The Cave (5 page)

When Cipriano Algor had left the last building in the village behind him and looked toward the pottery, he saw the outside light come on, an ancient lantern in a metal case hanging above the house door, and although not a night passed without its being lit, this time he felt his heart lift and his spirits soften, as if the house were saying to him, I'm waiting for you. Barely palpable, pushed hither and thither at the whim of the invisible waves that drive the air, a few tiny drops of rain touched his face, it will not be long before the mill of the clouds begins sieving out its watery flour again, with all this rain I don't know when the pots will dry. Whether under the influence of that twilight calm or of his brief evocative visit to the cemetery, or even, which would be an appropriate reward for his generosity, because he told the woman in black that he would give her a new water jug, Cipriano Algor is not, at that moment, thinking about the disappointment of not getting something or about fears of losing something. At such a time, when you are walking over the damp ground and the outermost skin of the sky is so close to your head, no one could possibly say anything as absurd as Go back home with half your shipment unsold or Your daughter will one day leave you all alone. The potter reached the top of the
road and took a deep breath. Silhouetted against the dull curtain of gray clouds, the black mulberry tree looks as black as its name suggests. The light from the lantern does not reach its crown, it does not even touch its lowest branches, only a very feeble light carpets the ground as far as the tree's thick trunk. The old kennel is there, it has been empty for years now, ever since its last inhabitant died in Justa's arms and she said to her husband, I never want another animal in my house. Something glitters in the dark entrance to the kennel, only to vanish at once. To find out what it was, Cipriano Algor crouched down to peer inside, having first walked up and down in front of it. The darkness inside is total. He realized then that his body was blocking the light from the lantern and so he moved slightly to one side. There were two glittering objects, two eyes, a dog, Or a genet, but it's more likely to be a dog, thought the potter, and he's probably right, there is no credible record of wolves in this area, and the eyes of cats, whether domestic or wild, as everyone knows, are just that, cats' eyes, or, at worst, one might think they were those of a small tiger, but an adult tiger would never fit inside a kennel that size. Cipriano did not mention cats or tigers when he went into the house, nor did he say a word about his visit to the cemetery, and, as for the jug he is going to give to the woman in black, he realizes that this is not a matter to be dealt with now, so what he said to his daughter was this, There's a dog outside, then he paused, as if expecting a response, and added, Underneath the mulberry tree, in the kennel. Marta had just had a wash, changed her clothes and sat down to rest for a moment before beginning to prepare supper, she is not, therefore, in the most receptive frame of mind to consider the places that lost or stray dogs might pass through or stop off in, You'd better just leave him, if he's the kind of animal who simply dislikes traveling at night, he'll be gone by morning, she said, Have you got something there I can give him to eat, asked her father, A few leftovers from lunch, a bit of bread, he won't need water, plenty of that fell from the sky, Fine, I'll take it out to
him, If that's what you want, Pa, but you know he'll never leave our door again if you do, You're probably right, and if I was in his position, I'd do exactly the same. Marta put the leftover food on an old plate that she kept on the ledge by the fireplace and poured a bit of soup over it, Here you are, and mark my words, this is just the beginning. Cipriano Algor took the plate and was already halfway out of the kitchen when his daughter asked him, Do you remember what Mama said when Constante died, that she didn't want any more dogs in the house, Yes, I remember, but I'm sure that if she was still alive, I wouldn't be the one taking this plate of food out to that dog she didn't want, replied Cipriano Algor, and he left without hearing his daughter's murmured comment, You may be right. The rain was falling again, it was the same deceptive drizzle, the same fine dancing dust of water that masks distances, even the whitish figure of the kiln seemed ready to up and leave, and the van looked more like a phantom coach than a modern vehicle with an internal combustion engine, even