Ariadne in the Grotesque Labyrinth (Catalan Literature) (13 page)

Once the lists of pharaohs had been recited by heart, Tianet, the prodigy, listed the Roman emperors, the devout Christian kings of France, the charming kings of England, and all the crowned miseries of Spain.

«
The dynastic problems of the kingdom of Leon have always puzzled me,
»
the tidy and talkative apothecary observed as Tianet listened. At a sign from his father the boy repeated the familiar complications of the dynasties of Leon.

«
Is it clearer to you now?
»
the father asked.

«
Definitely. Quite clear,
»
agreed the apothecary.

And he kept himself from opening his na
ï
ve mouth again, while from the phenomenon
’
s own rolled illustrious names, evoked by an infallible memory
—
without a hint of dyspnea
—
abundant with dates and complementary allusions. The boy carried out his task under the satisfied gaze of his father: it had cost him a pretty penny or two, but had brought them glory. On the other hand, his wife disapproved of the education that they were giving the adolescent. Culture causes you to lose your soul, it dries out the brain. Had he, her husband, needed it to become rich? Hearing this argument angered the father, and he adopted the most tearful tone in his repertory. He didn
’
t want the boy to have as miserable a life as his! Then the members of the circle praised, unanimously, his work ethic, his business acumen, the decency of that good father. His wife agreed with them, and at last the boy took up the strain as well. And they all stoned him with great applause.

«
The boy will go far,
»
the apothecary assured. The father accepted it.

«
What he has to be is a good boy,
»
his mother desired.
«
He can
’
t let all of these things go to his head!
»

Everyone protested against this possibility. With the memory that the little boy had! The father, smiling, qualified that observation.

«
Well, it
’
s not all memory, either. There
’
s a little bit of talent, too, it has to be said.
»

«
Of course, that too!
»
conceded the members of the circle.

That wrapped up, the doctor broached the topic, particularly red-hot in Konil
ò
sia in those days, of Proust.

«
Oh, Proust, Proust!
»
the doctor summarized, his eyes rolling back into his head with ecstasy.

«
Oh, Proust, Proust!
»
the other members of the circle exulted in solidarity.

«
I know nothing of this man,
»
the father, perplexed and full of candor, confessed.

«
Neither do I,
»
said the boy, turning red.

«
Boy!
»
his progenitor chastised, indignant.

«
You
’
re not being fair,
»
the doctor eased in to say.
«
He
’
s too young to be reading Proust.
»

«
He
’
s too young to be reading Proust,
»
confirmed the apothecary.
«
At his age I still hadn
’
t read him.
»

It was the closing stages of the third decade of this century. The apothecary was seventy-three years old. The phenomenon under discussion, fifteen. Now and again some jokes are best explained.

«
Ah, that
’
s what I thought!
»
said the father, calming down.

«
My son,
»
groaned the mother.
«
And you want him to swallow these huge books? So that we
’
ll grow apart.
»

«
Okay,
»
the father cut her off.
«
Tell me something about this Proust, doctor. Who was he?
»

«
Novelist,
»
clarified the doctor with some honest vacillation.

«
That detail I knew,
»
the erudite boy, with his fillet of a voice, said.

«
Ah, you knew that?
»
the father happily cried out.
«
Take heed, gentlemen, the boy already knew that detail. It
’
s likely that he knows quite a bit about it! Let
’
s hear.
»

«
I don
’
t know anything more, papa,
»
the boy assured him.

«
Poor you, if you have to swallow this filth.
»

«
That
’
s enough, woman,
»
ordered the husband.
«
Okay, talk to us for a while about Proust, Doctor,
»
he demanded.
«
In order to round off my boy
’
s concept of him.
»

«
Well yes, a novelist,
»
began the practitioner, stammering and choking.
«
A great literary creator, almost incomparable. And an acute psychological analyst. Oh, Proust, Proust!
»

«
He
’
s embellishing,
»
commented the father.
«
I
’
m getting situated.
»

«
A type of modern Voltaire,
»
the apothecary, who was himself trying to become a type of modern Voltaire, said.

«
Ha, ha, ha!
»
everyone, in on the joke, laughed. And they held back on the diabolic stuff.

«
They
’
ve already said enough indecencies,
»
deplored the mother.
«
Tianet, child, go to bed right now. What
’
s more, tomorrow you have your comedy in the garden of five trees, and you have to rest.
»

«
I
’
m on my way, mama,
»
he said reluctantly.
«
I knew those details, too,
»
the adolescent whispered in his father
’
s ear.

«
You
’
re quite modest. Why did you keep quiet about it?
»
scolded the fascinated father.

