The Manual of Darkness (45 page)

He suddenly feels a sense of urgency. He is never going to get to the square like this. He lifts his right heel and is about to take a step forward when he hears another sound. He has a last thought that hearing and seeing are very similar, that this sudden eruption is just like someone blocking his view of something beautiful or necessary. He is about to say as much, go away, let me listen to the bicycle, and he would say it if he were not so preoccupied with his dance with death, because that is what it looks like now as he takes a step forward, a step back, turns to face the source of this new sound and waits, suddenly paralysed, for the sound of the motorcycle changes, all too late, into a shriek of brakes. Don’t stop moving, Viviana would say. Today we are going to work on the passage of time. Imagine you are dancing with death. The most important thing is not to stop moving, not even for an instant, or it will carry you off. Especially you, Víctor. And to illustrate her point, she would probably play Michel Petrucciani’s demented version of ‘Caravan’, that
danse macabre
.

And Alicia … Alicia would not be quite so proud right now,
although if she could see him, if she could bend down beside him, perhaps cradle him, help him bear the pain until the ambulance arrives, she would say it doesn’t matter, everything’s fine, what matters is that you tried. In fact, even Víctor, despite the searing pain shooting through his hip, feels a certain sense of triumph. He did not make it to the square and he won’t be able to go home, but right up to the end he has been able to interpret every sound, the skidding tyres, the choked screams of the other pedestrians and the crack of bones as he was knocked to the ground, the dull thud of his shoulder against the asphalt, the shouted apologies of the motorcyclist; he can even make out, over the noisy chatter of the crowd attracted by the accident, the distant sound of the ambulance siren coming to get him.

A
licia locates room 224 and walks quickly towards it, but before turning the handle, she takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself. It is not Víctor’s fault that she hasn’t slept a wink all night. And even if it is, now is probably not the best time to take it out on him.

Yesterday her boss phoned her around dinner time to say that someone from the hospital had phoned ONCE asking them for help with a blind man who had been brought in after an accident and had no listed next of kin. After making sure that he was not in immediate danger, Alicia had decided not to visit him straight away. Instead she spent the night going over things in her mind, trying for the umpteenth time to work out where she had gone wrong. She also hoped that Víctor would have spent those long hours learning valuable lessons: if he weren’t so stubborn, if he weren’t determined to isolate himself from the rest of the world … if he weren’t so crazy. Because that is the first thing she would like to say to him right now as she opens the door and hears a television playing too loudly: if you weren’t so crazy, everything would be much easier.

On the other hand, although Víctor took his life in his hands, and although his actions meant that she had to give a more detailed explanation to the office than she would have liked, it is undeniable that, in daring to go outside on his own, he has taken a large step forward. A reckless, foolish step towards a cliff, but a step nonetheless.

The first thing she sees as she opens the door is a television mounted on the wall. It is on. She has to step inside to be able to see the bed. If she didn’t know that Víctor was blind, she would think he was watching TV. The bed is slightly raised, he is holding
the remote control in his right hand and his face is turned towards the screen. It is 9 a.m. A panel of journalists is discussing the measures needed to tackle the economic crisis. Alicia is worried that she might startle Víctor if she says hello – he may not have heard her come in – so she retraces her steps to the door and, without closing it, knocks gently.

‘Come in,’ Víctor says, not turning his head.

‘It’s Alicia.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh what, Víctor?’

‘Oh, Alicia. Hello. Come in.’

‘You mean, oh, what a surprise? Oh, how did you find out?’

‘That too.’

‘ONCE called me.’

‘OK.’

‘No, it’s not OK. You could have called me.’

‘Yes, but I don’t know your number off by heart. Besides, I’m not used to this phone.’

‘Would you mind turning off the TV for a minute?’

‘I thought you’d be happy I was watching TV.’

‘Víctor …’

Víctor turns off the television, but goes on staring at the screen.

‘Víctor, look at me.’

