“Are you mad, woman?” I yelled, my voice harsh with pain. I tore a strip of cloth from my sleeve as best I could, used it to stop the hemorrhaging, and caught up with my aggressor in four giant strides.
She wheeled around in surprise, and I felt something sharp at my groin. She was threatening me with her weapon again, and this time I couldn’t afford the consequences.
“Tell me, traveler, who sent you in search of me?” she whispered angrily.
I still couldn’t make out her face. She was short in stature, scarcely reaching my chest, but I was pretty sure it was her.
“Calm down, girl. No one’s paid me to find you. I just want to talk to you, that’s all,” I replied, my voice less firm than I would have liked. I was still losing blood, and I could hear a buzzing in my ears. I knew I was close to losing consciousness.
“I’ve yet to meet a man who only wants to talk to me,” she replied, pressing her body to mine and ripping the fabric covering my genitals with her dagger. “You’ve been following me for three moon cycles, ever since my elderly husband and I arrived by boat and unloaded our merchandise. You’re only alive because I’m curious. But I’m impatient, so out with it, or you’ll die.”
“I just want to see your face, check if it bears the marks I’m looking for.”
“And what exactly are you looking for?”
“I’m searching for a woman with the Lyra constellation on her left cheek. I’m looking for a highway robber whom the valley-dwelling Leuci called Cyra. Decades later, among the inland Turones, they spoke to me of a woman outlaw who used to hide in the woods: Dyra. On the north coast, the Caleti would spit on the ground whenever they mentioned a certain Eyra, a thief and the leader of a group of savages . . . Shall I go on, Nyra?”
I sensed that she was moving her weapon away from my body and, for the first time, she let me look into her eyes.
“It can’t be that you yourself have heard all those stories . . . Too much time has passed,” she whispered. The anger had gone from her voice and given way to confusion.
“Let’s just go to a well-lit spot, and let me see you,” I begged, my strength almost gone.
She consented, part curious, part suspicious. We walked toward the light of a bonfire that the Roman soldiers had left unattended. Lyra removed her hood. A sense of relief, centuries old, relaxed the tension in my face. Finally, after searching for so long, combing all of Gaul, I’d found her. It really was her. Her birthmark, those deep-blue eyes she shared with her mother . . .
“And now tell me who you are,” she requested, the authority gone from her voice.
“Come with me. I travel lightly, but I have a roof to sleep under. I must stitch up my hand now or I’ll bleed to death. I will tell you a tale on the way.”
“What tale, Iberian?” she asked, following me.
“The tale of my family, and why you should finally come back to us.”
6
ADRIANA
Monday, January 30, 2012
An hour later we joined the rest of the staff on the ground floor, where they were already making short work of the magnificent catering while we awaited the arrival of the board of directors, local dignitaries, and invited representatives of the media.
As we made our way between stone stelae and Cantabrian daggers, Elisa introduced me to my colleagues—most of them as young as I was and making no attempt to hide their curiosity about me. The first one I met was Salva, the chief curator of the Classical and Late Antiquity Department.
“Hey, kiddo, have you seen the show we’ve put on for today?” he exclaimed by way of a greeting, as if we’d known each other all our lives.
He was tiny—under five foot three—and his drainpipe pants accentuated his skinny legs. He wore a cap to hide his devastating alopecia but had long sideburns that started from who knows where and ended at his jaw. In a few short sentences we exchanged all our vital details linked to Santander—schools, high schools, places to hang out—and we quickly discovered that we had a friend of a friend in common, at which point a reporter from El Diario Montañés claimed him. Salva’s department had been preparing the exhibition for eighteen months and, as he was in charge, I made my farewells so that he could do his PR rounds.
“I’ve heard you used to work at the National Museum of Archaeology,” said Iago’s secretary, Paula, the words emerging from somewhere among her mass of curls. “It’s a real honor to have you come on board,” she added as her eyes subjected me to yet another quick body scan.
I switched into my “sociable Adriana” persona and devoted time to meeting people. Making the rounds, I forced myself to memorize some twenty names and faces. I also took note of the various groupings, hoping they’d give me some clue to the alliances brewing within them. It would serve me well to remember the patterns at play in my new ecosystem.
After I had finally completed the first wave of introductions and spent some time browsing the pieces in the exhibition, I spotted Iago in one corner, talking with a very short young woman to whom I hadn’t been introduced. I had the impression they were arguing in furious whispers, although they still managed to keep up appearances as they ate some pinchos and had something to drink in a somewhat distracted manner.
“Who’s the little blond?” I asked Elisa as casually as I could.
She smiled smugly, as if she’d caught me out. “Her name is Kyra del Castro, and she’s in charge of the MAC’s Restoration Laboratory. She’s very quiet, even reserved. Most of the museum staff can’t stand her.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because she has some sort of direct line to the Holy Trinity, and that’s something that comes at a high price here, my friend. At first we all thought she had something going with Iago. It’s not that they’re together all day, but they treat each other with a familiarity that’s not normal,” explained Elisa as she finished off an anchovy pincho.
