“If you stop,” Ramon had advised him, “make sure your legs don’t go completely stiff. If they do, you won’t be able to carry on.”
So Arnau, freed from at least part of the weight, continued to move his legs. He took deep breaths. Once, twice, many times. “The Virgin will take part of the weight,” Ramon had told him. My God! If that was true, how much did his stone really weigh? He did not dare move his back. It hurt terribly. He rested for a good while. Would he be able to set off again? Arnau looked all around him. He was completely alone. Not even the mule drivers took this path, because they had to go down to the Trentaclaus gate.
Could he do it? He stared up into the sky. He listened to the silence, then with one pull managed to lift the block of stone again. His feet began to move. First one, then the other, one, then the other ...
At Cagalell he stopped again, this time resting the stone on the ledge of a huge rock. The first bastaix reappeared, on their way back to the quarry. Nobody spoke, merely exchanging glances. Arnau gritted his teeth once more and lifted the stone again. Some of the bastaixos nodded their approval, but none of them halted. “It’s his challenge,” one of them commented later, when Arnau was out of earshot, and he turned to look at the boy’s painful progress. “He has to do it on his own,” another man agreed.
After he had passed the western wall and left Framenors behind, Arnau came across the first inhabitants of Barcelona. All his attention was still on his feet. He was in the city! Sailors, fishermen, women and children, men from the boatyards, and ships’ carpenters all stared in silence at the boy bent double under the stone, his face sweaty and mottled from the effort. They looked at the feet of this youthful bastaix, and he could see nothing else. Everyone was silently willing him on: one foot, then the other, one after the other ...
Some of them fell in behind him, still without saying a word. After more than two hours’ effort, Arnau finally arrived at Santa Maria accompanied by a small, silent crowd. Work on the church came to a halt. The workmen stood at the edge of the scaffolding. Carpenters and stonemasons put down their tools. Father Albert, Pere, and Mariona were there, waiting for him. Angel, the boatman’s son who by now was a craftsman, came up to him.
“Keep going!” he shouted. “You’re there! You’ve made it! Come on, you can do it!”
Shouts of encouragement came from the highest scaffolding. The crowd that had followed Arnau through the city cheered and applauded. All Santa Maria joined in, even Father Albert. Yet Arnau still stared down at his feet: one, then the other, one, the other ... all the way to the area where the stones were stored. As he reached it, apprentices and craftsmen rushed to receive the block the boy had carried.
Only then did Arnau look up. He was still bent double, and his body was shaking all over. But he smiled. People crowded all round to congratulate him. Arnau found it hard to tell who they all were: the only one he recognized was Father Albert. He was staring in the direction of Las Moreres cemetery. Arnau followed his gaze.
“For you, Father,” he whispered.
When the crowd had dispersed and Arnau was preparing to head back toward the quarry as his companions had done—some of them by now had made as many as three journeys—the priest called out to him. Josep, the guild alderman, had given him instructions.
“I’ve got a job for you,” he said. Arnau came to a halt and looked at him, puzzled. “You have to clean the Jesus chapel, to sort out the candles and tidy everything.”
“But ... ,” Arnau protested, pointing to the blocks of stone.
“There are no buts about it.”
19
IT HAD BEEN a hard day. Midsummer had only just passed, and nightfall came late. The bastaixos had to work from dawn to dusk loading and unloading the ships that came into the port, and were always under pressure from merchants and captains, who wanted to stay the shortest time possible in the port of Barcelona.
Arnau entered Pere’s house dragging his feet and carrying his leather strap in his hand. Eight faces turned toward him. Pere and Mariona were seated at the table with another man and woman. Joan, a boy, and two girls were sitting on the floor by the wall. All of them were eating from bowls.
“Arnau,” Pere said to him, “these are our new tenants. Gastó Segura, an artisan tanner.” The man merely nodded his head slightly, still eating. “His wife, Eulàlia.” She did smile at him. “And their three children: ”Simó, Aledis, and Alesta.”
Arnau was exhausted. He waved his hand sketchily in the direction of Joan and the tanner’s three children, and went to take the bowl Mariona was offering him. Yet something made him take a second look at the three newcomers. What was it ... ? Their eyes! The two girls were openly staring at him. Their eyes were ... they were huge, a rich chestnut brown, sparkling with life. They both smiled at him.
“Eat, lad!”
Their smiles vanished. Alesta and Aledis quickly dropped their eyes to their bowls again, while Arnau turned to the tanner, who had stopped eating and was lifting his chin toward Mariona, who was offering Arnau his bowl from the fire.
Mariona gave him her place at the table, and Arnau started to eat. Opposite him, Gastó Segura was chewing his food with his mouth wide open. Every time Arnau looked up, the tanner was staring at him.
After a while, Simó got up and handed his empty bowl and those of his sisters to Mariona.
“To bed with you,” Gastó said, breaking the silence.
The tanner’s eyes narrowed as he concentrated his gaze on Arnau once more; the young bastaix felt so uncomfortable he stared down at his bowl and heard only the sound of the girls getting up and bidding everyone a timid good night. When their steps had faded on the stairs, he looked up again. Gastó’s interest in him seemed to have waned.
“What are they like?” he asked Joan that night, the first they spent on their straw pallets on each side of the hearth.
“Who?” asked Joan.
“The tanner’s daughters.”
“What do you mean? They’re normal enough,” said Joan, gesticulating to show his incomprehension in a way that his brother could not see in the darkness. “They’re normal girls. At least I suppose so.” He hesitated. “In fact, I don’t really know. I haven’t been allowed to speak to them; their brother didn’t even let me shake their hands. When I went to do so, he stepped forward and kept me from them.”
But Arnau was not even listening. How could eyes like theirs be normal? And they had both smiled at him.
AT FIRST LIGHT next morning, Pere and Mariona came down to find that Arnau and Joan had already put away their mattresses. A short time later, the tanner and his son appeared. None of the women were with them: Gastó had forbidden them to appear until the two lads had gone. Arnau left Pere’s house with their huge brown eyes still imprinted on his mind.
“Today you’re at the chapel,” one of the guild aldermen told him when he reached the shore. The previous evening he had noticed Arnau was staggering under his last load.
Arnau nodded. He was no longer upset whenever he was sent to the chapel. Nobody cast any doubt on the fact that he was a bastaix now; the guild aldermen had confirmed it, and even though he still could not carry as much as Ramon or most of the others, he had shown he was as willing to work as any of them. They all appreciated him. Besides, those brown eyes... they would probably distract him from his work. And he felt tired: he had not slept well next to the hearth. He went into Santa Maria through the main door of the old church, which was still standing. Gastó Segura had not even let them glance at his girls. Why shouldn’t he look at two perfectly normal girls? And that morning he had probably forbidden them ... He tripped over a rope and almost fell. He stumbled on a few yards, getting caught up in more ropes, until he felt a pair of strong hands grip his shoulders. He had twisted his ankle, and cried out in pain.
“Hey!” he heard the man who had helped him say. “You should be more careful. Look what you’ve done!”
His ankle was hurting, but he looked down at the floor. H
e had pulled out the ropes and stakes that Berenguer de Montagut used ... but ... surely this couldn’t be him? He turned slowly round to see who had helped him. It couldn’t be the master builder! He flushed when he saw he was face-to-face with none other than Berenguer de Montagut. Then he looked round and saw that all the craftsmen had halted in their work and were staring at them.
“I ... ,” he stammered. “If you like ... ,” he said, pointing to the mess of ropes entangled round his feet, “if you like I could help you ... I ... I’m sorry, Master.”
All at once, Berenguer de Montagut’s face relaxed. He was still holding Arnau by the arm.
“You’re the bastaix,” he said with a smile. Arnau nodded. “I’ve seen you here often.”
His smile grew broader. The workmen seemed relieved. Arnau looked down again at the ropes round his feet.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“Don’t worry.” The master builder waved to the others to sort out the mess. “Come and sit with me. Does it hurt?”
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” said Arnau, grimacing with pain as he bent down to free himself of the ropes.
“Wait.”
Berenguer de Montagut got him to straighten up, and knelt down himself to untangle the ropes. Arnau hardly dared look at him, but glanced instead at the workmen. They were watching in astonishment. The master builder on his knees before a simple bastaix!
“We have to take care of these men,” he shouted to everyone once he had freed Arnau’s feet. “Without them, we would have no stones for the church. Come and sit down by me. Does it hurt?”
Arnau shook his head, but he was limping, trying not to cling to the master. Berenguer de Montagut took him firmly by the arm and led him toward some pillars that were lying flat on the ground, waiting to be hoisted into position. The two of them sat on one. “I’m going to tell you a secret,” he said as soon as they were settled. Arnau turned toward him. Berenguer de Montagut was going to tell him a secret! What more could possibly happen to him that morning?
“The other day I tried to lift the block of stone you brought here. I could hardly manage it.” Berenguer shook his head. “I couldn’t imagine taking even a few steps with it. This church belongs to you,” he said, surveying the building work. Arnau felt a shiver run through him. “Someday, when our grandchildren, or their children, or the children of their children are alive, and people look at this, they won’t mention Berenguer de Montagut: it will be you they talk of, my boy.”
Arnau could scarcely speak. The master! What did he mean? How could a bastaix be more important than the great Berenguer de Montagut, the man who had built Santa Maria and Manresa cathedral? Surely he was the important one.
“Does it hurt?” asked the master builder.
“No ... A little. It’s only a slight twist.”
“I hope so.” Berenguer de Montagut patted him on the back. “We need your stones. There’s still a lot to do.”
Arnau followed his gaze as he surveyed the work going on.
“Do you like it?” Berenguer de Montagut asked him all of a sudden.
Did he like it? It was a question Arnau had never asked himself. He had watched the church growing—its walls, its apses, its magnificent, slender columns, its buttresses—but did he like it?
“They say it will be the best church to Our Virgin in the whole of Christianity,” he said finally.
Berenguer turned to him and smiled. How could he explain to a youth, a bastaix, what the church would be like, when not even bishops or noblemen could envisage his creation?
“What’s your name?”
“Arnau.”
“Well, Arnau, I don’t know if it will be the best....” Arnau forgot his aching foot and turned to face him. “But what I can assure you is that it will be unique, and to be unique does not mean to be better or worse, but simply that: unique.”
Berenguer de Montagut stared intently at the construction work. He went on:
“Have you heard of France or Lombardy, and Genoa, Pisa, Florence?” Arnau nodded—of course he had heard of his country’s enemies. “Well, all those places are building churches as well: magnificent cathedrals, grandiose and lavishly decorated. The princes of those realms want their churches to be the biggest and most beautiful in the world.”
“But isn’t that what we want too?”
“Yes and no.” Arnau shook his head. Berenguer de Montagut turned to him and smiled. “Let’s see if you can understand. We want this to be the finest church ever, but we want to achieve that by different means from those the others use. We want the home of the patron saint of the sea to be a home for all Catalans, to be like the homes in which the faithful themselves live. We want it to be conceived and built in the same spirit that has made us what we are, making use of what is uniquely ours: the sea, the sunlight. Do you understand?”
Arnau thought for a few moments, then shook his head.
“At least you’re sincere,” laughed the master builder. “Those princes create things for their personal glory. We do it for ourselves. I’ve noticed that sometimes, instead of carrying a load on your own, two of you use a pole and carry it between you.”
“Yes, when it’s too big and heavy to carry on our backs.”
“What would happen if we made that pole twice as long?”
“It would snap.”
“Well, that’s exactly what happens with those princes’ churches ... No, I don’t mean they break,” he added, seeing the boy’s surprised look. “What I mean is that they want them to be so big, tall, and long, that they have to make them as narrow as possible. Big, long, and narrow: do you see?” This time, Arnau nodded. “But our church will be the opposite. It won’t be as long or as tall, but it will be very broad, so that every Catalan will be able to find room to be with their Virgin. Once it’s finished, you’ll be able to appreciate it: there will be a shared space for all the faithful, without distinction. And the only decoration will be the light: the light of the Mediterranean. We don’t need anything more than that: space and the light that will pour in from down there.” Berenguer de Montagut pointed to the apse and drew his hand down toward the floor. “This church will be for the common people, not for the greater glory of any prince.”
“Master ...” The ropes and stakes had been sorted out, and one of the craftsmen had appeared next to them.
“Do you understand now?”
It would be for the common people!
“Yes, Master.”
“Remember, your blocks of stone are like gold to this church,” Montagut said, clambering to his feet. “Does it still hurt?”
Arnau had completely forgotten about his ankle. He shook his head.
SINCE HE DID not have to work with the bastaixos that day, Arnau returned home early. He had cleaned the chapel quickly, replaced the spent candles with new ones, said a rapid prayer, and bidden the Virgin farewell. Father Albert saw him running from the church, and Mariona saw him running into the house.
“What’s wrong?” the old woman asked. “What are you doing here so early?”
Arnau glanced quickly round the kitchen: there the three of them were—mother and two daughters, sewing at the table. The three of them stared at him.
“Arnau!” Mariona repeated. “Is something wrong?”
He realized he was blushing.
“No ...” He had not even thought of an excuse! How could he have been so stupid? And they were staring at him: all three of them, peering at him standing in the doorway, panting. “No,” he said, “it’s just that I finished early today.”
Mariona smiled and glanced at the girls. Their mother, Eulàlia, could not help smiling either.
“Well, if you’ve finished early,” said Mariona, disturbing his thoughts, “you can go and fetch me some water.”
She had looked at him again, thought Arnau as he carried the bucket to the angel fountain. Did that mean something? He swung the bucket: of course it did.
He did not have much opportunity to
find out. If it was not Eulàlia who got in his way, he came up against Gastó’s few remaining blackened teeth; and if neither of them was in the house, Simó mounted guard over his two sisters. For days, Arnau had to be content with casting glances at them out of the corner of his eye. Occasionally he could get a good look at their faces: they had delicate features, with strong chins and prominent cheekbones. Their noses looked Roman, and both had shining white teeth and those amazing brown eyes. On other occasions, when the sun shone in through the windows, Arnau felt he could almost touch the blue sheen on the silky locks of their jet-black hair. Once or twice, when he felt really safe, he allowed his gaze to travel downward from the elder sister, Aledis’s, face to her chest, where her breasts could be glimpsed even through the coarse cloth of her smock. The sight made his body quiver. And when he was sure no one was watching him, he even dared to look lower still, at the curves of her body and legs.
Gastó Segura had lost everything during the months of hunger. This had made him even more bitter than he already was by nature. His son, Simó, worked with him as an apprentice, but his greatest concern was his two daughters, whom he could not provide with dowries in order to secure good husbands. Yet their beauty was in their favor, and Gastó was sure they would make good matches. If they did, that would be two fewer mouths to feed.
For that reason, he was desperate for them to remain untouched, so that no one in Barcelona could have the slightest doubt about their decency. This was the only way, he told Eulàlia and Simó, that Aledis and Alesta could make good marriages. Father, mother, and eldest brother had all taken this task upon themselves, but whereas Gastó and Eulàlia thought there would be no problem fulfilling it, Simó was more worried about them living any length of time in the same house as Arnau and Joan.