‘Don’t ask me to perform miracles.’

‘I’m not asking you to perform miracles. I’m asking you to look at me when you’re talking to me.’ Alicia reaches out and, taking Víctor’s chin, turns his face towards her. ‘Let’s start as we mean to go on. I’m glad it wasn’t serious. I’m delighted you were brave enough to go out by yourself, although I would have preferred it if you’d warned me.’

‘Well, next time I will. Thanks for coming.’

‘No problem, it’s my job. What did the doctor say?’

‘Contusions to the hip, dislocation of the collarbone, fracture of I don’t remember which metatarsal.’

‘You’re not in plaster.’

‘No, but I have this.’ Víctor puts down the remote control and lifts the sheet slightly to reveal his left arm in a sling. ‘And
apparently, I’m not allowed to put any weight on this foot for a couple of days.’

‘Does it hurt?’

‘Not much. They’ve got me sedated.’

‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’

‘I was run over by a motorbike.’

‘I know that much. In fact that’s all I know. I mean before that, what happened. Why did you go out? Where were you headed?’

‘It must have something to do with that flower potion you gave me … I suddenly felt the need to break with the past, open myself to change and … What was the other thing? Oh yes, put an end to uncertainty. Is there one for alleviating pain? Opium drops, perhaps …’ Someone knocks at the door. Víctor is silent for a second or two, his face turned towards Alicia as though holding her gaze, then he says, ‘Come in.’

The door opens and there is the sound of quick, dainty footsteps, as though a cat has entered the room. Alicia turns and sees a child toddling towards her with a shy smile. He must be about two; it’s difficult to tell. The little boy stops next to her, opens his mouth as though to say something, hesitates, then turns back towards the door. Crouched in the doorway is a woman: she nods quickly three times, urging the child on. The boy turns and looks at Víctor again and finally says:

‘Hi, Víctar.’

‘Hey!’ Víctor says, his face suddenly lit up by a smile. ‘That must be Darius.’

The woman comes over to the foot of the bed, takes the child in her arms, whispers something to him and ruffles his hair gently. Then she looks at Víctor and says:

‘I bring Darius because in morning I look after him.’ She glances shyly at Alicia. Still holding the child in her arms, she comes to the head of the bed, and, lowering her voice, she adds: ‘It is best not to telephone agency in morning. They not like.’

‘I’m sorry. You’ll have to give me your mobile number. Alicia will help me write it down. Oh, sorry, I didn’t introduce you. Alicia is the light of my life. Irina … a friend.’

They exchange a nod and Alicia remembers the woman she saw leaving the other day while she was waiting downstairs for Víctor.
A neighbour. She has never seen Víctor so happy; neighbours and friends, neighbours and lovers. There are many possible combinations. Irina whispers something in Darius’s ear. Alicia cannot tell what language she is speaking, but she can see that Irina is encouraging the boy to give Víctor a kiss. At first the child resists, smiles, then laughs to himself, and eventually brings his face up to Víctor’s. He hugs him and sits in his lap.

‘So, you must be Darius,’ he says. ‘Does Darius have tickles?’

Watching them play together, Alicia feels uncomfortable, out of place, as though she has no business watching this domestic scene. She thinks perhaps she should leave, but she cannot take her eyes off Víctor: she has seen him smile many times, but always with a trace of cynicism, which has now vanished completely. He has just asked Alicia for a coin and it is now dancing across his knuckles. Then he runs through the classic tricks: the coin appears and disappears, shifts from one hand to the other, appears out of Darius’s ear, becomes two coins. The child watches, mesmerised. After every trick, he shouts:

‘
Maimult
.’

‘
Maimult
is “more” in Romanian,’ Irina explains the fourth time.

‘Víctor,’ Alicia interrupts after a while, ‘I was going to suggest we work for a while, but I can see you’re in good hands.’

