‘Whatever that letter said only concerns you, Daniel. You don’t have to tell us anything.’
I nodded. The echo of church bells resounded faintly through the walls. Isaac looked at us and checked his watch.
‘Listen, weren’t you two going to a wedding today?’
9
The bride was dressed in white, and though she wore no dazzling jewellery or ornaments, in the eyes of her groom no woman, in all of history, had ever looked more beautiful than Bernarda did on that early February day, when the sun lit up the square outside the Church of Santa Ana. Don Gustavo Barceló – who must surely have bought all the flowers in Barcelona, for they flooded the entrance to the church – cried like a baby and the priest, the groom’s friend, surprised us all with a lucid sermon that brought tears even to Bea’s eyes, who was no soft touch.
I almost dropped the rings, but all was forgotten when the priest, once the preliminaries were over, invited Fermín to kiss the bride. Just then, I turned my head for a second and thought I saw a figure in the back row of the church, a stranger who was looking at me and smiling. I couldn’t say why, but for a moment I was certain that the unknown man was none other than the Prisoner of Heaven. But when I looked again, he was no longer there. Next to me Fermín held Bernarda tight and smacked a kiss right on her lips that unleashed an ovation captained by the priest.
When I saw my friend kissing the woman he loved it occurred to me that this moment, this instant stolen from time and from God, was worth all the days of misery that had brought us to this place and the many others that were doubtless waiting for us on our return to life. And that everything that was decent and clean and pure in this world and everything for which it was worth living and breathing was in those lips, in those hands and in the look of that fortunate couple who, I knew, would be together for the rest of their lives.
Epilogue
1960
A young man, already showing a few grey hairs, walks in the noon sun amongst the gravestones of the cemetery, beneath a sky melting over the blue of the sea.
In his arms he carries a child who barely understands his words but who smiles when their eyes meet. Together they approach a modest grave, set apart on a balcony overlooking the Mediterranean. The man kneels down in front of the grave and, holding his son, lets him stroke the letters engraved on the stone.
ISABELLA SEMPERE
1917–1939
The man remains there for a while, in silence, his eyelids pressed together to hold his tears.
His son’s voice brings him back to the present and when he opens his eyes again he sees that the boy is pointing at a small figure peeping through the petals of some dried flowers, in the shadow of a glass vase at the foot of the tomb. He is certain that it wasn’t there the last time he visited the grave. His hand searches among the flowers and picks up a plaster statuette, so small it fits in his fist. An angel. The words he thought he’d forgotten flare up in his memory like an old wound.
And if one day, kneeling at her graveside, you feel the fire of anger trying to take hold of you, remember that in my story, as in yours, there was an angel who holds all the answers …
The child tries to clutch the angel figure resting in his father’s hand and when he touches it with his fingers he accidentally pushes it. The angel falls on the marble and breaks. And that is when the man sees it. A tiny piece of paper hidden inside the plaster. The paper is fine, almost transparent. He unrolls it and instantly recognises the handwriting:
Mauricio Valls
El Pinar
Calle de Manuel Arnús
Barcelona
The sea breeze rises through the gravestones and the breath of a curse caresses his face. He puts the piece of paper in his pocket. Shortly afterwards, he places a white rose on the tombstone and then retraces his steps, carrying the boy in his arms, towards the avenue of cypress trees where the mother of his son is waiting. All three melt into an embrace and when she looks into his eyes she discovers something that was not in them a few moments ago. Something turbulent and dark that frightens her.
‘Are you all right, Daniel?’
He looks at her for a long time and smiles.
‘I love you,’ he says, and kisses her, knowing that the story, his story, has not ended.
It has only just begun.
THE END