‘Don’t even think it.’
‘I’ve made up my mind.’
‘You aren’t old enough to make such a decision.’
‘Of course I am.’
Mother put down Caturla’s report and stood up. I’m sure she was wondering how Father would resolve this mutiny. To begin with, she used a low, private, threatening tone.
‘You will take your seventh year examinations, then your eighth year examinations and then you will do two years of virtuosity and, when the time comes, you will go to the Julliard School or wherever Master Manlleu decides.’
‘Mother: I don’t want to devote my life to interpreting music.’
‘Why not?’
‘It doesn’t make me happy.’
‘We weren’t born to be happy.’
‘I was.’
‘Master Manlleu says you have what it takes.’
‘Master Manlleu despises me.’
‘Master Manlleu tries to goad you because sometimes you’re listless.’
‘That is my decision. You are going to have to put up with it,’ I dared to say.
That was a declaration of war. But there was no other way I could do it. I left Father’s study without looking back.
‘How.’
‘Yes?’
‘You can start painting my face with war paint. Black and white from the mouth to the ears and two yellow stripes from top to bottom.’
‘Stop joking, I’m trembling.’
Adrià locked himself in his room, unwilling to give an inch. If that meant war, so be it.
Little Lola’s voice was the only one heard in the house for many days. She was the only one who tried to give an appearance of normality. Mother, always at the shop, I at university, and dinners in silence, both of us looking at our plates, and Little Lola watching one of us and then the other. It was very difficult and so intense that, for a few days, the joy of having found you again was subdued by the violin crisis.
The storm was unleashed the day I had class with Master Manlleu. That morning, before vanishing into the shop, Mother spoke to me for the first time that entire week. Without looking at me, as if Father had just died: ‘Bring the Storioni to class.’
I arrived at Master Manlleu’s house with Vial and, as we went down the hallway to his studio, I heard his voice, now sweet, telling me we could look at some other repertoire that you like better. All right, lad?
‘When I’ve finished seventh, I’m giving up the violin. Does everybody understand that? I have other priorities in my life.’
‘You will regret this wrong decision for every day of your entire life’ (Mother).
‘Coward’ (Manlleu).
‘Don’t leave me alone, mate’ (Bernat).
‘Negroid’ (Manlleu).
‘But you play better than I do!’ (Bernat).
‘Poof’ (Manlleu).
‘What about all the hours you’ve invested, what about that? Just flush them down the drain?’ (Mother).
‘Capricious gypsy’ (Manlleu).
‘And what is it you want to do?’ (Mother).
‘Study’ (me).
‘You can combine that with the violin, can’t you?’ (Bernat).
‘Study what?’ (Mother).
‘Bastard’ (Manlleu).
‘Poof’ (me).
‘Watch it, or I’ll walk out on you right now’ (Manlleu).
‘Do you even know what you want to study?’ (Mother).
‘How’ (Black Eagle, the valiant Arapaho chief).
‘Hey, I asked you what it is you want to study. Medicine?’ (Mother)
‘Ingrate’ (Manlleu).
‘Come on, Adrià, shit!’ (Bernat).
‘History’ (me).
‘Ha!’ (Mother).
‘What?’ (me).
‘You’ll starve to death. And get bored’ (Mother).
‘History!?’ (Manlleu).
‘Yes’ (Mother).
‘But history …’ (Manlleu).
‘Ha, ha … Tell me about it’ (Mother).
‘Traitor!!’ (Manlleu).
‘And I also want to study philosophy’ (me).
‘Philosophy?’ (Mother).
‘Philosophy?’ (Manlleu).
‘Philosophy?’ (Bernat).
‘Even worse’ (Mother).
‘Why even worse?’ (me)
‘If you have to choose between two evils, become a lawyer’ (Mother).
‘No. I hate the normalisation of life with rules’ (me).
‘Smart arse’ (Bernat).
‘What you want is to contradict just for the sake of contradicting. That’s your style, isn’t it?’ (Manlleu).
‘I want to understand humanity by studying its cultural evolution’ (me).
‘A smart arse, that’s what you are. Should we go to the cinema?’ (Bernat).
‘Sure, let’s go. Where?’ (me).
‘To the Publi’ (Bernat).
‘I don’t understand you, Son’ (Mother).
‘Irresponsible’ (Manlleu).
‘History, philosophy … Don’t you see they’re useless?’ (Manlleu).
‘What do you know!’ (me).
‘Arrogant!’ (Manlleu).
‘And music? What use is it?’ (me).
‘You’ll make a lot of money; look at it that way’ (Manlleu).
‘History, philosophy … Don’t you see they’re useless?’ (Bernat).
‘Tu quoque?’ (me).
‘What?’ (Bernat).
‘Nothing’ (me).
‘Did you like the film?’ (Bernat).
‘Well, yeah’ (me).
‘Well, yeah or yes?’ (Bernat).
‘Yes’ (me).
‘It’s useless!’ (Mother).
‘I like it’ (me).
‘And the shop? Would you like to work there?’ (Mother).
‘We’ll discuss that later’ (me).
‘How’ (Black Eagle, the valiant Arapaho chief).
‘Not now, damn, don’t be a drag’ (me).
‘And I want to study languages’ (me).
‘English is all you need’ (Manlleu).
‘What languages?’ (Mother).
‘I want to perfect my Latin and Greek. And start Hebrew, Aramaic and Sanskrit’ (me).
‘Whoa! What a disappointment …’ (Mother).
‘Latin, Greek and what else?’ (Manlleu).
‘Hebrew, Aramaic and Sanskrit’ (me).
‘You’ve got a screw loose, lad’ (Manlleu).
‘That depends’ (me).
‘The girls on aeroplanes speak English’ (Manlleu).
‘What?’ (me).
‘I can assure you that you have no need for Aramaic when flying to New York for a concert’ (Manlleu).
‘We speak different languages, Master Manlleu’ (me).
‘Abominable!’ (Manlleu).
‘Maybe you could stop insulting me’ (me).
‘Now I understand! I’m too difficult a role model for you’ (Manlleu).
‘No, no way!’ (me).
‘What does “no, no way” mean? Eh? What do you mean by “no, no way”?’ (Manlleu).
‘What is said cannot be unsaid’ (me).
‘Cold, arrogant, abominable, stupid, stuck-up, repulsive, detestable, haughty!’ (Manlleu).
‘Very well, as you wish’ (me).
‘What is said cannot be unsaid’ (Manlleu).
‘Bernat?’ (me).
‘What?’ (Bernat).
‘Want to go for a walk along the breakwater?’ (me).
‘Let’s go’ (Bernat).
‘If your father could see you now!’ (Mother).
I’m sorry, but the day that Mother said that, in the middle of the war, I couldn’t help a booming, exaggerated laugh at the thought of a decapitated corpse seeing anything. I know that Little Lola, who was listening to everything from the kitchen, also stifled a smile. Mother, pale, realised too late what she’d said. We were all exhausted and we just left it at that. It was the seventh day of conflict.
‘How’ (Black Eagle, the valiant Arapaho chief).
‘I’m tired’ (me).
‘All right. But you should know that you’ve begun a war of attrition, of trenches, like World War One; I just want you to keep in mind that you are fighting on three fronts’ (Black Eagle, the valiant Arapaho chief).