Don Ricardo Aldaya listened to the speech in silence, without blinking.

'Is that all, Fortunato?'

Seeing that it was, the industrialist pressed a b.u.t.ton on his desk. A few moments later, the secretary who had received Fortuny on arrival appeared at the office door.

'Our friend Fortunato is leaving, Balcells,' Don Ricardo announced. 'Please accompany him to the door.'

The icy tone of the industrialist did not please the hatter.

'If you don't mind, Don Ricardo: it's Fortuny, not Fortunato.'

'Whatever. You're a very sad man, Fortuny. I'd appreciate it if you didn't come here again.'

When Fortuny found himself back on the street, he felt more alone than ever, more convinced that everyone was against him. Only a few days later, the smart clients brought in by his relationship with Aldaya began to send messages cancelling their orders and settling their bills. In just a few weeks, he had to dismiss Quimet, because there wasn't enough work for both of them. The boy wasn't much use anyhow, he told himself. He was mediocre and lazy, like all of them.

It was around this time that people in the neighbourhood began to comment that Senor Fortuny was looking much older, lonelier, more bitter. He barely spoke to anyone anymore and spent hours on end shut up in the shop, with nothing to do, watching people go by from behind his counter, feelings of disdain mingling with hope. Later people said that fashions changed, that young people no longer wore hats, and that those who did would rather go to other shops where hats were sold ready made in different sizes, with more modern designs, and at a cheaper price. The Fortuny and Sons hat shop slowly sank into a sad, silent slumber.

You're all waiting for me to die, Fortuny said to himself. Well, I might just give you that pleasure. In fact, he had started to die a long time ago.

Julian threw himself even more into the world of the Aldayas, into the only future he could conceive of, a future with Penelope. Almost two years went by, in which the two of them walked on a tightrope of secrecy together. In his own way, Zacarias had given a warning long ago. Shadows spread around Julian, and soon they would close in on him.

The first sign came one day in April 1918. Jorge Aldaya was going to be eighteen, and Don Ricardo, playing the role of great patriarch, had decided to organize (or, rather, to give orders for someone to organize) a monumental birthday party that his son did not want and from which he, Don Ricardo, would be absent: under the guise of important business commitments, he would be meeting a delicious lady, newly arrived from St Petersburg, in the blue suite of the Hotel Colon. The house on Avenida del Tibidabo was turned into a circus for the occasion: hundreds of lanterns, pennants, and stalls were set up in the gardens to delight the guests.

Almost all of Jorge Aldaya's school companions from San Gabriel's had been invited. At Julian s suggestion, Jorge had included Francisco Javier Fumero. Miquel Moliner warned them that the son of the school caretaker would feel out of place in such pompous surroundings. Francisco Javier received his invitation but, antic.i.p.ating exactly the same thing, decided to turn it down. When Dona Yvonne, his mother, learned that her son was going to decline an invitation to the Aldayas' luxurious mansion, she was on the point of skinning him alive. What could that invitation be but a sign that she herself would soon be accepted into high society? The next step could only be an invitation to afternoon tea with Senora Aldaya and other ladies of unquestionable distinction. Dona Yvonne took the savings she had been sc.r.a.ping together out of her husband's pay and went out to buy a pretty sailor suit for her son.

Francisco Javier was already seventeen at the time, and that blue suit with short trousers, tailored to appeal to the none-too-refined sensibility of Dona Yvonne, looked grotesque and humiliating on the boy. Pressed by his mother, Francisco Javier accepted the invitation and spent a week carving a letter opener, which he intended to give Jorge as a present. On the day of the party, Dona Yvonne insisted on accompanying her son to the door of the Aldayas' house. She wanted to scent royalty and bask in the glory of seeing her son enter the doors that would soon open for her. When the moment came to put on his awful sailor suit, Francisco Javier discovered it was too small for him. Yvonne decided to adjust it somehow. They arrived late. In the meantime, taking advantage of the hubbub and of Don Ricardo's absence - who no doubt was at that very moment celebrating in his own way - Julian had slipped away from the party. He and Penelope had arranged to meet in the library, where they didn't risk running into any of the other partygoers. They were too busy devouring each other's lips to notice the couple approaching the front door of the house. Francisco Javier, dressed in his first-communion sailor suit and purple with shame, was almost being dragged by Dona Yvonne, who for the occasion had decided to resurrect a broad-brimmed hat and a matching dress adorned with flourishes and bows; they made her look like a sweet stall or, in the words of Miquel Moliner, who sighted her from afar, a bison dressed up as Madame Recamier. The two servants guarding the door didn't seem very impressed by the visitors. Dona Yvonne announced that her son, Don Francisco Javier Fumero de Sotoceballos, was making his entrance. The two servants answered, in a sarcastic tone, that the name did not ring a bell. Irritated, but keeping the composure of a woman of substance, Yvonne told her son to show them the invitation. Unfortunately, when the suit was being fixed, the card had been left on Dona Yvonne's sewing table.

