Books Burn Badly

Table of Contents

Published by Harvill Secker 2010

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

Copyright © Manuel Rivas and Santillana Ediciones Generales, S.L. 2006

English translation copyright © Jonathan Dunne 2010

Manuel Rivas has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

First published with the title
Os libros arden mal
in 2006 by Edicións Xerais de Galicia

First published in Great Britain in 2010 by

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ARVILL
S
ECKER

Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 9781846551468

The publication of this work has been made possible through a subsidy received from the Directorate General for Books, Archives and Libraries of the Spanish Ministry of Culture

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Printed and bound in Great Britain by

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For Antón Patiño Regueira, naturalist and book-collector, in memoriam.

Burning of books by the Falangists, Coruña Docks, 19 August 1936

‘The future is surely uncertain: who can say what will happen? But the past is also uncertain: who can say what happened?’

Antonio de Machado,
Juan de Mairena

Author’s Acknowledgements

The author wishes to thank the following:

The staff of Coruña and the Archive of the Kingdom of Galicia’s libraries. Xan Carlos Agra, Xesús Alonso Montero, Cleudene Aragão, Mimina Arias, Pedro and Pepe Barrós, Manuel Bermúdez
Chao
, Vicente Boquete
Tito
, Fermín Bouza, Manuel Bragado, Euan Cameron, Picco Carillo, Esther Casal, Xosé Castro, Ramón Chao, Xosé Chao Rego, Cheni, Antonio Conde, Juan Cruz, Isaac Díaz Pardo, Pilar Diz, Antón Doiro, Jonathan Dunne, Amaya Elezcano, Xaime Enríquez, Guillermo Escrigas, Manuel Espiña, Carlos Fernández, María Estrela Fernández and the family of the murdered Coruñan book-collector Eirís, Benito Ferreiro (son), Xosé A. Gaciño, Víctor García de la Concha, Beatriz Gómez (from Silva), Benito González, Xesús González Gómez, Henrique Harguindey, Juantxu Herguera, the tailor Mr Iglesias, Luis Lamela, Xurxo Lobato, Lola from
Lume
, Antón López, Alberte Maceda, Santiago Macías, Bernardo Máiz, Danilo Manera, Xosé Luís Martínez, Carlos Martínez-Buján, Xosé Mato, Serge Mestre, César A. Molina, Enrique Molist, Xulio Montero, Eirín Moure, Serafín Mourelle, Xosé Manuel Muñiz, Antón Patiño, Dionisio Pereira, Nonito Pereira, Carlos Pereira Martínez, Gabriel Plaza, Xulio Prada, Miguelanxo Prado, Xesús María Reiriz, Manuel Rodríguez, Ana Romero, Josep Maria Joan Rosa, Andrés Salgueiro, Carme Salorio, Manuel Sánchez Salorio, Antón de Santiago, Sito Sedes, Felipe Senén, Xavier Seoane, Xurxo Souto, Celia Torres Bouzas, Dolores Torres París, Olivia Tudela, Alberto Valín, Elvira Varela, Ánxel Vázquez de la Cruz, Mari Vega, Graça Videira, Manuel Vilariño, Dolores Vilavedra, Elke Wehr, Manuel Zamora.

Iria, Gastón, Miguelón, César Carlos Morán, the group
Jarbanzo Negro
and Rómulo Sanjurjo.

Pedro de Llano.

His uncle Francisco and aunts Manola and Pepita.

Paco, Sabela and Felicitas.

Sol and Martiño.

Isa.

The Water Marks

At first, he bothers me. He’s young. I don’t know him. It happens sometimes. They get in the way. I was watching out for the tango singer who appeared on stage at the invitation of Pucho Boedo of the Oriental Orchestra. In a white suit and a red cravat.
Please welcome a friend of mine who sings like the sea rocked to sleep by the lighthouse: Luís Terranova . . .
A real looker. Even more so when he opened his mouth. All his childish features vanished and his bones stood out. It was ‘Chessman’, about someone who’s been sentenced to death. I’d never heard a tango sung like that. It was as if he’d just composed it, was making it up.
It’s ten and the clock chimes as I take a step into God’s time.
Would you believe the time was right? That was at the dance in San Pedro de Nós. I don’t remember now, but I think even the musicians stopped playing. That summer, I went with Ana and Amalia to the different fairs, hoping to hear him again, but he’d disappeared. I would sing the tango by the river –
My steps are books, the Lord’s passion; my rest a chair the world put there
– and with a bit of effort I finally managed to compose his figure in the water. I know it’s cheating. But I also have the right to evoke some images, not just to wait for those that turn up.

Like this one. This one came of its own accord.

He’s a soldier. At first, I’m a little shocked. He seemed a bit of a monster. So young and in uniform. Smooth-faced. Baby-faced except for the lips, which are fleshy and more forward than his other features. Maybe the mouth hangs open like that when it’s in the water, against the current. He looks at me with curiosity. And a sad smile. He has a round face, like those in our family. He’s blond. The water is golden, not from the sun’s rays, but maybe because of his blondness. I enjoy the figures’ company, but I don’t like it when they stare. I drop the garment I’m washing in their direction, slowly, not to smash the image, but so that it fades away, lurks under a pebble, has a chance to hide in the reeds.