The Angel's Game (The Cemetery of Forgotten 2)
“Thank you, but I can’t abandon ship. My son has gone to Sarriá to appraise a collection and business isn’t so good that we can afford to close the sh
op when there are customers about.”
“Don’t tell me you’re having financial problems.”
“This is a bookshop, Martín, not an investment firm. The world of letters provides us with just enough to get by, and sometimes not even that.”
“If you need help …”
Sempere held up his hand.
“If you want to help me, buy a book or two.”
“You know that the debt I owe you can never be repaid with money.”
“All the more reason not even to think about it. Don’t worry about us, Martín. The only way they’ll get me out of here is in a pine box. But if you like, you can come share a tasty meal of bread, raisins, and fresh Burgos cheese. With that, and The Count of Monte Cristo, anyone can live to a hundred.”
19
Sempere hardly tasted his food. He smiled wearily and pretended to be interested in my comments, but I could see that from time to time he was having trouble breathing.
“Tell me, Martín, what are you working on?”
“It’s difficult to explain. A book I’ve been commissioned to write.”
“A novel?”
“Not exactly. I wouldn’t know how to describe it.”
“What’s important is that you’re working. I’ve always said that idleness dulls the spirit. We have to keep the brain busy, or at least the hands if we don’t have a brain.”
“But some people work more than is reasonable, Señor Sempere. Shouldn’t you take a break? How many years have you been here, always hard at work, never stopping?”
Sempere looked around him.
“This place is my life, Martín. Where else would I go? To a sunny bench in the park, to feed pigeons and complain about my rheumatism? I’d be dead in ten minutes. My place is here. And my son isn’t ready to take up the reins of the business, even if he thinks he is.”
“But he’s a good worker. And a good person.”
“Between you and me, he’s too good a person. Sometimes I look at him and wonder what will become of him the day I go. How is he going to cope?”
“All fathers say that, Señor Sempere.”
“Did yours? Forgive me, I didn’t mean to …”
“Don’t worry. My father had enough worries of his own without having to worry about me as well. I’m sure your son has more experience than you think.”
Sempere looked dubious.
“Do you know what I think he lacks?”
“Malice?”
“A woman.”
“He’ll have no shortage of girlfriends with all the turtledoves who cluster round the shop window to admire him.”
“I’m talking about a real woman, the sort who makes you become what you’re supposed to be.”