«
Because the doctor is a specialist in it,
»
the boy said prudently.

«
You
’
re quite modest,
»
the father hugged him.
«
But I don
’
t tolerate timidity; not that. Tianet knew the particulars,
»
he shared with his intimate acquaintances.

«
Ah!
»
all the members of the circle ambiguously filtered out.

«
Good night,
»
said the boy, and the other members of the circle, their expressions dim, reciprocated.

«
And what will you be performing tomorrow in the garden of five trees?
»
the doctor asked.

«
One of Salom
’
s impromptu productions about a queen from the Bible,
»
the father said.
«
In it the boy sings some names that no one but he could have learned. That Salom,
»
he added,
«
is probably a wise man, I won
’
t deny that, but I don
’
t trust him.
»

«
They say he
’
s a Jew,
»
the apothecary said indignantly.

«
Everyone who
’
s doing well is. As much as he
’
s given me, I don
’
t trust him,
»
the father responded. And next they drifted happily into politics. The doctor took the reins. And after, having been schooled, the other members of the circle called it a night.

«
See you tomorrow,
»
they said to one another.

«
That little boy will have learned his lesson comfortably,
»
the doctor said to the apothecary once they were outside.

«
Me too,
»
the apothecary, agreeing whole-heartedly, added.
«
He
’
s even capable of having read Proust. I wouldn
’
t risk it, I swear.
»

«
It is to be feared. My dissertation sufficiently ruined me,
»
the doctor regretted.
«
And it would be indecorous at his age.
»

«
Watch out for the boy, he
’
s scaring me,
»
the woman said to her husband, now that they were alone.
«
Look, he
’
s very young, and you two have some conversations
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
I don
’
t follow it, poor me, but I
’
m telling you
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
And he works so much that it frightens me. It can
’
t be. He can
’
t fall sick on us.
»

«
Nonsense. He
’
s strong as an oak!
»
the father optimistically laughed.
«
May he study, may he study. You
’
ll see your son, you
’
ll see: he
’
s going to end up a tenured professor.
»

«
In order to earn the salary of a cop, a cap-maker, a hot-air-balloon captain,
»
the mother lamented, addicted by instinct to the puzzles provided by statistics.

«
And for whom have I migrated and pined away?
»
toyed the obese, rotund, and metaphoric father.
«
I
’
ll be diligent in giving him my support.
»

Meanwhile, upstairs, the boy dreamed of the normal perils, a bicycle to mess around on, and Em
í
lia, who had incredible legs, at his side. And, already lodged in the dream, he felt a pair of eyes staring fixedly at him. Under the orders of those eyes he went through a list of names just as he
’
d learned them: Mehuman, Bizta, Harbona, Hegai, Bigtan, Teres. Those eyes examined him as though he were already dead and, at the same time, as though they only proposed to save the everlastingness of a moment. Abagta, Atac, Zetar, Carcas. They were a pair of eyes that, through the alembics of subtle reason, respected everyone, without either loving or hating, with a cold sadness, and almost never appreciated anyone, as though they contemplated things from a past cloaked in mist, as though they spied from a remote future. And a pair of long hands removed the puppet, the marionette, from a dark box, and slipped it on like a glove, or moved it around with invisible strings, moved it for a pathetic and superfluous instant, and immediately put it away again with the other dolls, an anonymous mix. Memucan, Carsena, Aman, Sethar, Admata. But the eyes weren
’
t outside of time, eternal
—
they were mortal, like the show. Trained, cautious, strange, distanced, tired, without any answer to any question. Mortal. The profound acceptance of an ineluctable law perhaps dignified them, and perhaps they attempted from that law to justify their characters, understanding themselves a little in their characters. Tarsis, Meres, Marsena. Though how would the adolescent Tianet rummage and toil in the chaos? The eyes moved away from him, erasing him, and the bicycle and Em
í
lia
’
s legs again filled all his sleep. Keep in mind, keep in mind, that those imaginings would transitorily weaken the memory, and Tianet had to keep his own paired off and prompt for today
’
s show in the garden of five trees: Forsandata, Dalfon, Asfata. And Forata, Ahalia, Aridata. And Farmasta, Arisai, Aridai. And Vaizata.

I

Quim Federal, lying atop a crumpled straw mattress, prophesized that the point of no return had arrived, and told Rossenda, erect and disheveled before him. The conversation, in the disorder of the bedroom, strained into screaming.

