B0040702LQ EBOK (25 page)

08.30 Leave the spaceship and in the form of a grebe take a
look at the area from the air.

09.30 Having completed the operation, return to the
spaceship. If the cities are tortuous and irrational in their
design, the countryside around them is worse. Nothing is flat
or regular, on the contrary it seems to have been deliberately
planned so as to be inconvenient. As for the coastline, it looks
like the work of a madman.

09.45 After a detailed study of a map of the city (the
double elliptical-axis cartographic version), decide to continue my search for Gurb in a zone on the periphery
inhabited by a species of human being known as poor people.
As the Catalogue assigns them a level of docility somewhat
lower than that of the variety known as rich people, and considerably lower than the variety known as the middle classes,
opt for the appearance of the individual designated Gary
Cooper.

10.00 Beam down in an apparently deserted street in the
San Cosine district. Doubt if Gurb would come to live here of
his own accord, though he is not what you would call the
sharpest arrow in the quiver.

10.01 A group of youths with knives take my wallet.

10.02 A group of youths with knives take my gun and my
sheriffs badge.

10.03 A group of youths with knives take my waistcoat,
shirt and trousers.

10.04 A group of youths with knives take my boots, spurs
and the harmonica.

10.10 A patrol car draws up beside me. A policeman gets
out, informs me of my rights under the Constitution, handcuffs me and shoves me in the car. Temperature, 21 degrees
centigrade; humidity, 75 per cent; winds gusting from the
south; heavy seas.

10.30 Put into a cell at the police station. In the same cell
there is an individual of shabby appearance, to whom I introduce myself and give an account of the vicissitudes that have
brought me to this unhappy pass.

10.45 Once he has overcome the initial distrust that
human beings invariably feel towards other members of their
species, the individual whom fate has placed in my path
decides to initiate a conversation with me. He gives me his
card which reads as follows:

JETULIO PENCAS

Consultant Beggar

I read tarot, I play the violin, I inspire pity

Service in your own home if required

10.50 My new friend explains that he has been banged up
in error, because he never broke into a car to steal nothing, he
earns an honest living begging, and the substance they found
on him wasn't what they said it was, but the ashes of his late
father, God rest his soul, which he was taking that very day to scatter them over the city from a well-known beauty spot. He
then adds that everything he's just told me is a lie, but, in any
case, it won't do him any good, because there's no such thing
as justice in this country, and even though they've got no
proof and no witnesses, they'll probably take us and lock us
up in the slammer just because of the way we look and when
we get out we'll have fleas and AIDS. I tell him I don't
understand, and he replies that there's nothing to understand,
calls me mate, adds that such is life and remarks that the crux of
the matter is the unequal distribution of wealth in this country. By way of an example, he cites the case of an individual
whose name I forget, who has built himself a house with
twenty-two toilets, adding that he hopes he gets diarrhoea
sometime when they're all occupied. He then climbs onto his
bed and announces that when the glorious day dawns (what
glorious day does he have in mind?) he'll force the individual
in question to do his business out in the yard with the chickens and will distribute the twenty-two toilets to a similar
number of families on income support. That way, he says,
they'll have something to occupy their time with till they're
given a job, as promised. At this point he falls off the bed and
bangs his head.

11.30 A different policeman from the one previously
mentioned opens the cell door and orders us to follow him,
apparently with the aim of charging us. Fearful after my new
friend's warnings, decide to adopt a more respectable appearance, so turn into Don Jose Ortega y Gasset and as a gesture of
solidarity turn my friend into Don Miguel de Unamuno.

11.35 Taken to the sergeant, who looks us over, scratches
his head, says why go looking for problems and tells us we're
free to go.

11.40 Say goodbye to my new friend outside the police
station. Before we go our separate ways, friend asks me to
restore him to his old appearance, because the way he looks
now, nobody's going to give him a penny, even if he sticks on some artificial ulcers that make him look absolutely stomachchurning. Do as he asks and he leaves.

11.45 Renew my search.

14.30 Still no news from Gurb. Following the example of
everyone around me, decide to eat. As all the shops are closed,
except ones called restaurants, deduce that food served in these.
Sniff the rubbish outside several restaurants till I find one that
appeals.

14.45 Go into the restaurant and a gentleman dressed in
black asks me in a disdainful tone whether I have a reservation. Tell him I haven't, but add that I am having a house built
with twenty-two toilets. Ushered immediately to a table
decorated with a bunch of flowers, which I promptly eat,
in order not to appear impolite. They give me the menu
(uncoded), I read it and order melon, melon with ham, and
ham. They ask me what I want to drink. To avoid attracting
attention, I order the liquid most commonly found among
humans: urine.

16.15 Have coffee. Am offered a glass of pear liqueur on
the house. They then bring me the bill, which comes to six
thousand eight hundred and thirty-four pesetas. I have no
money of any kind.

16.35 Smoke a Montecristo Number Two (2) while trying
to think how to get out of embarrassing situation. I could
disintegrate, but reject this idea because a) it might attract the
attention of waiters and other customers and b) it would be
unfair if the consequences of my lack of forethought were to
fall on these amiable people, who have offered me a glass of
pear liqueur on the house.

