Chapter 1 The Island #2
The man’s smile widened as he peeled off his raincoat and dropped it to the ground, leaving him freer to move.
Roberto tilted his head to one side and took a step forward, the blood roaring in his ears.
Maybe it was then that the man became aware of the look in his adversary’s face, the emptiness in his eyes, the abnormal determination behind the grimace.
“Fine,” grunted the man, suddenly hesitant. “There’s no need to—”
“Luis! Stop it right now!”
A woman of about forty was standing a little way off.
She wore an old navy-blue sweatshirt, faded jeans, and muddy black rubber boots.
Her body was wiry, and she had uneven features, her high, classic cheekbones bisected by a nose that was a little too long.
She was attractive without being beautiful.
She leaned casually on the shaft of a hoe, the iron blade at the end of it clearly sharp.
In the right hands, that farming tool could just as easily make furrows in a person’s head.
And Roberto had no doubt that her hands were exactly the right ones.
“Fuck’s sake,” groaned the man. “Stay out of this, Antía.”
“You started it,” she replied. The boy was cowering behind her legs like a beaten puppy. “Or am I wrong?”
“This is none of your business.”
“Of course it is.” Her eyes flashed.
“I don’t have to listen to you.”
“Maybe not.” She shrugged and jutted her chin at one of the nearby houses. “But possibly to him you do.”
Up on a balcony, a white-bearded man was calmly smoking a cigarette while contemplating the scene. He gave a slow shake of his head, before turning and going back inside the house.
Big, burly Luis scowled, but all his grit seemed gone, and there was a look of relief in his eyes. He stooped to pick up his raincoat, shook the mud off it, and barged past Roberto.
“We’ll be seeing each other,” he muttered. “This is a small island.”
When he was gone, Roberto heaved a sigh. The overpowering fury had passed, and only the adrenaline remained. His heart was still racing, and he plunged his hands into his pockets in an attempt to calm himself.
He went over to the woman. She had dropped the hoe and was hugging the boy, who was sobbing loudly.
“Thanks,” said Roberto. “If you hadn’t shown up, things could have gotten pretty ugly.”
“It’s me who should be thanking you. For defending Diego. Poor kid has no idea what to do in situations like that.”
Roberto took a closer look at the boy, who was gazing gratefully up at him, his big green eyes full of tears. Roberto had thought, given the youngster’s small, lean frame, that he was just a kid, but realized now he must be at least sixteen or seventeen.
“Hi, I’m Roberto.” He held out his hand to Diego, who just stared at it, seemingly unsure what to do, before throwing his arms around Roberto, almost knocking him over with the embrace.
“I’m Diego,” said the boy, unleashing a dazzling smile. “And now we’re friends. Friends forever, right? Friends, friends, friends!”
“Forever’s a long time.” Roberto smiled back. “But we can start with today.”
“Are you a secret agent?” trilled Diego.
“What?”
“You’ve come to the island in the middle of winter because you’re a secret agent, on a special mission, right?”
“He isn’t a secret agent, Diego,” said the woman. “He’s the writer Roberto Lobeira, and he’s going to be spending a few weeks at the Escudero place.”
“News travels fast.” Roberto frowned.
“More than fast, in a place as small as this.” She shrugged. “Especially if a famous author comes to visit.”
Roberto thought he detected a hint of sarcasm.
“And you are?”
“Antía Freire,” she said curtly. She had a firm handshake. “I’m Diego’s sister, and I’ve got the keys to your rental property.”
“And who was the idiot I almost just had a fistfight with?”
“Luis Docampo.” She winced, as if the words tasted bitter. “Son of Ramón Docampo, the gentleman on the balcony.”
“Let me guess: You guys aren’t best friends.”
“That doesn’t quite cover it,” she said. “Let’s just say that the Freires and the Docampos have a few long-standing differences.”
“That’s why he was like that with Diego?”
She shook her head. “No,” she sighed. “That’s just because Luis is an asshole. When did you get in?”
“Just now,” said Roberto, struck by how alike the siblings were with their bright blond hair and their green, storm-tossed eyes. “My bags are down by the dock.”
“Then you should go get them straightaway.” Antía started in that direction. “There’s a big storm coming in. Don’t suppose you want your stuff getting washed out to sea.”
“No,” he said, startled. “No, I really don’t.”
“Hurry, then!” she said, clearly incredulous at such a rookie error.