Francisco Javier tried to explain the circ.u.mstances, but he stammered, and the laughter of the two servants did not help clear up the misunderstanding. Mother and son were invited to get the h.e.l.l out of there. Dona Yvonne was inflamed with anger and announced that the servants didn't know who they were dealing with. The servants replied that the floor Cleaner's position was already taken.

From her bedroom window, Jacinta watched Francisco Javier turn to leave, then suddenly stop. Beyond the scene his mother was creating, shouting herself hoa.r.s.e at the arrogant servants, the boy saw them: Julian kissing Penelope by the large window of the library. They were kissing with the intensity of those who belong to one another, unaware of the world around them.

The following day, during the midday break, Francisco Javier appeared unexpectedly. News of the previous day's scene had already spread among the pupils: he was met with laughter and questioned about what he'd done with his little sailor suit. The laughter ended abruptly when the boys noticed he was carrying his father's gun. There was complete silence, and many of them moved away. Only the circle formed by Aldaya, Moliner, Fernando, and Julian turned around and stared at the boy, without understanding. Francisco Javier gave no warning: he raised his rifle and aimed. Later, witnesses said there was no irritation or anger in his expression. Francisco Javier displayed the same automatic coolness with which he performed his cleaning jobs in the garden. The first bullet sc.r.a.ped past Julian's head. The second would have gone through his throat had Miquel Moliner not thrown himself on the caretaker's son, punched him, and wrenched the gun from him. Julian Carax watched the scene in astonishment, paralysed. Everyone thought the shots were aimed at Jorge Aldaya in revenge for the humiliation Javier had suffered the day before. Only later, when the Civil Guards were taking the boy away and the caretakers were being almost literally kicked out of their home, did Miquel Moliner go up to Julian and tell him, without any pride, that he had saved his life.

It was the last year for Julian and his companions at San Gabriel's school. Most of them were already talking about their plans, or about the plans their respective families had set up for them for the following year. Jorge Aldaya already knew that his father was sending him to study in England, and Miquel Moliner took it for granted that he would go to Barcelona University. Fernando Ramos had mentioned more than once that perhaps he would enter the seminary of the Society of Jesus, a prospect his teachers considered the wisest in his particular situation. As for Francisco Javier Fumero, all anyone knew about the boy was that, thanks to Don Ricardo Aldaya, who interceded on his behalf, he had been taken to a reformatory school high in a remote valley of the Pyrenees, where a long winter awaited him. Seeing that all his friends had found some direction in life, Julian wondered what would become of himself. His literary dreams and ambitions seemed further away and more unfeasible than ever. All he longed for was to be near Penelope.

While he pondered his future, others were planning it for him. Don Ricardo Aldaya was already preparing a post for him in his firm, to initiate him into the business. The hatter, for his part, had decided that if his son did not want to continue in the family business, he could forget about sponging off him. He had secretly set in motion his plan to send Julian to the army, where a few years of military life would cure him of his delusions of grandeur. Julian was unaware of such plans, and by the time he found out what others had arranged for him, it would be too late. Only Penelope occupied his thoughts, and now the feigned distance and the clandestine meetings no longer satisfied him. He insisted on seeing her more often, increasing the risk of discovery. Jacinta did what she could to cover for them: she lied repeatedly and concocted a thousand and one ruses to give them a few moments on their own. She understood that this was not enough for Penelope and Julian. The governess had for some time now recognized in their looks the defiance and arrogance of desire: a blind desire to be discovered, a hope that their secret would become an open scandal so that they would no longer have to hide in corners and attics, to love one another in the dark. Sometimes, when Jacinta tucked Penelope up at night, the girl would burst into floods of tears and confess how she longed to flee with Julian, to catch the first train and escape to a place where n.o.body would know them. Jacinta, who remembered the sort of world that existed beyond the iron gates of the Aldaya mansion, shuddered and tried to dissuade her. Penelope was docile by nature, and the fear she saw in Jacinta's face was enough to soothe her. Julian was another matter.