“Then we realized that whatever it was, it wasn’t going anywhere: it’s just their normal behavior. It’s the same with Héctor and Jairo. She doesn’t keep her distance, like the rest of us. Some people think she’s a social climber, but she hasn’t shown any ambition since she’s been here, other than spending the day shut up in her lab. I say ‘her lab’ because that’s something I have to warn you about: always ask her permission before you go down into the basement. She won’t have anyone snooping around in her little fiefdom.”
“Duly noted,” I said as I looked at Kyra out of the corner of my eye. “Though she seems okay to me.” I always tended to get on with anyone who had the entire staff against her because she was a favorite with the bosses.
On that note I left Elisa and headed for the drinks table for a brief respite from being sociable and to observe some more. The suits and ties were beginning to arrive, escorted by the three del Castillo brothers. I was keen to meet the last of them, although I wasn’t anticipating what I actually found. Jairo—it couldn’t be anyone else—was radically different from Héctor and Iago. Though he wasn’t yet thirty, he was dressed in a burgundy velvet suit, with an Hermès scarf around his neck decorated with little stirrups. His dark combed-back hair, hooked nose, and intense expression made you think of a bird of prey when you saw him in profile. He had one hand in his pocket, and in the other he held a glass of champagne with the ease of someone surrounded by expensive tableware from birth. He had a brooding gaze, although what was most striking was the way he tilted his head to one side as he swept the room with his eyes, taking note of every detail. He was dressed in the debonair manner of Oscar Wilde, Lord Byron, or Baudelaire. He possessed the beauty of a cobra about to strike, that reptilian beauty that warns you to admire its lethal movements from afar.
I realized that the women in the room were glancing at him intermittently, pretending that they weren’t looking at him but nevertheless keeping as close an eye on him as I was. He was a force that attracted and repelled
at the same time, like a black hole. There was something of the rogue about him, which made me smile without wanting to. I chastised myself for my bemusement, however, when, turning his back on the circle of dignitaries with whom he was standing, Jairo looked over the waitresses with that universal expression of someone checking out the merchandise, or the livestock.
I surreptitiously tracked his progress around the hall as he approached his female prey, always on an angle, with a unique mix of caution and nerve. On each occasion he behaved in exactly the same way. He would quietly place himself behind the chosen woman and whisper in the direction of the nape of her neck, invariably provoking the same result: nervous giggles and blushing cheeks from the woman in question, and withering looks from the rest of the staff.
As soon as the opportunity arose, he set his sights on me as well, although I determined not to make it too easy for him. When I saw that he was headed my way, I neatly dodged him and joined a tight huddle of interns, dynamiting any possibility of a dignified opening move with me. We both pretended not to have noticed what was going on, and he continued on his way undaunted, brushing against my back and leaving behind a penetrating whiff of his expensive English perfume—sandalwood, cinnamon, and some other rare, prohibitively expensive spice.
Amused, I witnessed the lesson in seduction until I tired of the show and then opted to mingle with the small groups that had formed around the tables with the catered food. It seemed that Jairo and I were the main topics of conversation.
“How dare he appear so soon?”
“Ha! Jairo’s not the least bit concerned about what we might think of him.”
“I visited Nieves in the maternity ward. The poor thing is incredibly depressed.”
“The poor thing? She cheated on her husband when she was four months pregnant. What was she expecting?”
“Are you sure the husband is the father of the baby?”
“Ex-husband. And yes. I went to see her as well, and the little boy is the spitting image of his father, with his blond hair and his rosy skin. The baby looks nothing like Jairo del Castillo, if that’s what you’re implying.”
That was the kindest thing I heard, but there was worse to come.
“Have you seen the newcomer in Prehistory? It looks like they hire people based on the photo on the résumé.”
“Rubbish. I heard she had quite some job at the National Museum of Archaeology. Apparently, Elisa recommended her.”
“How strange. Though Elisa doesn’t miss a trick when it comes to scoring points with the Holy Trinity.”
“Do you think this one will succumb, too?”
“The question isn’t if she’ll succumb, but to which of the three.”
“Don’t put them all in the same basket. Jairo is nothing like his brothers.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to bet a dinner on it.”
That was enough for me. Furious, I went in search of Elisa and marched her into the nearest women’s restroom. “Would you care to explain why half the museum is gossiping about me behind my back?” I fumed as I checked that all the cubicles were empty.
“I see you’ve found out about Jairo.”
“What exactly do you mean by ‘about Jairo’?” I demanded.
“Okay, it’s better you hear it from me. People are talking absolute nonsense.”
“Out with it, Elisa,” I urged her as I perched myself on the ceramic handbasin. It looked as if it had been there for a century, but it had been well restored. My sense of civic responsibility, however, was switched off at that point, and it could have broken under my weight for all I cared.
“Fine, fine. Don’t be like that. The girl who used to be in your position has just had a baby.”
“You’d already told me that. And that she’d resigned and wasn’t going to come back to work at the MAC.”
