The Dream of the City (29 page)

Dimas nodded in silence.

“I can't judge you, and I shouldn't. I spoke too fast the other day. I was thinking about Father and me and I didn't even listen to what you said. It's lucky that Inés … I've been thinking about all this for days. If Father has forgiven you, I have no right to … I'm sorry, Mother.”

“You don't have any reason to berate yourself. You don't know how much it means to me that you've come to see me.”

Timidly, she brought her hand close to her son's and when she grazed it, she felt confident enough to grab onto it firmly. Without looking at each other, mother and son stayed there while the silence did its work, and something like relief settled on the two of them. Moments later, Dimas wanted to know something else, something that had been flying through his mind since he spoke with Inés.

“Why now? What I mean is, why didn't you come back five or ten years ago?”

Carmela lowered her head, and a bitter smile spread across her face. Then she said something that left her son in awe.

“Until around six months ago, I didn't know that someone had finally taken care of the bastard. People were talking about it in the Boquería: They found Celestí in an alley with his tongue cut into little pieces. They had shoved them down his throat, and he had choked to death. No one had a kind word for him. I'm ashamed to say this because it's far from saintly, but I was happy he met his end that way. When I saw you months later, my heart skipped a beat, and I realized there was nothing in the way of my coming to find you.”

Now that he knew the circumstances, Dimas saw that his own rage and his mother's were the same.

“You don't have anything to be ashamed of.”

He took her hand and kissed it. He kissed it two, three, five times, and Carmela didn't know what to do. Finally they fell into a long embrace. An embrace that asked for forgiveness, that said
I didn't understand at first, Mother, because in the moment when I saw you all the frustration from those years of not having you sprang forth, for not seeing you at home every day, when I woke up cold and had to go to school or work
… It was an embrace in which Carmela asked for forgiveness, too, for not having been able to face up to the disgrace and the shame of being raped, for not punishing the criminal, for not being persistent and headstrong enough to plead her case until he fell into the hands of the law. Their embrace encompassed all that—and left it all behind.

And before him, there opened a new horizon to be discovered. Dimas thought that he would never judge them again, neither his father nor his mother. He opened his eyes and saw that the bald receptionist had come over to interrupt them. Without speaking, he returned to his spot behind the counter. But Carmela had understood. She took out a lace kerchief from the sleeve of her uniform and dried her eyes.

“Now I have to go back to work. I hope to see you soon,” she said as she got up.

“How about at the Café Montseny, Mother?” Dimas asked.

“It sounds superb, son.”

V

CHARITY (AVARICE)

Charity that is not based in sacrifice is not true charity.

—Antoni Gaudí

CHAPTER 29

Until well into the nineteenth century, Barcelona was not a city with good restaurants. The businesslike character of the Barcelonans and the harsh conditions of life there led them to concern themselves with other things. Since it was inaugurated in 1891 El Suizo had become one of the most emblematic establishments in the city. It may not have been as distinguished as the first prestigious restaurant that had opened in the city, the Grand Restaurant de France, whose owner, Monsieur Justin, was also responsible for introducing French cuisine to the Catalan bourgeoisie, but El Suizo, at number 31 Rambla del Centro, managed to bring together a diversity of personalities. Captivated by the delicious menu, politicians, businessmen, actors, bullfighters, singers, and stockbrokers crowded into the dining room situated near the Plaza Real, ready to fill their stomachs. And that cold Tuesday in December, so had Laura Jufresa and Jordi Antich.

“I don't know why you like coming to this place so much …” Laura complained as she took her seat at one of the tables. Jordi was waiting for her with his usual solicitous expression. She had gone to the restroom to wash her face and neck, because she'd felt tense ever since their arrival.

Laura liked to be surrounded by friends, chattering about the ideas that interested her, about art or some exhibit that was about to open; she cared nothing about which of the charlatans filling up El Suizo had been the brains behind the latest real estate coup or who would be in the next municipal elections. She looked disdainfully at all the people seated around her, listening to themselves talk, hoping to be admired by their tablemates. That night, as almost always, the place was packed and the sound of others' words was like the rumbling of a giant machine, so deafening that Laura strained to speak so Jordi could understand her and so she could hear what she was being told. Despite the cold on the street, the restaurant was stuffy and far too warm. When the tuxedoed waiter appeared with their plates, Jordi gave Laura a big smile.

“You know perfectly well that what brings me here is this.” He pointed with his long pale hands.

When the two plates were set down, Jordi sank into his
arroz a la parellada
, devouring the rice, the succulent slices of meat, and the shelled shrimp. He closed his eyes, savoring the tastes, and gave a soft moan before speaking to Laura again.