During that last spring at San Gabriel's, Julian was unnerved to discover that Don Ricardo Aldaya and his mother sometimes met secretly. At first he feared that the industrialist might have decided to add the conquest of Sophie to his collection, but soon he realized that the meetings, which always took place in cafes in the centre of town and were carried out with the utmost propriety, were limited to conversation. Sophie kept silent about these meetings. When at last Julian decided to ask Don Ricardo what was going on between him and his mother, the magnate laughed.

'Nothing gets by you, does it, Julian? The fact is, I was going to talk to you about this matter. Your mother and I are discussing your future. She came to see me a few weeks ago. She was worried because your father wants to send you away to the army next year. Your mother, quite naturally, wants the best for you, and she came to me to see whether, between the two of us, we could do anything. Don't worry; you have Don Ricardo Aldaya's word that you won't become cannon fodder. Your mother and I have great plans for you. Trust us.'

Julian wanted to trust him, yet Don Ricardo inspired anything but trust. When he consulted Miquel Moliner, the boy agreed with Julian.

'If what you want to do is elope with Penelope, and may G.o.d help you, what you need is money.'

Money was exactly what Julian didn't have.

'That can be arranged,' Miquel told him. 'That's what rich friends are for.'

That is how Miquel and Julian began to plan the lovers' escape. The destination, at Miquel's suggestion, would be Paris. Moliner was of the opinion that, if Julian was set on being a starving bohemian artist, at least a Parisian setting couldn't be improved upon. Penelope spoke a little French, and for Julian, who had learned it from his mother, it was his second language.

'Besides, Paris is large enough to get lost in but small enough to offer opportunities,' Miquel reasoned.

Miquel managed to put together a small fortune, joining his savings from many years to what he was able to extort from his father, using the most outlandish excuses. Only he knew where the money was really going.

'And I plan to go dumb the minute you two board that train.'

That same afternoon, after finalizing details with Moliner, Julian went to the house on Avenida del Tibidabo to tell Penelope about the plan.

'You mustn't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you. No one. Not even Jacinta,' Julian began.

The girl listened to him in astonishment, enthralled. Moliner's plan was impeccable. Miquel would buy the tickets under a false name and hire a third party to collect them at the ticket office in the station. If by any chance the police discovered him, all he'd be able to give them would be the description of someone who did not look like Julian. Julian and Penelope would meet on the train. There would be no waiting on the platform, where they might be seen. The escape would take place on a Sunday, at midday. Julian would make his own way to the Estacion de Francia. Miquel would be there waiting for him, with the tickets and the money.

The most delicate part of the plan concerned Penelope. She had to deceive Jacinta and ask her to invent an excuse for taking her out of the eleven o'clock ma.s.s and returning home. On the way Penelope would ask Jacinta to let her go and meet Julian, promising to be back before the family had returned to the mansion. This would be Penelope's opportunity to get to the station. They both knew that if they told her the truth, Jacinta would not allow them to leave. She loved them too much.

'It's the perfect plan, Miquel,' Julian said.

Miquel nodded sadly. 'Except for one detail: the pain you are going to cause a lot of people by going away forever.'

Julian nodded, thinking of his mother and Jacinta. It did not occur to him that Miquel Moliner was talking about himself.

The most difficult thing was convincing Penelope of the need to keep Jacinta in the dark. Only Miquel would know the truth. The train left at one in the afternoon. By the time Penelope's absence was noticed, the couple would have crossed the border. Once in Paris, they would settle in a hostel as man and wife, using a false name. They would then send Miquel Moliner a letter addressed to their families, confessing their love, telling them they were well, that they loved them, announcing their church wedding, and asking for forgiveness and understanding. Miquel Moliner would put the letter in a second envelope to do away with the Paris postmark and would see to it that it was posted from some nearby town.

