45
Beatriz studied the aisle of the plane, looking for her daughter among a sea of heads. She spotted her in the distance, near the emergency exit. As they flew through the French skies, Vesna was nibbling on a baguette with a distracted air. The seat next to her was free. Beatriz floated over and sat down next to her.
“I”ve always wanted to drink champagne ten thousand meters above the ground,” she said as a greeting. “Why don”t you order a bottle and drink it to my health?”
Vesna looked up from her lunch, a scowl on her face.
“No. Firstly, I don”t want to end up an alcoholic like you. And secondly, I”ve spent every dollar I had on this useless trip.”
Beatriz clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.
“It”s just a miniature bottle. Let”s not make such a big deal out of it.”
“This morning, I went to see my father,” Vesna interrupted, her tone flat. She had deep circles under her eyes and needed a shower urgently.
“I told you he wasn”t here.”
“You could have been a little more specific, don”t you think? You knew who he was. You knew where he was. You knew about the violin, and you even had it in your house. And yet you didn”t tell me anything. You only told me about your problems… me, me, me... dead or alive, you”re the most selfish person I know.”
Beatriz leaned back in the seat and looked out the window. She could only see scattered clouds. White cotton balls like frayed memories floating on a blue background.
“Did he tell you anything?” she asked at last.
Vesna shook her head.
“No. He”s even worse than you. I never imagined my father like that. I would rather have lived the rest of my days with the idealized image I had of him.”
“If it”s any consolation, it was an accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“Andreu. Your father didn’t kill him on purpose.”
When talking about Andreu, Beatriz felt that old pressure in the pit of her stomach—the same one she’d had to live with for twenty years without respite.
That day in February 1993, the blade of those shears had stabbed her lover in the chest. The pain lasted only an instant for Andreu, but Beatriz had carried it with her for the rest of her days. The carefree and cheerful man had been her only window to life, her only reason to smile. Without his presence, she lost the will to live, forcing her daughter to pay for it. An innocent victim of her parents” mistakes. Mistakes they hadn’t known how to solve in a civilized way.
“So Andreu died, and my father survived?” Vesna whispered to ensure the other travelers couldn’t hear her.
“When Martin recovered from the fall, he found Andreu in a pool of blood. He understood that his friend was dead and that it had been his fault. In shock, he got into the car and drove to a roadhouse. It was a place frequented by truckers and also by many of his employees. Your father had never drunk in his life but decided to drown his sorrows in typical Slavic fashion. He ordered a whole bottle of the strongest stuff they had, and after a couple of glasses, he began to feel the relief of emotional anesthesia. He heard a song from his homeland and wondered if he was drunker than he thought. But no. At a neighboring table, three lively truck drivers were playing cards, talking loudly in Serbian. Martin went over to them and took the fourth chair.
‘Hello, comrades,’ he greeted them. They looked at him belligerently, recognizing his accent instantly. After the dissolution of Yugoslavia, the former cousins had become mortal enemies. But on neutral ground, they were still neighbors.
‘What brings you here, Janez?’ asked one of the Serbs, holding out his hand. In Yugoslavia, they used to refer to Slovenes that way, in a derogatory way.
‘Nothing. Just women trouble,’ Martin replied somberly. He spoke Serbo-Croatian well, thanks to his childhood in the boarding house and military service in Pula.
‘Ah, women, none can be trusted!’ concurred another truck driver, thawing toward Martin after hearing his brief confession.
‘Are you on your way to Yugoslavia?’ Martin asked them.
‘Yugoslavia is falling apart, tovari?[12],’ laughed the other men. ‘But if you mean your homeland, no, we”re staying in Austria. Although I know someone who could take you to Slovenia from there for a small fee.’
Martin didn”t even think about it.
‘I’d be very grateful.’
That night, Martin slept on the road in the passenger seat of a truck loaded with fruit. He left his Volvo parked in the lot in front of the roadhouse, with the keys hanging in the lock. The thieves accepted his gift, and the next morning, when Martin phoned me from a phone booth in France, all trace of his escape was erased. By then, I had learned that Andreu had been found dead in the house in L”Eliana, although they said it had been a work accident due to using dangerous tools under the influence of alcohol. He had fallen from a high terrace without a railing, tragically landing on his pruning shears. Andreu was a cheerful man who had no enemies. His family asked for discretion, and the police closed the case without much interest.
“But that”s not what I told Martin,” Beatriz muttered, knowing that the worst was yet to come. A gust of turbulence shook the plane, and Beatriz was glad to be ethereal.
“Wasn’t it?“ asked Vesna, looking paler and paler, though not from the bumpy ride. “So... what did you tell him?”
“As I was saying, he phoned me from France. I was beside myself. I could hardly stand up. The news about Andreu had completely devastated me. I was suspicious of your father because I knew he’d gone to look for him that afternoon, blind with jealousy, and his subsequent disappearance confirmed my suspicions.”
‘Beatriz,’ Martin said to me. I could almost see his face, as haggard as mine. ‘Beatriz, what have I done?’
‘You know very well what you did,’ I replied angrily. ‘Where are you now? Why haven”t you come back home?’
‘Are the police looking for me?’ he asked. He was always a quiet, peaceful man, and he sounded terrified.
‘Yes.’ I lied to him. I wanted to make him suffer, to make him pay for what he had done. ‘Andreu is dead. They”ve opened an investigation, and you”re the main suspect. They were here this morning, and they”ve turned the whole house upside down.’
‘I”m going to give myself up, Beatriz. Forgive me, and I will. Just tell me you forgive me. Please.’
‘There”s no way to forgive what you did, Martin,’ I shouted angrily. ‘Stay away from here. Disappear! You deserve to live with your guilt for the rest of your life.’
‘I don”t know what to do, Beatriz. You know I”m a good man. I don”t know what happened to me... it all happened so fast. I... I love you, Beatriz... I’m totally lost without you.’
‘I”ve already told you. Disappear!’ I spat down the phone, venting all my hatred against him. ‘You”re as dead as Andreu to me. And to Vesna, too.’
When Beatriz finished speaking, Vesna was stiff as a rod, her back pressed against the seat and holding her breath. She said absolutely nothing, as if unable to assimilate so many revelations at once.
Beatriz decided to give her time and began to fade away slowly. She was already invisible when Vesna took her phone out of her purse and dipped into the last pages of her grandmother”s diary, seeking comfort in them.