Antonio Hill - The Summer of Dead Toys

“Inspector Salgado,” continued Castells in a dry tone, “I know things seem to have changed a lot in recent times, but there are actions that simply go against human nature. Abandoning a son before he has even begun to walk is one of them. And nobody will convince me that actions such as these won’t have a price to pay, sooner or later. Above all when tragedies like the one we’ve just gone through happen.”

Héctor was surprised by the rancour exuding from these words, both from what was said and from how it was said. He asked himself if this grudge had always been there or if it had resurfaced now, after the death of the son the couple had in common. Castells seemed to find comfort in giving free rein to a hatred he hadn’t fully overcome.

“What I mean by that is that I’m not going to allow the suspicions of a neurotic to hurt my family. To inflict more damage than it has already suffered.”

“I understand, Señor Castells. And I promise you we will respect your grief as much as possible. But at the same time,” Héctor looked the man opposite in the eyes, gravely, “we have to do our job. In good conscience.”

Castells held his gaze. He was evaluating him. At that moment Héctor felt annoyed: his patience was running out. However, before he could say anything else, Castells asked:

“Do you have children, Inspector?”

“One boy.”

“Then it will be easier for you to understand me.” No, it

isn’t, thought Héctor. “I raised mine the best way I knew. But in life one has to accept failures.”

“Marc was a failure?”

“Not him; me as a father. I let myself be persuaded by modern theories, assumed the absence of his mother was a difficult obstacle to overcome, something that justified his apathy. . his mediocrity.”

Héctor felt almost offended in a way he didn’t fully understand.

“You’re looking at me as if I’m a monster, Inspector. But believe me when I say I loved my son, as much as you love yours. I have nothing to reproach him for, only myself. I should have been able to prevent something like this happening. Yes, I know you think accidents happen by chance, and I’m not denying it. But I won’t fall into the trap of everyone absolving themselves of their responsibilities: young people drink, young people do stupid things, adolescence means tolerating your son doing whatever he wants and waiting for the cure, as if he has the flu. No, Inspector: our generation made many mistakes and now we have to bear the consequences. For ourselves and our children.”

Salgado saw the sorrow then. A real sorrow, as genuine as that of a devastated mother in tears. Enric Castells wasn’t crying, but that didn’t mean he suffered any less.

“What do you think happened, Señor Castells?” he asked quietly.

He took his time answering. As if extracting the words was an effort.

“He could have fallen. I don’t deny it. But sometimes in accidents there is an element of carelessness, indifference.”

Héctor nodded.

“I don’t think Marc had the audacity or motive to commit suicide, if that’s what you’re thinking. And, although she doesn’t say it, what Joana seems to fear. However, I think he was irresponsible enough, rash enough to do something stupid. Just to have done it. To impress that little girl or feel more of a man. Or simply because it was all the same to him. Almost twenty and they’re still playing like children, as if there are no limits. Nothing matters, it’s all good, think about yourself: this is the message we’ve passed on to them. Or that we’ve let them absorb.”

“I understand what you mean, but it seems Marc returned more adult from Dublin. . or didn’t he?”

Castells nodded.

“I thought so too. He seemed to have matured. To have a clear goal in life. Or at least so he said. I learned that, with him, I had to wait to see actions, not words.”

“He’d lie?”

“Not the way most would, but yes. For example, the school expulsion, that story of the video posted on the internet.”

“Yes?”

“At the beginning I thought it was both aspects: the boy masturbating in a public place and the boy who records it and shares it with the whole world. Disgusting from start to finish.”

Although he saw qualitative differences between the two acts, Salgado said nothing and waited: Castells hadn’t finished.

“However, once it was over, and the matter seemed forgotten, one day Marc came to see me here, in my study. He sat down on that very chair where you are now and asked me how I could have believed him capable of a thing like that.” “He’d confessed to it.”

“So I told him.” He smiled bitterly. “But he insisted, almost with tears in his eyes. Do you really think I did it? he asked. And I didn’t know how to respond. When he left, I thought it over. And the worst thing is I didn’t come to any conclusion. Look, Inspector: I’ve not misled you with respect to Marc. He was lazy, apathetic, spoiled. But at the same time, because of all that, I sometimes think he was incapable of doing something so cruel. He might have mocked that boy, or rather, allowed him to be mocked, but I don’t think he’d ever have humiliated someone in cold blood. That wasn’t typical of him.”

“Do you mean he took the blame for someone else?”

“Something like that. Don’t ask me why. I tried to talk to him but he refused to listen. And you know something? While we were burying him, I cursed myself again and again for not giving him the satisfaction of knowing that no, in reality I didn’t believe he could have committed such a dishonorable act.”

A silence descended which Héctor maintained. He couldn’t agree with this man, but a part of him understood him. For Enric Castells there was someone responsible for everything, and he’d taken on himself the role of guilty party for his son’s death. For that reason he was rejecting any kind of investigation: to him it was pointless.

“You know something, Inspector?” continued Castells, in an even lower voice. “When we got the call first thing in the morning on San Juan, I knew something terrible had happened. I think it’s what every father fears: the call in the middle of the night that splits your life in two. And in one way or another I’d been expecting this to happen, praying that it wouldn’t.” Héctor could barely hear him by then, but suddenly his interlocutor returned to his normal tone. “Now I must decide what to do with this new half of my life. I have a wonderful wife and a daughter I must care for and protect. So it is time to reconsider many things.”

“Are you going into politics?” asked Salgado, remembering what Savall had said to him.

“Possibly. I don’t like this world we’re living in, Inspector. People may consider certain values outdated, but what is definite is we haven’t managed to replace them with others. Perhaps they’re not so bad after all. Are you religious?”

“I’m afraid not. Although you know what they say: “ ‘In the trenches there are no atheists.’ ”

“It’s a good saying. Very descriptive. Atheists think we never doubt, that faith is like a helmet that prevents us seeing further. They’re deluded. But it’s at moments like these that believing acquires its true meaning, the feeling that there is a plank to cling to so as to keep swimming instead of giving up and being carried by the current. That would be easier. But I don’t expect you to understand.”

His last phrase held a note of contempt which Héctor decided to overlook. He hadn’t the least intention of arguing about religion with a resolute believer who had just lost his son. Enric Castells waited for a moment, and seeing that the inspector wasn’t saying anything moved on.

“Can you tell me why you wish to take Marc’s belongings? Is there something that might be useful?”