'When?' asked Penelope.

'In six days' time,' said Julian. 'This coming Sunday.'

Miquel reckoned it would be best if Julian didn't see Penelope during the days left prior to the elopement, so as not to arouse suspicion. They should both agree not to see each other again until they met on the train on their way to Paris. Six days without seeing her, without touching her, seemed interminable to Julian. They sealed the pact, the secret marriage, with a kiss.

It was then that Julian took Penelope to Jacinta's bedroom on the third floor of the house. Only the servants' quarters were on that floor, and Julian was sure n.o.body would discover them. They undressed feverishly, with an angry pa.s.sion and desire, scratching each other's skin and melting into silence. They learned each other's bodies by heart and buried all thoughts of those six days of separation. Julian penetrated Penelope with fury, pressing her against the floorboards. She received him with open eyes, her legs hugging his torso, her lips half open with yearning. There was not a glimmer of fragility or childishness in her eyes or in her warm body. Later, with his face still resting on her stomach and his hands on her white, tremulous b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Julian knew he had to say goodbye. He had barely had time to sit up when the door of the room slowly opened and a woman's shape appeared at the doorway. For a second, Julian thought it was Jacinta, but he soon realized it was Senora Aldaya. She was watching them, spellbound, with a mixture of fascination and disgust. All she managed to mumble was, 'Where's Jacinta?' Then she just turned and walked away without saying a word, while Penelope crouched on the floor in mute agony and Julian felt the world collapsing around him.

'Go now, Julian. Go before my father comes.'

'But...'

'Go.'

Julian nodded. 'Whatever happens, I'll wait for you on Sunday on that train.'

Penelope managed a faint smile. 'I'll be there. Now go. Please. . .'

She was still naked when he left her and slid down the servants' staircase towards the coach houses and out into the coldest night he could remember.

The days that followed were agony. Julian had spent all night awake, expecting that Don Ricardo's hired a.s.sa.s.sins would come for him at any moment. The following day, in school, he didn't notice any change of att.i.tude in Jorge Aldaya. Devoured by anguish, Julian told Miquel Moliner what had happened. Miquel shook his head.

'You're crazy, Julian, but that's nothing new. What's strange is that there hasn't been an upheaval in the Aldayas' house. Which, come to think of it, isn't so surprising. If, as you say, it was Senora Aldaya who discovered you, it might be that she still doesn't know what to do. I've had three conversations with her in my life and came to two conclusions: one, Senora Aldaya has the mental age of a twelve-year-old; two, she suffers from a chronic narcissism that makes it impossible for her to see or understand anything that is not what she wants to see or believe, especially if it concerns herself.'

'Spare me the diagnosis, Miquel.'

'What I mean is that she's probably still wondering what to say, how to say it, when, and to whom. First she must think of the consequences for herself the potential scandal, her husband's fury . . . The rest, I daresay, she couldn't care less about.'

'So you think she won't say anything?'

'She might take a day or two. But I don't think she's capable of keeping such a secret from her husband. What about the escape plan? Is it still on?'

'More than ever.'

'I'm glad to hear that. Because I really believe that now there's no turning back.'

The week stretched out interminably. Julian went to school every day with uncertainty hard on his heels. He pa.s.sed the time merely pretending to be there, barely able to exchange glances with Miquel Moliner, who was beginning to be just as worried as him, or more so. Jorge Aldaya said nothing. He was as polite as ever. Jacinta had not turned up again to collect Jorge from school. Don Ricardo's chauffeur came every afternoon. Julian felt like dying, wishing that whatever was going to happen would happen, so that the waiting would come to an end. On Thursday afternoon, after cla.s.s, Julian began to think that luck was on his side. Senora Aldaya had not said anything, perhaps out of shame, stupidity, or for any of the reasons Miquel had suggested. It mattered little. All that mattered was that she kept the secret until Sunday. That night, for the first time in a number of days, Julian was able to sleep.

On Friday morning, when he went to cla.s.s, Father Romanones was waiting for him by the gate.

