Books Burn Badly - Manuel Rivas [100]
‘Louder, louder!’
The two of them crouching behind a rock, by the cliff face, crying, ‘Louder, louder!’
On the way back, driving along the lighthouse road, he seemed comforted. In a magnificent voice, he recited that fragment they hadn’t heard for a while:
And I who love modern civilisation, I who kiss machines with my soul,
I the engineer, I the civilised, I the educated abroad,
Would like beneath my eyes to have just sailing ships and wooden boats again,
To know no other maritime life than the ancient life of the seas!
‘Enough,’ he told Gabriel, ‘for Grandpa Samos to forgive all sins. He’s a devotee of the Maritime Ode. And I who get seasick, go weak at the knees with these verses.’
When the day arrived, Gabriel played the wind with all the conviction of a raging northerly, a ventriloquist of the air. The judge was on tenterhooks. Had Gabriel been able to see him, he’d have seen how his father half-opened his mouth to reinforce the effect of the wind. Had it been down to him, he’d have stood behind the curtain, churning out thunder and lightning. Despite being a judge. A judge who doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Not long before, next to Gran Antilla, the confectioner’s, a woman came up to him in a black shawl, carrying a basket on her head. He was taller, much taller. When she addressed him, he didn’t look at her, but seemed to be peering down and sniffing around inside the basket.
‘Your honour, if he goes to prison, that’ll be the end of him. He’s like a crystal vase. He’ll break.’
Gabriel noticed her apron was covered in scales he hadn’t seen before.
‘Quiet, woman. This is not the place,’ said the judge, walking off. ‘It is not the place.’
She stepped forwards, intervened, ‘Where then can I see you?’
‘Your lawyer. Talk to your lawyer.’
‘My lawyer?’
She stared at the ground in fright. Seemed to be looking for something important she’d lost.
‘My lawyer?’
‘That’s right. Talk to him. He’ll tell you what to do.’
‘He’s the one who said there was nothing to do unless you wanted. He said you’re the law, in such cases some judges have one yardstick and others, another, and it depends on you whether or not he goes to prison. It’s the first time, your honour. He’s not a criminal. He just has this thing.’
‘Well, he’s going to be cured of this thing. Put back on the straight and narrow.’
‘You think? No. He’s going to be smashed to pieces like a crystal vase.’
The judge suddenly wheeled around towards the woman carrying sea urchins on top of her head. Apart from height, apart from the fact that one was a man and the other, a woman, this was the principal, visible, undeniable difference between the two. He was wearing a hat, a wide-brimmed, cinnamon-coloured hat, while she had a basket. Gabriel was with his father. Next to him and on his side. This street, hour, were their space and time. The woman had disturbed their tranquillity, come from outside, with a basket full of sea urchins and problems. A basket she set down, exposing a kind of cloth crown on top of her head, which took the weight. She didn’t even realise she’d left it there, her cloth crown.
‘He’s already considered to be a danger. A danger to society!’ The woman raised her voice as she said this, and a few passers-by turned around, the kind of silent twist that imputes guilt to the object under scrutiny. ‘That’s punishment enough. He can’t find work. He can’t drive or get a passport. His life is ruined. A danger? People in the street call him “girlie”. He’s the one in danger.’
The woman’s hand dipped inside a pocket of her apron, rummaged around