The Schooldays of Jesus

  ‘Only the lash will work on me, Simón, the lash and the salt mines. End of story. Thank you for hearing me out. From now on, I promise, my lips will be sealed. Never again will the sacred name of Ana Magdalena cross them. Year after year I will labour in silence, digging up salt for the good folk of the land, until one day I can no more. My heart, my faithful old bear’s heart, will give in. And as I breathe my last, the blessed Ana Magdalena will descend, cool and lovely as ever, and put a finger to my lips. Come, Dmitri, she will say, join me in the next life, where the past is forgiven and forgotten. That’s how I imagine it.’

  As he speaks the words forgiven and forgotten, Dmitri’s voice chokes. His eyes glisten with tears. Despite himself he, Simón, is moved. Then Dmitri recovers himself. ‘I come to the point,’ he says. ‘Can I stay the night? Can I sleep here and gather my forces? Because tomorrow will be a long, hard day.’

  ‘If you promise to be gone in the morning, and if you swear that I will never see you again, never never, yes, you can sleep here.’

  ‘I swear! Never again! On the head of my mother I swear! Thank you, Simón. You are a real sport. Who would have guessed that you, the most correct, most upright man in town, would end up aiding and abetting a criminal. Another favour. Can you lend me some clothes? I would offer to buy them, but I don’t have any money, they took it away from me in the hospital.’

  ‘I will give you clothes, I will give you money, I will give whatever it takes to be rid of you.’

  ‘Your generosity puts me to shame. Truly. I have done you a wrong, Simón. I used to make jokes about you behind your back. You didn’t know that, did you?’

  ‘Lots of people make jokes about me. I am used to it. They slide off me.’

  ‘You know what Ana Magdalena said about you? She said you pretend to be an estimable citizen and a man of reason, but really you are just a lost child. Those were her words: a child who doesn’t know where he lives or what he wants. An insightful woman, don’t you think? Whereas you, she said, meaning me, Dmitri—at least you know what you want, at least one can say that about you. And it’s true! I always knew what I wanted, and she loved me for it. Women love a man who knows what he wants, who doesn’t beat about the bush.

  ‘One last thing, Simón. How about something to eat, to fortify me for the journey ahead?’

  ‘Take whatever there is in the cupboard. I am going for a walk. I need fresh air. I will be away for quite a while.’

  When he returns an hour later, Dmitri is asleep in his bed. During the night he is woken by the man’s snoring. He gets up from the sofa and gives him a shake. ‘You are snoring,’ he says. With a great heave Dmitri turns over. A minute later the snoring resumes.

  The next thing he knows the birds in the trees have begun to cheep. It is bitterly cold. Dmitri is padding restlessly about the room. ‘I need to be off,’ he whispers. ‘You said something about money and clothes.’

  He gets up, switches on the light, finds a shirt and trousers for Dmitri. They are of the same height, but Dmitri has broader shoulders, a bigger chest, a thicker waist: the shirt will barely button closed. He gives Dmitri a hundred reales out of his wallet. ‘Take my coat,’ he says. ‘It is behind the door.’

  ‘I am eternally grateful,’ says Dmitri. ‘And now I must sally forth to meet my fate. Say goodbye to the youngster for me. If anyone comes nosing around, tell them I caught the train to Novilla.’ He pauses. ‘Simón, I told you I left the hospital by myself. That is not strictly true. In fact it was a downright fib. Your boy helped me. How? I gave him a call. Dmitri cries out for freedom, I said. Can you help? An hour later he was there, and walked me out, just like the first time. Clean as a whistle. No one noticed us. Uncanny. As if we were invisible. That’s all. I thought I would tell you, so that the slate can be clean between us.’

  CHAPTER 20

  CLAUDIA AND Inés are planning an event at Modas Modernas: a show to promote the new spring fashions. Modas Modernas has never hosted a show before: while the two women are occupied with overseeing seamstresses and hiring models and commissioning advertisements, Diego is charged with taking care of the boy. But Diego is not up to it. He has made new friends in Estrella; he is out with them most of the time. Sometimes he stays out all night, returns at first light, sleeps until noon. Inés berates him but he pays no heed. ‘I’m not a nursemaid,’ he says. ‘If you want a nursemaid, hire one.’

