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  ‘There where you see her, Andrea,’ said the head of the family, ‘my wife is something of a vagabond. She can’t be at peace anywhere and she drags all of us with her.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate, Luis,’ his wife said with a gentle smile.

  ‘Essentially it’s true. Of course your father is the one who sends me to the strangest places to represent him and manage his businesses – you see, Andrea, my father-in-law is my employer too – but you’re behind all the moves. You can’t deny that if you wanted to, your father would have you living peacefully in Barcelona. The influence you have over him was clear in that London matter … Of course I’m delighted by your tastes, dear girl; I don’t reproach you for them.’ And he enveloped her in an affectionate smile. ‘All my life I’ve liked to travel and see new things … And I can’t control a kind of feverish activity that’s almost a pleasure when I enter a new business environment, with people whose psychology is so unfamiliar. It’s like beginning the struggle all over again, and one feels rejuvenated …’

  ‘But Mamá likes Barcelona,’ Ena declared, ‘more than any other place in the world. I know.’

  Her mother gave her a special smile that seemed dreamy and amused at the same time.

  ‘I’m always happy any place where all of you are. And your father’s right about my sometimes feeling an urge to travel; of course that’s a long way,’ her smile grew broader, ‘from managing my father …’

  ‘And since we’re talking about these things, Margarita,’ her husband continued, ‘do you know what your father told me yesterday? It’s possible that next season we’ll be needed in Madrid … What do you think? The truth is that right now I’d rather be in Barcelona than anywhere else, especially considering that your brother …’

  ‘Yes, Luis, I think we have to talk about it. But now we’re boring this child. Andrea, you’ll have to forgive us. When all is said and done, we’re a family of merchants who end every conversation talking about business …’

  Ena had listened to the last part of the conversation with extraordinary interest.

  ‘Bah! My grandfather’s a little crazy, I think. So emotional and weepy when he sees Mamá after she’s been away and then turning right around and planning to have us leave again. I don’t want to leave Barcelona now … It doesn’t make sense! After all, Barcelona’s my city and you could say I only got to know it since the war ended.’

  (She looked at me quickly and I caught her glance because I knew she’d just fallen in love and this was her supreme and secret argument for not wanting to leave the city.)

  Between the sheets on Calle de Aribau, I evoked this conversation in all its detail and was shaken by alarm at the idea of separating from my friend when I’d become so fond of her. I thought the plans of that important old man – Ena’s rich grandfather – moved too many people around and wounded too many feelings of affection.

  In the agreeable confusion of ideas that precedes sleep my fears were abating, replaced by vague images of empty streets at night. The lofty dream of the Cathedral invaded me again.

  I slept, agitated by my final glimpse of the eyes of Ena’s mother; as we were saying goodbye, they glanced up at me, fleetingly, with a strange look of anguish and fear.

  Those eyes entered my deepest sleep and raised nightmares.

  XI

  ‘NIECE, DON’T BE stubborn,’ said Juan. ‘You’ll starve to death.’

  And he placed his hands on my shoulders in an awkward caress.

  ‘No, thanks; I’m getting on just fine …’

  In the meantime I looked at my uncle out of the corner of my eye and saw that things didn’t seem to be going too well for him either. He had caught me drinking the water the vegetables had been cooked in, cold and forgotten in a corner of the kitchen, ready to be thrown out.

  Antonia had shouted in disgust:

  ‘What filthy things are you up to?’

  I turned red.

  ‘It’s just that I like this broth. And since I saw you were going to throw it out …’

  Antonia’s shouts brought the other people in the house. Juan proposed a reconciliation of our economic interests. I refused.

  The truth is I felt happier since I’d disentangled myself from the knot of meals at home. It didn’t matter that I spent too much that month and barely had the daily peseta I budgeted for food: midday is the most beautiful time in winter. A good time to sit in the sun in a park or on the Plaza de Cataluña. At times I thought, with delight, about what was happening at home. My ears filled with the parrot’s screeching and Juan’s cursing. I preferred my independent wandering.

