B0040702LQ EBOK (11 page)

`But just the thought of it makes me feel sick.'

`Don't be so pathetic. A man must be a man and that's all
there is to it. Do you intend going on like this? Life needs air,
and if you carry it around shut up like that, you'll snuff yourself out like a candle, and no one will even notice.'

And she laughs, but her face is serious as she smooths her
fingerless gloves.

`Take the bandage off, take it off ...' A ray of light lends
a strange glint to the woman's eyes and Espol experiences his first mirage. Gradually, he begins to undo the bandage,
but when his hand is free of it, he is brought to his senses
by the sound of an aircraft engine overhead and he runs
away.

Without the protective bandage, the fear inside him grows.
He holds his fist more tightly shut and, to make quite sure, he
puts his hand in-his-pocket.

The wind, which blows only for him, whips up the sand
and Espol narrows his eyes against it. He leaves behind him on
his right an island of palm trees, he crosses the park and begins
to be tormented by thirst. He walks and walks, his feet sinking
into the sand, and he feels the parched skin on his face creaking. In the arid desert of his thoughts, little lights come on
only to be immediately extinguished. He is filled with a nostalgia for the time when he was not even aware of having a
life, and the heat weighs on him.

The sound of distant music makes him look up and he sees
a caravan of people and camels approaching. He feels somebody tugging at his jacket and, when he turns, he is met by the
astonished gaze of a small beggar girl. In utter despair, Espol
crouches down and tells the child everything, asks her what
she would advise.

`If I were you,' says the girl, `I would put my hand in a jug
of water and then wait for a timeless sleep to begin.'

An inexplicable trick of the light plunges them into
shadow and Espol continues on his way; in the desolate landscape that accompanies him, the desert wind causes things
and ideas to flutter about him. The camels are slowly coming
nearer and he sits down to watch them pass. A drumroll
disperses the low mist of sand, and some red letters etch
themselves on Espol's eyes: `Circo Donamatti. 3-ring circus!
Coming soon.'

He is just about to succumb to sleep, slightly turning his
head to watch the caravan pass. A blonde trapeze artist,
mounted on a horse, gives him a graceful wave, and Espol,
distracted, responds, stretching up his right arm and opening
his hand.

An amber-coloured ball escapes; startled, he tries to catch it, but fails. He slowly collapses, filled by the ineffable anxiety
that he may have left the gas on at home.

© Pere Calders

Translated by Margaret full Costa

Pere Calders (Barcelona, 1912) started life as a commercial
artist. In 1936, he published his first collection of stories,
El primer arlequi. When civil war broke out, he enlisted as a
military cartographer on the Republican side and, following
the Nationalist victory, spent twenty-three years in exile in
Mexico. There he found work as a graphic designer and continued to write and publish in Catalan. His first piece of
fantasy literature, Gaeli i 1'home-d& (1938) depicted a magical
world in which supernatural powers prevailed over evil. In
later books he explored his interest in time travel and science
fiction: Dema' a les tres de la matinada (1959) and L'invasio subtil
i altres contes (1979; winner of the Lletra d'Or Prize). A
selection of his stories is available in English translation (The
Virgin of the Railway and other stories, tr. A. Bath, Aris & Phillips,
1991). This story is taken from Crdniques de la veritat oculta
(Edicions 62, Barcelona, 1979).

It is very hard to know what we are, but the problem does not
end here; there is also what we were before and what we will be
afterwards.

The owner of the hotel, a tall man with a contemptuous,
indifferent air about him, was just explaining the affair to a
few male customers who had called in for a drink. The hotel
also has a cafe and a bar.

The story involves two newly-weds who arrived a few days
ago. The husband claimed that he knew the mountains
because he had been in Salardu before, although the owner
of the hotel doesn't remember him. He said that he wanted
to climb Beciberri, and the previous night he asked them
to prepare some lunch for him. His wife says that he left
alone, at dawn, and that he promised he would be back
before seven o'clock in the evening. It is now ten'o clock at
night.

The men consult their large pocket watches. One says it's a
quarter to ten, one five past ten, the other seven minutes to.
Each one declares that his watch is right, not that it really
matters. One of them asks:

'Beciberri?'

They are slow on the uptake and have to have things
explained to them three times before they understand.

`Yes.,

`Well, he should be back by now.'

Another man, who does a little hunting, calculates how
long it would take.

`Seven hours to go up and five to come down, that
makes twelve. If he left at dawn, that's more than enough
time.'

An old man, who is no longer up to risking his life on steep
slopes, asks:

`Does he know the route?'

`He said he did.'

All they know about her is that her name is Eulalia and that
she is standing at the dining room window staring unceasingly
out at the mountains. But night has fallen and she can see
nothing now. She keeps looking, her eyes motionless. The
outline of the landscape from which he will emerge is
engraved on her eyes.

The other guests dare not approach. They do not know her.
She has been at the hotel for three days, but no one has spoken
to her. The couple did not take part in the general conversation. She keeps asking, as if out of habit, almost without taking
her eyes off the darkness:

`What time is it?'

