Jaume Cabré: Confessions

‘You can’t do that!’ It slipped out too passionately. ‘I’ll restore it myself and in two days’ time you’ll have your gift back here in your office.’

Wenceslao González Oliveros put a hand on his shoulder and trumpeted dear Ardèvol, this pagan idol is a symbol of Spain wounded by communism, Catalanism, Judaism and Freemasonry that obliges us to make a necessary war against evil.

A rdèvol made a gesture of profound reflection that pleased the civil governor, who boldly picked up the smallest piece, an arm broken off the figure, and showed it to his disciple, explaining that there were also two Catalonias: one that is false, treacherous, cynically optimistic …

‘I’ve come to ask for a specific favour.’

‘… imbued with materialism and, therefore, sceptical of religious and ethical realms, and fundamentally stateless.’

‘In exchange for the services I will provide you. Something that is simple for you: permission to have freedom of movement.’

‘Another Catalonia is emerging, friendly and admirable, healthy, vital, confident, exquisitely sensitive, like this figure here.’

‘It is a Punic terracotta piece, very dear, bought with my savings from a Jewish doctor who needed money urgently.’

‘The Jewish race is perfidious, the Bible teaches us.’

‘No, Your Excellency: the Catholic Church tells us that. The Bible was written by Jews.’

‘You have a good point, Ardèvol. I see that you are a man of culture, such as I am. But that doesn’t mean the Jews are any less perfidious.’

‘No, of course not, Your Excellency.’

‘And don’t contradict me again,’ he said with one finger lifted, just in case.

‘No, Your Excellency.’ Pointing to the three pieces of terracotta: ‘Punic statuette, very valuable, very dear, unique, ancient: Carthaginians and Romans.’

‘Yes. A Catalonia powered by intelligence, rich in illustrious, noble origins …’

‘And I can assure you that I’ll make it good as new. This right here is more than two thousand years old. It is incredibly dear.’

‘… fertile with initiatives, distinguished for its chivalry and a participant with emotion, action and intuition …’

‘I only ask for an unrestricted passport, Your Excellency.’

‘… in the final fate of Spain, the mother that shelters us all. A Catalonia that knows how to use its charming dialect with moderation, prudence and private decorum, only in the home so as not to offend anyone.’

‘To enter and exit the great country that is Spain, without obstacles; even though Europe is at war; precisely because Europe is at war, I can do business buying and selling.’

‘Like a vulture in search of carrion?’

‘Yes, Your Excellency: and I will show my immense gratitude, in the form of objects and pieces even more valuable than this Punic terracotta statuette, for this document in my name.’

‘A spiritual, dynamic, entrepreneurial Catalonia that the rest of Spain has so much to learn from.’

‘I am merely a merchant. But I can spread joy. Yes, exactly, without any geographical restrictions, as if I were a diplomat. No, I’m not afraid of the dangers: I always know which doors to knock on.’

‘From the very prow, we could say, of the great ship that spies the new horizons.’

‘Thank you, Your Excellency.’

‘With Franco, our beloved Caudillo, these horizons, once blackened and vile, are now, in this radiant dawn, within our reach.’

‘Long live Franco, Your Excellency.’

‘I prefer cash to statuettes, Ardèvol.’

‘Deal. Long live Spain.’ And to Lieutenant Colonel Anselmo Taboada Izquierdo, a few weeks later, in his office without a single book: ‘Would you like me to call His Excellency the Civil Governor?’

Hesitation from Lieutenant Colonel Anselmo Taboada. Then Fèlix Ardèvol reminded him and I am also very close friends with the Captain-General. Does the name Lorenzo mean anything to you now?

Brief: a second at most, was all it took for the lieutenant colonel to smile widely and say did you say Lorenzo? Sit down, man, sit down!

‘I’m already sitting down.’

Just fifteen minutes of conversation. Having lost his smile after some negotiation, Lieutenant Colonel Anselmo Taboada Izquierdo had to give in and Fèlix Ardèvol doubled his allocation for the next three operations plus a fixed bonus at the end of the year of

‘Granted,’ said Anselmo Taboada hastily. ‘Granted.’

‘Long live Franco.’

‘Long may he live.’

‘And I will be silent as the grave, Lieutenant Colonel.’

‘That would be the best thing. For your health, I mean.’

He never saw the weedy man with the umbrella for a hat who went by the name Abelard again; he was surely jailed for professional incompetence. Ardèvol, on the other hand, managed to get his new friend’s colleagues, a commander and a captain, also in administration, as well as a judge and three businessmen, to entrust him with their savings so he could take them to a safe place with a better return. It seems he did that over four or five years, when Europe was at war and when it was over as well, Max told me. And he earned himself a good gang of enemies among those Francoist military men and politicians who had room for financial manoeuvring. Perhaps it was an attempt to balance the scales and avoid repercussions that led him to denounce four or five professors at the university.

Quite a panorama, my beloved: he took money from everyone and spent it buying objects for the shop or manuscripts for himself … It seems he had a sixth sense for sniffing out those anxious to sell out or those with so many secrets and so many worries that he could pressure them without fear of consequences. Max told me that it was well known in your family because one of your uncles, an Epstein from Milan, was a victim of his. And he was so affected by Father’s scams that he committed suicide. My father did all that, Sara. My father who was my father, Sara. And my mother, it seems, was clueless. It was very hard for Max to explain all of that to me, but he did it just like that, like ripping off a plaster, to get it off his chest. And now I too have vomited it out because it was a secret you only knew a part of. And Max ended up saying because of that, your father’s death …

‘What, Max?’

‘In our house they said that when someone went to mess with him for whatever reason, Franco’s police looked the other way.’

They were silent for a long while, taking little sips of wine, looking into the void, thinking it would have been better not to have started this conversation.

‘But I …’ said Adrià after a long time.

‘Yes, all right. You, nothing. The thing is he brought ruin to one of my parents’ cousins, and his family. Ruin and death.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘You don’t have to say anything.’

‘Now I understand your mother better. But I loved Sara.’

‘Capuleti i Montecchi, Adrià.’

‘And I can’t do anything to repair the evil done by my father?’

‘What you can do is finish your wine. What do you want to repair?’

‘You don’t hold it against me.’

‘My sister’s love for you made that easy for me.’

‘But she ran away to Paris.’

‘She was a girl. Our parents forced her to go to Paris: at twenty years old you can’t … They brainwashed her. It’s that simple.’

Silence fell, and the sea, the splashing of the waves, the shrieks of the seagulls, the saltiness of the air entered the room. After a thousand years: ‘And now when we argued, she ran away again. Here to Cadaqués.’

‘And she spent her days crying.’

‘You never told me that.’

‘She made me promise not to.’