  I learned about delights and flavours I’d never thought of before; for example, dried fruit was a discovery for me. Toasted almonds, or better yet, peanuts, whose pleasures last longer because you have to get them out of their shells, brought me great satisfaction.

  The truth is I didn’t have the patience to distribute the thirty pesetas I had left on the first day over the thirty days of the month. On Calle de Tallers I found a cheap restaurant and was mad enough to eat there two or three times. I thought the food was better than any I’d ever tasted in my life, infinitely better than anything Antonia prepared on Calle de Aribau. It was a curious restaurant. Dark, with a few sad tables. A self-absorbed waiter served me. People ate quickly, looking at one another and not saying a word. All the restaurants and cafés I’d ever gone into were noisy except that one. It offered a soup I thought was good, made with boiling water and pieces of bread. This soup was always the same, coloured yellow by saffron or red by paprika; but on the ‘menu’ its name changed frequently. I left there satisfied and didn’t need anything else.

  In the morning I took a loaf of bread – as soon as Antonia brought the rations up from the bakery – and ate the whole thing, it was so warm and delicious. At night I didn’t eat supper, unless Ena’s mother insisted I stay at her house. I’d developed the habit of going to study with Ena on many afternoons, and the family was beginning to consider me as one of their own.

  I thought a rebirth was really beginning for me, that this was the happiest time in my life, since I’d never had a friend with whom I’d been so close, or the magnificent independence I enjoyed so much. I spent the last days of the month eating nothing but my ration of bread, the little loaf I devoured in the morning – that was when Antonia caught me drinking the vegetable water – but I was beginning to get used to it, and the proof is that as soon as I received my allowance for March I spent it in exactly the same way. I remember that I felt extraordinarily hungry when I had the new money in my hands, and that it was a sharp, delicious sensation to think I could satisfy that hunger right away. More than any kind of food, what I wanted was candy. I bought a box and went to an expensive cinema. I was so impatient that before the lights went out I tore a little piece of the paper to eat some of the cream filling, though I stole sideways glances at the people around me, overwhelmed with embarrassment. As soon as the screen lit up and the theatre went dark, I opened the package and swallowed the chocolates one by one. Until then I hadn’t suspected that food could be so good, so extraordinary … When the lights went on again there was nothing left in the box. I saw that a woman sitting beside me looked at me out of the corner of her eye and whispered something to her companion. They both laughed.

  On Calle de Aribau they were also feeling hunger pangs without the compensations I had obtained. I’m not referring to Antonia and Trueno. I suppose the two of them had their sustenance assured thanks to Román’s munificence. The dog was well-fed and I often saw him gnawing at juicy bones. The maid also cooked her food separately. But Juan and Gloria were going hungry, and my grandmother too, and even the baby at times.

  For almost two months Román had been travelling again. Before he went away he left some provisions for my grandmother, condensed milk and other treats difficult to find in those days. I never saw the old lady taste them. They would disappear mysteriously and their traces would appear on the baby’s mouth.

/>   On the same day Juan invited me to join the family again, he had a terrible argument with Gloria. We all heard them shouting in the studio. I went out to the foyer and saw that the hall was obstructed by the figure of the maid, who was listening at the door.

  ‘I’m sick of all this brazenness,’ Juan shouted, ‘do you hear me? I can’t even replace my brushes! Those people still owe us a lot of money. What I can’t understand is that you don’t want me to go and demand it from them.’

  ‘Well, kid, you gave me your word you wouldn’t get involved, that you’d let me take care of it, and now you can’t go back. You know you were very glad when you could sell that trashy painting on credit …’

  ‘I’ll strangle you! Bitch!’

  The maid sighed with pleasure and I went out to breathe the cold air, heavy with aromas from the shops. The pavements, stained with twilight dampness, reflected the lights of the street-lamps that had just been turned on.

  When I came back, my grandmother and Juan were having supper. Juan was distracted, and my grandmother, holding the baby on her lap, carried on an incoherent conversation as she crumbled bread into the bowl of barley gruel that she ate without milk or sugar. Gloria wasn’t there. She had gone out a little while after I did.

