Jaume Cabré: Winter Journey

And so, unaware of his fate, Oleguer soon stood out in the workshop of Master Saltor. He was an apprentice for only a short time. At the age of fifteen he was the master's ear in the lengthy process of tuning the pipes, and his hands carressed the metal, the wood and the felt, and his mind penetrated the secrets of the complex mechanical miracle of the sound of the organ and the many ways of configuring an efficient wind-chest. He started to live life through the thousand sounds of the organ and, without realizing it, he was more or less happy.

He was shocked when, the next day, as they were going back after emptying the buckets, Tonet said, Fine, yes, I'm interested. I'm tired of shitting in a pail. But first you have to tell me exactly how it's going to work.

They had to wait until they were in the yard. Sitting in a sunny corner, so no one would bother them, he explained, without wiping at the sweat that ran down him, that he'd had the key to the cell for twelve years, since the day after being locked up. That it had been a piece of luck; a jailer you don't know dropped it in the corridor and nobody realized that it bounced off something and ended up by his feet, inside the cell. He hid it in the straw, without knowing if he'd be able to use it, and after looking for it unsuccessfully, all they did was make a copy of the key instead of changing the lock. And a few months later, by dint of patiently watching the movements of the jailers, he found out that the same key opened the door at the end of the corridor, the one that led to the attic and, through a hole in the chimney, to the roof. For a dozen years, the key had burned in his mind, but he'd been able to keep the secret until it was the right time for the escape. Yes, over the roof. Where they least expected it.

"1 won't be able to get through the hole in the chimney."

"Stop eating for a few days. 1 can get through it."

"If we get onto the roof… we could break our necks."

"Yes. But they don't guard the roof."

The soldier with the gray beard and the sprig of rosemary was observing them from afar, with such a nasty look on his face that it seemed as if he could hear their words. When Tonet had heard everything, he sucked in air, put a hand on Oleguer's back and said, in a whisper, "It's impossible." And after pausing and looking at the soldier who was watching them, "But I'm coming with you. On one condition."

"What."

"That Faner comes with us."

He should have thought of that. Tonet and Faner were always together. They were hand-in-glove, and when he told Tonet about the escape, he hadn't thought of that. He thought through all the steps, imagining them now with Tonet and Faner, who was even scrawnier than Tonet.

"All right, Tonet," he sighed after a moment, "Faner can come if he's willing to break a leg." He smiled wearily and added, "But if he squeals, I'll kill him."

And that was how they decided to escape in two weeks, when the moon was again on the wane. Oleguer spent what were to be his last days in prison sitting, his back against the wall of the cell, his hands clasped behind his neck, thinking of Vienna, which he knew almost better than Barcelona. When King Carles gave up the throne, he called together part of the court he'd had in Barcelona and a group of generals and officers sympathetic to Austria. It was the express wish of the queen that Master Nicolas Saltor go to Vienna as well. Oleguer, only nineteen years old, his parents dead and his eyes eager to see new things, went gladly into voluntary exile as assistant to Master Nicolas, to serve the king who in Vienna became an emperor and changed his name from Carles to Karl and his number from third to sixth.

Then, exactly then, when Oleguer was counting down the days in prison, leaning against the wall with his hands behind his neck, thinking about Vienna, about Celia, about Sau, about the death of Maria, about the terrible news that his heart had told him about Pere, they replaced the bastard Rodenes. No one breathed for a few days, praying that the routine of the prison wouldn't change, that everything would stay hopelessly the same, and escape would still be possible. And after the forest, if his legs were whole, he'd get a carter to take him to Vic, and the first thing he'd do would be to go to the house to see if Celia still lived there. Or if there were new tenants who could tell him where she'd gone. And he'd look her in the eye and say, Don't worry, I'll leave right away, my dear daughter. 1 don't want to bother you… But why haven't you written to me even once in twelve years, not even once? Your letters would have given me hope. Just having the paper in my hands, life would have been less painful. The day the troopers came looking for me with an arrest warrant because the framework of the Augustine's organ had collapsed and crushed two friars, 1 saw your eyes shine like pearls, my darling, with the tears you didn't shed to keep from making things worse. And 1 only had time to say, Go to Bertrana's house, they'll take you in, it's only for a few days. But it turned out that one of the dead friars was the head of the order, and was some kind of cousin to a minister of the mad king, and the few days had turned into a few years with a recommendation of special treatment. And 1 kept writing, Sweetheart, how are things at Bertrana's, what are you doing, I'll be back soon. And from you, nothing, And because 1 hadn't felt my heart skip a beat, 1 kept on writing.

Because one day, Massip had said, God forbid, but maybe she's dead. And he managed to smile and say, Come on, 1 would've known, the way 1 knew about my Maria, who died when he was away from home, repairing the water damage to his organ in the cathedral of Manresa, which took him two months. And while he was tuning, still unsatisfied, the bassoon pedals on the epistle side, he felt his heart skip a beat at the very moment, they told him later, that Maria had given up the ghost all of a sudden, without warning. And when Pere went under the wheels of that cart, he, who was walking from Prats to Moia, with a good contract for the repair of three harmoniums, turned right around, lost the contract and, just as he feared, he'd lost his son and heir. And my heart hasn't skipped a beat, Massip. My Celia is alive and well, but I can't imagine why she doesn't write to me.

They fired Rbdenes and replaced him with a thin, sober and quiet man who kept his candle lit until well after midnight. For the first few days the guards were always exchanging looks, trying to figure out how far they could go and how much trouble the new warden was going to be.

On his cot in the murk, Oleguer was thinking about Celia, and to get her out of his head he reminisced about Vienna, the two years he lived in the still-unfinished Schonbrunn, working on the great organ in the Imperial Chapel, the next-to-last organ signed by Master Saltor before he succumbed to the fever that destroyed him. The emperor had been so pleased with the work he'd done that he gave Master Saltor permission to go and visit all of the organs in the empire and in Germany. A long year spent traveling, listening, playing, remembering, comparing and learning the deepest secrets in the impossible pursuit of the perfect instrument. It was in the year 17, when Oleguer had turned twenty-two, that Master Nicolau Saltor accepted the commission in Markkleeberg and set up a temporary workshop on the green banks of the Pleisse. With unusual rapidity he built a positive organ that was not very large but produced an angelic sound, for the town's Lutheran church. Oleguer knew that it was the best organ his master had ever made. And the master was glad to leave a sample of his talent in an unknown and lovely Saxon town. He had a metal plaque engraved with Saltorius barcinonensis me fecit, anno 1718, and he died, happy.

A week later, Oleguer felt sure that the escape plan was still workable. He informed the other two conspirators, who, on the sly and with great difficulty, were making a thin rope from wisps of straw from their pallets. And they agreed that there would be a new moon on Friday the seventeenth and they would escape that night, even if there was a thunderstorm. What they hadn't taken into account was the new warden's capacity for work.