Books Burn Badly - Manuel Rivas [82]
They shared a fascination for music. It was something that moved him, he had to confess. Arriving to find Luís Terranova listening to Schubert’s lieder, Die Forelle, that song about the trout, his eyes wide open, without eyelids, like a fish watching sounds in the flooded house. Absorbed, motionless, breathing music through his skin. And then there was his voice. His voice drove him crazy. And Dez was demanding, very demanding. He knew a real voice when he heard one. Some time ago, when Terranova came to live with him, he found him two good teachers, one for music theory and another for singing. The two of them were agreed. He had what it took, voice and talent, to triumph. But, deep down, Terranova made fun of bel canto. He always had that glint in his eyes. He lacked ambition. Wasn’t up to the task. Dez should have realised sooner. Perhaps it had been absurd to lead him in that direction. He’d got him some performances. Christmas charity concerts and the like. He could have got him more if he’d been more determined. But it wasn’t an unmitigated disaster. No one could accuse him of doing the same as the tycoon Kane with his beloved, of trying to turn that pipsqueak into an opera star. Luís Terranova was good. People liked him. Dez shuddered just to see him walk out on stage in that bow-tie. He particularly enjoyed his performances at private functions in hotels or expensive villas. He shared the applause. Was congratulated on his protégé. He wasn’t interested in rumours any more. He never bothered to clarify Terranova’s move from assistant to ward or nephew and finally to artistic protégé. He was proud. Luís Terranova was popular with both men and women. But he belonged to Dez. That much was clear. Dez would allow flirting, small seductive adventures, adulterous games at those glamorous parties. Terranova was sweet, kind and attractive, a perfect target for bored rich people during crazy nights. The censor didn’t mind such games. He took an irate pleasure in the thorns of jealousy, savoured them as the prelude to what he called training sessions, sessions of taming and conquest.
The years went by. Both leading a double life, but Dez felt sure he was in control of the situation. Terranova was used to the role he’d been given. And there was something very important, which almost no one knew, a closely guarded secret. Terranova had been taken as a slave. Terrible to say, but it was true. Terranova knew he had no life beyond Dez’s reach. And like a frightened sheep, he was being strangled by his own halter.
‘Houses have a tendency not to fall,’ says a humorous aphorism he’d used in patriotic discussions after the United Nations had condemned the regime. He was now reminded of it. Paradoxically. Because his house, his building, was in a state of collapse. Terranova had come to his office one day, looked him in the eye and told him he wanted to lead his own life. Dez wasn’t sure how to react. Luís was wearing his blue bow-tie with the silver filaments. ‘You shouldn’t wear that during the