“I read English at university,” I said; it was an absurd remark that Deán ignored. I poured another whisky, he let me do so, he continued as if he hadn’t heard: “That night I took her back to her hotel in a taxi after supper, we both chose not to go up to either of our rooms, there was something in her body that would not be there the following day and it was best not to be reminded of it. She didn’t seem particularly affected by it or she pretended not to be, the cocktails must have helped, she even seemed contented, affectionate, perhaps my promises made up for everything else. At the door of her hotel, she gave me one of those grateful kisses, how can I put it, an enthusiastic kiss, I felt sure that she would bear me no ill will for that awful experience. I walked back to my hotel, a short distance away, and then I called Marta from my room to confirm that I had arrived safely and to find out how things were, she didn’t say she was having supper with you or anyone, I thought she was alone with the boy, and you really believe that there was no premeditation, you’ve got a nerve.” Deán was still standing, he stopped talking and stood there looking at me, I saw a hint of cruelty in his frank eyes, he struck a match and lit the cigarette that he had cadged from me, as if he didn’t want to get sidetracked down the other possible route that our conversation might take, he had dismissed it from the start; then the glint disappeared. “The fact is I didn’t sleep well that night, I slept badly, I kept waking up, I blamed myself and Eva, but not Marta, although I thought about both of them, what was happening in London was happening because Marta existed, there are certain spaces in one’s life that are occupied, which is why people do everything they can to create a space for themselves or to replace instantly those who leave (“You didn’t sleep very peacefully on the island, then, on neither of your two nights on the island did you have a quiet night’s sleep,” I thought. “But the rustle of your own sheets here didn’t reach you either, sheets I never touched, nor did the clatter of your own plates bearing Irish steak and ice cream, or the clink of your glasses filled with red wine, or the rattle of death, or the boom of anxiety, or the creak of malaise and depression, or the buzz of fear and regret, or the sing-song hum of weary, much-maligned death, you heard only the traffic driving on the wrong side of the road and the tall red buses, the night-time bustle and the reverberating chatter in various languages at the Indian restaurant, and the echo of other, possibly mortal, sing-song voices: you speak of your Eva in the past tense”). If I had known, if I had known that night what you knew (“I knew it, you fool, because I saw it and experienced it and I was afraid and I could do nothing to stop it, I was a witness to it and I took her in my arms so that she might die as well as possible, I wasn’t the one who should have been by her side,” and again I addressed him as “tú” as I had at the entrance to the restaurant in order to insult him the way one does in one’s thoughts, his complaint, which sounded like a reproach, irritated me, he had gone off with Eva to resolve his affair without Marta’s knowledge, what did he expect).” Deán came over to the armchair, which matched the sofa, and he sat on the right arm as if he had lost his footing on the slippery snow, I had seen him falter like that before, indeed more dramatically than that, at the open grave, he got spattered with the earth dug up by the gravedigger, it spattered his raincoat. Even sitting down he was still very tall, he didn’t cross his legs, he kept them straight, he seemed to me more vulnerable in that position. “If I had known, everything would have been different in London, I would never even have allowed her to go to the hospital the following morning, there would have been no reason to, a brother or sister for Eugenio and a new mother, why not, given the circumstances, you love things and people according to what you have or haven’t got, according to the spaces they leave, our needs and desires vary according to what we lose or to whether we are abandoned by someone or dispossessed, the same goes for our feelings too, as I’ve already said, irrevocable decisions can be taken and, in part, that’s the basis for everything, we base them on incompatibilities and on what we need at the time.” He was contradicting himself about feelings or perhaps, before, he had been speaking for Eva and, now, he was speaking for himself.
“I’ve told you already,” I said, “I didn’t dare to call you twice, I lost my nerve after talking to the porter. There wasn’t anyone called Deán there, for all I knew there might be no Ballesteros there either. In fact, I don’t know that I achieved a great deal by finding out what your last name was.”
“How did you do that?” asked Deán.
“There were letters around, I looked for one from the bank.”
“At least you’re resourceful, not everyone would have thought of that.” He was calling me “usted” all of a sudden, an unexpected sign of respect, a moment of belated hesitancy, or perhaps he had picked it up from me. But it only lasted a matter of seconds, after a few sentences, he reverted to “tú”: “Look, I’m not blaming you for anything, I’m just telling you what happened because I didn’t find out in time, how I spent those hours, quite a few hours, during which I was in a state of complete misapprehension. I’m not even blaming you for having left the child alone, for example, as an embittered, resentful widower might do: nothing happened to him and it would be wrong to accuse you of what might have happened but didn’t, everything depends on the end result, doesn’t it, and that includes everything, even if it’s only an instant in time, one particular action varies depending on the effect it has, a bullet that hits the target is not the same bullet if it misses, nor is a blow with a knife if it fails to strike home, it’s as if we had held nothing in our hand and yet we acted as if quite the opposite were true, we’re always so full of intentions, I wonder if they really are what count or precisely what do not count, it’s also true that sometimes we have no intentions, maybe you didn’t (“A yes and a no and a perhaps and, meanwhile, everything has moved on or is gone, the misery of not knowing what to do and of having to act regardless, because one has to fill up the insistent time that continues to pass without waiting for us, we move more slowly: having to decide without knowing, having to act without knowing and yet foreseeing, and that is the greatest and most common of misfortunes, foreseeing what will come afterwards, it’s a misfortune generally perceived as quite a minor one, yet experienced by everyone every day. It is something you get used to, we take little notice of it”).” Deán stubbed out his cigarette before he had finished it and, as he did so, he slid down on to the seat of the armchair, now he was almost at my height, his shirtsleeves resting on the arms of the chair and his tie looser, although, even then, he lost none of his composure. “But things did happen here” – he continued, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the whole sordid tale, it had nothing to do with me, but that man was telling me the story, he had chosen me to listen to him, perhaps it did have something to do with me, to some degree – “I wonder if things would have turned out the same if you hadn’t been in that bedroom with Marta.” And he gestured with his head towards the corridor that led to the bedroom, I knew the way. “I don’t mean her death, but I wonder if, then, she would have called someone when she felt ill. Perhaps not me so as not to alarm me when I was so far away, but her sister or a friend or a neighbour or a doctor, to ask for help. I wonder if she didn’t call because she was with you, perhaps she hoped that it would pass and you could resume the party (“You’re mad, how can I possibly phone him, he’d kill me,” I thought, “that’s what Marta Téllez said to me when I suggested she should warn this man in London, Deán may be right, she might have called someone if I hadn’t been here. But that wouldn’t have saved her, it would only have saved him from his enchantment, his shadow, given what he’s been saying”). Things happen, it’s true, it always happens to someone and not to others, and those it happens to bemoan the fact that it does (“And even if there’s nothing, something moves us, it’s impossible for us to remain still, in our place, the only safe option would be never to say or do anything, and even then: inactivity and silence might have the same effects, produce identical results or, who kno
ws, even worse ones, as if vacuous resentments and desires, unnecessary torments, emanated from our very breath. The only solution is for everything to end and for there to be nothing”). It doesn’t matter, it happened to you and to me, and more especially to the two women. The following morning, I went to the hospital with Eva, it was a good hospital, with everything as it should be, not too far from our hotels, Sloane Square, Sloane Street, towards the river, I’m sure you know the area, all very nice and clean. I didn’t go in with her, there was no need and she preferred it that way, I told her that I would be in a café opposite, reading the newspapers, I would stay there just in case she needed something suddenly, she’d be a couple of hours at most, not long, it’s the least I could do, I had put off a work engagement until after lunch, there would be time for my other meetings the following day, we were to be there for three nights, we wouldn’t go back until Friday, each with our own ticket, we had booked them separately though on the same flight, we thought it best to do things that way. When I said goodbye to her, I saw how pale she was, I noticed for the first time that she was frightened, perhaps she regretted what she was about to do, but it was too late now. I gave her a hug, I kissed her on the cheek. ‘It’ll be over soon,’ I said, ‘I’ll be thinking of you all the time, I’ll be right here.’ I watched her disappear into the crowd in the foyer, hospitals are even fuller than hotels, she was wearing a long overcoat, a headscarf and pair of low, rather childish shoes. I bought several Spanish and English newspapers and sat down in the café, it was a pleasant morning, cold but clear, not that the weather was likely to last in London. Contrary to what I had said, I tried hard not to think about her and about what would be happening, but I ended up keeping my promise despite myself, it imposed itself on my thoughts albeit bereft of images, I have no very clear idea of what happens in these cases, nor do I want to. The truth is that I was thinking about similarities, but we won’t go into that.” Deán raised a hand to his forehead, he rubbed his forehead with his stiff fingers as if he had an itch, then he put one hand over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had just removed his glasses, only he didn’t wear glasses. “After one endless hour, I couldn’t stand it any longer, I couldn’t bear sitting there trying to read a newspaper that I wasn’t in the least bit interested in. I got up, paid my bill, walked slowly across to the hospital, went hesitantly into that foyer crammed with people waiting or passing through and coming and going, it was swarming with people, an enormous clinic, I saw Eva’s counterparts, they’re always busy, she would have felt at home with them. I went over to the reception desk and in my acceptable English I asked where I could wait for Eva, Eva García, I said, I spelled the name, she was having an operation, I hadn’t been able to get here earlier to be with her, I lied (“And now I too will have to remember that surname together with that first name,” I thought). I was upset and a bit worried, I didn’t want to do anything or change anything, I just wanted to be near to her, so that she would see me as soon as she came out of wherever she was, there were several floors. The nurse asked me when Eva had come in, I said an hour ago, she asked if it was an emergency, I said it wasn’t, it was an operation that had been arranged beforehand, she had been given an appointment for that morning. ‘That’s not possible,’ she said, while she searched the computer, presumably for the name García. ‘If she had an appointment for an operation today, we would have taken her in yesterday anyway,’ she said. ‘It’s not a serious operation,’ I explained. The nurse looked up and asked me what I was afraid she was going to ask me: ‘What sort of operation is it?’ I didn’t want to use the word, I said, translating literally: ‘An interruption of pregnancy’, I don’t know if there is a more suitable euphemism in English, but she understood anyway, and said: ‘That’s impossible, they would have taken her in yesterday, I’m sure.’ She again searched on the computer, tapping the relevant keys to find the list of people who had been taken in yesterday, I suppose, then the same thing happened to me as happened to you, I suggested that she should also look under the surname Valle, which was her second name. Eva García Valle. ‘There’s no García and no Valle, either yesterday or today,’ she said firmly after consulting the screen, ‘there’s no one in the hospital with those names.’ ‘Are you sure?’ I insisted. ‘Absolutely,’ she said and cleared the list from the screen, there was no arguing with her. She sat there looking at me. ‘Are you her husband?’ she asked. I don’t know if that was a momentary flash of humanity or a desire for gossip; since Eva wasn’t there it made no difference to her what I was. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘thank you,’ and I withdrew, she watched me with her neutral eyes. I waited in the foyer not knowing what to do, watching the doctors and the nurses and the patients and the visitors pass by, I wondered if perhaps Eva had registered under another name, but that was impossible, they would have asked to see her papers. I noticed a particular door through which visitors kept disappearing, I followed them, I saw a large room, apparently a waiting room, again it was chock-a-block with people sitting on battered armchairs. I peered in, I glanced around. I was confused. And then I saw her in the distance, Eva was sitting there, eyes downcast, having taken off her overcoat and scarf, as I got closer, I saw that she had her legs crossed and was reading a magazine, she seemed quite calm, there must have been some delay, I thought, that was why she hadn’t yet registered. But I thought other things too as I approached her. She was reading a glossy magazine, a weekly, she didn’t look up until I was by her side, brushing against her with my coat, I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘What are you doing here?’ I said; I wasn’t sure whether to add ‘Haven’t they admitted you yet?’, but I didn’t want to give her an easy way out or tempt her into more lies. She jumped, a whole hour had passed since we had parted, for me, it had seemed like a century, she became flustered, she placed a hand on my forearm, she immediately closed the magazine, she tried to stand up, I prevented her from doing so, my hand on her shoulder, I sat down beside her, I gripped her wrist, I repeated, this time angrily: ‘What are you doing here? In reception they told me that your name isn’t even on the list, what is all this about?’ She looked away, her eyes glazed over, she couldn’t speak, as if she were choking, she said nothing. ‘So there’s no operation, then?’ I said. She shook her head, her eyes glittered, but there were no tears. ‘There’s no abortion, no pregnancy, nothing?’ I said. She picked up her scarf from the chair beside her and burst into tears, covering her face with the scarf. We left there at once, walking quickly across the foyer, I still had my hand on her wrist, almost dragging her after me.” Deán paused to take a sip of his drink, the first in ages, momentarily covering his mouth again.
