I looked at him with disgust. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The one who doesn’t know is you, you fool!” he exclaimed, becoming angry. “For instance, did you know that Jeanne is a mother? A boy, six years old. And by my calculations, at the time of the conception, the husband was away in Paris.” His tone changed once more. “You know these French aristocrats. Horrid husband off elsewhere, and they get their hands on some stable boy for riding lessons. Oh, yes, they call it love sometimes. Sad thing is, ladies don’t marry stable boys. Now, though, a nobleman, even a newly minted one, would be perfectly acceptable. And I am certain you’d be a good father to the boy. What do you think?”
Jimmy had the rare talent of making the future seem real. I suppose because of his position. It isn’t the same fantasizing and boasting in a tavern as it is in a palace. This was Jimmy, the world at his feet. When people like him promised something, it was because they actually had it, and in abundance. Jeanne. The mere mention of her name seemed to bring her within my reach. For me, unreachable; for him, a mere trifle.
“And all in exchange for what?” he said. “Next to nothing. First: When I say so, you will drop everything, wherever you are, to come and be at my side. Even if we’re at the opposite ends of Europe. Two: I’m going to give you an order tomorrow. An order you will carry out diligently and to the best of your abilities.”
I hesitated. “What order?”
He took my show of interest to mean I’d given in. “I’ll let you know my orders when I choose to, not when you ask me to. Do you submit? Yes or no?”
I hung my head, thinking of Jeanne, thinking of Amelis. Thinking of Anfán, and of a son of my own, a stranger but flesh and blood. This was Jimmy. Mentioning Jeanne had brought her back to life, as he’d done with me. To return to Bazoches. The thought alone unhinged me. No one but Jimmy could think up such a painful, empty-hearted storm. If I swallowed the bait, I’d become the things I hated most in the world: a Bourbon and an aristocrat. If not, my son was set to become one anyway. Only Jimmy had the power to make you feel like an échauguette during a bombardment.
“Merde!” he said, losing patience. “Answer! I don’t have all day.”
Jeanne — did I love her? Wrong question: Did I love her enough to forget about Amelis, our little home at the top of that building in the Ribera barrio, just behind the Saint Clara bastion? No, that wasn’t it, either.
“If you keep your promise,” I said, “I’ll keep mine.”
He gave me an unhurried look. He observed my brow, the tear in my eye. He examined the angle of my lips as though they were those of a bastion to be bombarded. “Good. . Good. . ”
I could tell he was happy with the way the questioning had gone, because now I saw his body relax.
“And I can see you aren’t lying.”
Once Pópuli had left, Jimmy inspected the cordon. Good old Zuvi went with him, along with Jimmy’s customary English bodyguards, his four black dogs, and a couple of scribblers to note down the great man’s words for posterity.
Jimmy stopped at the best-disposed redoubts, observing the defenses with his telescope, finished in a matte black to prevent reflections from the sun, which draw the eye of snipers. He knew what he was doing: Each of his questions was something technical and very much to the point.
“Only interested in the bastions?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” he said, lowering the telescope and looking at me.
“You’re an aesthete. Look farther on.”
He brought the telescope back up to his eye. “Mon Dieu, c’est vrai!” he exclaimed. “Quelle belle ville!”
“More so before the bombardment.”
He laughed. “None of which makes me any less hungry. Let’s have dinner.”
As we made our way back to the Guinardó house, Jimmy ruminated aloud to his retinue. “Verily, the king of Spain is the perfect dunderhead. Why destroy a domain this rich? Why do damage to his own interests? Rents, seaports, workshops, and all that commerce paying in to the royal pot. And his warmongering ministers, demanding I raze the entire city and erect a victory statue in the center.”
Be in no doubt, Jimmy cared not a jot about the future of the city. He believed what he was saying, so his thinking out loud was merely to exonerate himself should the thing descend into a bloodbath. The Spanish question, in his eyes, was nonsense, a rivalry that would never end and was better not to get involved in. His dogs accompanied him everywhere: four black bitches, large as foals, shorthaired, and with jaws as large as a man’s hand. They even followed him to bed, each taking up a position in a corner. I never did feel comfortable around those mongrels — more than merely beastly, they reminded me of black Cerberuses.
Later, Jimmy asked me: “Were you really dead?”
“I think so.”
“Death. .” He sighed. “What’s it like?”
“It isn’t like anything. Whatever comes next, though, is beyond all comprehension. Time and space fade. A peace beyond words.”
“Describe it.”
“It can’t be described. All I can say is that the most horrific thing isn’t to die, it’s then coming back.”
Jimmy laughed. “You hold it against me that I saved your life?”
Covering my face with a pillow, I answered him: “It’s like drinking a million gallons of your own pus.”
Jimmy didn’t like somber dialogues. And, even less, being on the back foot. “When this is all over, I’ll get you some title or other,” he said. “Count? Marquis? Baron, let’s leave it at baron.” He laughed fulsomely. “I love being at war. Know why? In peacetime, my family’s constantly around me. There’s no better excuse for getting away than a good campaign, where I can enjoy time with my dogs and my lovers.”
Jimmy didn’t have any Points on his forearm. He’d had teachers, and he’d been in charge of enough sieges to earn more Points than I had. I asked why.