Javier Marías - Thus Bad Begins

‘Arranz? Dr Carlos Arranz?’ I couldn’t help interrupting him, frustrating his promise to get straight to the point. I’d seen that name more than once, next to a doorway, on a plaque, followed by the words ‘Medical Consultant’.

‘Don’t tell me he’s a friend of yours too,’ said Vidal. ‘Things are worse than I thought. What are you doing hanging around with people like that? What world are you living in, Juan? Oh, I get it — it was because of their reputation as benefactors. A right pair of crooks, they are. They had everyone fooled, the bastards, I’ll give them that.’

‘That Arranz fellow, does he have a consulting room in Plaza del Marqués de Salamanca? At Number 2 to be exact.’

‘I don’t know, it’s possible. I’ve never met the man, I only know what Dr Naval told me. And a couple of other people too, his name almost always crops up. He’s not as famous as Van Vechten and he doesn’t rub shoulders with society people, but he does pretty well, I’m sure. Do you go drinking with him as well? Just wait until you hear what I know about those two. Plus they’re both about a thousand years older than you.’ With this he only added fuel to the fire.

Rico sprang theatrically to his feet, cigarette in hand (he was a chain-smoker) and angrily flicked the ash on to the floor, despite there being two ashtrays on the table, or perhaps precisely because there were.

‘Here ends my journey, which feels to me, gentlemen, to have lasted at least a thousand years,’ he said. ‘During the time I’ve been listening, six or seven doctors’ names have emerged, if we include yours, Doctor, and you, to make matters worse, have two.’ I had, it’s true, introduced José Manuel as Vidal Secanell. ‘Now I’ve no idea who Naval is or who Arranz is or Secanell or Vidal or even who Pinochet is or Teihell.’ He pronounced the latter name exactly as he had heard it. He had, contrary to what he had just said, retained all the names perfectly and had made Pinochet a doctor. ‘I’m off. I’m fascinated to find out more about Dr Van Vechten’s dirty deeds, at least I know who he is, for my sins. But if you’re never going to get started and keep going on about more medical nonentities, I can’t allow myself to keep my pack of hounds waiting any longer just for your sake. The envious dimwits have got it in for me as it is. Enough said.’ He pointed his cigarette at me as if it were a pencil and added: ‘Young Vera, take note of everything your friend reveals and send me a detailed report. There’s nothing like a list of crimes committed by a person one knows, whether true or false. Don’t leave out a single detail.’

‘A funny man, Professor Rico, very witty,’ said Vidal once the Professor had departed, mumbling and grumbling. I watched him hail a taxi somewhat indolently despite his supposed haste, rather the way Hitler used to return the Nazi salute, with his hand bent backward instead of forward like the rest of the subordinate German populace. ‘Is he always like that or was it just in my honour?’

‘No, he’s not always like that. He has a broad and varied repertoire. But you were telling me about Van Vechten,’ I said, urging him on. ‘Although, just to put your mind at rest, the only reason I’ve been going around with him at all is because I was asked to. He’s a friend of my boss, Eduardo Muriel, the film director, who I’ve been working for lately as personal assistant, or, should I say, secretary. In fact, it was Muriel who asked me to draw Van Vechten out. Apparently, he had suspicions about something ugly in Van Vechten’s past. I say “had” because not long ago, he told me to forget the whole business. He owes him favours old and new and has finally decided not to probe any deeper.’

‘The usual story. He’s got him fooled, as he has so many others. If you’re the one who calls the shots and has absolute power, then you can dole out favours to your subjects and they’ll be sure to gratefully kiss the hand of the tyrant for not being as cruel as he could be. So the idea here is that we shouldn’t stir up the past. And that’s probably the sensible, more advisable approach. But these things should at the very least be known, don’t you think? Sure, no one’s going to be taken to court, that would be impossible and maybe it’s just as well. But if I’m asked, I’m not going to keep quiet about what I know, so that at least they don’t dish out the medals quite so easily.’ Vidal was a friendly, rather benign fellow, but he was getting quite heated. Nevertheless, he still kept his voice low. ‘Something ugly in his past, eh? You can’t know for sure, nor can your boss probably, even though they know each other of old. Van Vechten has carefully buried any inconvenient truths, and he did so right from the start too, so he was very far-sighted really; it’s the same with Arranz and so many others. You know that Catalan painter, what’s his name now, the one they make all the fuss about, well, he was another card-carrying, gun-toting Falangist. No one knows that, or those who do keep it to themselves; we don’t want to discredit one of our most acclaimed stars of the Left. People here have gone from being franquista to anti- franquista as if by magic, with the whole population believing them and applauding their sleight of hand, especially journalists. There’s not much you can do about that. I mean, if it hadn’t been for Dr Naval, who should take all the credit really (plus what my own family told me afterwards), I suppose I, too, would consider Van Vechten to be an example of generosity, reconciliation and decency in difficult times, always smiling and friendly whenever he visited the clinic. He used to slap me on the back too, even though I was a mere nobody. Yes, both men used to treat the families of those who, after the War, were stigmatized for having fought on the wrong side, right up until the early 60s, believe it or not, when the dictatorship eased off and those it had already destroyed had slowly been forgotten. Only those who benefitted from this know why and at what price. And of course part of the price was that none of this would ever get out and only the public image would remain, the favourable image, the good reputation of those doctors from the winning side who treated children at home for free, without charging a peseta. The children of the enemy, no less, oh, they were exemplary men, Arranz and Van Vechten; and there must have been many more like them throughout Spain and in all kinds of professions (lawyers, notaries, policemen, judges, mayors, even minor civil servants). How many others must have taken advantage of that situation over the years, over the decades? Most didn’t ask for money, they got paid in kind. Those two did anyway. They did very well out of those home visits. And they’re the ones I’m talking about.’

‘What do you mean “in kind”, given that those families had little or nothing?’

‘They had a past. They had secrets and they had women, Juan. That was quite enough,’ said Vidal, and when he said this, a mist seemed to wrap about him, a mist of distaste, bitterness and long-postponed resentment, a resentment that would have to continue to be postponed, possibly for ever; he was exhaling that mist now, in private and almost in a whisper, as happens with very personal stories, which are the vast majority, and it’s quite something to hear them at all, even in a whisper: very little is made public, little of what is of any interest, little of what people would like to know, we being so focused on our own lives, our own affairs, without much thought for others. Sometimes we do listen distractedly and with superficial curiosity or out of deference, but the affairs of others are never comparable to our own. Even if what is happening to them is desperate, sheer torment and what is happening to us is a passing petty triviality.