The Prisoner of Heaven (The Cemetery of Forgotten 3)

I agreed reluctantly and showed him the one-thousand-peseta note the stranger had paid me with. I didn’t have to explain where it had come from.

‘That money is cursed, Daniel. Give it to the Sisters of Charity or to some beggar in the street. Or, better still, burn it.’

Without another word he proceeded to remove his overalls and slip on his frayed raincoat and his beret. On that matchstick head of his the beret looked like one of Dali’s melting clocks.

‘Are you leaving already?’

‘Tell your father something unexpected has cropped up. Will you?’

‘Of course, but …’

‘I can’t explain this to you now, Daniel.’

He clutched his stomach with one hand as if his insides had got tied in a knot.

‘Fermín, if you tell me about it I might be able to help …’

Fermín paused for a moment, but then shook his head and walked out into the hallway. I followed him as far as the main door and saw him set off in the rain, just a little man with the entire world on his shoulders, while the night, blacker than ever, stole down over Barcelona.

9

It is a scientifically acknowledged fact that any infant a few months old has an unerring instinct for sensing the exact moment in the early hours when his parents have managed to nod off, so he can raise the tone of his cries, thereby ensuring they don’t get more than thirty minutes’ sleep at a time.

That night, like almost all others, little Julián awoke around three in the morning and didn’t hesitate to announce the fact at the top of his lungs. I opened my eyes and turned over. Next to me, Bea, gleaming in the half-light, slowly stirred, revealing the outline of her body under the sheets, and mumbled something. I resisted my natural impulse to kiss her on the neck and relieve her of that overlong, reinforced nightgown that my father-in-law, probably on purpose, had given her on her birthday. Try as I might, I couldn’t get it to disappear in the laundry.

‘I’ll get up,’ I whispered, kissing her on the forehead.

Bea replied by rolling over and covering her head with the pillow. I paused to admire the curve of her back and its enticing descent which no nightdress in the world could have obscured. I’d been married to that wonderful creature for almost two years and was still surprised to wake up by her side, feeling her warmth. I’d started to pull back the sheet and caress her velvety thigh when Bea’s hand stuck its nails into my wrist.

‘Not now, Daniel. The baby’s crying.’

‘I knew you were awake.’

‘It’s hard to get any sleep sharing a house with men who either can’t stop crying or can’t refrain from fondling your backside – they won’t let you string together more than two hours’ rest a night.’

‘Well, it’s your loss.’

I got up and walked down the corridor to Julián’s room at the back. Shortly after the wedding we’d moved into the attic apartment in the same building as the bookshop. Don Anacleto, the secondary-school teacher who had lived in it for twenty-five years, had decided to retire and return to his native Segovia to write spicy poems under the shade of the old Roman aqueduct and broaden his understanding of the art of roast suckling pig.

Little Julián welcomed me with loud, shrill crying that threatened to shatter my eardrums. I took him in my arms and after smelling his nappy and confirming that for once there were no nasty surprises, I did what every new father with any sense would do: whisper some silly nonsense and dance about the room with ridiculous little jumps. I was in the middle of doing just that when I realised Bea was staring at me disapprovingly from the doorway.

‘Give him to me. You’re going to unsettle him even more.’

‘He’s not complaining,’ I protested, handing her the baby.

Bea took him in her arms and murmured a melody in his ear as she gently rocked him. Five seconds later Julián had stopped crying and was giving that enchanted half-smile his mother always managed to elicit from him.

‘Go on,’ said Bea, softly. ‘I’ll be along in a second.’

Having been thrown out of the room, my incompetence at handling babies at the crawling stage clearly proven, I went back to our bedroom and lay down, knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink the rest of the night. A while later, Bea appeared round the door and lay down next to me with a sigh.

‘I’m dead tired.’

I put my arms around her and we lay there quietly for a few minutes.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Bea.

Tremble, Daniel, I thought. Bea sat up and then crouched down on the bed facing me.