  She still hadn’t come back when I got into bed, my stomach aching and empty. I immediately fell into a deep reverie in which the world was moving like a ship on the high seas … Perhaps I was in the dining room of a ship, eating a nice fruit dessert. Somebody screaming for help woke me.

  I realised right away that it was Gloria who was screaming and that Juan must have been giving her a terrible beating. I sat up in bed wondering if it was worth going to help her. But the screams continued, followed by the most awful curses and blasphemies in our rich Spanish vocabulary. In his fury, Juan was using both languages, Castilian and Catalan, with stunning facility and abundance.

  I stopped to put on my coat and finally went out into the dark house. My grandmother and the maid were knocking at the closed door of Juan’s room.

  ‘Juan! Juan! My child, open up!’

  ‘Señorito Juan, open up, open the door!’

  Inside we heard curses, insults. Rapid footsteps and stumbling against furniture. The baby, locked in there too, began to cry, and my grandmother despaired. She raised her hands to bang on the door and I saw her skeletal arms.

  ‘Juan! Juan! The baby!’

  Suddenly the door was kicked open by Juan, and Gloria was shoved out, half naked and shrieking. Juan grabbed her and though she tried to scratch and bite him, he caught her under the arm and dragged her to the bathroom …

  ‘My poor boy!’

  My grandmother shouted as she ran to the baby, who had stood up in the crib, holding on to the railing and whimpering … Then, carrying her grandson, she returned to the brawl.

  Juan put Gloria in the bath and without taking off her clothes ran the icy shower over her. He brutally held her head so that if she opened her mouth she couldn’t help swallowing water. Meanwhile, turning to us, he shouted:

  ‘All of you back to bed! Nobody has any business here!’

  But we didn’t move. My grandmother pleaded:

  ‘For your child’s sake, for your baby! Calm down, Juanito!’

  Suddenly Juan let go of Gloria – when she had stopped struggling – and came towards us with so much rage that Antonia immediately slipped away, followed by the dog that left growling, his tail between his legs.

  ‘And you, Mamá! Take that child away right now where I can’t see him or I’ll kill him!’

  Gloria, on her knees in the bathtub, her head resting on the edge, choking, began to cry with great sobs.

  I huddled in a corner of the dark hall. I didn’t know what to do. Juan saw me. He was calmer now.

  ‘Let’s see if you’re good for anything in this life!’ he said. ‘Bring a towel!’

  His ribs stood out beneath his vest and were heaving violently.

  I had no idea where linen was kept in that house. I brought my own towel as well as a sheet from my bed, in case it was needed. I was afraid Gloria might catch pneumonia. The cold was awful.

  Juan tried to pull Gloria out of the bath with a single heave, but she bit his hand. He cursed and began to punch her in the head. Then he grew quiet again, gasping for breath.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned you can go ahead and die, animal!’ he finally said to her.

  And he left, slamming the door, leaving the two of us behind.

  I leaned over Gloria.

  ‘Let’s go, Gloria! Get out of there now!’

  She continued trembling, not moving, and when she heard my voice she began to cry, insulting her husband. She offered no resistance when I began to shake her, trying to get her out of the bathtub. She took off her dripping clothes herself, though her fingers moved with difficulty. Rubbing her body the best I could, I began to feel warm. Then I was overwhelmed by a weariness so awful that my knees trembled.

  ‘Come to my room if you like,’ I said, thinking it was impossible to leave her in Juan’s hands again.

  She followed me, wrapped in the sheet, her teeth chattering. We lay down together, wrapped in my blankets. Gloria’s body was icy and made me cold, but there was no way to avoid it; her wet hair was as dark and viscous as blood on the pillow and sometimes brushed against my face. Gloria didn’t stop talking. In spite of all this my need for sleep was so great that my eyes closed.