“It was a marvelous idea Juli Parellada had, inventing a rice dish like this. … No peeling and picking out shells, no eating with your hands—”

Laura interrupted him, narrowing her eyes.

“I don't know how many times you've told the story of that dandy who wasted his entire fortune chasing after women in his ridiculous piqué floppy tie and a carnation in his lapel,” she said.

Seeing Laura's bad mood, Jordi put his joviality aside and devoted himself to swallowing his rice.

She made an effort to take a bite of her sea bass, but she could tell her friend was annoyed and her stomach tensed even more than before. It wasn't uncommon for her to rebel when someone tried to force her into this kind of atmosphere. Even so, she knew she had been more fickle than usual recently, especially when Jordi was showering her with attention.

Laura had spent the past few weeks since the jewelry store opening trying to find the right way to resolve the issue of their engagement once and for all, to reject her friend without wounding him or casting aspersion on her family, but every time she tried to raise the question with her family or her brothers, everyone avoided the problem. Her father only asked her to think hard about her response, so she wouldn't regret it; after all, Jordi had always been a good friend. Her mother simply called her naïve and wouldn't talk any further about Laura's outbursts: she didn't think it possible her daughter could say no to something that was as good as done; her daughter was a bit untamed, but it would be madness to say no to a prospect of the sort, which offered to open so many doors in the future. “Jordi adores you,” everyone repeated to her. Jordi Antich, the perfect suitor.

And thus the days had passed, and the weeks as well. Jordi himself had given her no opportunity to talk of the matter, confining himself to his work and the trips that had kept him so busy, probably aware of his error in sharing his intentions with her family before Laura herself. But that night would be the end of it. She had allowed him to choose the restaurant so he would feel as comfortable as possible when he heard the bad news, which she imagined, after all this time, wouldn't surprise him so much, though it would be a blow to the two families who had taken it for granted that their date that night signified the yes they had all been waiting for and the joining of their good names and their businesses.

She was still angry at how they'd penned her in on the day of the store opening, and how everyone, including Jordi himself, had just assumed the existence of an engagement that had never been talked about openly. And now she had to reject something that had never been agreed upon, and feel guilty for what had happened with Dimas, when all she could do was think about him. Every time Jordi showed her a tender face or some gentleness, she felt nervous and wanted to push him away from her with all her might. She felt a cold sweat on her forehead and ran her hand across it to relieve herself a bit.

“Are you all right?” he asked her, worried.

“Yes, I'm fine, relax …”

“I know you're not mad about this place. I shouldn't have brought you.” Jordi pursed his lips while he continued eating. It was as if he wanted to avoid the theme that she shouldn't have been so hesitant over, and that aggravated her mood even further.

She had hardly taken a bite, but she pushed her plate away to one side of the table and placed her silverware in one corner of it, putting an end to her dinner.

“You're not hungry?”

“Not very,” she answered. She couldn't stand it anymore. “Jordi, we have to talk.”

He swallowed his bite and left his fork on his plate. He rested his blue eyes on hers and ignored the waiter, who had come over to the table to refill their glasses of wine.

Laura wanted to take responsibility for her own decisions and stick to her principles; she didn't want to hide behind niceties and draw the thing out unnecessarily, especially when so many people were involved. She believed in transparency, in sincerity, and she wanted to be honest with Jordi. The young woman felt she owed it to him after the support he had always shown her. And now, the time had come.

When the waiter had left, Laura continued speaking; she wanted her feelings to be as clear as possible.

“Forgive me for abusing your trust, Jordi. I always thought the attention you paid me was due to our friendship. We are friends, and I hope that doesn't change. But the day of the opening of the new store, you were wrong to talk to everyone else before you talked to me, and I am sorry to tell you that I can't …”

His face still tense, Jordi looked down at his hands, which were smoothing out the cloth napkin in his lap over and over. He knew very well what was happening. Laura put her hand on the tabletop in invitation and waited for him to put his atop it, but he didn't. The murmurs echoing through the room seemed to augment their intensity.

“I'm sorry, Jordi, but a good friend is all I see you as. I suppose it's all my fault, but we never talked about any engagement or any wedding, never. I even told you what had happened with Carlo in Roma and how that had made me decide to spend some time alone before even thinking about looking for a man …”

Finally, Jordi looked up and said, “Everyone was talking about it and I guess I ended up believing you wanted it as much as I did. The thing with Carlo I thought was just a misadventure. You should have told me this before, Laura. Now everyone will think I've been a fool.”

“No one will think anything; what's happening here doesn't matter to anyone but the two of us.”

Jordi smiled apathetically.

“Sometimes you can be very naïve.”

Laura looked at him in silence.

