The Midnight Palace - Carlos Ruiz Zafon [67]
‘If there is a god, or hundreds of them, I hope they will forgive me for the harm I may have inflicted on you by telling you exactly what happened.’
WHAT CAN I SAY? WHAT WORDS CAN EXPRESS THE sadness I saw in the eyes of my best friend, Ben, that evening? Delving into the past had unveiled a cruel lesson – that in the book of life it is perhaps best not to turn back pages; it was a path on which, whatever direction we took, we’d never be able to choose our own destiny. I wished I had already boarded that ship that would take me far away and was due to leave the following day. Inside me cowardice mingled with the pain I felt for my friend and the bitter taste of truth.
We had all listened to Aryami’s story in silence and none of us dared ask a question, although hundreds of them were bubbling over in our minds. We knew that at last all the strands of fate were converging on one particular place: an appointment we could not escape at nightfall amid the shadows of Jheeter’s Gate.
When we stepped outside, the last rays of the sun formed a scarlet ribbon in the sky that stretched across the deep bluish hue of the Bengali clouds. A light drizzle moistened our faces as we set off down the siding that led from the back of Lahawaj Chandra Chatterghee’s house to the large station on the other side of the Hooghly River, passing through the western quarter of the Black Town.
I remember that shortly before crossing the metal bridge that led straight into the jaws of Jheeter’s Gate, Ben made us promise, with tears in his eyes, that never, under any circumstance, would we reveal what we’d heard that evening. He swore that if he ever learned that Sheere had discovered the truth about her father, about the image that had nourished her since childhood, he’d kill whoever told her with his bare hands. We all promised to keep the secret.
There was now only one thing left to complete our story: war …
Calcutta, 27 May 1932
THE SHADOW OF THE STORM HERALDED THE arrival of midnight as a vast leaden blanket spread over Calcutta, lighting up with every burst of electric fury it unleashed. The power of the north wind swept the mist from the Hooghly River, revealing the ravaged skeleton of the metal bridge.
The silhouette of Jheeter’s Gate rose up through the retreating haze. A fork of lightning flashed from the sky, striking the needle of the central dome and fracturing into an ivy of blue light that travelled along the mesh of arches and steel beams before plunging down to the foundations.
The five friends stopped at the threshold of the bridge; only Ben and Roshan took a few steps forward. The rails formed a path edged by two silvery lines that led straight into the mouth of Jheeter’s Gate. With the moon hidden behind the clouds, the city was sunk in an eerie gloom.
Ben looked carefully along the bridge in search of gaps or cracks that might send them tumbling down into the turbulent current of the river, but all he could make out was the line of the tracks shining between weeds and rubble. The wind brought a muffled murmur from the opposite bank. Ben looked at Roshan, who was nervously watching the dark maw of the station. He saw his friend approach the tracks and crouch down next to them, his eyes still riveted on Jheeter’s Gate. Roshan placed his palm on the surface of one of the rails but quickly removed it as if he’d had an electric shock.
‘It’s vibrating,’ he said, sounding frightened. ‘As if a train were approaching.’
Ben went over and touched the metal. Roshan looked at him anxiously.
‘It’s the vibration caused by the river hitting the bridge,’ he reassured him. ‘There’s no train.’
Seth and Michael came over. Ian knelt down to tie his shoelaces in a double knot, a ritual he reserved for situations when his nerves were as tense as steel cables.
Ian looked up and smiled shyly without displaying a shred of the fear Ben knew was coursing inside him – just as it was in the others, and in himself.
‘Tonight I’d give it a triple knot,’ said Seth.
Ben smiled and the members of the Chowbar Society exchanged an expectant look