9
Beatriz smiled, and her eyes became dreamy. She felt strange visiting her husband”s country without him. Martin always spoke nostalgically of his homeland, although he had never taken her there: they were both better at making promises than keeping them. It was one of the few things they had in common.
Her new surroundings gave Beatriz, for an instant, the illusion of youth. She remembered the sweet, blessed innocence of being just a few years old and the intoxicating thrill of falling in love for the first time.
In retrospect, she had only fallen in love once in her life.
And, unfortunately, it hadn’t been with him.
Vesna was still sitting in front of the hotel, arms folded. Beatriz took a seat next to her daughter and cleared her throat.
“Your father and I were married in nineteen eighty-two,” she said in a dreamy voice. “A religious ceremony to please my parents, who wouldn’t be happy until they saw me at the altar, dressed in white. I don”t know who had more disdain for religion: your father or me. He had grown up in a socialist, atheist country, where being Catholic had its charm because of the lure of the forbidden. I, on the other hand, was a product of Franco”s Spain, with conservative Catholic parents who forced me to go to confession every Friday and attend mass on Sundays. It must be said that from Friday to Sunday, I always had plenty of time to commit enough sins to put my soul in imminent mortal danger every time I went to communion.
“I let your grandmother Carmen choose the church, knowing that her interest in buildings of worship was, like mine, purely architectural. Believe it or not, I liked my mother-in-law. Carmen chose the church of Santa Maria del Mar, at the end of Avenida del Puerto. She loved the black mantle of Our Lady of Sorrows, the statue by the altar, which had gold floral embroidery. My parents approved of the choice immediately, even more so after learning of the monetary value of the carving present in the communion chapel. It seemed as if the planets had aligned to please everyone, no matter how different our backgrounds.
“And so, there I was, newly married, covered in rice on the arm of my handsome, blond Yugoslavian husband, when I realized that, among all those present, there was one who kept his eyes fixed on me. Only on me. And it wasn”t that people weren”t looking, being the bride and all wrapped in lace and ruffles as I was. But really, that guest didn’t take his eyes off me to the point of being disturbing.
Vesna looked at her mother with narrowed eyes.
“I have a feeling I know what”s coming next,” she said, resting her head on her hand. “It was the man in the picture, wasn”t it? The only photo you never threw away.”
“Shut up and listen,” Beatriz admonished her. “Don”t get ahead of yourself. Martin told me the man’s name was Andreu. He was his business partner; the one who told jokes in a Valencian dialect, which your dear father could never understand. Martin offered to introduce us. We had heard a lot about each other, but it was the first time we met. Andreu was the opposite of your father. He wasn”t very tall, but he was handsome, dark, and had shoulders as broad as a mule from carrying sacks of dirt. He was also much younger, about my age. Originally from a remote rural village, he was, as they say, the typical jokester. Wherever he went, he would be surrounded by people because of his gift to turn any anecdote into an interesting story.
“Oh, here comes the bride, dressed in white and radiant!” he said jovially and kissed me on both cheeks, a few millimeters closer to my mouth than would have been decorous. No one noticed his slip, and Martin left me with him as he greeted the rest of the guests.
“Hello,” I said, “Martin has told me a lot about you.”
“My sincerest condolences,” he blurted out with a very serious face, rejecting my outstretched hand.
“Excuse me?”
“Condolences. For having married the ugliest guy in the company, who speaks the worst Spanish! He never gets my jokes, good old Martin. He has no sense of humor. Do you?” he said, imitating my new husband”s accent.
“So that”s why you kept the photo. Now I understand,” Vesna interrupted, getting up from the plant pot. “You hooked up with Dad”s partner.”
“Well, let me explain... nothing is as simple as it seems. I had just gotten married...”
“Believe me, I”ve been with a married man, and I know perfectly well how difficult or easy these things can be....”
Beatriz sighed and waited for her daughter to calm down before continuing.
“Listen, Vesna... I”m not going to lie to you. Andreu fascinated me from the very first moment. Your father... your father was handsome, yes. I was taken in by his appearance. But he was shy and withdrawn, and we hardly had anything to talk about. He was fifteen years older than me. We came from very different worlds, and once the initial attraction had passed, we had very little in common. Andreu, on the other hand... could have filled a theater with his presence alone, so intense was the charisma he radiated. He made me laugh. They were polar opposites, and as time went by, your father became more closed, more introverted. There was always something dark about him, something he never shared with me. It made me uneasy, although I didn”t want to admit it. And in the meantime, Andreu was the living image of carefree and good-humored...”
“Excuses. Don”t waste your time because I know them all,” her daughter exclaimed, getting more and more upset. “Can”t you stop criticizing Dad even now that he”s dead?”
