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“What could be more beautiful than the rain, Don Federico?”
“Pneumonia. Come on in, I have your repair ready.”
I looked at him without understanding. Don Federico’s eyes were fixed on mine, and his smile hadn’t diminished. I nodded and followed him into his marvelous bazaar. As soon as we were inside, he handed me a small brown paper bag.
“You’d better leave right away. The scarecrow watching over the bookshop hasn’t taken his eyes off us.”
I looked inside the bag. It contained a small, leather-bound book. A missal. The missal Fermín held in his hands the last time I’d seen him. Don Federico, pushing me back toward the street, vowed me to silence with a solemn nod. Once I was outside again, he recovered his happy expression and raised his voice.
“And remember, don’t force the key when you wind it up, or it’ll come loose again, all right?”
“Don’t worry, Don Federico, and thanks.”
I walked away with a knot in my stomach that tightened with every step I took toward to the plainclothes policeman guarding the bookshop. When I passed in front of him, I greeted him with the same hand in which I held the bag given to me by Don Federico. The policeman looked at it with vague interest. I slipped into the bookshop. My father was still standing behind the counter, as if he hadn’t moved since I’d left. He gave me a troubled look.
“Listen Daniel, about what I said…”
“Don’t worry. You were right.”
“You’re trembling.”
I nodded casually and saw him go off in search of the thermos. I seized the moment to go into the small toilet by the back room and examine the missal. Fermín’s note slipped out, fluttering about like a butterfly. I caught it in the air. The message was written on an almost transparent piece of cigarette paper in minute writing, and I had to hold it up against the light to be able to decipher it.
Dear Daniel,
Don’t believe one word of what the newspapers say about the murder of Nuria Monfort. As usual, it’s nothing but a tall tale. I’m safe and sound, hiding in a secure place. Don’t try to find me or send me messages. Destroy this note as soon as you’ve read it. No need to swallow it, just burn it or tear it up into small pieces. I’ll use my wits to get in touch with you—and the good offices of friendly intermediaries. I beg you to transmit the essence of this message, in code and with all discretion, to my beloved. Don’t you do anything. Your friend, the third man,
FRdT
I was beginning to reread the note when someone’s knuckles rapped on the toilet door.
“May I come in?” asked an unknown voice.
My heart missed a beat. Not knowing what else to do, I scrunched up the cigarette paper and put it in my mouth. I pulled the chain, and while the water thundered through pipes and cisterns, I swallowed the little paper ball. It tasted of wax and Sugus candy. When
I opened the door, I encountered the reptilian smile of the police officer who had been stationed in front of the bookshop.
“Excuse me. I don’t know whether it’s listening to the rain all day, but suddenly it seems there’s something of an emergency building down there, and when nature calls…”
“But of course,” I said, making way for him. “It’s all yours.”
“Much obliged.”
The policeman, who, in the light of the bare bulb, made me think of a small weasel, looked me up and down. His ratlike eyes paused on the missal I held in my hands.
“If I don’t have something to read, I just can’t go,” I explained.
“It’s the same with me. And people say Spaniards don’t read. May I borrow it?”
“On top of the cistern, you’ll find the latest Critics’ Prize,” I said, cutting him short. “It’s infallible.”
I walked away without losing my composure and joined my father, who was pouring me a cup of white coffee.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked.
“He swore on his mother’s grave he was on the verge of crapping his pants. What was I supposed to do?”
“Leave him in the street and let him warm up with it.”