  All of this David reports to him, Simón. Bored with being alone in the apartment, the boy has joined him on his bicycle rounds. They work well together. The boy’s energy seems boundless. He races from house to house, stuffing into the letterboxes pamphlets that open up a new world of wonders: not only of the key ring that glows in the dark and the Wonderbelt that melts fat away while you sleep and the Electrodog that barks whenever the doorbell rings, but also of señora Victrix, astral consultations, by appointment only; of Brandy, lingerie model, also by appointment only; and of Ferdi the Clown, guaranteed to bring your next party to life; to say nothing of cooking classes, meditation classes, classes in anger management, and two pizzas for the price of one.

  ‘What does this mean, Simón?’ asks the boy, holding out a flyer printed on cheap brown paper.

  Man the Measurer of All Things, reads the pamphlet. A lecture by the eminent scholar Dr Javier Moreno. Institute of Further Studies, Thursday series, 8 pm. Entrance free, donations welcome.

  ‘I’m not sure. I expect it is about land surveying. A land surveyor is someone who divides land into parcels so that it can be bought and sold. You won’t find it interesting.’

  ‘And this?’ says the boy.

  ‘Walkie-talkie. That is a nonsense name for a telephone without wires. You carry it around with you and talk to friends at a distance.’

  ‘Can I get one?’

  ‘They come in pairs, one for you and one for your friend. Nineteen reales ninety-five. That’s a lot of money for a toy.’

  ‘It says Rush Rush Rush While Stocks Last.’

  ‘You can ignore that. The world is not going to run out of walkie-talkies, I assure you.’

  The boy is full of questions about Dmitri. ‘Do you think he is at the salt mines yet? Are they really going to whip him? When can we go and visit him?’

  He responds as truthfully as he can, given that he knows nothing whatever about salt mines. ‘I am sure the prisoners don’t spend every day mining salt,’ he says. ‘They will have recreation periods when they can play football or read books. Dmitri will write to us once he has settled down, telling us about his new life. We just have to be patient.’

  More difficult to answer are questions about the crime for which Dmitri has gone to the salt mines, questions that come back again and again: ‘When he made Ana Magdalena’s heart stop, was it sore? Why did she turn blue? Am I going to turn blue when I die?’ Most difficult of all is the question, ‘Why did he kill her? Why, Simón?’

  He does not want to evade the boy’s questions. Unanswered, they may well fester. So he makes up the easiest, most bearable story he can. ‘For the space of a few minutes Dmitri went crazy,’ he says. ‘It happens to certain people. Something snaps inside their head. Dmitri went crazy in his head, and in his craziness he killed the person he most loved. Soon afterwards he came to himself. The craziness went away and he was full of regret. He tried desperately to bring Ana Magdalena back to life but did not know how. So he decided to do the honourable thing. He confessed to his crime and asked to be punished. Now he has gone to the salt mines to work off his debt—the debt he owes to Ana Magdalena and señor Arroyo and all the boys and girls of the Academy who lost the teacher they loved so much. Every time we sprinkle salt on our food we can remind ourselves that we are helping Dmitri to work off his debt. And one day in the future, when his debt is fully paid, he can come back from the salt mines and we can all be reunited.’

  ‘But not Ana Magdalena.’

  ‘No, not Ana Magdalena. To see her we will have to wait for the next life.’

  ‘The d
octors wanted to give Dmitri a new head, one that wouldn’t go crazy.’

  ‘That is correct. They wanted to make sure he never went crazy again. Unfortunately it takes time to replace a person’s head, and Dmitri was in a hurry. He left the hospital before the doctors had a chance to cure his old head or give him a new one. He was in a hurry to pay his debt. He felt that paying his debt was more important than having his head cured.’

  ‘But he can go crazy again, can’t he, if he still has his old head.’

  ‘It was love that drove Dmitri crazy. In the salt mines there will be no women to fall in love with. So the chance that Dmitri will go crazy again is very slight.’