  ‘The brute … The animal … After all I’ve done for him. Because I’m very good, kid, very good … Are you listening to me, Andrea? He’s crazy. He scares me. One day he’s going to kill me … Don’t fall asleep, Andreíta … What do you think about my running away from this house? You’d do it, wouldn’t you, Andrea? Isn’t it true that in my shoes you wouldn’t let anybody hit you? … And I’m so young, kid … Román told me one day that I was one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen. I’ll tell you the truth, Andrea. Román painted me in the Parque del Castillo … I was amazed to see how good-looking I was when he showed me the picture … Oh, kid! I’m really unlucky, aren’t I?’

  Sleep weighed on my temples again. From time to time I woke with a start to hear a sob or a louder word from Gloria.

  ‘I’m good, very good … Even your granny says so. I like to wear a little make-up and have a good time, but kid, that’s natural at my age … And what do you think about his not letting me see my own sister? A sister who’s been like a mother to me … All because she’s a poor woman and doesn’t put on airs … But in her house you eat well. White bread, kid, and good sausage … Oh, Andrea! I’d have been better off marrying a worker. Workers live better than gentlemen, Andrea; they wear espadrilles, but they have good food and good wages. Juan would like to have a factory worker’s good wages … Want me to tell you a secret? Sometimes my sister gives me money when things are very tight. But if Juan found out he’d kill me. I know he’d kill me with Román’s pistol … I heard Román tell him so myself: “Whenever you want to blow your brains out or the brains of your imbecilic wife, you can use my pistol” … Do you know, Andrea, it’s not permitted to have weapons. Román’s breaking the law …’

  Gloria’s profile leaned over to observe my sleep. Her profile of a wet rat.

  ‘… Oh, Andrea! Sometimes I go to my sister’s house just to have a good meal, because she has a good home, kid, and she makes money. Whatever you want is there … Fresh butter, oil, potatoes, ham … One day I’ll take you.’

  I sighed, completely awake when I heard her talk about food. My stomach began to wait impatiently as I listened to the enumeration of the treasures that Gloria’s sister kept in her pantry. I felt hungrier than I’d ever been before. There, in the bed, I was joined to Gloria by my body’s fierce desire that had been awakened by her words, the same links that joined me to Román when his music evoked the impotent desires of my soul.

  Something like madness took possession of my animal nature when I felt the throbbing of Gloria’s neck so close to me, as she
talked and talked. A desire to bite the palpitating flesh, and to chew. To swallow the good warm blood … I twisted, shaking with laughter at my own monstrous thoughts, trying to keep Gloria from detecting that shudder in my body.

  Outside, the cold began to break into drops that fell against the windows. I thought that whenever Gloria talked to me for a long time, it rained. That night it seemed she was never going to stop. Sleep had fled. Suddenly Gloria whispered, putting her hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Don’t you hear that? … Don’t you hear that?’

  We could hear Juan’s footsteps. He must have been nervous. His footsteps reached our door. They withdrew, receded. Finally they returned and Juan came into the room, turning on the light, which dazed us and made us blink. He had put on his new coat over the cotton vest and the trousers he’d been wearing earlier. His hair was uncombed and dreadful shadows devoured his eyes and cheeks. He looked somewhat comical. He stood in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, shaking his head and smiling with a kind of fierce irony.

  ‘Fine. How come you’re not still talking? … What difference does it make if I’m here? … Don’t be afraid, woman, I won’t eat you … Andrea, I know perfectly well what my wife is telling you. I know perfectly well that she thinks I’m crazy because I ask a fair price for my paintings … Do you think the nude I painted of Gloria is worth only ten duros? I spent more than that just on paints and brushes! … This animal thinks my art is the same as a stonemason’s with his fat brush!’

  ‘Go to bed, kid, and don’t be a pain. This is no time to be bothering anybody with your blessed paintings … I’ve seen others who painted better than you and weren’t so conceited. You painted me too ugly for anybody to like it …’

  ‘Don’t make me lose my patience. Bitch! Either …’

  Gloria, under the blanket, turned her back and started to cry.