Books Burn Badly - Manuel Rivas [136]
Dez opened the novel at the beginning and adopted the tone of a radio series, ‘Henry Botana was six feet tall, had a girlfriend who loved him, a horse named Romantic and a head the judge had set a humiliatingly low price on. He hoped, on the day of the Last Judgement, Archangel Michael would be fairer about his soul’s weight.’
Dez smiled ironically and closed the book.
‘Not bad, eh? Listen, Ricardo, I wasn’t inactive. If you thought that at some point, you were mistaken. The truth is it wasn’t a difficult mystery to solve. There was some confusion because, at his publisher’s in Barcelona, our man was known as Dr Montevideo, actually an alias. Force of habit. That is until, after my insistence, you might say warning, they uncovered his real identity. Héctor Ríos. He’s our man.’
Dez had known all of this for quite some time, without having to read Romantic the Horse. But he thought the judge would enjoy the dramatic denouement. Samos’ expression wasn’t exactly the look of someone who’s finally trapped their prey. He seemed to grow pale.
‘Do you know that name?’
‘Yes, a bit.’
‘Was it who you suspected?’
In the storm, the Orzán waves attempt to regain their ancient channel, the memory of the isthmus, before the great Recheo put a stop to the union of two seas, the wild side and the calm bay. The former attempts to force an entry, climbs up Riazor and manages with its tassels of foam to get as far as the giant eucalyptus in Pontevedra Square, the spot where day labourers wait to be hired. And where saleswomen from the suburbs and washerwomen moor their beasts of burden. It’s raining with seaside conviction. They’re young. Héctor’s a little older. He’s been in Santiago for two years, studying law, but at weekends he still works with the group of theatre and declamation in the Craftsmen’s Instructive and Recreational Circle. Thanks to him, Samos read in public for the first time in the hall there. They recited the scene with the two gravediggers in Act V of Hamlet. He played the part of the First Clown. How often had they weighed up the curve of that question! ‘What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?’ Now Héctor’s planning a new project. An adaptation for Coruña Radio, which is due to start broadcasting, of Herbert George Wells’ most popular works. Samos has to help. They share a passion for this author. A series called Wells, Wells, Wells. With a signature tune in Morse code. They’re on their way to rehearsal, in the rain. It doesn’t matter. Ríos pulls out a book from under his coat. Reads, ‘“From Castro to Mount Alto, the face of Coruña was grimy with powder of the Black Smoke”. Yep, the first radio broadcast will be a version of The War of the Worlds. What do you say? Then we’ll move on to the adventures of The Invisible Man.’
Héctor doesn’t let up. He’s optimism personified. In the summer, he helps out in the family academy. Since he was a child, he’s been good at both skills, typing and shorthand. He always says they were his childhood games and he finds it difficult to write normally. He’s a devotee of Esperanto, which he’s fluent in, having studied it at nights. His passion for a universal language is based on the ideals of rational socialism, for which he drew inspiration from Ramón de la Sagra, a Coruñan of the nineteenth century who, in his opinion, is on a par with the Frenchman Proudhon or the Welshman Owen. He’s also always flicking through his notes on ethics by Xohán Vicente Viqueira. To start with, Ricardo Samos likes the sound of this message of faith in humanity. They’re heading towards the Craftsmen’s Circle, down San Andrés Street. Héctor Ríos, as always, is carrying a book in his hand. He alternates between speaking and reading, with fervour, as if it were a musical score. They bump into Dr Hervada, who points out he’s walking with one foot in the road and the other on the