He said it as if it were incomprehensible. It probably would be for a kid of his age.
“I don’t know why she does it,” he continued. “Mama told me it was because she loved him too much and because sometimes that’s scary. But I didn’t understand that explanation either.”
No, thought Leire tenderly, you didn’t understand. She felt a shiver and realized the house was freezing. She suddenly had the strongest urge to take that boy out of there as soon as possible.
“Aren’t you cold?” she asked him.
“A little.”
“Want to … go and get something to eat?”
He looked at her, vaguely surprised.
“My treat,” said Leire. “I’m sure you know a pizzeria around here. If you feel like it, of course …”
Guillermo nodded. He switched off the television with the remote and rose from the sofa.
“I can’t be back too late,” he said, smiling. “Or Papa will crucify me.”
They went to a nearby pizzeria as empty as the loft they’d just left. Leire entered thinking she wouldn’t eat very much and ended up ordering two portions of pizza, the same as Guillermo. They chatted a little about everything-Carol, school and even Héctor as a father, but in the end, while they were waiting for the bill, the conversation went back to where it began.
“We’ll find out what happened to her, Guillermo.”
He lowered his head and murmured, “At first everyone said, ‘We’ll find your mother.’ Everyone-Papa, Carmen, even my tutor at school. They don’t say that anymore.”
“Well, if we find out what happened to her, perhaps-”
“You think she’s dead.” He said it in a quiet voice, and had it not been for the look on his face Leire would have thought he didn’t understand the full extent of what he’d said. “Everyone thinks so. Papa most of all.”
She swallowed. She searched for something to say; every phrase seemed ridiculous.
“That’s why I go to her house sometimes. To think about her without Papa noticing. Someday they’ll close it and we’ll take away her sketches and things … but while they’re still here I can think she might come back someday.” He looked at her with an expression she’d never seen on a boy so young. “No, I’m not stupid. I think she’s dead too, but, sometimes, deceiving yourself for a while isn’t bad, is it?”
“Of course it isn’t. We all do it,” murmured Leire.
“The worst is when I go home and see Papa isn’t sleeping, hardly eats. He just smokes, nonstop. And I’m scared something will happen to him too.”
“Your father is much stronger than you think. Nothing’s going to happen to him.”
He shook his head.
“Mama always said that Papa is only strong on the outside. And she knew him very well.”
The waiter brought them the bill, and when he left Leire was on the verge of taking Guillermo’s hand. It was a spontaneous gesture that would have surprised her more than the boy, and she managed to hold back. The maternal instinct appeared to be growing within her of its own will.
“Listen, I can’t promise you that I’ll find your mother alive. But I’ll do everything possible to find out what happened to her. And when we know the truth, your father will be able to relax. I promise you.” She sensed Guillermo was looking at her skeptically, so she continued. “Another thing: I’m going to give you my address and number, and if you want to talk about Ruth, about your mother sometime, phone me or come to see me. Okay?”
He saved her number in his cell phone and they both went out into the street. Though it wasn’t even ten o’clock, it was getting colder. Leire stopped a taxi and offered to drop Guillermo close to home.
“But please remember not to say anything to your father,” she repeated.
He smiled and accepted the deal.
Neither of them noticed the car following them.
26
Prisons, like hospitals, give off an unmistakable, characteristic smell. However much they try to remove any external connotations of prison by giving them an appearance closer to that of a big school, as soon as you cross the threshold, the yards, the bars, and even the offices that the prisoners rarely enter whisper of exclusion, of confinement. Of punishment.
This was the case even though Brians 2 was relatively new and the philosophy advocating rehabilitation had been applied emphatically in all its details. Planned to ease the human burden on hundred-year-old prisons like the Modelo in Barcelona, this new building, situated on the Martorell highway, had been proudly inaugurated in the first decade of the twenty-first century. In January 2011, just a few years later, the Modelo was not significantly less full, nor was Brians 2 still managing to conceal its true purpose in spite of the fact that a quick glimpse would have shocked prison wardens of an earlier era. Its real nature dominated the architecture, as if infecting it from its nucleus. Absurd to fool oneself, thought Leire, whose opinions in this respect were not politically correct: those interned had committed a crime and therefore were condemned, for months or years, to live apart from society. Whether they took advantage of this time to reeducate themselves or not ended up being, like everything, the result of combining each personality with their circumstances. Some achieved it, others came out worse than they went in. That was life.
While she waited for her contact among the wardens to come to the visiting room with the prisoner, Leire felt the classic tingle of the investigator who believes they are about to discover something important. It was a familiar sensation and never wholly unfounded. Despite the fact that Inspector Salgado had rigorously interrogated Damián Fernández, who had been witness to the alleged “curse” Dr. Omar had carried out against Ruth, there was always the possibility of finding out something new. And for her, that was a shot of adrenaline. She heard the door open and turned around.
The months of imprisonment had made their mark on Damián Fernández, and seeing him, Leire wondered how this man had been capable of doing away with Dr. Omar, that old fox who in all likelihood had faced more threatening adversaries in his life. Perhaps that was his secret: that bland face, that normal appearance. Fernández’s appearance had just one quality-that is, if going unnoticed is something to brag about. The only thing that drew attention to him was a bluish bruise on his right cheek.
“I suppose you don’t remember me, Damián,” Leire began, thinking this was probably the case. “My name is Leire Castro.”
“Yes. I remember you; you’re Inspector Salgado’s colleague, aren’t you?”
They’d only seen each other a couple of times, at the station. Leire suspected once again that a gifted brain lurked within this guy, so she decided to proceed cautiously.
“I suppose you’ve come to see me because of the disappearance of your boss’s ex-wife.”
“You’re very astute.”
“Why else would you come?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders. “All the visits I get are about that. The inspector himself, on various occasions, and even his superior … At the start they were more frequent. It’s been a while now since anyone came to see me. I think little by little they’re becoming convinced that I have nothing to say. Only what Omar told me.”
“And what was that, exactly?”
Damián seemed bored, sick of having to tell the same story again and again.
“I don’t remember his exact words now. The general sense was that he was planning to strike a harsh blow against Salgado. ‘He will suffer the worst of sentences,’ or something like that. Omar never spoke clearly: he liked ambiguity.”
“And you didn’t feel curious? Weren’t you interested in his plans for revenge?”
“Omar wasn’t a man you could ask questions, Agent Castro. And he liked to be enigmatic. He only added that he’d investigated him thoroughly, and then he began to say his old phrases, about the origin of evil, destiny, chance … His usual litany.”