Julian, I have to speak to you.'

'What is it, Father?'

'I always knew this day would come, and I must confess I'm happy to be the one who will break the news to you.'

'What news, Father?'

Julian Carax was no longer a pupil at San Gabriel's school. His presence in the compound, the cla.s.srooms, and even the gardens was strictly forbidden. His school items, textbooks, and all other belongings were now school property.

The technical term is "immediate and total expulsion",' Father Romanones summed up.

'May I ask the reason?'

'I can think of a dozen, but I'm sure you'll know how to choose the most appropriate one. Good day, Carex. And good luck in your life. You're going to need it.'

Some thirty yards away, in the fountains courtyard, a group of pupils was watching him. Some were laughing, waving goodbye. Others looked at him with pity and bewilderment. Only one smiled sadly: his friend Miquel Moliner, who simply nodded and silently mouthed some words that Julian thought he could read in the air: 'See you on Sunday.'

When he got back to the apartment in Ronda de San Antonio, Julian noticed Don Ricardo's Mercedes-Benz parked outside the hat shop. He stopped on the corner and waited. After a while Don Ricardo came out of his father's shop and got into the car. Julian hid in a doorway until the car set off towards Plaza Universidad. Only then did he rush up the stairs to his home. His mother, Sophie, was waiting there, in floods of tears.

'What have you done, Julian?' she murmured without anger.

'Forgive me, Mother Sophie held her son close. She had lost weight and had aged, as if between them all they had stolen her life and her youth. I more so than anyone, thought Julian.

'Listen to me carefully, Julian. Your father and Don Ricardo Aldaya have got everything set up to send you to the army in a few days' time. Aldaya has a great deal of influence . . . You have to go, Julian. You have to go where neither of them can find you Julian thought he saw a shadow in his mother's eyes that seemed to take hold of her.

'Is there anything else, Mother? Something you haven't told me?'

Sophie gazed at him with trembling lips. 'You must go. We must both go away from here forever.'

Julian held her tight and whispered in her ear, 'Don't worry about me, Mother. Don't you worry.'

Julian spent the Sat.u.r.day shut up in his room, among his books and his drawing pads. The hatter had gone down to the shop just after dawn and didn't return until the early hours. He doesn't have the courage to tell me to my face, thought Julian. That night, his eyes blurred with tears, Julian said farewell to the years he had spent in that dark, cold room, lost amid dreams that he now knew would never come true. Sunday, at daybreak, armed with only a bag containing a few clothes and books, he kissed Sophie's forehead, as she lay curled under blankets in the dining room, and left. The streets seemed enveloped in a blue haze. Flashes of copper sparkled on the flat roofs of the old town. He walked slowly, saying goodbye to every door, to every street corner, wondering whether the illusions of time would turn out to be true and that in days to come he would be able to remember only the good things, and forget the solitude that had so often hounded him in those streets.

The Estacion de Francia was deserted; the platforms, reflecting the burning light of dawn, curved off into the mist like glistening sabres. Julian sat on a bench under the vaulted ceiling and took out his book. He let the hours go by lost in the magic of words, shedding his skin and his name, feeling like another person. He allowed himself to be carried away by the dreams of shadowy characters, the only refuge left for him. By then he knew that Penelope wouldn't come. He knew he would board that train with no other company than his memories. When, just before noon, Miquel Moliner arrived in the station and gave him the tickets and all the money he had been able to gather, the two friends embraced without a word. Julian had never seen Miquel Moliner cry. Clocks were everywhere, counting the minutes as they flew by.

'There's still time,' Miquel murmured, his eyes fixed on the station entrance.

At five past one, the stationmaster gave the last call for pa.s.sengers travelling to Paris. The train had already started to slide along the platform when Julian turned round to say goodbye to his friend. Miquel Moliner stood there watching him, his hands buried in his pockets.

'Write,' he said.

'I'll write to you as soon as I get there,' answered Julian.

'No. Not to me. Write books. Not letters. Write them for me, for Penelope.'

Julian nodded, realizing only then how much he was going to miss his friend.

'And keep your dreams,' said Miquel. 'You never know when you might need them.'

'Always,' murmured Julian, but the roar of the train had already stolen his words.