16.40 On pretext of having left something in my car, leave
restaurant, go to news kiosk and buy tickets and cards for the
various lotteries on offer.

16.45 Manipulating the numbers by means of elementary
formulae, win 122 million pesetas. Go back to restaurant, pay
bill and leave one hundred thousand peseta tip.

16.55 Resume search for Gurb by only means known to
me: walking the streets.

20.00 Have walked so much there is smoke rising from the
soles of my shoes. The heel has fallen off one shoe, forcing me
to hobble along in a ridiculous and tiring fashion. Throw the
shoes away, go into a shop and with the money left over from
the restaurant buy a new pair of shoes, less comfortable than
the other ones, but made of very strong material. Wearing
these new shoes, known as skis, begin to search the Pedralbes
district of the city.

21.00 Complete the search of Pedralbes without finding
Gurb, but very pleasantly impressed by the elegant houses, the
secluded streets, the smooth lawns, the deep swimming pools.
Cannot understand why some people prefer to live in deplorable districts like San Cosine, when they could live in places
like Pedralbes. Possibly not a question of preference so much
as money.

It would appear that human beings are divided into
various categories, one of which is rich and poor. This is a
division which they consider very important, for reasons
that are unclear. The fundamental difference between the
two seems to be this: wherever they go, the rich don't pay,
however much they acquire or consume. The poor, on the
other hand, practically have to pay for the privilege of
breathing. This exemption enjoyed by the rich may be
something that goes back a long way, or it may be a recent
thing, it may be temporary, it may even be a pretence;
it doesn't matter. From a statistical viewpoint, it seems
clear that the rich live longer and better than the poor, they
are taller, healthier and better-looking, they have a more
exciting time, they get to travel to more exotic places, receive
a better education, work shorter hours, live in greater comfort, have more clothes, in particular more spring outfits,
are offered better health care and more elaborate funerals and
are remembered for longer. They are also more likely to have
their photograph appear in newspapers and magazines and on
calendars.

21.30 Decide to go back to the spaceship. Disintegrate in
front of the entrance to the Monastery of Pedralbes, to the
astonishment of the nun who at that precise moment is
putting out the rubbish.

22.00 Energy recharge. Get ready to spend another
evening alone. Read a comic strip about Lolita Galaxia, but
usually do this with Gurb, to whom I have to explain the
more risque jokes, because he's not what you'd call quick on
the uptake, so instead of cheering me up, it just makes me feel
sad.

22.30 Tired of walking up and down inside the spaceship,
decide to turn in for the night. It's been a long day. Put on
pyjamas, say prayers and get into bed.

© Eduardo Mendoza

Translated by Annella McDermott

Eduardo Mendoza (Barcelona, 1943) is a key writer in the
genre of new detective fiction which has emerged in Spain
since the 1970s, author of La verdad sobre el caso Savolta (1975;
The Truth about the Savolta Case, tr. Alfred Macadam, Harvill,
1993), El misterio de la cripta embrujada (1979), El laberinto de las
aceitunas (1982) and Una comedia ligera (1996). La ciudad de los
prodigios (1986; City of Marvels, tr. Bernard Molloy, Harvill,
1988) is a period novel, set in Barcelona in the 1920s. La isla
inaudita (1989), unusually for Mendoza, is set in Venice. El ano
del deluvio (1992; The Year of the Flood, tr. N. Caistor, Harvill,
1995) tells the story of a relationship between a nun and a rich
landowner in rural Catalonia. Mendoza is also the author of a play, Restauracio (1990) and of an engaging tale of aliens landing in Barcelona, Sin noticias de Gurb (1991), from which this
extract is taken.

I saw him by chance. Pacing around the room, killing time
while I waited for Juanjo to finish signing the minutes, I had
gone over to the window, and I saw the tall, thin figure of a
man dressed in a dark suit, and Paquita approaching with a
certain air of timidity. He took her by the arm and they
walked off. I followed their vague outline in the fading evening light, till they disappeared into the bustle of the street,
beyond the railings of the playground.

`Who's that?' I asked.

Juanjo looked at me, with his pen still poised.

`A man who was waiting for Paquita,' I added.

Juanjo took advantage of the pause to stretch his legs. He
put his pen down on the table, lit a cigarette and joined me by
the window. We both stared at the playground, so strange at
that time of day, silent and full of shadows, devoid of the
presence and voices of children.

`Oh, I know who it is,' said Juanjo. `A tall thin chap she
goes out with.'

He smiled. Paquita was getting on a bit now, she was rather
plain, and she was shy to the point of unsociability, though
totally dedicated to the school and her pupils.

`We may hear wedding bells yet.'

I wasn't laughing, however. I had recognised the man
immediately. His pale, angular face had not changed, nor the
wiry black hair against which his big ears stood out. I knew
what was going to happen and I was surprised at my own
casual reaction, my lack of alarm.

`If she does decide to get married, you'll have to start doing
a full timetable,' Juanjo added slyly.

No, he hadn't changed one bit. I could remember the first
time I saw him with Marisa, inclining his head with its big ears to look at her. It was then, remembering Marisa - with an
instantaneous clarity that I would never have thought I could
recover - that I felt the alarm I had not experienced earlier. I
must have let my unexpected emotion show, because Juanjo
put an arm round my shoulder.