ing that Fermín was hours away from becoming a married man, the owner expressed his condolences and presented us with a bottle of house medicine.
‘Be brave, and may God be with you,’ he pronounced.
We wandered through the narrow streets of the Ribera quarter, putting the world to rights, as we usually did, until the sky took on a purple hue and we knew the time had come for the groom and his best man – in other words, me – to head for the breakwater. There we would sit once again to greet the dawn facing the greatest mirage in the universe: the reflection of Barcelona awakening in the harbour waters.
We sat there with our legs dangling over the jetty to share the bottle we’d been given at El Xampanyet. Between one gulp and the next, we gazed silently at the city, tracing the flight of a flock of seagulls over the dome of La Mercé Church and watching them draw an arc between the towers of the Post Office building. In the distance, crowning the mountain of Montjuïc, the castle loomed darkly, a ghostly bird of prey scrutinising the city at its feet, expectant.
The silence was broken by a ship’s horn. On the other side of the National Dock a large cruiser was weighing anchor. Pulling away from the pier it set sail with a surge of the propellers, leaving a wide wake behind it on the waters of the port. Dozens of passengers came out to wave from the stern. I wondered whether Rociíto was among them, next to her mature, handsome scrap merchant from Reus. Fermín watched the ship, deep in thought.
‘Do you think Rociíto will be happy, Daniel?’
‘What about you, Fermín? Will you be happy?’
We saw the cruiser move into the distance and the figures grow smaller until they became invisible.
‘Fermín, there’s one thing that intrigues me. Why didn’t you want anyone to give you wedding presents?’
‘I don’t like to put people in a tight spot. And besides, what were we going to do with sets of glasses, teaspoons with the Spanish shield and all that kind of stuff people give at weddings?’
‘Well, I was looking forward to giving you a present.’
‘You’ve already given me the biggest present anyone could give me, Daniel.’
‘That doesn’t count. I’m talking about a present for personal use and enjoyment.’
Fermín looked intrigued.
‘Don’t tell me it’s a porcelain Madonna or a figurine of Saint Teresa. Bernarda has such an ample collection already that I don’t know where we’re going to find room to sit down.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s not an object.’
‘Don’t tell me it’s money …’
‘As you know, I don’t have a céntimo, unfortunately. The one with the funds is my father-in-law and he doesn’t splash it about.’
‘These new Francoists are as tight as two coats of paint.’
‘My father-in-law is a good man, Fermín. Don’t have a go at him.’
‘Let’s draw a line under the matter, but don’t change the subject now you’ve put the sweet in my mouth. What present?’
‘Guess.’
‘A batch of Sugus sweets.’
‘Cold, cold …’
Fermín arched his eyebrows, dying with curiosity. Suddenly, his eyes lit up.
‘No … It was about time.’
I nodded.
‘There’s a time for everything. Now, listen carefully. You mustn’t tell anyone what you’re about to see today, Fermín. No one …’
‘Not even Bernarda?’
6