’t discuss Señor Sempere’s private life with friends or foes because it’s nobody’s business but his own. And whoever comes to me with such rubbish will get from me no more than a slap in the face and that’s that.’

‘You’re a gentleman of the old school, Fermín.’

‘The one who is of the old school is your father, Daniel. Between you and me, and this mustn’t go beyond these four walls, it wouldn’t be a bad thing if your father let down his hair every now and then. Ever since we started crossing this financial desert he has spent his entire time walled up in the storeroom with that Egyptian Book of the Dead.’

‘It’s the accounts book,’ I corrected him.

‘Whatever. In fact, for days now I’ve been thinking we should take him along to El Molino music hall and then out on the town. Even if our hero is as boring as a paella made of cabbage on that front, I’m sure a head-on collision with an elastic and decidedly buxom lass would shake up the marrow in his bones,’ said Fermín.

‘Look who’s talking. The life and soul of the party. To be honest, you’re the one I’m worried about,’ I protested. ‘For days you’ve been looking like a cockroach stuffed in a raincoat.’

‘Since you mention it, that’s an adroit comparison, if I may say so. For the cockroach may not have the swaggering good looks required by the frivolous norms of this daft society we’ve had the dubious fortune to live in, but both the underrated arthropod and yours truly are characterised by an unmatched instinct for survival, an overwhelming appetite and a leonine libido that won’t relent even under extreme radiation levels.’

‘It’s impossible to argue with you, Fermín.’

‘That’s because of my natural flair for high dialectics, always ready to strike back at the slightest hint of inanity, dear friend. But your father is a tender, delicate flower and I think the time has come to take action before he turns into a complete fossil.’

‘Take what action, Fermín?’ my father’s voice cut in behind us. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to set up a tea party with Rociíto.’

We turned round like two schoolboys caught in the act. My father, looking most unlike a tender flower, was watching us severely from the door.

8

‘And how on earth do you know about Rociíto?’ mumbled Fermín in astonishment.

After savouring the fright he’d given us, my father smiled kindly and gave us a wink.

‘I might be turning into a fossil, but my hearing is still pretty good. My hearing and my thinking. That’s why I’ve decided that something had to be done to revitalise our business,’ he announced. ‘The cabaret outing can wait.’

Only then did we notice that my father was carrying two hefty bags and a large box wrapped in brown paper and tied with thick string.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve just robbed the local bank,’ I said.

‘I try to avoid banks as much as possible: as Fermín says, they’re the ones who usually rob us. I’ve been to the Santa Lucía market.’

Fermín and I looked at each other in bewilderment.

‘Aren’t you going to help me? This weighs a ton.’

We proceeded to unload the contents of the bags onto the counter while my father unwrapped the box. The bags were packed with small objects, each one protected with more brown paper. Fermín unwrapped one of them and stared at it, perplexed.

‘What’s that?’ I asked.

‘I’m inclined to say it’s an adult sumpter at a scale of one to one hundred,’ Fermín suggested.

‘A what?’

‘Namely, a donkey or an ass, the delightful hoofed quadruped that with winning charm and zest peo

ples this uniquely Spanish landscape of ours. Only this is a miniature version, like the model trains they sell in Casa Palau,’ Fermín explained.

‘It’s a clay donkey, a figure for the crib,’ my father explained.

‘What crib?’

My father opened the cardboard box and pulled out the enormous manger with lights he’d just bought and which, I guessed, he was planning to place in the shop window as a Christmas advertising gimmick. Meanwhile Fermín had already unwrapped a number of oxen, pigs, ducks, as well as three wise old kings riding camels, some palm trees, a St Joseph and a Virgin Mary.

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