«
Ai, I
’
m dying, Rossenda!
»

«
Your mother!
»

«
I
’
m telling you that I
’
m dying, love, that the same women won
’
t touch me tomorrow.
»

«
Don
’
t scare me; I
’
m in a delicate state and I can
’
t take it.
»

«
I
’
m kicking the bucket.
»

«
Murderer!
»

«
Now this I don
’
t get.
»

«
What
’
s wrong with you, Federal? What
’
s all this chitter-chatter for?
»

«
I swear to you, Rossenda, you
’
re going to see me cooking sardines up there, not even fifty-three.
»

«
You
’
re stealing from the faith, non-believer: you
’
re close to ten times six, big baby; you know as much. And me, a teacher, getting old, dragged through that lack of an experience with Pinxo Arruga; wasted.
»

«
Now
’
s not the time to exact revenge. Up there it thunders and nothing changes if there are three more or three less. The point is that my thunderclap has come. Ai, Rossenda, my belly!
»

«
Hold on tight, Quim. At least until one of the servers makes you a tisane. God forbid they should say that, because I mean nothing to you, you went to perdition without all the details taken care of.
»

«
Don
’
t make fun, Rossenda, I
’
m trying to be brave.
»

«
Murderer. Here I am alone with you and you
’
re getting on my nerves. Where does it hurt?
»

«
Here, Rossenda, in my belly. I already told you. Don
’
t move me. The ghosts aren
’
t here to soften the mattress.
»

«
Ai, Jesus, here comes the gibberish
—
now I know. Quim, try to breathe easy to the end, remember your good fortune, that this little adventuress has given you years and locks on your doors and skin with but few wrinkles. I
’
m not going to tell you to make use of it now, but I am going to tell you that you
’
ve acted like you
’
re seven. Honestly, Quim, think about the fact that you
’
re leaving me here in tears, yet not even a widow. What if we fix all the little details regarding our living arrangement? We just have to put it down in writing and everything will be for the better.
»

«
Ai, I
’
m dying!
»

«
Come on now, Quim, give me the pleasure of being able to legitimately dress like a widow in mourning.
»

«
Rossenda.
»

«
What?
»

«
It
’
s called:
“
Please.
”
»

«
Please.
»

«
Shut your mouth and remember that you
’
re dealing with Quim Federal.
»

«
Ai, mother, someone is working themselves to the bone, and all to show the shame of your final moments when I
’
m out on the street! Egotist, thief! Unlucky me!
»

«
No more of your lip. Do what you want as long as you shut up, witch.
»

«
That
’
s better, and from your conscience. I
’
m going to go notify Father Apagallums.
»

Rossenda left, and Federal, as a prologue to his final moments, wallowed in his bed.

II

Upon leaving, Rossenda bumped into Ventura, the sacristan, who made her turn around and, on the way, informed her of the momentary absence of Father Apagallums: when he returned, he
’
d prepare Federal
’
s filthy little soul. As the two of them entered the room, this was the sacristan
’
s greeting:

«
Pax tecum
!
»

«
Out, out beetles. I
’
m a federalist for life.
»

«
I
’
m no beetle. Is it possible you don
’
t recognize me
—
that I
’
ve slipped right through your memory? Quimet, you surprise me!
»

«
Ah, you
’
re Ventura. Sacristan or not, boy, give me your hand. Good to see you, yes sir, friends are friends.
»

Ventura, having re-established their old friendship, indicated Rossenda:

«
Is she, shall we say, your concubine?
»

«
Technically, yes.
»

«
Uf, so inconsiderate, the two of you. I am a decent woman.
»

«
Take it down a notch, stop and calm yourself, girl. Don
’
t you get it? Here: he simply asked me if you
’
re getting any closer to being my wife.
»

«
Ah, thinking the worst, pardon me. I think this one never went to sewing school.
»

«
That
’
s how I like it. Above all, that you don
’
t fight. It
’
s been months since I
’
ve seen you, Quim, but today my heart told me to come by, and here you have me. And so, how are things with you? Are you still abiding by your credo?
»

«
Yes, like always. You know how it goes: A dead bug
’
s a free bug, and that
’
s all she wrote.
»

«
You know you need me, blasphemer; I
’
ve already sniffed that out. I already see the signs, see you transformed, squashed suddenly flat as a decal, damned from head to toe in the thick sulfur of Hades. Repent. You still have time.
»

«
Now that
’
s a Christian sermon,
»
said Rossenda.
«
If it didn
’
t come at such a cost, I
’
d let out a little scream. Doesn
’
t it move you, heretic, demon-son? Prepare yourself with the sacristan, so that when Father Apagallums arrives he can execute the blessing of union for us with, I hope, a quick benediction for two and a half
pessetes
, for when you go stiff, and I don
’
t want to remove more than half of my black cloth.
»