  ‘You won’t go crazy, will you, Simón.’

  ‘No, I won’t. I don’t have that kind of head, the kind that goes crazy. Nor do you. Which is fortunate for us.’

  ‘But Don Quixote did. He had the kind of head that goes crazy.’

  ‘That is true. But Don Quixote and Dmitri are very different kinds of person. Don Quixote was a good person, so his craziness led him to do good deeds like saving maidens from dragons. Don Quixote is a good model to follow in your life. But not Dmitri. From Dmitri there is nothing good to be learned.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because, quite aside from the craziness in his head, Dmitri is not a good person with a good heart. At first he seems friendly and generous, but that is just an outward appearance meant to deceive you. You heard him say that the urge to kill Ana Magdalena came out of nowhere. That is not true. It did not come from nowhere. It came from his heart, where it had been lurking for a long time, waiting to strike like a snake.

  ‘There is nothing you or I can do to help Dmitri, David. As long as he refuses to look into his heart and confront what he sees there, he will not change. He says he wants to be saved, but the only way to be saved is to save oneself, and Dmitri is too lazy, too satisfied with the way he is, to do that. Do you understand?’

  ‘And ants?’ says the boy. ‘Do ants have bad hearts too?’

  ‘Ants are insects. They don’t have blood, therefore they don’t have hearts.’

  ‘And bears?’

  ‘Bears are animals, so their hearts are neither good nor bad, they are just hearts. Why do you ask about ants and bears?’

  ‘Maybe the doctors should take a bear’s heart and put it in Dmitri.’

  ‘That’s an interesting idea. Unfortunately doctors have not yet worked out a way of putting a bear’s heart in a human being. Until that can be done, Dmitri will have to take responsibility for his actions.’

  The boy gives him a look that he finds hard to interpret: merriment? derision?

  ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ he says.

  ‘Because,’ says the boy.

  The day comes to an end. He returns the boy to Inés and makes his way back to his room, where the dreaded fog soon settles over him. He pours himself a glass of wine, then a second glass. The only way to be saved is to save oneself. The child turns to him for guidance, and what does he offer but glib, pernicious nonsense. Self-reliance. If he, Simón, had to rely on himself, what hope would he have of salvation? Salvation from what? From idleness, from aimlessness, from a bullet in the head.

  From the wardrobe he takes down the little case, opens the envelope, stares at the girl with the cat in her arms, the girl who two decades later would choose this image of herself to give to her lover. He re-reads her letters, from beginning to end.

  Joaquín and Damián have made friends with two girls from the boarding-house. We invited them along to the beach today. The water was icy cold, but they all dived in and didn’t seem to mind. We were a happy family among lots of other happy families, but in truth I wasn’t really there. I was absent. I was with you, as I am with you in my heart every minute of every day. Juan Sebastián senses it. I do all I can to make him feel loved, but he is aware that something has altered between us. My Dmitri, how I long for you, how I shiver when I think of you! Ten whole days! Will the time ever pass?…

  I lie awake at night thinking of you, impatient for the time to pass, longing to be naked in your arms again…

  Do you believe in telepathy? I stood on the cliffs, looking out over the sea, concentrating all my energies on you, and a moment came when I can swear I heard your voice. You spoke my name, and I spoke back. This happened yesterday, Tuesday; it must have been ten o’clock in the morning. Was it so for you too? Did you hear me? Can we speak to each other across space? Tell me it is true!…

  I yearn for you, my darling, yearn apasionadamente! Only two more days!

  He folds the letters, puts them back in their envelope. He would like to believe they are forgeries penned by Dmitri himself, but that is not true. They are what they say they are: the words of a woman in love. He keeps warning the child against Dmitri. If you want a model in life, look to me, he says: look to Simón, the exemplary stepfather, the man of reason, the dullard; or, if not me, then to that harmless old madman Don Quixote. But if the child really wants an education, who better is there to study than the man who could inspire such an unsuitable, such an incomprehensible love?

  CHAPTER 21

  FROM HER handbag Inés produces a crumpled letter. ‘I meant to show this to you but I forgot,’ she says.

  Addressed jointly to señor Simón and señora Inés, written on Academy of Dance notepaper on which the Academy’s crest has been scored through with a stroke of the pen, signed by Juan Sebastián Arroyo, the letter invites them to a reception in honour of the distinguished philosopher Javier Moreno Gutiérrez, to be held on the premises of the Museum of Fine Arts. ‘Follow signs to entrance on Calle Hugo, ascend to second floor.’ Light refreshments will be served.

  ‘It’s this evening,’ says Inés. ‘I can’t go, I’m too busy. And on top of that there is the census business. When we scheduled the show we forgot completely about it, and by the time we remembered it was too late, the notices had already gone out. The show starts at three tomorrow afternoon, and by six o’clock all commercial premises have to be closed and employees sent home. I don’t know how we are going to manage. You go to the reception. Take David with you.’

  ‘What is a reception? What is the census business?’ demands the boy.

  ‘A census is a count,’ he, Simón, explains. ‘Tomorrow night they are going to count all the people in Estrella and make a list of their names. Inés and I have decided to keep you hidden from the census officers. You won’t be alone. Señor Arroyo will be hiding his sons too.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? For various reasons. Señor Arroyo believes that attaching numbers to people turns them into ants. We want to keep you off the official lists. As for the reception, a reception is a party for grown-ups. You can come along. There will be stuff to eat. If you find it too boring you can go and visit Alyosha’s animal menagerie. You haven’t visited them in a long while.’

  ‘If they count me in the census will they recognize me?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. We don’t want to take the risk.’

  ‘But are you going to hide me forever?’

  ‘Of course not—just during the census. We don’t want to give them a reason to pack you off to that dreary school of theirs at Punta Arenas. Once you are past school age you can relax and be your own master.’

  ‘And I can have a beard too, can’t I?’

  ‘You can wear a beard, you can change your name, you can do all kinds of things to avoid being recognized.’

  ‘But I want to be recognized!’

  ‘No, you don’t want to be recognized, not yet, you don’t want to take that risk. David, I don’t think you understand what it means to recognize or be recognized. But let us not argue about it. When you are grown up you can be whoever you wish, do whatever you like. Until then, Inés and I would like you to do as you are told.’

  He and the boy arrive late at the reception. He is surprised at how many guests there are. The distinguished philosopher and guest of honour must have quite a following.
br />   They greet the three sisters.

  ‘We heard maestro Moreno speak during his last visit,’ says Consuelo. ‘When was that, Valentina?’

  ‘Two years ago,’ says Valentina.

  ‘Two years ago,’ says Consuelo. ‘Such an interesting man. Good evening, David, don’t we get a kiss?’

  Dutifully the boy kisses each of the sisters on the cheek.

  Arroyo joins them, accompanied by his sister-in-law Mercedes, who wears a grey silk dress with a striking scarlet mantilla, and by maestro Moreno himself, a short, squat little man with flowing locks, pock-marked skin, and wide, thin lips like a frog’s.

  ‘Javier, you know señora Consuelo and her sisters, but let me introduce you to señor Simón. Señor Simón is a philosopher in his own right. He is also the father of this excellent young man, whose name is David.’

  ‘David is not my real name,’ says the boy.

  ‘David is not his real name, I should have mentioned that,’ says señor Arroyo, ‘but it is the name under which he passes while he is in our midst. Simón, I believe you have already met my sister-in-law Mercedes, who is visiting from Novilla.’

  He bows to Mercedes, who gives him a smile in return. Her aspect has softened since they last spoke. A handsome woman, in her rather fierce way. He wonders what the other sister was like, the dead one.

  ‘And what brings you to Estrella, señor Moreno?’ he asks, making conversation.

  ‘I do a lot of travelling, señor. My profession makes of me an itinerant, a peripatetic. I give talks all over the country, at the various Institutes. But, to tell the truth, I am in Estrella to see my old friend Juan Sebastián. He and I share a long history. In the old days we ran a clock-repair business together. We also played in a quartet.’