Jaume Cabré - Confessions

‘On what grounds?’ Höss, perplexed.

‘Six hundred and fifteen thousand, four hundred and twenty-eight.’

‘What?’

‘Elisaveta Meireva.’

‘What?’

‘Unit number six hundred and fifteen thousand, four hundred and twenty-eight. Six, one, five, four, two, eight, Elisaveta Meireva. Your maid. Reichsführer Himmler will condemn you to death when he finds out you’ve had sexual relations with a Jewess.’

Red as a tomato, Höss put the violin down on the desk with a thud.

‘All your talk about confessional secrets, you bastard.’

‘I’m no priest.’

The violin remained with Doctor Voigt, who was just passing through Auschwitz, supervising with an iron hand the experiments of Doctor Budden, that stuck-up Obersturmführer who must have swallowed a broomstick one day and had yet to shit it out. And also the experiments of three more deputy doctors; what he had conceived as the most in-depth investigation ever attempted on the limits of pain. As for Höss, he spent a few days nervously clenching his arse cheeks together, wondering whether that artful poof of a bandit, Aribert Voigt, was, in addition to being an artful poof of a pirate, also a blabbermouth.

‘Five thousand dollars, Mr Falegnami.’

The man with the frightened, increasingly glassy eyes stared into Fèlix Ardèvol’s.

‘Are you pulling my leg?’

‘No. Look, you know what? I’ll take it for three thousand, Mr Zimmermann.’

‘You’ve gone mad.’

‘No. Either you give it to me for that price or … Well, the authorities will be very interested in knowing that Doctor Aribert Voigt, Sturmbannführer Voigt, is alive, hidden a kilometre away from the Vatican City, probably with the complicity of someone high up in the Vatican. And that he’s trying to sell a violin nicked from Auschwitz.’

Mr Falegnami had pulled out a feminine little parlour gun and aimed it at him nervously. Fèlix Ardèvol didn’t even flinch. He pretending to be stifling a smile and shook his head as if he were very displeased, ‘You are alone. How will you get rid of my corpse?’

‘It will be a pleasure to face that challenge.’

‘You’ll still be left with an even bigger one: if I don’t walk out of here on my own two feet, the people waiting for me on the street already have their instructions.’ He pointed to the gun, sternly. ‘And now I’ll take it for two thousand. Don’t you know that you are one of the Allies’ ten most wanted?’ He improvised that part in the tone of someone scolding an unruly child.

Doctor Voigt watched as Ardèvol pulled out a wad of notes and put them on the table. He lowered the gun, with his eyes wide, incredulous: ‘That’s not even fifteen hundred!’

‘Don’t make me lose my patience, Sturmbannführer Voigt.’

That was Fèlix Ardèvol’s doctorate in buying and selling. A half an hour later he was out on the street with the violin, striding quickly with his heart beating fast and the satisfaction of a job well done.

‘You just broke with the most sacred of diplomatic relations.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You acted like an elephant in a Bohemian glassware shop.’

‘I don’t know what you are talking about?’

Friar Fèlix Morlin, with indignation in his face and voice, spat out, ‘I’m in no position to judge people. Mr Falegnami was under my protection.’

‘But he is a savage son of a bitch.’

‘He was under my protection!’

‘Why do you protect murderers?’

Félix Morlin closed the door in the face of Fèlix Ardèvol, who didn’t really understand his reaction.

As he left Santa Sabina, he put on his hat and raised the lapels of his coat. He didn’t know that he would never again see that Dominican who was full of surprises.

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘There are more things I can tell you about our father.’

It was already dark. They had to walk along dark streets and be careful not to trip on the hardened wheel tracks sculpted in the road’s mud. Daniela gave him kiss on the forehead in front of Can Ges and for a few seconds Adrià was reminded of the angel she’d once been, now without wings or any special aura. Then he realised that all the shops were closed and Aunt Leo wouldn’t be getting any little gift.

It was a face filled with tragic wrinkles. But I was impressed by his clear direct gaze, which made me feel as if he were accusing me of something. Or, depending on how you looked at it, as if he were begging for my forgiveness. I sensed many misfortunes in it before Sara told me anything. And all the misfortunes were contained in strokes made in charcoal on thick white paper.

‘This is the drawing that most impressed me,’ I told her. ‘I would have liked to meet him.’

I realised that Sara hadn’t said anything; she just stood in front of the charcoal of the Cadaqués landscape. We contemplated it in silence. The entire house was silent. Sara’s huge flat, which we had entered furtively, today my parents aren’t here and neither is anyone else. A rich home. Like mine. Like a thief, like the day of the Lord, I will come like a thief in the night.

I didn’t dare to ask her why we had to go there on a day when no one was home. Adrià was thrilled to see the surroundings of that girl who got deeper into his bones with each passing day, with her melancholy smile and delicate gestures he’d never seen before in anyone else. And Sara’s room was larger than mine, twice as large. And very pretty: with wallpaper with geese and a farmhouse that wasn’t like Can Ges in Tona: it was prettier, neater, without flies or odours; more like a picture book; the wallpaper of a little girl who hadn’t changed it even now that she was … I don’t know how old you are, Sara.

‘Nineteen. And you are twenty-three.’

‘How do you know that I’m twenty-three?’

‘I can tell by your face.’

And she put a new drawing on top of the one of Cadaqués.

‘You draw really well. Let me see that portrait again.’

She put the drawing of Uncle Haïm on top of the pile. His gaze, his wrinkles, his sad aura.

‘Did you say it was your uncle?’

‘Yes. He’s dead now.’

‘When did he die?’

‘Actually, he’s my mother’s uncle. I didn’t get to know him. Well, I was very young when …’

‘And how …’

‘A photo.’

‘Why did you draw his portrait?’

‘To keep his story alive.’

They queued up to enter the showers. Gavriloff, who during the entire trajectory in the cattle wagon had warmed two girls who had no one to hold their hands, turned towards Doctor Epstein and said they are taking us to our death, and Doctor Epstein answered, in a murmur so other people wouldn’t hear, that that was impossible, that he was crazy.

‘No, they’re the ones who are crazy, Doctor. When will you see!’

‘Everyone inside. That’s it, men on this side. Of course the children can go with the women.’

‘No, no; leave your clothes neatly folded and remember the number of the hook, for when you get out of the shower, all right?’

‘Where are you from?’ asked Uncle Haïm looking into the eyes of the man giving the instructions.

‘We’re not allowed to speak to you.’

‘Who are you? You are Jews, too, aren’t you?’

‘We aren’t allowed, for fuck’s sake. Don’t make things difficult for me.’ And shouting, ‘Remember your hook number!’

When all the naked men were advancing slowly towards the showers, where there were already a group of naked women, an SS officer with a pencil moustache and a dry cough entered the dressing room and said is there a doctor in here? Doctor Haïm Epstein took a step towards the showers, but Gavriloff, beside him, said don’t be an idiot, Doctor; that gives you a chance.