Josep Pla - Life Embitters

Riera received us in his slippers and nightshirt — with that red piping that was the fashion at the time in nightshirts — and pants for the street. His shirt was only half tucked inside his pants, no doubt because he’d been in a rush, and the rear flap hung limply outside. The Swiss were dressed normally and looked somewhat perplexed. Bramson was using his magnificent amber cigarette holder with the shepherdess and her lamb. Sr Ferrer came in pajamas and dressing-gown, evidently very worried.

“Gentlemen …” began Riera when we were all seated.

Like so many irritable, moody folk, Riera spoke with a good deal of rhetorical flourish. The nickname of Neurotic he’d been given was quite apt.

“Gentlemen, do you see now! We’ve reached an intolerable state of affairs. If we don’t defend ourselves, we will be condemned to Maggi broth, fried hake, and leathery, transparent steak. They are unquestionably taking us for a ride … Don’t doubt this for a minute: they will starve us to death, if we don’t react.”

Sr Ferrer’s face darkened, he wrinkled his eyebrows, and looked at Sr Riera with a mixture of pity and contempt.

“Moreover, you should know,” added Riera, “that Sra Paradís’s behavior is completely unjustified. I have got to the bottom of it. A comb has been found in …”

Sr Ferrer’s hysterical laughter prevented him from finishing his sentence. Sr Riera turned red with rage, got up from his chair, and walked once around his smallish room — swiveled around on himself, that is — and finally stood, mouth half open, lips trembling, glaring at Sr Bramson.

This gentleman, who had been observing the scene quite impassively, wiped the back of his neck, returned his cigarette holder to its case and finally said, rather shyly: “I do think we should proceed calmly. Sr Riera, you have shouted at us. In view of which, we should now try to speak in more measured tones …”

“Of course, of course …” said Riera, giving a bow.

Riera’s back was turned to his room’s balcony, he’d folded his arms over his chest, and the dismal green, tattered curtains hung down either side of his body.

“As far as morality goes,” Bramson added extremely calmly, “I share the ideas that everyone has, because I never like to be the exception. I require minimal adherence in such matters from those around me and, for my part, I will try to be amenable and bear in mind whatever you agree, if anyone, in this house, has exceeded the minimum standard I insist on. If, in my opinion, that isn’t the case, I shall stay put in this boarding house because it is very convenient to be so close to my office …”

Sr Riera made a strange guttural sound — a rumble possibly created by an unconscious reaction or by a momentary blockage of the larynx. He was visibly seething.

“Sr Riera, allow me!” said Bramson, as calm as ever, with that German accent that so well suited his corpulence. “Tell me, I beg you: does Sr Verdaguer pay for his board and lodging?”

“No, sir.”

“How do you know?”

“The house maids …”

“Fine. House maids usually know everything or almost everything in these boarding houses. So, then, Don Natali doesn’t pay up and, consequently, Sra Paradís’s only income from this house is what we gathered here pay her …”

“Absolutely right! Sr Verdaguer lives off our backs!”

The voluminous Swiss paused. Ferrer keenly followed the conversation. Pickel looked up at the ceiling and seemed totally oblivious to what was happening around him. From time to time, he glanced at those conversing as if he’d just descended from the clouds and tittered strangely as if to say: “What nonsense they are spouting!” Boada was falling asleep. I repeatedly pulled his arm and tried to stir him. It is examination time and seems as if students didn’t exist.

“And, Sr Riera, what can you tell us about Sr Dalmau, Don Martí Dalmau?” Bramson asked suddenly.

“Not very much, to be candid,” replied Riera. “He is a friend of Sra Paradís and Sr Verdaguer. This seems to bode ill, but I wouldn’t want to speculate beyond that. As you all know, he only arrived a few days ago. Consequently, we must wait and see, though it’s not hard to guess what the upshot will be.”

“Fine!” added Bramson, completely deadpan. “Fine! Once we have taken all this on board, Sr Riera, I feel I must tell you, Sr Riera, that I don’t intend to leave this boarding house for now. For the moment, I don’t think that minimal abnormality that I require to cohabit with other people has been exceeded. On the contrary, this boarding house has confirmed yet again my own experience from living in such establishments in my country and several others.”

“Pray, allow me to ask what your experience amounts to, Sr Bramson?” asked Sr Riera rather unpleasantly.

“Nothing very startling … Three types of people tend to coexist in these places: those who pay, those who appear not to pay, and your genuine parasites … What can we do about this, if it’s how the world is? And now, my dear friend, you must understand what I was implying when I spoke a few seconds ago about a maximum and a minimum. As I believe I am completely unequipped to eradicate parasites from boarding houses, then all that concerns me is they should be kept to the right number, that is, the minimum …”

“That’s appalling!” said Riera, wiping his forehead, both dismayed and disappointed, while Pickel and Ferrer let out a guffaw.

Sr Riera was dumbfounded. His mind and body had sunk into that well-known state of mind that hovers between the dithers and a nervous breakdown.

“That’s appalling, Sr Bramson, really appalling …” Riera repeated, putting his hands to his head.

Then he seemed to recover and he asked: “But can you really be serious?”

“I am always serious, Sr Riera, even when I talk of such trifling matters. Allow me to sum up my thoughts on the matter. When I enter into any piece of business, when I use the services of a boarding house or a hotel, when I try to do anything in life that involves other people, I know perfectly well that part of my money will be heading to the upkeep of one or more people behind the scenes. Do you understand? And things being as they are, all I can aspire to do is to ensure that the number of third parties doesn’t overwhelm my budget … In the present situation, as long as it doesn’t exceed the minimum acknowledged by you, I rest my case; the situation is perfectly normal, or in other words, is just the right level of abnormality to make it an absolutely average situation.”

Having said this, Bramson got up from his chair and prepared to use his arty cigarette holder once again.

“So then, I can’t count on any support from you folk?” said Riera after a pause, struggling to articulate his words, with an out-of-sorts expression that hid indignation he could hardly stifle.

“Unless the situation changes,” said Bramson grasping the door handle, “I shall be staying. A very good night to you all!”

Bramson and Pickel disappeared down the dark passage.

That left only Riera, Ferrer, Boada — now fast asleep — and me. Ferrer was lighting a cigarette.

“Sr Ferrer, what do you think about Bramson’s ideas?” asked Riera, re-galvanizing his indignation. “Have you ever heard anything like it? These foreigners possess a gall that is absolutely beyond me.”

“I believe,” said Ferrer blankly, “that the Swiss gentleman has outlined a very reasonable point of view. Don’t be under any illusions: if Bramson had found a boarding house where they would feed him better for the same price, he’d have left already … Have no doubt about that. Besides, he has already said as much: ‘Why change, if everywhere else serves up the same food?’ ”