“It’s so easy to live in a state of delusion, or to be deceived,” I thought, “indeed, it is our natural condition: no one is free of it and it certainly doesn’t mean that one is stupid, we should not struggle so hard against it nor should we let it embitter us.” That is what Deán had said, although he had added: “And yet, when we do learn the truth, we find it unbearable.”
“There’s still a link,” I said.
“Yes, that’s it,” replied Deán, “a link, which is still there even though what might have existed no longer exists, on the contrary, perhaps there’s an even stronger link, perhaps the renunciation of what might have been and was common to you both unites you more than its acceptance or accomplishment or its unfettered development, it is frustration, failure, separation or the end of something that bind us together most strongly, the small scar lingers for ever like a reminder of abandonment or want (“Or of exile,” I thought), and that scar keeps reminding us: ‘I did this for you, you are in my debt.’ There is a link too with what has been lost from sight, with what one imagines and with what never even happens (“With the dead too”). If I hadn’t got worried, if I hadn’t gone into the hospital, Eva would have come across to the café after two hours looking shaken and slightly unsteady on her feet, like a heroine who has passed her trial by fire and I would have consoled her then until the end of
my days, I’m sure, she doubtless had ready in her handbag a bit of bloodstained cotton wool to show me, as if by chance, to make me feel even more in her debt, women can always come up with some blood when it’s needed (“I saw a bit of bloodstained cotton wool in the rubbish bin here in your wife’s apartment, after she had died”). We went back to our separate hotels without saying a word, I dropped her off, I didn’t even get out of the taxi, I just opened the door in silence and bundled her out. I wanted to be alone, I went out for a walk, to buy some presents for Marta and the boy (“A reward for waiting or a message from some new conquest or intended to ease a guilty conscience, who knows, they arrived too late”), I didn’t want to see Eva ever again, we would be taking the same plane back, but there was no reason why we should sit next to each other, I wanted nothing more to do with her. After a bite to eat, I went back to the hotel, I discussed business with the colleague I had arranged to meet, I couldn’t take in a word he said to me, I was absorbed in my own thoughts, I was reconstructing the three weeks I had spent in that state of delusion, the arguments, the threats, the preparations, the trip, how stupid I’ve been, I thought (“And yet we really shouldn’t find that so very painful, it is simply a period of time that has become strange, floating or fictitious”). Eva had called me three times, I didn’t return her calls, it didn’t occur to me to call here, I was too upset to talk to Marta and I preferred to wait, most unfortunate, at that very moment, everyone was desperately trying to find me, you had gone off with the piece of paper with my address on it and no one knew where I was (“I didn’t mean to, it was an accident, don’t hold it against me”). I went out again, I was just as agitated, even more so, in fact, I caught the underground into the West End, I wandered about some more, I bought more presents, more junk, I went into a cinema in Leicester Square, I don’t understand enough English to be able follow a whole film and, besides, my mind was on other things, I was absorbed in my own thoughts, I left halfway through, I didn’t get back to my hotel until half past eight and in the foyer, waiting for me, was Eva, I’ve no idea how long she’d been there, again she was leafing through a magazine. She stood up, raising her hands to her chest as if to parry a blow. ‘Let me talk to you,’ she said, ‘please, please, just let me talk to you.’ She hadn’t eaten a thing all day, I had hardly had anything to eat either, she had spent the day locked in her room, she was unsteady on her feet and looked as if she had been crying, I said that I was prepared to listen to her, but that it would make no difference, we looked for a place nearby, it was a bit late for supper in England, the Bombay Brasserie stays open late, so we hailed a taxi and went there, only this time there was nothing special about it, we were like someone lost and disoriented in a new city who returns to the one place he knows. It was an act of revenge too, I suppose, taking her there again, repeating it all, for the night before I had been all attentiveness, you see, I had made an effort. This time we didn’t even notice the piano or the exotic waiters or the decor, we ordered for the sake of ordering, in fact, we found it hard to eat anything, but we did order and drink several cocktails, I drank one after the other, I drank quite a lot, in fact, I got thoroughly drunk on cocktails and Indian beer, it packs quite a punch, I wouldn’t find it easy to sleep that night either. If I had known that Marta was dead, I would not have hated that nurse so much, more than that, I would probably have forgiven her. Just then, you see, she would have been all I had. You tend to be more understanding with the person you are left with.”