«
Wicked, both of you. Coerce your consciences free. Let me go to the ground in peace.
»

«
Doing so little you
’
d end up fine, you dummy.
»

«
I don
’
t believe in anything, Ventura. You, on the other hand, scoffed at the cause.
»

«
A feeling touched and softened me. I saved myself. If you prepare yourself now to be purged, I can accomplish the same for you. You
’
ll hit it in time.
»

«
Ventura, you
’
re my friend, but if you get on my nerves I
’
m going to throw a fistful of mud at you.
»

«
Give yourself to God, you fool.
»

«
I
’
m paying dearly for it, but I don
’
t believe in anything.
»

«
This man is not very Spanish. Son, good brother, repent.
»

«
Genius. I
’
ve never seen hide nor hair of Andebel:
¹⁰
how do you expect me to believe in him? I
’
m standing firm. With a good dose of terror, but firm.
»

Federal
’
s mouth filled with froth. The silhouettes of Rossenda and the sacristan, frightening, lengthening in the half-light, were reflected on the bedroom wall.

III

Bam, bam, bam: a few knocks on the door. Rossenda opened it and Pancra
ç
, the cobbler from the same floor, came in.

«
Excuse me. The woman just now told me that we
’
re maybe not doing too well.
»

«
Ai, Cobbler Pancra
ç
, we
’
re in the final moments.
»

«
In the final moments and condemned by God. The man wishes to fester.
»

«
Ai, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!
»

That pious exclamation birthed an idea in Ventura
’
s imagination. He asked the cobbler:

«
Do you have principles?
»

«
Come on now!
»

«
Excellent. I
’
ve thought up a serious piece of comedy to convert Federal. Would you dress up for me as the delegate Patop
í
? I invoke you, and you appear in the window. Work for you? For an orchid or two?
»

Rossenda helped:

«
Oh, yes, compatriot cobbler, let
’
s have Father Apagallums find you ready when he arrives. And, also do me the favor of sending one of your
canalletes
to the rectory. If Father Apagallums is there. Hurry.
»

Being a good fellow, Pancra
ç
conceded:

«
Well, I can
’
t go to the tavern today anyway, as it
’
s the first of May. I
’
ll be right back.
»

When he left Federal asked:

«
What did Pancra
ç
say?
»

«
Nothing, that he knows an unguent, and is going to look for it.
»

«
Ai, ai, I
’
m dying.
»

«
Convert, dummy, and cleanse yourself.
»

«
Don
’
t come at me with more nonsense, sacristan; enough with the racket.
»

«
We
’
re going over this in detail, Federal, which is my duty. Just now you affirmed that you
’
ve never seen a single sad thread of Andebel. If you were to have a peek at one
—
were it merely a modest representative
—
would you believe in Him?
»

«
Man
ú
, if it were true, really true, you tell me!
»

«
Then I beg that Patop
í
consider my honor, and the great peril of this pigeon-shit of a soul. Show this inveterate your power and give me the strength to transmit without dilation your real imminence upon the balcony.
»

«
Ai, ai, don
’
t make me laugh: I
’
m dying!
»

Rossenda shrieked:

«
Laugh? Look.
»

The balcony opened with a din. A blast of light. The effigy of Patop
í
, silhouetted in the window. The messenger offered a blessing:

«
Greetings.
»

Scared, Quim Federal screamed:

«
I
’
m trembling, I see, I believe, I want to make peace!
»

«
Wait for Father Apagallums, you fool; I have no authority.
»

«
I want the reconciliation to be open and out in public. Ai, sinner, federalist, so much nerve: impenitent, how many offenses! I don
’
t know if I
’
ll have time to look deep down inside myself and pour all of them out. And above all, one, Patop
í
: I
’
ve been having follow-ups with the wife of the cobbler from downstairs for more than thirty years.
»

A huge bustle. Patop
í
swore:

«
Fuck. And I had to dress up like Patop
í
to hear that?
»

The timely, final convulsions of the moribund man in his bed. Everyone ran to him. Ventura checked out Federal, closed his eyes, and afterward said to Rossenda:

«
I feel I should tell you,
‘
Senda, that God handled this better than we did.
»

Rossenda moaned:

«
Ai, and Father Apagallums hasn
’
t come! Ai, what will happen to me, poor me? Alone and in mourning without getting a cent!
»

«
Calm yourself. You still look fine enough. Do you want to come with me and be a sacristan half the time, and the other half whatever?
»

Rossenda calmed herself, suddenly, and accepted the deal: