The Son, The Sudarium Trilogy - Book Two (20 page)

2:41

The ruins of the stone archway could have once been the door to a church, but in the midst of the Parque de San Francisco, surrounded by neatly labeled trees and patrolled by the occasional pheasant, they looked like the ultimate romantic conceit. Only the nervous pacing of Claudia jarred with the mood. Her worry lifted momentarily, when she spotted Mano sprinting across the lawn. He hadn’t stopped running since events in the cathedral and had trouble catching his breath,

“Where are my things?” he blurted out between gasps. “Couldn’t you get in my room?”

“Don’t panic. I’ve got everything,” Claudia reassured him. “It’s all in the car. I checked myself out. I’ve had enough of Oviedo, too.”

He barely heard her response. “Where’s the car?” he asked, brusquely. He needed to move.

“This way. It’s parked down the street.”

“Can you get me to the train station?”

“I told you. I checked out and I’ve got the car. Where do you want to go?”

“I’ve got to get back to Madrid.”

Claudia lit up. “You’re in luck! I was planning on heading south next. There are some great places along the way. I can certainly get you going in the right direction. What’s so important in Madrid?”

“Nothing,” he said. He looked at her directly for the first time. “I’ve decided to go home.”

Mano kept his eyes pealed for road signs that pointed in the direction of Madrid. They didn’t speak until they’d navigated the suburbs of Oviedo and found themselves on the highway, climbing up into the rugged mountains that had so impressed Mano a week earlier.

“So, can I ask you something now?” Claudia ventured.

Mano had recovered some of his calm. “Sure.”

“What was that all about in the cathedral? Why were all those people taking your picture and whispering about you?”

Mano avoided her gaze by looking out the car window. “It’s complicated. I don’t know where to begin. Or frankly, if I even want to. Sorry, Claudia.”

“Hey, that’s okay by me,” she said, retraining her eyes on the roadway. The car motor purred quietly. In the sky, the billowing clouds formed dramatic sculptures, part of an endless pattern of change.

“I want you to know I’ve enjoyed our time together, Claudia. It’s been special to me in ways I can’t articulate. I just want you to know that.”

“Oh, boy. Sounds like a brush-off speech to me.”

“I don’t know what that is,” he said.

“Sure you do. ‘Nice knowing you. See you around!’ ‘
Adios, amiga. Hasta la vista
.’”

“No, that’s not it. I wish I could spend more time with you.”

As if to break an embarrassing intimacy, she waited a while before saying, “So do I.”

He blushed. There were so many things they had not talked about, so many emotions he hadn’t had time to process. Her appearance in his life had brought him unexpected joy. For two days, they had lived together in a bubble, protected from the outside world, shielded from others and their desperate wants. But the chaos in the cathedral had forced him to realize there was no running away. The situation was now – and had probably always been – out of his control.

“I have to go home.”

“Why the big hurry?”

“I need to be with my family right now.”

“You still haven’t told me what that was all about back there in Oviedo. Are you famous or something?”

He laughed. “Hardly!”

“Well, I assume you’re not in trouble with the law. I haven’t been harboring a criminal all this time, have I?”

“I hope not.”

“That’s not exactly the answer I was expecting! I was all prepared for a categorical denial.”

“I haven’t done anything illegal, if that’s what you mean. But there are people who, well, who have strange ideas about me. They’re saying things that aren’t true.”

“Isn’t that what every criminal says? Other people are making it all up. I’m really innocent as a lamb.”

“Look, just let me out of the car, if I make you uncomfortable, but I can’t talk about it.”

Claudia reached over and patted him on the knee. “Relax, Mano. I was just joking, I know you’re not a criminal.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He had that look in his eyes again – the one she’s seen on the cliff outside of Llanes. Resolute, determined to hold his ground.

“I’ve learned to trust my instincts. They’ve never failed me yet.” She pressed down hard on the accelerator and the car leapt forward, like a cat pouncing on a rat it has suddenly spotted crossing the road.

They had been driving for nearly five hours, speaking intermittently, mostly of the random sights alongside the road, when Claudia suggested that maybe they should stop and get a bite to eat. Something had to break the emotional lull they seemed to have fallen into. “I don’t know about you,” she said, “but that continental breakfast buffet is not going to hold me much longer.”

“Me, neither,” joked Mano. “The rumbling of my stomach is beginning to drown out the car motor.”

Good sign, thought Claudia to herself: Mano was coming out of his mood.

“How about stopping in Salamanca? The Plaza Mayor is supposed to be one of the prettiest squares in all Spain.”

“If you say so…”

Claudia was right. The Plaza Mayor was a perfectly preserved slice of 18
^th
century Spain – from the honey-colored buildings that fronted all four sides of the vast plaza, to the cool arcades that provided respite from the sun. Café tables, shaded by tan umbrellas, spilled into the plaza itself, allowing the customer to indulge in what was obviously the chief distraction: watching the variegated crowd navigate the square. Nuns, students, tourists, beggars and businessmen criss-crossed paths on missions merciful and mercenary. Claudia and Mano sat at a table on the eastern side, facing into the sun, and ordered bowls of Castilian stew and a pitcher of sangria. The warmth and the harmonious proportions of the site gave him a moment’s relief from the anxiety he had been feeling.

Claudia was working hard to recreate the intimacy between them, calling his attention to an architectural detail or the whimsical attire of a passerby, but she was aware that something fundamental had changed. She was contemplating her next move, when she realized Mano was talking to her.

“I’d like to take a look around.”

“We can cancel the order, if you want.”

“No, just a quick walk around the plaza. Let’s keep the table. It’s nice here. I’ll be right back.”

A shadow of doubt crossed her mind, but when she saw that he was leaving his backpack on the chair next to her, Claudia endorsed the idea of a walk enthusiastically. “On the walls, between the arches, there are medallions of famous people. Over that way, supposedly there’s one of Hernan Cortez,” she said.

“I’ll see if I can find him,” he replied and strolled off in the general direction she had indicated. She took out her camera and watched him, as he drank in all four sides of the square. When he looked back at her and waved, she snapped a picture. Then he entered the relative darkness of the colonnade directly opposite from their table and she lost sight of him.

What had drawn Mano’s attention was the sign for an Internet Café in one of the entranceways to the plaza. Ever since the morning’s disturbance in the cathedral, he had felt compelled to communicate with his family back in Mexico. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he ducked inside, sat down at one of the computer stations and opened his correspondence. His anxiety immediately lifted when he saw there were three e-mails from his sister, Teresa. He realized how deeply he missed her. Missed them all! He clicked open the first e-mail.

Hi Mano,

It was great to hear from you and wish you were here with us. Things have been kind of odd around here. People have been saying some strange things about you, and Mom and Dad are pretty upset. Dad wanted me to write you immediately and pass on these words. I am sorry to be so mysterious. I am not even sure what he means. But he said to tell you to “disassociate yourself from whomever you are with right now. Immediately and without explanation. Just disappear. As quickly as possible, disappear.” I would write more, but Dad wants this to get to you as soon as possible. Love, Teresa

Disappear? His heart had never felt as empty as it did right then. He yearned to go home. He ached to see Teresa and Little Jimmy and the house on Venustiano Carranza, and here he was being told to vanish without telling a soul. “Disassociate yourself from whomever you are with right now.” From Claudia? They couldn’t mean her. There was no way they could know anything about Claudia.

He clicked on the next e-mail. Its brevity conveyed its urgency. All it said was:

Did you get my last e-mail? Just let us know. T

The third e-mail, which had come in that morning, simply contained an address:

Teri Rizzo

51 Leverette St.

Fall River, Massachusetts.

Fall River? He knew that’s where his mother had grown up. Were they telling him to go there? Paranoia took over his mind. This latest e-mail was unsigned. Maybe someone other than his sister had sent it, in which case he’d be foolish to respond. But if it was from his family, he didn’t want them to worry that their messages were going unread. He checked his impulse to write them a long, reassuring letter. Then he typed a two-word response: “Got it!” and, pressing “send”, watched it disappear from the screen and into the stratosphere. The blank screen seemed to emphasize the sense of isolation that gripped him.

When he arrived back at the table, the soup and sangria were waiting. Claudia looked up and smiled. “Nice walk?”

“Yes, it’s beautiful here.”

“We don’t have to rush on. Maybe we could spend the afternoon sightseeing? What do you think?”

He was thinking of the e-mails. “Sure, why not?”

She poured him a glass of sangria and gestured toward his bowl of soup. “Dig in! You’ll need the energy.”

Lunch passed pleasantly enough. The trauma in the cathedral seemed to be diminishing and Claudia let herself believe that Mano was beginning to relax. They each finished off the meal with a cup of coffee. Then Claudia stood up and announced, “Now I’ve got a quick errand to run. Wait for me, will you?”

Expecting an explanation, Mano raised his eyebrows.

“Just women’s business,” Claudia replied blithely. “It’ll only take me a second. Keep an eye on my stuff.”

She trotted off in the opposite direction that Mano had taken, slipped out of the plaza and entered a newsstand, where she bought an international calling card. Convinced now that her cell phone was no longer functioning, she had resolved to dial directly. Half a block away, she spotted a phone booth. She tried both numbers. Again, the same recorded announcements informed her the service was out of order. There was only one other option.

Once she had navigated the automatic menu, an actual person came on the line. “Lowell Police Department.”

“Hello. I was wondering if you could help me. I’ve been trying to get through to 14 Winona Street. But something seems to be wrong with the telephone. I’m beginning to get worried.”

“14 Winona Street, did you say?”

“Yes, I’ve been trying since yesterday to reach Olga Anderson. She’s not a well woman and I’m afraid she might have had an accident. Could a patrolman go by the house and check on her?”

“Who’s calling? May I ask?”

“This is her daughter, Claudia. Claudia Anderson. I’m out of the country right now or I’d go by myself.”

“Oh. Um … Ms. Anderson, could you hold a moment?”

“Of course.”

In the plaza, Mano called for the bill. The e-mails still disturbed him.
“Disassociate yourself from whomever you are with immediately
!” Surely that couldn’t mean Claudia. He thought back to their night together in La Habana. For twenty-four hours, he had felt liberated from all the demands that had been thrust upon him and the expectations that now hung around his neck like an iron chain. He’d never asked for this. What he’d give now for that feeling of freedom to return!

He reached into Claudia’s backpack and took out her camera, eager to see the photos from that day. A button brought them up on the small screen, starting with the most recent and working backwards in time. The first shot was of him right here in Salamanca standing in the midst of the Plaza Mayor. Then came the ones taken on the blocks in Llanes. In the background was a man crawling over the rocks, the man who would soon lose his balance and strike his head on a cube. Each click of the apparatus took Mano further back. There was the series of photos of Claudia in the field next to the hotel La Habana, when he’d gone wild and snapped her indiscriminately. A close-up of her face was so luminous it took his breath away. Such beauty right in front of his eyes - how had he stopped seeing it? Then he came upon more photos of himself, leapfrogging over the wildflowers in the field. He grinned. The person in those shots was a happy man, unrecognizable to him now.