Mercè Rodoreda - The Selected Stories

The large man shone the flashlight on him again. Using his index finger and thumb he pulled on the cardboard nose, as far as the elastic allowed, then let go of it.

“That’s for starters, and to wind this up—” and the man slapped him so hard he fell on the ground.

“Get up, you shit. Learned a lesson? Gabriel, get the girl’s chain and medal. When you make your first communion, your godfather’ll buy you another one.”

The little man walked behind the girl and tried to unfasten the chain.

“Shine the light over here. The clasp’s small, I can’t see.” The hefty man joined him, pointing the light. “Got it,” he said, handing over the chain and medal.

The boy had struggled to stand up. He was covered in mud, his mask bent sideways, his cheek aching.

“Don’t you want the star?” the girl asked, making an effort to smile.

The men didn’t bother replying.

“Clean out the kid, Gabriel.”

The short fellow went over and began going through his pockets. The stocky man laughed, “Don’t cut yourself, he has scissors.”

“But he’s short on dough.” From his pocket the man had pulled out a small, old wallet, its edges worn down.

“Two pesetas plus a five-peseta coin, seven pinched pesetas.”

The large man looked at the boy curiously and said: “All that hullabaloo for this, you ass?”

He buttoned his jacket, raised the lapels, and spat.

“Down the street.”

He turned to face the girl, tipped his hat, and said, “We’ll accompany you a while, princess. You’ll be safer with us. Want to take your mask off? No? As you like.”

They headed down the street, one man on either side of the girl, the boy following behind. He felt like crying. He could feel a lump in his throat, his eyes damp. The girl was talking to the men.

“You could at least have left me a few pesetas, enough to catch a taxi home. You did a great job, a bit over the top, but you can’t just leave a girl without a penny.”

“Maybe she’s right,” said the shorter man.

“Gabriel, stop being so romantic. Think about that steak.”

They reached the Diagonal.

“This is where we split. If you’re looking for better company, feel free to come along. You won’t get very far with this little guy.”

•

She waited till they had walked away. The two men disappeared around the corner, their jackets turned up, their caps set firmly on their heads. Then she went over to the boy, who was standing apart, and said, “Some adventure!”

The boy didn’t reply; he had a dark look. His outfit was muddy and wet. She didn’t dare say anything else. The wind had calmed; the night was gentle and velvety now. They walked slowly between the stunted palm trees along the Diagonal. Passeig de Gràcia was an explosion of light. The plane trees stood motionless, their branches just beginning to bud. The asphalt was stretched taut like skin, shiny with patches of light, and littered with papers and drooping flowers. Colored confetti hung from the trees and balconies, drops of water still falling from them. That was all that remained of the festa . Every now and then a car passed, the lights on inside, displaying sleepy, listless men and women in disguise.

“Why are you so worried?”

He couldn’t stand the silence any longer and began speaking with a serious voice.

“It’s not that I’m worried. It’s something much worse. I wanted to make this evening. . I don’t know how to explain. . a night like this! I wanted a memory, something I could cling to, keep for the future. Because I will never take any trips, or write poetry. And it’s not true that I study. I used to, now I work. I have a younger brother and I’m head of the household. So, now you know it all. You also know what a bad impression I’ve made. I’ve made a fool of myself.”

She was filled with a deep sadness. It was as if a secret reserve of anguish had melted in the bottom of his chest, risen to his throat, and turned yet again into pain. She stopped and looked at him steadily. Perhaps a long, sweet look from her could raise his spirits. Instinctively she took off her mask and laid it on the bench nearby. He was mesmerized. “You look like an angel.”

“Don’t make fun, a drop of water just fell on my nose.”

He gazed at her with a melancholy infatuation that she found disturbing. He seemed to have lost all sense of where they were or the time of day, as if for him the only thing that existed was her shy smile, those eyes of jet, her soft, flaxen hair falling limp on her round shoulders, smelling no doubt of fields in springtime. He must think I’ll always laugh at him when I remember this night, those men, laughing at him always, till the end of time.

They didn’t realize that they were walking again, or that houses were passing them by, or that trees were trailing behind as more appeared, inevitable as fate.

“Oh, I lost the flowers,” she exclaimed, pausing nervously. “Maybe I left them in the doorway when I was playing with the changing colors, or maybe those men. .” She stopped because to speak of the men was to confront him with that troubling memory. She bit her lips. She felt bad that she’d lost the flowers. She would have kept one in a book till it was dry as paper, had lost its perfume — it wasn’t even a gardenia — and when she stumbled across it in the future, it would have always evoked the color of night, the sound of the wind, her eighteen years, the years she felt she had lost as soon as she had gained them.

“The flowers? They’re not worth it.” He waited a moment, then smiled as he shrugged his shoulders and murmured, “Don’t give it another thought.”

The girl looked at him for a moment without speaking. She leaned her head to the side and gestured as if she were about to take his arm. Then she changed her mind.

“I don’t know why you’re upset over such an insignificant incident. It could have happened to anyone. I’m sure my being there made you feel inhibited; without me you’d have reacted differently. Now that you’ve told me things about yourself, I should tell you something about me.”

Her voice was strange, as if it she were straining to speak.

“You know what? It’s not true that I have a lover. I’ve never loved anyone. All my brother’s friends that liked me a little, I found them. . I don’t know how to explain it. It’s difficult to say the things the way we think them or feel them. I mean, all the boys who have liked me up till now left me indifferent. It’s probably that I don’t like young men and older men scare me a bit. Sometimes I’m convinced that I’m suffering from some strange illness, because I feel good all alone in my room, with my books, my thoughts. I know my thoughts aren’t particularly lofty; I’m not trying to sound grand. I don’t really know why I ran way from the party. I went with my brother and his fiancée. I shouldn’t say it, but I don’t like that my brother’s engaged. We were best friends. No brother and sister ever got along better. Nor is it true that I have a heart condition. Sometimes I can feel it beating fast and it’s because. . I’ll never find a substitute for my brother, someone who can be what my brother was to me.”

He felt a sadness rising from deep within him. He’d have given his life to be able to replace her brother.

“When I saw him dancing with her I felt terribly abandoned. I was filled with this furious desire to go home, gather together all the pictures of us when we were little and look at them one by one, to be able to feel myself again in all the places where they were taken. What is true is that I’m going to Paris, but it’s because my father’s French and he’s just signed a three-year contract. He’s an engineer and will be working on a dam. We’ll just be passing through Paris. Then we’ll be cooped up in a sleepy old town, and one day I’ll marry a man just like my father, who’ll come to me, as if he had been born old, with a certain tendency toward obesity. .” She laughed.