Did she sound too brusque? Why does it bother her to see him so happy? And that business with the phone number. She doesn’t know which agency they’re talking about, but it seems clear that Irina is here because Víctor called her. Is that the only number he knows by heart? Was it easier to dial than hers? Is she jealous?

‘Are you coming tomorrow?’ Víctor asks, not even turning his face towards her.

Irina keeps a hand on the small of Darius’s back to make sure that as he bounces happily he doesn’t end up on the floor. A family, thinks Alicia, they look like a family.

‘Sure. I don’t know what we can practise while you’re not able to walk, but I’ll think of something.’

‘Can I ask you a favour?’

‘Of course.’

‘I left the drops you gave me at home … The keys are in …’

‘Your right-hand trouser pocket.’

‘And I think my trousers are in the wardrobe.’ As Alicia is rummaging for the keys, she hears Víctor’s voice again. ‘And since you’re going to the apartment anyway, I need you to bring me some money from the dresser drawer so I can pay Irina.’

Irina and Víctor begin to bicker. She refuses to take his money and he insists that that is what money is for. If you weren’t so crazy, Alicia thinks as she closes the door to the room as quietly as possible, I might be able to work out what’s going on in your life.

A neighbour who charges? What kind of arrangement is that? Barcelona is full of Romanian women who do all sorts of domestic work, looking after children and pensioners. Why not a blind person? Alicia knows what Víctor is like with money and she is sure that Irina is being paid handsomely. She remembers they mentioned an agency. He has rented an arm, thinks Alicia, Víctor has rented an arm and a pair of eyes. Give him a while and he’ll tell me that he doesn’t need to learn how to cook, or how to walk on his own. That he doesn’t need anything. That Irina takes care of everything.

S
o, I’m the light of your life, she thinks as she slots the key into the lock. She opens the door and, even before she turns on the light, she is overcome by the strange sensation of emptiness. The bare shelves in the hallway rise up like skeletons, but Alicia does not realise the scale of the looting until she comes to the living room and finds it empty. Worse than empty: the sofa and the television stand like two corpses pushed back into a corner. Two chairs face each other in the middle of the room, as though a pair of ghosts are engaged in an intimate tête-à-tête. It looks like a combat zone after the battle, but from the orderly position of the few things that remain, it was a battle never waged, a surrender. She goes into every room. Spends fruitless minutes trying to understand why the studio has been spared this carnage.

Back in the hallway, she sees a folded piece of paper on the dresser under the Parker pen. She picks up the pen, unfolds the page. It is an invoice from a removal firm. On the back, someone has written: ‘Sorry, couldn’t wait any longer. Since you haven’t come back, we’ll just close the door behind us. We’ll take everything to the warehouse for storage. If you need any further information, you’ll find our phone number on the invoice.’ Beneath the illegible signature, someone else has added: ‘We’ve swept the floors.’ Alicia puts down the piece of paper. She stares at the telephone. Eight, zero, three, she thinks. Click, click. The agency. With her little finger, she presses and holds the number two. On the fourth ring, someone answers. As soon as she hears the greeting, Alicia hangs up as though the receiver has burned her fingers. A massage parlour. Víctor hasn’t rented himself an arm, he’s rented himself a pussy. She would never have guessed – the
woman looks like a housewife. And then there’s the kid. It’s difficult to put a kid in the scene that she is imagining. Or Víctor. She’s not about to judge him. Click, click. He has every right, granted. Besides, who is she to interfere in other people’s lives. But … A prostitute? Congratulations, Víctor, she thinks suddenly. In spite of herself, she feels the corners of her mouth curve into a smile. Congratulations: you can eat, dress, fuck. You’ve dealt with every need. Now I really don’t understand why you went outside. I mean, you have everything here. The only thing left is for Irina to shave you once in a while. Remember to ask her to cut your toenails. I hope the money in the drawer lasts. How much does a prostitute charge? And how do they charge? By the hour? By the fuck? Depending on the task? This much for a blowjob, that much for helping you to the bathroom?