Jaume Cabré - Confessions

The starched maid closed the door and disappeared. And her muffled voice said sir, they’ve come to return Vial. And, immediately, a patriarchal man with white hair came out, dressed in a burgundy and black plaid robe, tightly gripping a baseball bat, and he said are you the bastard Ardefol?

‘Well, yeah.’

‘And you’ve brought Vial?’

‘Here.’

‘Fèlix Ardefol, right?’ he said lifting the bat over his shoulders.

‘No. Fèlix was my father. I’m the bastard Adrià Ardefol.’

‘And what took you so long to bring it back to me?’ The bat, still threatening my skull.

‘It’s a very long story, sir, and right now … I’m tired and my beloved is in hospital, sleeping.’

The man with white hair and patriarchal bearing tossed the bat to the floor, where the maid picked it up, and he snatched the case from me. He opened it right there, on the floor, lifted the protective chamois cloths and pulled out the Storioni. Magnificent. Just then I regretted what I was doing because the man with the white hair and patriarchal bearing wasn’t worthy of that violin. I woke up covered in sweat and went back to the hospital to be by your side and I told you I’m doing what I can but I haven’t found the paper. No, don’t ask me to get it from Mr Berenguer because I don’t trust him and he would sully everything. Where were we?

Alexandre Roig put the spoon in front of her mouth. For a few seconds, Gertrud didn’t open it; she just stared into his eyes. Come on, open up your little mouth, I said to her, so I wouldn’t have to tolerate that gaze. Finally, thank God, she opened up and I was able to get her to swallow the warm broth with a bit of pasta and thought that surely the best thing to do was pretend that I hadn’t heard what she’d said to Dora when she thought I wasn’t home and I said Gertrud, I love you, why won’t you speak to me, what’s wrong, they tell me you speak when I’m not here, why, it’s as if you had something against me. And Gertrud, in response, opened her mouth. Professor Roig gave her a couple more spoonfuls and looked into her eyes: ‘Gertrud. Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what you’re thinking.’

After a few days, Alexandre Roig was already able to recognise that he wasn’t feeling sorry for that woman, he was afraid of her. I’m sorry that I don’t feel bad for you, but that’s how life is. I am in love, Gertrud, and I have the right to remake my life and I don’t want you to stand in the way, not by being pitiful nor with threats. You were a vibrant woman, always wanting to impose your criteria, and now you are limited to opening your mouth for soup. And staying quiet. And speaking Estonian. And how will you read your Martials and your Livys? Doctor Dalmau — that imbecile — says that this regression is common. Until one day when Alexandre Roig, anxious, decided not to lower his guard; this isn’t regression: it’s cunning. She does it to make me suffer … She just wants to make me suffer! If she wants to hurt me, I won’t allow it. But she doesn’t want me to know what she’s up to. I don’t know how to neutralise her scheme. I don’t know how. I had found the perfect way, but she didn’t go along with it. The perfect way, but very risky, because I don’t know how I was able to get out of the car.

‘Weren’t you wearing your seatbelt?’

‘Yes. I guess so. I don’t know.’

‘It’s not broken or forced.’

‘Maybe. I don’t know: I was … The car hit such a bad bump that the door opened and I flew out.’

‘To save yourself?’

‘No, no. The bump sent me flying out. Once I was on the ground I saw the car sinking and I couldn’t see it any more and she was screaming Saaaaandreeeee.’

‘The drop was three metres.’

‘For me it was as if it had been swallowed up by the landscape. And I suppose I fainted.’

‘She called you Sandre?’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Why do you only suppose you fainted?’

‘No … I’m confused. How is she?’

‘In a bad way.’

‘Will she pull through?’

Then the inspector said what he had been so fearing; he said I don’t know if you are a believer or not, but there’s been a miracle here; the Lord has listened to your prayers.

‘I’m not a believer.’

‘Your wife is not going to die. Although …’

‘My God.’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell me exactly what you want, Mr Ardèvol.’

I had to spend a little while ordering unorderable ideas. The stillness of Pau Ullastres’s workshop helped to calm me down. And finally I said this violin was stolen during World War II. By a Nazi. I think it was seized in Auschwitz itself.

‘Whoa.’

‘Yes. And through circumstances that are irrelevant to the case, it has been in my family for years.’

‘And you want to return it,’ prompted the luthier.

‘No! Or yes, I don’t know. But I wanted to know whom it was seized from. Who was its previous owner. And then, well, we’ll see.’

‘If the previous owner ended up in Auschwitz …’

‘I know. But he must have some relative, right?’

Pau Ullastres picked up the violin and began to play fragments of a Bach partita, I can’t remember which. The third? And I felt dirty because it had been too long since I’d been by your side and when I finally was I took your hand and I said I am taking steps to return it, Sara, but so far I haven’t had much luck. I want to return it to its real owner, not some opportunist. And the luthier strongly recommended, Mr Ardèvol, that you are very careful and don’t do anything hasty. There are a lot of vultures hovering around stories like this one. Do you understand me, Sara?

‘Gertrud.’

The woman looked at the ceiling; she didn’t even bother to shift her gaze. Alexandre waited for Dora to close the door to the flat and leave them alone before he spoke: ‘It was my fault,’ he said in a soft tone. ‘Forgive me … I guess I fell asleep … It was my fault.’

She looked at him as if coming from a far distance. She opened her mouth as if she were about to say something. After a few endless seconds, though, she just swallowed hard and shifted her gaze.

‘I didn’t do it on purpose, Gertrud. It was an accident …’

She looked at him and now he was the one who swallowed hard: this woman knows everything. A gaze had never cut me to the quick like that. My God. She’s capable of saying something crazy to the first person who shows up because now she knows that I know that she knows. I am afraid I have no choice. I don’t want you to be an obstacle to this happiness I deserve.

My husband wants to kill me. No one understands me here. Warn my brother; Osvald Sikemäe; he is a teacher in Kunda; tell him to save me. Please, I am afraid.

‘No …’

‘Yes.’

‘Say it again,’ asked Dora.

Àgata glanced quickly at the notebook. She looked at the waiter who was heading off and repeated my husband wants to kill me. No one understands me here. Warn my brother; Osvald Sikemäe; he is a teacher in Kunda; tell him to save me. Please, I am afraid. And she added I am alone in the world, I am alone in the world. Someone who understands me, whom I can understand.

‘But what did you tell her? This is the first time, since I’ve been taking care of her, that she’s had a conversation. Up until now, she just talked to the walls, poor woman. What did you tell her?’

‘Ma’am … that must be the nerves over …’

‘My husband knows that I know that he wants to kill me. I am very afraid. I want to go back to the hospital. Here alone with him … everything frightens me … Don’t you believe me?’

‘Of course I believe you. But …’

‘You don’t believe me. He will kill me.’

‘Why would he want to kill you?’