“I don't wan to lose you, Jordi. It's important for me to have you on my side; you're the person who knows me best …”

Jordi sighed reflectively. It was no longer the same when he looked into her eyes. He used to see himself reflected in them; now they appeared cold and opaque.

“I don't want to lose you either, but you need to understand that I have to have a few days to get a grasp of all this, this new … situation.” His voice sounded firm. “It's not easy to accept rejection. I think it's better if we don't see each other for a time.”

Laura accepted his decision. She thought Jordi was unfair with her, but she also knew he would need that time to heal his wounds. Regardless, the conversation had taken an enormous weight from her shoulders.

“That's fine,” she answered.

Then Jordi raised his hand in the air, signaling for the waiter. Shortly afterward, he brought the check and Jordi didn't say another word for the rest of the evening.

After leaving Laura at her home, Jordi went to his. Like the Jufresas, his family lived in a mansion of two floors, in the colonial style, located in the district of San Gervasio. They were almost neighbors, and this had permitted those chance encounters between Laura and him that had been common since their childhood. He still remembered how Laura would walk in front of his house in her flounced skirt, holding the hand of her
mainadera
, with a sweet in her mouth and that smile that had melted his heart so many times. Jordi was two years older than her, but his memory was good. He also remembered the first time they had kissed: Laura was eight, and one afternoon, while they were playing in the garden, hiding from the other children, they ended up alone in the toolshed. Sometimes Jordi missed his childhood, without responsibilities, without conventions. If only he could wipe it all from his memory, so he'd feel a little better. Laura wasn't wrong: there had never been explicit talk of an engagement, but he had been silently in love with his friend since the first time he laid eyes on her.

“You're back early,” his father said. Josep Lluís Antich looked up from the book he was reading. His thick glasses made his eyes seem smaller, like two round, dark stones. He went immediately back to his reading.

Jordi went over to his mother, who was seated in an armchair beside her husband knitting a soft wool blanket. The needles whirled agilely while her eyes looked away from her work. He kissed her tenderly on both cheeks and sat on the arm of the chair. The embers in the fireplace were cracking nervously and making the logs pop and sizzle.

Since he had said good-bye to Laura with a saddened smile, he'd been riding in the carriage through the city trying to find the right way to face the conflict. His heart was wounded, and though he was angry, deep down he knew he didn't want to lose their friendship. She meant enough to him that he was willing to be content with a mere friendship if it meant he could still be a part of her life. But he knew very well his parents wouldn't take the news easily. For them, the most important thing was prestige. He was an only son, and his marriage to Laura had been such an accepted matter that they'd never even considered any other possibility. Jordi breathed deep and readied himself to tell them.

“I have to talk to you all about something important,” he finally confessed.

Josep Lluís looked back up at his son.

“The night went well, I hope?” A thin smile revealed his rows of white teeth as he closed his book on his lap. “News about you and Laura?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Stupendous!” Josep Lluís exclaimed.

“Well, you could say that, because it's better to find out something like this now than when it's too late.”

Josep Lluís straightened up in his armchair and set his book aside. His wife sat attentively as well, and a dark look spread across her face.

“What are you saying, son?” his father asked. He wasn't a man who cared for surprises.

Jordi stood up and walked to the back of the room. There, at the Louis XVI bar with an onyx marble top and an oil painting on the door enclosing its numerous bottles of liquor, he turned away from them and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

“Laura's and my engagement has been broken. That is, if it ever existed,” he said before taking a swig. Then he turned around to face his parents, who looked at him stupefied.

Josep Lluís stood up. His slack face began to shake and flush violet.

“What are you saying?” His voice grew louder and more insistent. “This isn't a joke!”

Remei had stayed silent and did nothing but look at her son with wide-open eyes, as if she needed to see better what reality faced her. Her hands stilled in her lap, as she finally stopped knitting.

“I'm saying that I never formally asked for Laura's hand and today she said to me that she doesn't want to do it. Maybe I should have given her a ring long ago to make it formal, I don't know …”

“That wasn't necessary! That snake in the grass never said no when the subject came up and she had more than enough chances to do so.”

Josep Lluís sat back down, beat his fists on the arms of the chair, and looked up at the ceiling, as if in search of answers.

“The day they opened the new store, for one thing,” Remei interrupted in a desperate voice. “I don't understand, we were all so sure …”

Jordi knew that Remei had always had great affection for Laura. She used to help him choose his presents for her, and she would ask about her whenever he received a postcard from Rome. During all that time, Jordi had been counting the days; sometimes they would write each other, and he would be overjoyed to hear from her. When Laura spoke to him of Carlo, he was surprised, but she seemed to have gotten over it, and he had thought that now he was the only one and that she even loved him in her own way. And he had continued to feel that way during the six months since her return.