Bobby understood his mother’s way of life, and he respected it in every way. He had a very high opinion of his father; he understood his dynamism and his infidelities, and he saw fit to apply prudent and conservative principles to his enjoyment of the fortune his father had left them.
Bobby was the ideal lover. His continual contact with women was neither out of vanity nor because he was a man of passion. Bobby was often bored, and he found women amusing. With women, moreover, he could avoid having to talk: he could let them do the talking. He enjoyed their world of little squabbles and henpecking, and above all he liked to breathe in the superfluous warmth that flows from blood to pearls and from pearls to gossip.
This is why Bobby felt equally at ease in the world of trollops, young married ladies, or at Hortènsia Portell’s table in a comfortable tea parlor. He was the kind of man who needed nothing more than a comfortable chair and a pair of lips prepared to sip and talk of their own volition.
The widow Xuclà wanted her son to marry. Bobby never contradicted his mother when her sermons took this tack. He would let her go on, while he scratched his moustache as if to say he had all the time in the world.
The widow Xuclà had no love lost for the men of the Lloberola clan. She thought Frederic was a useless ne’er-do-well. Old Don Tomàs reminded her of a mummy festooned with rosaries and hypocrisy. Nevertheless, she felt a real affection for Leocàdia. And, despite Leocàdia’s being so different from Pilar, leading a life of patience, devotion and spiritual retreat, not a month would go by without her visiting the widow on Carrer Ample. Conversation between these two old ladies was a little painful. Pilar didn’t have the slightest interest in the things that interested Leocàdia. Though there were long interludes of silence, neither of them would give up these visits, and whenever Pilar spoke of Leocàdia, she praised her to the heavens. Narrow-minded Leocàdia, in the days when Pilar’s reputation was in danger, was among those who always spoke of “poor Pilar.” If Frederic ever mentioned the widow Xuclà’s fancies and frivolities to his mother, Leocàdia would respond, even a bit forcefully, “You know I don’t like it when you speak like this about one of the people I hold in highest esteem. What’s more, I’m certain it is all untrue.”
When the bottom fell out for the Lloberolas, and they stopped seeing practically anyone, the widow Xuclà took special care to be kind to Leocàdia and to visit her more often.
Don Tomàs was grateful for the widow Xuclà’s attitude, because she was the daughter of the Comtes de Sallent, because their grandparents were cousins, and because on the Romaní coat of arms there was a branch of rosemary, a dog and a half-moon. These things were very important to Don Tomàs.
FREDERIC HAD GONE looking for Bobby at the Club Eqüestre the very night of his father’s calamity and the scene with the mossèn, but Bobby was still at supper at the Liceu Opera House, as he was every night. Frederic telephoned him and he came right away.
Frederic felt trapped and had no inkling that things would be resolved so favorably for him the following day.
Bobby was expecting him to relay some particular about Rosa Trènor, or give some account of how the reconciliation had gone. Frederic had to make a tremendous effort to impress upon Bobby that the issue was money. Bobby’s expression became distant. Frederic realized this, but he persisted. When Bobby realized how much was involved, he retreated further, and said he couldn’t take any immediate action without consulting his mother. Frederic knew this response was just an excuse. He knew Bobby could dispose of that much money and a great deal more without any prior consultation. Frederic was consumed with a distinct hatred for his friend. He saw how the blood of the conservative Jew flowed beneath those cheeks, generally considered the least judgmental and most generous cheeks in Barcelona. Frederic used an expression that Bobby found a bit rude, which led to five tense minutes between the two friends. Seeing that nothing good would come of that approach, Frederic surrendered his Lloberola pride and supercilious attitude, and tried to speak with his heart in his hand. Perhaps he revealed a bit too much weakness, and even groveled a bit, but Bobby didn’t budge.
At heart, Bobby had no real liking for Frederic. He had tolerated him all his life, out of an aversion to discord. He had listened in disgust, always with a pleasant smile, to all Frederic’s stories of grandeur. Bobby pretended to have a great friendship with Frederic precisely because of the antipathy his mother professed for all the Lloberola men. For Bobby, who truly loved Pilar Romaní, this defiance regarding Frederic was one of those silly punctilios that sometimes crop up between two people who love each other.
But now, what Frederic was asking of Bobby was very unpleasant. It was a nuisance for a man as passive, self-centered and indolent as Bobby Xuclà. As he watched Frederic grovel and go into excessive detail about his family’s privations, on the inside he was feeling avenged for all the tedious heraldic lectures, grand adventures, and useless irritating rhetoric that Frederic had foisted on him, oblivious to how annoying he was. Bobby concentrated his entire being behind his little blond moustache and his dead blue gaze. He listened to Frederic with relish, and Frederic barreled ahead, trying to make an impression on him, to touch his heart. If Frederic had been more astute, perhaps he would have realized he was on false ground. Perhaps he would have understood what Bobby’s blond moustache and dead gaze were saying.
When Frederic had finally hung out all his dirty, mended laundry, Bobby, colder than ever, but with some sense of satisfaction, pronounced a few words, the same few words he had put him off with before. He had taken a stand, and even if Frederic’s children had appeared chopped to pieces at his feet, he wouldn’t have gone back on it. Offering Frederic no assurance, Bobby said he would speak with his mother and give him a definitive answer the following day.
When he was alone, Frederic was full of shame and desperation at his weakness, at having made such a confession to a Jew. But necessity was stronger. He would have been capable of approaching Pilar Romaní himself, or, as he referred to her in his running monologues of entrapment, “Tia Pilar, that rotten b.…”
The next day things had changed, as if by miracle. We already know how Guillem got the letter, and how Frederic was freed of his commitment to the Baró de Falset. Once Frederic was sure of his salvation, he went over to Bobby’s house to spit all his scorn in his face.
In the meantime, Bobby had spoken with Pilar of the Lloberola situation. In his cool manner and his monotonous and apathetic voice, he told his mother about the scene with Frederic in such a way that the widow Xuclà wasn’t certain if he was happy or sad about his situation. Pilar advised Bobby to help Frederic, not because “that nincompoop deserves it, nor because it will change anything, because there will be nothing left of the Lloberolas. But do it for Leocàdia, who is so unfortunate, and has always been such a good friend to me.”