though it is not, as we know, of recent make. Beneath the mulberry tree, the water was sliding off the leaves in large, infrequent drops, now one, now another, at random, as if the laws of hydraulics and of hydrodynamics, still in operation outside the precarious umbrella of the tree, did not apply there. Cipriano Algor put the plate of food down on the ground and took a few steps back, but the dog did not leave its shelter, You must be hungry, said the potter, or perhaps you're one of those dogs with too much self-respect, perhaps you don't want me to see how hungry you are. He waited another minute, then withdrew and went back into the house, but he did not completely close the door. He could not see much through the crack, but he managed to make out a black shape emerging from the kennel and going over to the plate, and he noticed too that the dog, for it was a dog and not a wolf or a cat, glanced first at the house and only then lowered its head to the food, as if it felt that it owed this degree of consideration to the person who had come out in the rain, defying the elements, to satisfy
its hunger. Cipriano closed the door properly and went into the kitchen, He's eating, he said, If he was that hungry, he'll have finished by now, said Marta, smiling, Yes, you're right, her father smiled back, always assuming that the dogs of today are the same as the dogs of yesteryear. Theirs was a simple supper and quickly served. When they had finished, Marta said, Another day with no news from marçal, I can't understand why he doesn't phone, just to say something, a word would do, it's not as if I was expecting a long speech, Perhaps he hasn't had time to talk to the head of the buying department, Then why doesn't he at least tell us that, You know perfectly well that things aren't easy over there, said the potter, in unexpectedly conciliatory mode. The daughter looked at him, surprised more by the tone of voice than by the meaning of the words, It's not like you to make excuses to justify marçal's actions, she said, Well, I like him, You may like him, but you don't really take him seriously, The person I can't take seriously is the security guard that the nice, friendly lad I used to know has turned into, Now he's a nice, friendly man, and working as a security guard is no less dignified or honest than working at any other equally dignified, honest job, But it isn't just any other job, What's the difference, The difference is that your marçal, as we know him today, is all security guard, he's a security guard from his head to toes, and I suspect that he's even a security guard in his heart, Pa, please, you shouldn't talk like that about your daughter's husband, You're right, forgive me, today shouldn't be a day for criticism and recrimination, Why not, Because I went to the cemetery and because I gave a water jug to a woman in the village and because we have a dog outside, all of which are events of great importance, What's all this about a water jug, The handle came off in her hand and the jug was smashed to smithereens, These things happen, nothing lasts forever, But she had the decency to admit that the jug was old, and that's why I thought I should give her a new one and pretend that the other one was flawed, well, why pretend, I'll just give it to her anyway, there's no
need for explanations, Who is this woman, She's Isaura Estudiosa, the one who was widowed a few months back, She's still a young woman, Now, look, I'm not considering getting married again if that's what you're thinking, If I did think that, I wasn't aware of it, though perhaps I should have, then you wouldn't have to stay here all alone, since you refuse to come and live with us at the Center, Really, I have no intention of getting married again, still less to the first woman I meet, as for the rest, I would be grateful to you not to spoil my evening, Sorry, I didn't mean to. Marta got up, cleared away the plates and the knives and forks, folded up the tablecloth and the napkins, it would be a great mistake to assume that the craft of potter, even, as in this case, when the pottery produced is fairly crude stuff, even when carried out in a small, graceless village, as you may already have deduced this one to be, is incompatible with the delicacy and good manners that distinguish the present-day upper classes, who have forgotten or been ignorant since birth of the brute nature of their own great-great-great-grandparents and of the bestial nature of their great-great-great-grandparents. These Algors are quick to learn what they are taught and are capable of putting it into practice in order to drive it home, and Marta, who belongs to the latest generation and is, therefore, more favored by developmental aids, already had the great good fortune of going to study in the city, well, those large centers of population have to have some advantages over villages. And if she ended up being a potter, it was because of her conscious and manifest vocation as a modeler, although her decision was also influenced by the fact that she had no brothers who could carry on the family tradition, not forgetting the last and most important reason, the powerful bonds of filial love that would never allow her to adopt some kind of God-will-provide-if-you're-lucky attitude toward her parents in their old age. Cipriano Algor had turned on the television, only to switch it off again shortly afterward. If anyone had asked him what he had seen or heard between turning the television on and switching it off, he
would not have known what to say, but he would simply have refused outright to answer if asked a different question, You seem very distracted, what are you thinking about. He would say, What do you mean, I'm not distracted, merely in order not to confess his childish concern for the dog, whether it would still be safe in the kennel or if, hunger satisfied and energies restored, it would have continued on its way, in search of better food or of a master who lived in a place less exposed to gales and fine rain. I'm going to my room, Marta said, I've been putting off doing some sewing for ages now, but I really must get it done tonight, No, I won't be staying up much longer either, said her father, I feel worn out, even though I haven't done a thing, You did, you kneaded some clay and you serviced the kiln, You know perfectly well that that piece of clay will have to be kneaded again and that the kiln hardly needed a stonemason to work on it, still less a wet nurse to take care of it, The days are all the same, it's the hours that are different, when a day comes to an end it always does so with its twenty-four hours all present and correct, even when those hours contained nothing, but that's not the case with either your days or your hours, Ah, Marta, philosopher of time, said her father and kissed her on the head. His daughter returned the kiss and said, smiling, Don't forget to go and see how your dog is, For the moment, he's just a dog who happened to turn up here and who decided that the kennel would provide a good shelter from the rain, he might be ill or injured, he might perhaps have a collar with the phone number of the person we should call, he might belong to someone in the village, they probably beat him and he ran away, and if that's the case, he won't still be here tomorrow morning, you know what dogs are like, their master is still their master even when he punishes them, so don't go calling him my dog just yet, I haven't even seen him, I don't even know if I like him, Ah, but you know that you want to like him, and that's a start, So now you're a philosopher of feelings too, are you, said her father, Assuming you do keep the dog, what will you call him, asked Marta, It's
too early to think about that, If he's still here tomorrow, that name should be the first word he hears from your mouth, Well, I won't call him Constante, that was the name of a dog who won't be coming back to his mistress and who wouldn't find her if he did, so perhaps it would be appropriate to call this one Lost, There's another even more appropriate name, What's that, Found, That's no name for a dog, Neither is Lost, Yes, you're right, he was lost and now he is found, that's what we'll call him then, See you in the morning, Pa, sleep well, Yes, see you in the morning, and don't sit up too late sewing, you'll strain your eyes. When his daughter had gone to bed, Cipriano Algor opened the door into the yard and looked over at the mulberry tree. A steady drizzle was still falling and there was no sign of life inside the kennel. I wonder if he's in there, thought the potter. He provided himself with a false excuse not to go and look, That's all I need, getting soaked to the skin for the sake of a stray dog, once was enough. He went to his room and lay down, read for half an hour, and then fell asleep. In the middle of the night, he woke up and turned on the light, the clock on his bedside table said half past four. He got out of bed, picked up the flashlight he kept in a drawer and opened the window. It had stopped raining, he could see stars in the dark sky. Cipriano Algor switched on the flashlight and pointed the beam at the kennel. The light was not strong enough to be able to see inside, but Cipriano Algor did not need to, two glittering lights would do, two eyes, and there they were.

