Dolores Redondo - The Invisible Guardian

‘And how would you explain the fact that hairs that undoubtedly belong to a bear have been found?’

‘If it was the Environment Agency who carried out the initial analysis, they’ll be dinosaur scales until they discover that it’s a lizard skin, but I don’t believe it. We haven’t seen tracks, animal bodies, dens, faeces, nothing, and I don’t think the Ghostbusters are going to find anything we’ve missed. There’s not a bear here, in spite of the hairs, no sirree. Perhaps something else, but not a bear,’ he said, carefully unfolding the leaf he’d been folding to reveal a dark, wet grid of sap.

‘Do you mean another kind of animal? A large animal?’

‘Not exactly,’ he replied.

‘He means a basajaun ,’ said Gorria.

Amaia put her hands on her hips and turned to face Jonan.

‘A basajaun . Now, why didn’t we think of that before? Well, I can see that your job leaves you time to read the papers.’

‘And to watch TV,’ added Gorria.

‘It’s on the TV too?’ Amaia looked at Jonan in dismay.

‘Yes, Lo que pasa en España ran a segment on it yesterday, and it won’t be long before we’ve got reporters turning up here,’ he answered.

‘Fuck, this is just like a Kafka novel. A basajaun . And what? Have you seen one?’

‘He has,’ said Gorria.

Amaia didn’t miss the way Flores glared at his colleague as he shook his head.

‘Let me get this clear, you’re telling me that you’ve seen a basajaun ?’

‘I didn’t say anything,’ muttered Flores.

‘Damn it, Flores! There’s nothing funny about it, lots of people know about it, it’s in the incident report, someone will end up telling her about it, you’d be better off doing it yourself.’

‘Tell me,’ insisted Amaia.

Flores hesitated for a moment before starting to speak.

‘It was two years ago. A poacher shot me by mistake. I was in the trees taking a piss and I guess the bastard thought I was a deer or something. He got me in the shoulder and I was left lying on the floor unable to move for at least three hours. When I woke up I saw a creature squatting down at my side, his face was almost totally covered in hair, but not like an animal’s, more like a man whose beard starts right below his eyes, intelligent, sympathetic eyes, almost human, except the iris covered almost the whole eye; there was barely any white, like a dog’s eyes. I fainted again. I woke up when I heard the voices of my colleagues who were looking for me; then he looked me in the eyes one more time and raised a hand, as if he were waving goodbye, and he whistled so loudly that my colleagues heard it almost a kilometre away. I passed out again and when I woke up I was in hospital.’

He had folded the leaf up again while he’d been talking and now he cut it into tiny pieces with his thumbnail. Jonan went and stood next to Amaia and looked at her before speaking. ‘It could have been a hallucination as a result of the shock from being shot, the loss of blood and knowing that you were alone on the mountain, it must have been a terrible moment; or perhaps the poacher who shot you felt remorse and stayed with you until your colleagues arrived.’

‘The poacher saw that he’d shot me, but, according to his own statement, he thought I was dead and he ran away like a rat. They stopped him hours later for a breathalyser test, which was when he told them what had happened. Ironic, huh? I still have to be grateful to the bastard, if he hadn’t confessed they wouldn’t have found me. As for hallucination as a result of shock of being shot, it’s possible, but in the hospital they showed me an improvised bandage made of overlapping leaves and grasses arranged to form a kind of impermeable dressing that prevented me from bleeding to death.’

‘Perhaps you put the leaves there yourself before you lost consciousness. There are known cases of people who after suffering an amputation whilst alone have put on a tourniquet, preserved the amputated limb and called the emergency services before losing consciousness.’

‘Sure, I’ve read about that online, but tell me something: how did I manage to press hard enough to keep the wound closed while I was unconscious? Because that’s what that creature did for me, and that was what saved my life.’

Amaia didn’t answer. She raised her hand and put it over her mouth as if holding back something she didn’t want to say.

‘I see, I shouldn’t have told you about it,’ said Flores, turning towards the path.

Night had fallen when Amaia reached the entrance of the Church of Santiago. She pushed the big door, almost sure that it was closed, and was a little surprised when it opened smoothly and silently. She smiled at the idea that they could still leave the church doors unlocked in her home town. The altar was partially lit and a group of fifty or so children were sitting in the front few pews. She dipped her fingers in the holy water stoup and shivered slightly as the icy drops touched her forehead.

‘Have you come to collect a child?’

She turned towards a woman in her forties with a shawl around her shoulders.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Oh, sorry, I thought you’d come to collect one of the children.’ It was obvious the woman had recognised her. ‘We were giving the first communion classes,’ she explained.

‘This early? We’re still in February.’

‘Well, Father Germán likes to do these things properly,’ she said, with an apologetic shrug. Amaia remembered his long-winded speech about the evil that surrounds us during the funeral and wondered how many other things the parish priest of Santiago liked to do properly. ‘In any case, I don’t think we do have that much time left, just March and April, and then the first group are due to make their first communion on the first of May.’ She suddenly stopped.

‘Sorry, I’m sure I’m delaying you, you must be here to speak to Father Germán, aren’t you? He’s in the sacristy, I’ll go and let him know you’re here.’

‘Oh, no, don’t trouble yourself, the truth is that I’ve come to the church in a personal capacity,’ she said, employing an almost apologetic tone for the last two words, which immediately gained her the sympathy of the catechist, who smiled at her and took a few steps back like a selfless servant withdrawing.

‘Of course, may God be with you.’

Amaia walked up the nave, avoiding the main altar and stopping in front of some of the carvings that occupied the side altars, thinking all the while about those young girls and their washed faces, devoid of make-up and life, that someone had taken it upon himself to present as beautiful works of macabre imagery, beautiful even in that state. She gazed up at the saints and the archangels and the mourning virgins, their tense, pale faces bereft of colour, expressing purity and the ecstasy achieved through agony, a slow torture, desired and feared in equal measure, and accepted with an overwhelming submission and surrender.

‘That’s what you’ll never achieve,’ whispered Amaia.

No, they weren’t saints, they wouldn’t surrender themselves in a submissive and selfless manner; he would have to snatch their lives from them and steal their souls.

Leaving the Church of Santiago she walked slowly, taking advantage of the fact that the darkness and the intense cold had left the streets empty in spite of the early hour. She crossed the church gardens and admired the beauty of the enormous trees that surrounded the building, their height competing with that of the church spires, conscious of the strange sensation that came over her in those almost deserted streets. The urban centre of Elizondo was spread across the plain at the bottom of the valley and its layout was heavily influenced by the course of the River Baztán. It had three main streets which ran parallel to one another and constituted the town’s historic centre, where the grand buildings and other houses built in the typical local style still stood.