'The night her mother caught them in my bedroom, Penelope told me what had happened. The following day Senora Aldaya called for me and asked me what I knew about Julian. I said I didn't know anything, except that he was a nice boy, a friend of Jorge's. She ordered me to keep Penelope locked in her room until she was given permission to come out. Don Ricardo was away in Madrid and didn't come back until early on Friday. As soon as he arrived, Senora Aldaya told him what she'd witnessed. I was there. Don Ricardo jumped up from his armchair and slapped his wife so hard she fell on the floor. Then, shouting like a madman, he told her to repeat what she had just said. Senora Aldaya was terrified. We had never seen her husband like that. Never. He looked as if he were possessed by all the devils in h.e.l.l. Seething with anger, he went up to Penelope's bedroom and pulled her out of her bed, dragging her by the hair. I tried to stop him, but he kicked me aside. That same evening he called the family doctor and had him examine Penelope. When the doctor had finished, he spoke to Senor Aldaya. They locked Penelope up in her room, and Senora Aldaya told me to collect my things.

'They didn't let me see Penelope. I never said goodbye to her. Don Ricardo threatened to report me to the police if I told anyone what had happened. That very night they threw me out, with nowhere to go, after eighteen years of uninterrupted service in the house. Two days later, in a pension in Calle Muntaner, I had a visit from Miquel Moliner, who told me that Julian had gone to Paris. He wanted me to tell him why Penelope hadn't come to the station as arranged. For weeks I returned to the house, begging for a chance to see her, but I wasn't even allowed to cross the gates. I would position myself on the opposite corner every day, for days on end, hoping to see them come out. I never saw her. She didn't come out of the house. Later on, Senor Aldaya called the police and, with the help of his high-powered friends, managed to get me committed to the lunatic asylum in Horta, claiming that n.o.body knew me, that I was some demented woman who hara.s.sed his family and children. I spent two years there, locked up like an animal. The first thing I did when I got out was go to the house on Avenida del Tibidabo to see Penelope.'

'Did you manage to see her?' Fermin asked.

'The house was locked and up for sale. n.o.body lived there. I was told that the Aldayas had gone to Argentina. I wrote to the address I was given. The letters were returned to me unopened. . . .'

'What happened to Penelope? Do you know?'

Jacinta shook her head, in a state of near collapse. 'I never saw her again.'

The old woman moaned and began to weep uncontrollably. Fermin held her in his arms and rocked her. Jacinta Coronado had shrunk to the size of a little girl, and next to her Fermin looked like a giant. I had questions burning in my head, but my friend signalled to me that the interview was over. I saw him gazing about him at that dirty, cold hovel where Jacinta Coronado was spending her last days.

'Come on, Daniel. We're leaving. You go first.'

I did what I was told. As I walked away, I turned for a moment and saw Fermin kneel down by the old lady and kiss her on the forehead. She gave him a toothless smile.

'Tell me, Jacinta,' I heard Fermin saying. 'You like Sugus sweets, don't you?'

On our circuitous path back to the exit, we pa.s.sed the real undertaker and his two cadaverous a.s.sistants carrying a cheap pine coffin, rope, and what looked suspiciously like a recycled shroud. The committee gave off a sinister smell of formaldehyde and cheap eau de cologne. The men's bloodless skin framed gaunt, canine smiles. Fermin pointed to the cell where the body of the deceased awaited and proceeded to bless the trio, who nodded respectfully and made the sign of the cross.

'Go in peace,' mumbled Fermin, dragging me towards the exit, where a nun holding an oil lamp saw us off with a harsh, condemnatory look.

Once we were out of the building, the grim canyon of stone and shadow that was Calle Moncada seemed more like an inviting valley of hope. Fermin breathed deeply, with relief, and I knew I wasn't the only one to be rejoicing at having left that place behind. Jacinta's story weighed on our consciences more than we would have wished to admit.

'Listen, Daniel. What would you say to some ham croquettes and a couple of gla.s.ses of sparkling wine here in the Xampanet, just to take away the bad taste in our mouths?'

'I wouldn't say no, quite frankly.'

'Didn't you arrange to meet up with the girl today?'

'Tomorrow.'