Ever since they sent him back with half the load of crockery, which, it should be said, has not yet been unloaded from the van, Cipriano Algor has, from one moment to the next, ceased to deserve his reputation, gained over a lifetime of much work and few holidays, as an early-rising worker. Now he gets up when the sun has already risen, he washes and shaves more slowly than is strictly necessary for an already closely shaven face and for a body accustomed to cleanliness, he has a light breakfast but takes his time over it, and finally, with no visible lifting of the low spirits with which he got out of bed, he goes to work. Today, however, having spent what remained of the night dreaming about a tiger that came and ate from his hand, he threw off his blankets as soon as the sun had begun to paint the sky with light. He did not open the window, merely opened the shutter door just a crack to see what the weather was like, at least that is what he thought, or what he wanted to think that he thought, but the fact is that he was not in the habit of doing so, for this man has lived long enough to know that the weather is always there, sunny, as today promises to be, or rainy, as it was yesterday, indeed, when we open the window and raise our nose to the air above, it is merely to find out if the weather is doing what we want it to do. To cut a long story short, when he peered outside, what Cipriano Algor wanted to know was if the dog was still there waiting for them to give him another name or if, tired of waiting fruitlessly, it had gone off in search of a more diligent master. All that could be seen of the dog was a pair of floppy ears and a snout resting on its crossed front paws, but there was no reason to suspect that the rest of its body was not inside the kennel. He's black, said Cipriano Algor. When he had taken the dog the food last night, it had seemed to him that the dog was indeed that color, or, as someone will doubtless remark, that absence of color, but it had been dark, and if in the dark even white cats are gray, the same, in even darker circumstances, could be said of a dog seen for the first time beneath a mulberry tree when a fine, nocturnal drizzle was dissolving the line separating beings from things, making those beings more like the things which, sooner or later, they will all become. The dog is not really black, although his snout and ears almost are, the rest of his body is a more general gray, with an admixture of other tones from dark to solid black. Given that the potter is sixty-four years old with all the usual visual problems that age brings with it, and that he stopped wearing glasses because of the heat of the kiln, one cannot really blame him for saying, He's black, since the first time he saw the dog was at night and in the rain, and, now, distance makes the early-morning light seem misty. When Cipriano Algor finally goes over to the dog, he will see that he will never again be able to say, He's black, but that he would be guilty of grave misrepresentation were he to say, He's gray, especially when he discovers that the dog has a thin white blaze, like a delicate cravat, that goes from his chest to his belly. Marta's voice rings out from the other side of the door, Pa, wake up, the dog's waiting for you. I am awake, I'm just coming, replied Cipriano Algor, immediately regretting those last few words, it was puerile, almost ridiculous, for a man his age to get as excited as a child who has been brought a long-dreamed-of present, when we all know that, on the contrary, in places like this, the more useful a dog is, the more it is valued, an unnecessary virtue in toys, and as far as dreams and their fulfillment are concerned, a dog could not possibly satisfy someone who, that same night, had dreamed of a tiger. Despite this self-administered dressing-down, Cipriano Algor did not take excessive care this morning when getting washed and dressed, he merely pulled on his clothes and left the bedroom. Marta asked him, Shall I make him something to eat, No, afterward, food would only distract him at the moment, Go on, then, off you go and tame your wild beast, He's not a wild beast, poor thing, I've been watching him from the window, Yes, I had a look at him too, What do you think, Well, I don't think he belongs to anyone around here, Some dogs never leave their backyards, they live and die there, apart from those cases where they're taken out into the country to be hanged from the branch of a tree or finished off with a bullet in the head, That's hardly the kind of thing I want to start the day with, thank you, No, you're right, it isn't, so let's start the day in a less human but more compassionate way, said Cipriano Algor, going out into the yard. His daughter did not follow him, she stood in the doorway, watching, It's his party, she thought. The potter took a few steps and, then, in a clear, firm voice, although not too loud, he pronounced the chosen name, Found. The dog had already looked up when he saw him, and now, hearing the name he had been waiting for, he emerged fully from the kennel, a slim young dog, neither big nor small, with a curly coat, he really was gray, gray tending to black, with that narrow white blaze, like a cravat, dividing his chest in two. Found, the potter said again, advancing a few more steps, Found, come here. The dog stayed where he was, he had his head up and was slowly wagging his tail, but he did not move. Then the potter crouched down so that his eyes were on the same level as the dog's, and this time he said in an intense, urgent tone of voice, as if giving expression to some deep personal need of his, Found. The dog took one step forward, then another, not stopping this time, until he was within reach of the arm of the person calling him. Cipriano Algor held out his right hand, almost touching the dog's nostrils, and waited. The dog sniffed a few times, then stretched out his neck so that his cold nose brushed the tips of the fingers held out to him. The potter slowly moved his hand toward the dog's nearest ear and stroked it. The dog took the final step, Found, Found, said Cipriano Algor, I don't know what your name was before, but from now on your name is Found. It was only then that he noticed that the dog had no collar and that his fur was not just gray, it was covered in mud and bits of vegetation, especially his legs and belly, a clear sign that he had taken a difficult route across fields and open countryside, rather than traveling comfortably by road. Marta had joined them, she brought a plate with a little food on it for the dog, nothing too substantial, just enough to confirm the meeting and to celebrate the baptism, You give it to him, said her father, but she said, No, you give it to him, I'll have plenty of other opportunities to feed him. Cipriano Algor put the plate down on the ground, then got up with some difficulty, Oh, my knees, what I wouldn't give to have even the knees I had last year, Does it make that much difference, asked his daughter, At this time of life even a day makes a difference, the only saving grace is that sometimes things improve. The dog Found, and now that he has a name, we really shouldn't use any other, not dog, which we slipped in just now out of force of habit, nor animal nor creature, which serve to describe anything that does not form part of the mineral and vegetable kingdoms, although now and again we might still have to resort to these variants in order to avoid boring repetition, which is the only reason why, instead of Cipriano Algor, we have sometimes written potter, or man, old man, and Marta's father. Anyway, as we were saying, the dog Found, having cleaned the food off the plate with two licks of his tongue, providing clear proof that yesterday's hunger had still not been satisfied, raised his head like someone waiting for a second helping, at least that was how Marta interpreted the gesture, which is why she said, Be patient, lunch comes later, make do with what you've got in your stomach, but it was a hasty judgment, the kind that so often emerges from the human brain, for despite his continuing hunger, which he would be the last to deny, it was not food that was preoccupying Found at that moment, what he wanted was to be given some sign as to what he should do next. He was thirsty, but he could obviously go and quench his thirst in one of the many puddles of water left around the house by the rain, yet something held him back, something which, if we were talking about human feelings, we would not hesitate to call scrupulousness or good manners. Since they had put his food on a plate rather than making him grub for it in the mud, then surely the water should be drunk from some special receptacle too. He must be thirsty, said Marta, dogs need a lot of water, There are plenty of puddles over there, said her father, he's not drinking from them because he doesn't want to, If we're going to keep him, we can't let him go drinking water from puddles as if he had neither house nor home, obligations are obligations. While Cipriano Algor occupied himself making various seminonsensical utterances, the sole aim of which was to accustom the dog to the sound of his voice, but in which deliberately, and as insistently as a refrain, the word Found was repeated several times, Marta brought a large, earthenware bowl full of clean water, which she placed beside the kennel. In defiance of all skepticism, which is more than justified after the thousands of stories one has read and heard about dogs and their exemplary lives and sundry miracles, we must, nevertheless, point out that Found again surprised his new owners by remaining exactly where he was, face to face with Cipriano Algor, apparently waiting until he had finished what he had to say Only when the potter had stopped speaking and made a gesture as if to dismiss him did the dog turn around and take a drink. I've never known a dog behave like that before, Marta remarked, The worst thing, after all this, replied her father, would be for someone around here to tell me that the dog belongs to him, Oh, I don't think that will happen, I'd guarantee that Found doesn't come from these parts, sheepdogs and watchdogs don't do what he did, After lunch, I'll go and ask around, You could deliver Isaura's water jug too, said Marta not even bothering to hide a smile, Yes, I'd already thought of that, as my grandfather always said, never put off till tomorrow what you can do today, replied Cipriano Algor, his gaze elsewhere. Found had finished drinking his water and, since neither the potter nor his daughter seemed to want to pay him any attention, he decided to lie down at the entrance of the kennel where the ground was not so wet.