Roberto turned and dashed back toward the dock. On finding his bags just where he’d left them, still a good way clear of the rising swell by the visitor booth, he heaved a sigh of relief. He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.
Antía eyed his luggage critically.
“I hope you’ve brought enough stuff for your stay. If the sea gets worse, we won’t be seeing a supply boat anytime soon.”
“I’ve brought enough food for a month, don’t worry,” he said, still smiling. “I knew this place didn’t cater to visitors in the winter.”
Antía muttered something but was obviously relieved.
She and Diego helped Roberto gather the rest of his luggage, and they started up the hill.
As they climbed back toward the houses, he saw that the woman was right—the sea was turning rougher.
He was no expert, but even he could tell that the docking maneuver would have been far harder in the current conditions.
“How far to the house?”
“About a twenty-minute walk,” Antía said. “There are only a couple of tricky slopes. Steep, and a bit of a scramble.”
“Can’t we drive there?”
Her look spoke volumes.
“Considering you know so much about the island, Roberto Lobeira, I’m surprised you don’t know that Ons has barely any paved road.
This isn’t the mainland. There are a few drivable sections, but the rest is all dirt tracks, most in pretty bad shape.
That’s why there aren’t any vehicles. They’re forbidden. ”
“Forbidden?” He could hardly believe it.
“We’re in a national park, remember. People go pretty much everywhere on foot.”
“No cars.” Roberto looked gloomy. “Great.”
“I say pretty much everywhere—actually, there is some transportation. The lighthouse keepers have a pickup truck; there’s a truck at the campsite, though that’s closed in the winter; and the park rangers have an SUV.”
“And will anyone give us a ride?”
“The lighthouse guys keep to themselves. There won’t be anyone at the campsite until summer, and none of the rangers are working today. Ons isn’t exactly busy at this time of year.”
“No problem, I’ll manage,” snorted Roberto, picturing the walk up to the house. He was already exhausted and didn’t want to think about traversing “tricky” slopes for another twenty minutes.
“Don’t worry,” said Antía eventually with a half smile. “The rangers’ SUV is near here, by the generator behind the church, and I happen to have a set of keys.”
“I appreciate it.” Roberto shook his head. “I’m not sure I can face carrying all this stuff.”
“No problem,” said Antía. “Give me a minute, and I’ll go get the SUV.”
Antía went off, leaving Roberto alone with Diego.
Roberto observed him as the teen concentrated on wiping down his mud-spattered superhero figures.
At a glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary about Diego, but little details of body language and facial tics showed he wasn’t completely normal.
He was subtly but noticeably different—some mild form of autism, possibly.
Roberto didn’t know enough about such conditions to be any more precise, but there was no doubt that Diego had already forgotten the incident with Luis Docampo and was extremely content, lost in a fantasy world that only he could access—he and his superheroes.
“Do you live on the island?” Roberto said to break the ice.
“Mm-hmm . . .” was all the answer he got.
“All year round?”
“Sometimes I go to the mainland with Antía, when I have to see the doctor. I don’t like the doctor,” he added, gaze still pinned on his figures.
“And you don’t get bored?”
“There’re lots of people in the summertime.” He shook his head. “It’s winter now, which is worse.”
“Of course, there can’t be much to do.”
The boy blinked slowly a couple of times, which in any other person would have seemed affected and ridiculous but in his case seemed entirely natural.
“No, not because of that . . . In the summer, with all the people, he hides. But in the winter, he always comes out and does things. Nasty things.”
Roberto felt an icy shiver down his back. Diego’s tone was fearful in a way that made it clear he didn’t mean the bully Luis.
“Who are you talking about?”
But they were interrupted by a vehicle’s headlights. Roberto looked up to find a hulking white SUV with the Spanish national park emblem on the doors, and Antía motioning to them from behind the wheel. They loaded up the luggage, Roberto and Diego got in, and Antía pulled onto the track.
As they were driving away, Roberto glanced out the window and saw the white-bearded Ramón Docampo once again.
He had returned to the balcony and was watching them steadily, cigarette in hand.
The sky was so dark with clouds now that it was almost as if night had fallen.
In the gloom, Roberto couldn’t make out the man’s expression, but a thought came to him that further darkened his mood.
Stay out of trouble, the skipper of the Punta Suido had said.
And he, within ten minutes of being on the island, had probably made enemies of half its inhabitants.