The Midnight Palace - Carlos Ruiz Zafon [78]
‘Perhaps.’ Jawahal smiled.
Ben tried to avoid his hypnotic eyes, and above all he tried to rid himself of the idea that the grim apparition he was speaking to was his father, or what was left of him.
‘Having some doubts, are you, Ben?’ Jawahal appeared to be enjoying the conversation.
‘You’re not my father. He would never hurt Sheere,’ Ben blurted out nervously.
‘Who said I was going to hurt her?’
Ben raised his eyebrows and watched as Jawahal stretched out a gloved hand and dipped it in the blood lying at his feet. Then he touched his face with his fingers, smearing the blood over his angular features.
‘One night many years ago, Ben,’ said Jawahal, ‘the woman whose blood was shed on this spot was my wife and the mother of my children. It’s funny to think how memories can sometimes turn into nightmares. I still miss her. Are you surprised? Who do you think your father is, the man who lives in my memory or this lifeless shadow you see in front of you?’
‘My father was a good man. You’re nothing but a murderer.’
Jawahal looked down and nodded slowly. Ben turned away from him.
‘Our time is coming to an end,’ said Jawahal. ‘We must now confront our destiny. Each to his own. We’re all adults now, aren’t we? Do you know what maturity means, Ben? Let your father explain. Maturity is simply the process of discovering that everything you believed in when you were young is false and that all the things you refused to believe in turn out to be true. When are you going to mature, son?’
Ben turned and looked at Jawahal.
‘What is it you want?’ he demanded.
‘I want to keep a promise, the promise that keeps my flame alive.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Ben. ‘To commit a crime? Is that your farewell deed?’
Jawahal rolled his eyes patiently.
‘The difference between a crime and a deed usually depends on the point of view, Ben. My promise is quite simply to find a new home for my soul. And that home will be provided for me by you two. By my children.’
Ben clenched his teeth and felt the blood throbbing in his temples.
‘You are not my father,’ he said calmly. ‘And if you ever were, I am ashamed of that.’
Jawahal gave a paternal smile.
‘There are two things in life you cannot choose, Ben. The first is your enemies; the second your family. Sometimes the difference between them is hard to see, but in the end time will show you that the cards you have been dealt could always have been worse. Life, dear son, is like that first game of chess. By the time you begin to understand how the pieces move, you’ve already lost.’
Ben hurled himself at Jawahal with all the force of his anger. Jawahal remained seated on the end of the bench as the boy passed straight through him, the image vanishing into the air in a swirl of smoke. Ben crashed to the floor and felt his forehead being ripped open by one of the rusty screws that jutted out from the bench.
‘One of the things you’ll learn soon enough,’ said Jawahal’s voice behind him, ‘is that before fighting your enemy, you must know how his mind works.’
Ben wiped away the blood trickling down his face and turned to look for the voice in the shadows. Jawahal was clearly outlined, sitting on the opposite end of the same bench.
‘Nothing is as it seems,’ Jawahal continued. ‘You should have realised that in the tunnels. When I designed this place, I kept a few surprises up my sleeve. Do you enjoy maths, Ben? Maths is the faith of those with a brain, that is why it has so few followers. It’s a shame that neither you nor your gullible friends are ever going to escape from here. You could have told the whole world about some of the mysteries hidden in this building. With a bit of luck, you’d have been repaid with the same mockery, envy and scorn as the inventor himself received.’
‘Hatred has blinded you.’
‘The only thing hatred has done to me,’ replied Jawahal, ‘is open my eyes. And you’d better open yours wide because, even if you do take me for a murderer, you’re going to discover that you’ve been given the chance to save yourself and your friends. An opportunity I never had.