She began asking at eight o'clock and they told her it was
eight, then that it was nine, and now no one dares to tell her
that it is ten o'clock. She asks of no one in particular:

`What time might he be back?'

No one answers. Some don't know and those who do
know don't want to say. The men are now talking about
taking some sort of action, but they can't really be bothered.
No one takes the initiative. The owner of the hotel sends a
boy to Arties to find a guide, just in case. They have a guide
there, but not in Salardu.

All the guests have had supper by now, but they dare not go
to bed. She has had no supper nor has she sat down at the
table. The owner of the hotel has begged her two or three
times to have something to eat and she says only that she
wants to wait for her husband. At half past ten, the owner goes
over to her and this time he doesn't suggest that she eats
something, but that she goes to bed. She looks at him
insolently, as if he had insulted her.

`What time is it?' she asks.

`Half past ten.'

`What time is he likely to be back?'

'I don't know. He can't be much longer.'

`I'll wait for him.'

`Perhaps he's got lost and has decided to spend the night on
the mountain.'

Eulalia fixes her hard eyes on the owner of the hotel and
asks him:

`Why don't they go and look for him?'

`They'll go later, they say. They've sent for the guide.'

Time passes implacably. Each minute weighs on Eulalia's
heart. At eight o'clock, already impatient, she had decided to
wait until half past eight. At half past eight, she had decided
to wait until nine. And thus she has continued to divide up the
time in search of boundaries to bind about her heart so that it
does not break into pieces. From eleven o'clock onwards,
though, she can wait no longer. Time has beaten her. Now all
she wants is to see coming down the dim path the image of
the man she loves. She can barely see the path in the black
night and her eyes are wide open and staring, as she peers into
the shadowless dark. At last, she sits down by the dining room
window and covers her mouth with a handkerchief so that
they do not hear her moans. The hotel owner's wife has tried
several times to persuade her to go to bed, to no avail.

At midnight, the guide from Arties arrives. He is lean and
strong, a man of few words. He proposes that they wait a little
longer and set off at two. There is no point in leaving any
earlier because it would be a waste of time looking in the dark.
Meanwhile, they organise the expedition. No one feels like
joining in.They do not like the mountain.They know it
because at some point they have all had to climb it, for their
livelihood partly depends on the mountain. But they do not
love it, they have no feeling for it. Nevertheless, they all offer
their help, one after the other, the youngest first.Two foreigners offer to go as well.The guide chooses those who seem
strongest and gets together a team of six men. He says that will
be enough.

The women take care of Eulalia. The hotel owner's wife
has still not managed to convince her to go to her room, but
there are four or five women around her now, all insisting that
she should go upstairs. She finally gives in because, from her room, you can also see the darkness surrounding the path. She
remains standing at the window, her eyes fixed on the night.
Her whole life depends on a physical shape that might condense out of the gloom. She has refused to go to bed or to eat
anything. She couldn't. Her eyes are dry and she cannot speak.
In the end, they all leave her. She no longer wants to know
how much time has passed, but she does not lose hope. He
said he would come back and he will. Perhaps he won't come
back until the next day. Perhaps he has got lost and is waiting
for dawn with fear in his heart. She accepts anything except
the idea of death.

At two o'clock, the expedition leaves in silence. They do
not tell her. They know she is watching from the window and
they take a detour so that she does not see them. They do not
turn on their lights until they are some distance away. The
guide is at the head of the group. The owner of the hotel
has not gone with them. They are all muttering amongst
themselves. They do not go gladly. One says:

`.He shouldn't have gone up there if he didn't know the
area.

The guide repeats the hotel owner's words:

`He said that he did.'

`What was he like?' asks another man.

And one of the guests describes him. He's tall, strong and
very young. He looks as though he could get out of any scrape
without help from anyone. But the mountain demands
respect; they all know it and the guide says so too. He knows it
better than anyone, for he knows all the mountain's tricks and
traps.

`It's not to be treated lightly.'

And they walk on, unhurriedly but purposefully, taking
long strides, their heads held high. They all savour the rare
pleasure of breathing in the night air.

Now everyone in the hotel is asleep, apart from her. The
women have lain down on their beds fully clothed, in case she
needs them. She has promised that she will call them. She has
not moved from where they left her. The room is in darkness.
That is how she wanted it, because she believes she can see the night more clearly like that. She is alone and her eyes are wide
open, staring at the black mountain. She cannot see the lights
of the expedition. She cannot see anything.

Suddenly, she feels a presence near her. She had seen nothing on the path and she feels this presence inside the room,
behind her. Before turning round, she knows that her heart is
not mistaken. He is there! He is standing in the middle of the
room, with his knapsack on and a rope slung over his shoulder.
He is surrounded by a ghostly light and she can see him in the
dark. She cannot cry out, she cannot move a step, she is frozen
to the spot. He holds out a hand to her and calls her by her
name.

`Eulalia!'

She hears that beloved, unmistakable voice. But she hears it
not with her ears, but with her heart. She knows that he has
called out to her and that she did not hear his voice. She
knows that he is there and understands at the same time that
he is also somewhere else.