“Right. What I think I didn’t tell you was why. You see . . . it’s rumored . . . they say that . . . the story is that . . . when she was four months pregnant, she had an affair with Jairo del Castillo.”
“Pregnant by whom?” I asked, confused.
“Her husband. Up until then we all thought she was happily married. Then she was with Jairo for a couple of months, and it seems she lost her head. She left her husband for Jairo, but Jairo quickly got bored with her and sent her packing without so much as a thought. As you can imagine, the MAC was a hotbed of gossip. She had a really bad time of it. But then she knew what she was getting herself into. You wouldn’t believe the reputation Jairo has in Santander as a womanizer.
“Anyway, in the end Nieves couldn’t stand the pressure, so she left her job. Now she’s just given birth on her own, because her husband didn’t forgive her and divorced her. She must be a wreck. They say she’s taking antidepressants and all that stuff.”
I shook my head and bit my lower lip, feeling powerless. The deck was stacked against me before I’d even begun the game. This was exactly the kind of drama I wanted to avoid.
Terrific.
“Elisa, you should have told me all this before I accepted the position.”
“But I could see how excited you were,” she said by way of an excuse.
“Don’t give me that crap. You should have told me even before I came for the interview. For crying out loud, Elisa, I’ve just signed the contract!”
As I leaned back against the wall, which was covered with brilliant sea-blue tiles, I stared up at a little barred window, weighing up my situation. I didn’t even want look at her. Why would I?
“You’ve never worried about what people say—”
I silenced her with a gesture. “Oh come on! Stop! You’re just making things worse.” I stood up and crossed in front of her without turning toward her. “See you, Elisa.”
I left the bathroom conscious of the fact that everyone was watching me out of the corner of their eye, so I decided not to make things too easy for my new colleagues. I put a smile on my face and moved among the crowd as if nothing had happened.
Héctor came toward me. His presence made me feel better, just as it had the first time I saw him. I don’t know why, but I sensed I had an ally in him.
“Is everything all right?” he whispered.
“Everything’s fine,” I replied with a smile. “I can’t believe how well you organize things around here.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. You’ve done enough for today. Why don’t you go home? The first day is always tough.”
I didn’t have the strength to keep up the pretense in front of him.
“Thanks, boss,” I murmured, relieved.
“Forget ‘boss.’ Call me Héctor, please,” he said warmly as he headed off with his hands in his pockets. “We’ll catch up tomorrow.”
I left the museum in a rage, cursing Elisa and her diabolical social games as I walked toward my Renault Clio. I had left it parked behind the building, beside the cliff and farthest away from the museum.
I looked over my shoulder, checking that no one else had left the event yet, and sat down beside the lavender bush for a moment to look at the sea. The water displayed a deep-blue color that day as if it, too, was being serious for the occasion. I needed to calm down a little. Just at that moment I saw something really odd—a seagull flying headlong at the wall of rock under my feet. I had no idea those birds had suicidal instincts.
By my calculations, it should have smashed itself to a pulp against the rock face. Curious, I leaned forward a bit, just in time to catch sight of the seagull again, now flying just as quickly in the opposite direction, out to sea. How could that be?
Intrigued, I took off my high heels and hid them at the base of the lavender bush. Without giving it a second thought, I climbed down the cliff face like a salamander until I was a few feet above a small protruding rock ledge. I let go and landed on my feet.
It wasn’t visible from the
museum parking lot, but I had just discovered a cave at sea level. That was why the seagull hadn’t smashed itself against the rock. It had just flown into and out of the cave that, from above, you would never even have suspected existed. I sat down right there, captivated by the eye-level view of the sea, with the sound of the waves pounding intensely in my ears. Wherever I looked, all I could see was rock, sea, and sky.
It was the perfect place to forget about the world.
7
IAGO
Mars Day, the eleventh day of the month of Luis
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
When I arrived at the MAC, the new employee was waiting for me in my office, her body tense. She was again wearing one of those suits with a fitted jacket that gave her an air of self-imposed seriousness. The previous day I had noticed an old horseshoe-shaped scar across part of her forehead, probably due to a kick from a horse, a rare occurrence these days. I couldn’t help thinking that in another era that mark would have determined her destiny, for better or for worse.
What was unusual was that Adriana Alameda didn’t hide it under bangs, as many women would have done, thinking that it made them more alluring. She left it clearly visible, almost as an act of defiance, it seemed to me. Despite the scar, which also scored her right eyebrow, she had an attractive face, dominated by a pair of bright, two-toned eyes—brown in the center and ringed by a grayish color. They were eyes that might well change color depending on the light—darting, curious eyes that never stopped glancing at mine.
The rest of her face—magnificent bone structure, long, straight, auburn hair pinned up in the manner of medieval damsels in the long-ago era of heroic deeds—was pleasing to the eye. But Jairo and his idiocies had converted the museum into a no-go zone if we wanted to avoid lurching from one scandal to another, so I convinced myself to concentrate on work and leave pleasure for the weekends. I did not let my mind stray to her body, barely restrained by her professional wardrobe.