Vesna pulled out her cell phone and stared at the screen as if she didn”t want to hear any more of her mother’s story. Beatriz tried to take it from her, but her hands went through the device. Her daughter exhaled impatiently but put the phone back in her purse.
“Look, Vesna. It was unfortunate that I had to meet Andreu precisely on my wedding day. If Martin had introduced me to him a little earlier, I doubt that you and I would be here right now. In all the wedding photos, I appear distracted, looking at a point in the distance. People thought it was nervousness, excitement... but it wasn’t anything like that. The point in the distance was Andreu, clowning around for my eyes only. It didn”t take Martin long to notice. Perhaps a few months. But, by then, it was too late for the three of us.”
Vesna tilted her head to one side and glared at her. Beatriz felt the weight of guilt and shame. A feeling she had carried with her for two decades, a feeling she had wanted to banish forever to the bottom of the swamp she had thrown herself into.
But no. She would have to carry that burden even after death.
“Thank you for confirming what I already knew…” said her daughter at last, “that you’re a horrible person.”
Beatriz struggled to maintain her composure. She had a mission to accomplish, and arguing with the living would not make it any easier. She longed for the comfort of alcohol, but it would have done her little good in her new form.
“Vesna,” she said as calmly as she could, “I wasn’t a perfect mother, nor a perfect wife. I”ve never pretended otherwise. And throwing it in my face won”t magically get rid of your problems. If I”m telling you all this, it”s because you need to gather as much information about your father”s past as you can, and I, whether you like it or not, am part of it. I”m just trying to help you.”
Vesna looked at the ground and covered her face, as she used to do as a child when she was scolded.
“Why do you want to help me now? In life, you never cared about me.”
“Let”s say that if I don”t, I”ll spend the rest of eternity wandering around here like a lost soul. If I help you, we both win. I finish my mission, get my affairs in order, and get out of here. And in return, you get your family”s inheritance. A win-win situation.”
Beatriz’s heart skipped a beat when she saw how Vesna”s eyes had taken on a sudden sparkle at the mention of an inheritance.
It was clear that money was the only thing that interested her daughter.
The only reason she was still there.
The only reason why she endured Beatriz’s presence and her stories.
“Well,” said her daughter, confirming her suspicions. “In that case, stop telling me all this bullshit and tell me where Dad hid the money. Let”s get it over with.”
“Unfortunately, I don”t know. Your grandmother didn”t tell me, and I haven”t seen her since.” She paused. Lying had always been easy for her. Besides, on this occasion, she had no choice... although there was one thing she was able to tell her. “You wouldn”t happen to know a Maximilian, would you? Your grandmother mentioned his name.”
“Maximilian? Doesn”t ring a bell.” Vesna scratched her head until a grimace of horror crossed her face. “Don”t tell me she meant that scruffy hippie at the airport. The one with the weird T-shirt.”
“It could be.” Beatriz shrugged. “Find him again. He might know something useful.”
Beatriz felt the characteristic tug from above, the one that, in an instant, would make her vanish in the eyes of the living. She told herself it was funny how, now that she was dead, she communicated with her daughter much more than she had in life.
“By the way,” she whispered, doubting whether her daughter could still hear her, “I can”t tell you how glad I am that you’re wearing your grandmother”s pendant. I always knew that you were romantic deep down.”
Vesna shook her head and rubbed her eyes, puzzled. She gripped the pin-shaped pendant, rubbing it between her fingers as she retraced her steps.
Beatriz wished with all her might that Maximilian would cross her path again. Perhaps she had summoned him with her thoughts, or maybe he had returned of his own accord; in any case, Beatriz was relieved to see him approaching Vesna on the sidewalk as if he were looking for something.
Vesna saw him too and, following her mother’s advice, ran to him.
“Hey!” she shouted to the stranger. “Hey, excuse me!”
He turned around in surprise.
“Well, what a coincidence,” he answered cautiously. “The wind blew away my music score. I run after it and find you instead.”
“Fate, I suppose. Shall I help you look for it?”
“Nah. They were just notes. I can rewrite them. It”s all in here.” He pointed to his temple, waggling an eyebrow.
Vesna smiled, and Beatriz wondered if it was a fake smile.
“I never thanked you for your help at the airport.” She held out her hand, and the man could not hide his surprise at such cordiality. “You must be Maximilian.”
“How do you know my name?” he asked, his eyes wide.
“I don”t know. Didn”t you tell me?” Vesna asked, pretending to be surprised. “I guess... you look like a Maximilian.”
Beatriz laughed from up above while the man shrugged, accepting Vesna’s explanation.
“I told you before that I didn”t need help,” Vesna added, sounding totally convincing, “But I think I might have been wrong.”