Everyone was pleased, myself included, although I still had some doubts.
Had El Delgado been connected to the Russian girl? Maybe. He was crazy, he’d had his balls cut off, and he’d given refuge to a pregnant little Moor — this all made him seem like a delirious savior of whores and injured women.
Had he been the victim of a crossfire, a settling of scores which would have been best avoided at any cost? I don’t know, I don’t want to know. What probably happened was that he was killed because of his gift for ubiquity: he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe what killed him was his obsession and his disturbing mantra about the slender charm of Chinese women. In any case, he’d been dead a long time, he just didn’t know it.
Everyone was pleased, myself included. Sometimes a lack of ambition can save your ass. It’s best to be content with the leftovers from the lions.
The Police Inspector Who Loved Books
by Francisco González Ledesma
El Raval
Everybody knows that Méndez is an old cop who lives (badly) on the streets of Barcelona. Just like everybody knows Méndez eats cheaply in the city’s worst restaurants; every now and then, the owners invite him for a free meal so he’ll recommend them to the Michelin Guide. One time, to support his friends, he took a TV crew to one of those places so they’d give it some publicity, but after they ate, the cameraman couldn’t make it to the door.
As everybody suspects (although they don’t know for sure), Méndez will never get anywhere because he doesn’t believe in a single law except the law of the streets. Plus, he feels sorry for petty delinquents and rarely arrests them. Nonetheless, they say he once detained a fellow with a limp. As everybody suspects, Méndez was watching from the balcony at the station on Nou de la Rambla Street, which was the most sordid in all of Barcelona; it was so bad that sometimes not even the cops would go in at night for fear that they’d be assaulted in the doorway. From that balcony, Méndez could see all the neighborhood’s thefts, assaults, fights, and philandering.
There are other things the whole world knows about Méndez, the old cop: for instance, that his apartment is full of books and that he always carries one in his pocket, which on is why the lapels his uniform are always out of shape. There’s a great antiquarian book fair in Barcelona each year and Méndez is a loyal customer because he loves stories by dead novelists. In fact, he has more books than he can possibly read in what’s left of his life.
That’s not so uncommon. There was a great writer from Barcelona, Néstor Luján, who kept books even in the bathroom, and there’s a true story about a bourgeois man who had so many books that his wife got fed up and told him, “Me or the books.” And the bourgeois man said, “The books.”
Well, I’ve already mentioned that Méndez had more books than he could possibly read in what he has left of life, and that it’s not so unusual — in spite of the fact that Barcelona’s climate is usually better for taking a stroll than staying at home with a book. One time, Méndez met another man, a senior, who suffered the same problem.
“I’m obsessed with books, I love them,” Méndez’s friend told him one day. “I’ve spent my life collecting them and taking care of them. But I’m desperate, because I now have more books than I can possibly read in a lifetime. To make matters worse, I’m going blind.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Méndez.
“The day I realize I can no longer read, I’ll kill myself, because then my life will be useless.”
Méndez understood all too well.
And this is where we arrive on terrain that nobody’s too sure about, but that we suspect. We suspect two things: first, that Méndez owns more than one illegal gun — well, the man’s spent half his life in the company of thieves; second, that he’s bitter, but keeps it secret. Though others will say he’s never lost faith in humanity.
So Méndez replied to the old man, but it’s unclear whether he did so with ill intentions, or because he thought nothing would come of it: “Here, I’m going to give you this antique pistol, which is worth quite a bit. I’m giving it to you so you can kill yourself whenever you want.”
The bibliophile must have been pretty determined because he took it without hestitation. “Thank you,” he said.
Six months went by and Méndez didn’t see the old man again, although he imagined he probably couldn’t even pick up a book anymore.
So Méndez went looking for him in Las Ramblas, in the old bookstores, in the city libraries, in the few parks left in Barcelona, trapped between blocks of apartments.
He came across many book lovers, but not his friend. Until one day he finally found him. He was wearing very thick glasses.
“Did you make it through your whole collection?” Méndez gasped.
“Absolutely not!” said the man. “You should see what I still have left!”
“Then what did you do with the gun? You didn’t kill yourself...”
“No way! I sold the gun to buy another book.”
About the Contributors
Eric Taylor-Aragón is half-Peruvian and half-British, and graduated with a degree in literature from UC Berkeley. He’s currently at work on his second novel, Pocketman. He lived in Barcelona (Barri Gòtic and El Raval) for three happy, wine-drenched years, and currently lives a nomadic existence between the United States and Spain.
Raúl Argemí is the author of seven novels that have been translated into various languages: El Gordo, el Francés y el Ratón Pérez, Los muertos siempre pierden los zapatos, Penúltimo nombre de guerra, Patagonia Chú Chú, Siempre la misma música, Retrato de familia con muerta, and La última caravana. His work has been awarded several prizes, such as the Dashiell Hammett 2005 as well as the Luis Berenguer, Brigada 21, and Novelpol awards. He was born in Argentina and lives in Barcelona.
David Barba, born in Barcelona in 1973, is a writer, cultural journalist, and professor of journalism and humanities at the Universidad Autónoma de Barcelona, where he also teaches meditation. He published the official biography of Spanish porn star Nacho Vidal and is an expert in pornography. He lives in Barcelona.
Lolita Bosch was born in Barcelona in 1970, but has lived in Albons, Spain, India, the United States, and, for ten years, Mexico City. She writes in both Spanish and Catalan, directs a literary collective, and lives in Barcelona with her dog. For more information, visit www.lolitabosch.com.
Antonia Cortijos was born in Barcelona in 1948. She graduated from the Escuela Massana de Barcelona, where she studied design and painting, two passions she still dedicates time to when she isn’t writing. Cortijos is the author of the highly acclaimed thriller El diario de tapas rojas, as well as Ruido de agua and the story collection Isla Plana. Her fouth novel, Atlántidas, will be published in 2011 and she is at work on a fifth book.
Jordi Sierra I Fabra was born in Barcelona in 1947. He has published hundreds of books and received dozens of literary awards from both sides of the Atlantic, among them Spain’s National Literature Prize, and is that country’s most widely read children’s and young adult author — his books have sold more than ten million copies. He is the founder of the Fundaciò Jordi Sierra i Fabra in Barcelona and the Fundación Taller de Letras Jordi Sierra i Fabra for Latin America.