Chapter 6 Secrets and Quarrels
Secrets and Quarrels
His second morning on the island wasn’t much different from his first, except that he had managed to sleep more than five hours straight, something of a record for him, after spending most of the evening working on a draft that he was quite pleased with.
However, his sleep was not exactly restful because recurring nightmares featuring Elvira Couto woke him up more than once.
After his shower and his morning coffee (and after checking the front step in case any new nocturnal gifts had appeared), he decided to explore the village.
Although it was downhill all the way, the state of the track left a lot to be desired. When, half an hour later, he finally reached the smooth cement surface of the road, his ankles were aching.
As he rounded the final corner, he came across an unexpected scene.
Two women were sitting on a low wall in front of the church, a large rubber bucket between them.
They were lost in conversation and didn’t notice his arrival.
One of them was in her late fifties, with curly gray hair; she was short and stocky, and despite the temperature, her broad, muscular arms were bare.
The other was younger; she couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen years old.
Thin and delicate, her head a mass of blond hair, she was the opposite of her companion.
The girl’s eyes were the same stormy green as Antía’s and Diego’s.
Roberto wasn’t one for gambling, but he’d happily bet that she was a member of the Freire clan.
The older woman held a thin, sharp knife in her right hand.
Roberto observed with a certain fascination as she thrust her hand into the bucket and brought out a huge purple octopus.
In one fluid movement, she turned it upside down, and, the octopus still waving its tentacles, she inserted her knife where the animal’s mouth was, twisted the blade, and, with practiced deftness, removed the entrails in one go, accompanied by a viscous sound.
Before he had time to fully absorb what he had just seen, the woman was already taking her next victim from the bucket.
Just then, the girl noticed the new arrival, leaned toward her older companion, and whispered something in her ear. The woman dropped the octopus into the bucket with a splash and turned to look at Roberto.
Her eyes were the same color as the girl’s, but her expression was harder, and the lines on her face spoke of a life exposed to the elements. She cleaned her hands on her apron and put away the knife before taking a step toward him.
“You must be the writer,” she said in the steely voice of someone unaccustomed to being contradicted. “Antía told me about what you did yesterday to protect Diego.”
“It was no big deal, really.”
“When somebody helps one of my family, it’s always a big deal for me,” she replied sternly, holding out her hand. “I’m Rosalía Freire, Antía’s mother. This is my daughter Helena, Diego’s other sister.”
Roberto shook her hand. It was hard and calloused.
“Apart from a few odd ones out,” said Helena, “everyone here’s either a Freire or a Docampo.” In contrast with her mother’s, the daughter’s voice was smooth, with a deep and slightly disconcerting vibrato.
“Yes,” said Roberto warily, “I thought so.”
He decided not to mention the previous day’s encounters with the poacher and the witch at the far end of the island. Something told him that the less information he gave the two ruling clans about his movements, the better.
“Do you live on the island all year round?” Roberto asked, changing the subject.
“I go to the mainland a few times a year, but I like it here,” the girl replied quietly. “We all like it.”
“We’re in your debt,” Rosalía pitched in. “The Docampos are a bad lot, every last one of them. If you want some advice, steer clear of them. And if there’s anything you need, just come and ask me.”
However friendly they may seem, they’ll always want something from you. Elvira Couto’s warning echoed in his head.
What had begun as a casual encounter had turned into something very different, although he wasn’t sure what. There was a strange tension in the air, as if what he said next would be very important in some complex game whose rules he didn’t understand.
“That won’t be necessary.” He shook his head, choosing the most prudent solution. “It was nothing.”
Rosalía Freire scrutinized him for a few seconds with her stony expression before she finally relaxed and something akin to a smile appeared on her face.
“As you wish,” she said in her powerful voice. “But if you need anything, come and find us at El Cucorno.”
“El Cucorno? What’s that?”
“Our family home.” She pointed toward a substantial stone house that seemed to cling to the slope. “If you need help, our door is always open. Come and visit us one of these days.”
“Thank you.”
An awkward silence followed. Rosalía gripped her knife and waved it at the height of Roberto’s chest, a few inches too close for comfort, but he forced himself not to move a muscle.
“You seem like a good man,” the woman said with a half smile that could mean anything. “And I don’t usually say that of visitors. Be careful when you’re out and about. The island can be a dangerous place for people who don’t know it well.”
“Because of the cliffs?” he asked cautiously.
“Every summer someone ends up splitting their skull or breaking a leg because they’ve gone somewhere they shouldn’t.
The whole west side of Ons, facing out to the open sea, is a series of steep rock faces that tumble directly down to the shore,” she replied.
“If you fall down one of those, your body will never be found. Ever. Above all, take care with the Devil’s Hole. ”
“The what?”
“The Devil’s Hole,” the woman replied. “A chasm that’s more than forty yards deep. The bottom connects to the sea through a system of caves. But if you fall in, you’re dead. If you want to see it, don’t go alone. One of my boys will accompany you.”
“I’ll bear it in mind.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Lobeira.” Saying this, Rosalía plunged her hand into the bucket and pulled out another octopus, which she gutted with a flick of her wrist. Part of the animal’s insides fell at Roberto’s feet, but he didn’t even flinch, fascinated as he was by the woman’s skill. “See you around.”
“Goodbye,” Helena added timidly, without looking up.
Roberto walked away, thinking to himself that Rosalía Freire was one of those people whom it’s best not to fall out with.
He continued along the road that ended at the dock. The two restaurants that served the summer visitors were closed, their windows boarded up to protect them against the inclement weather.
Their empty terraces were bare and soulless, and an old, sun-bleached ice cream sign advertised products that would not be available for several months.
However, he noticed that the door of one of the establishments was ajar. Roberto approached and rapped on the door with his knuckles.
“Coming!” shouted a woman’s voice from inside. “Wait a moment!”
Not daring to enter, Roberto ran his eye over the terrace. There were a few tables under an awning and a stack of dusty chairs.
He dragged one of the tables to an empty part of the terrace and selected the least dusty of the chairs. Then he sat down and waited.
After a while, a middle-aged woman with the thinnest lips Roberto had ever seen appeared; her black hair was gathered into a tight bun from which a few white strands had escaped. The woman stopped and looked him up and down, apparently surprised.
“Who are you?” She furrowed her brow. “I thought it was my son knocking.”
“My name’s Roberto Lobeira.” He stood up to offer the woman his hand, and she looked back suspiciously. “I’m staying on the island for a while.”
“Ah, the writer.”
All I need is a sign on my back.
“I was wondering if I could have a coffee,” he said. “I know you’re closed but . . .”
“You’re staying at the old Escudero place.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. “You’ve rented it from the Freires, right?”
“I have,” he answered cautiously.
“If you want a piece of advice, don’t trust those people.” The words came out of her mouth like bullets from a gun. “They might seem charming, but they’re snakes. Believe me.”
Once again, the intricate tangles of the island’s ancient quarrels had ensnared him, turning even a mundane activity like having a coffee into a tedious exchange of words, reproaches, and explanations.
“Let me guess,” he said in a tired voice. “You’re a Docampo.”
“I am.”
“And about that coffee . . .”
“The machine’s off.” She shook her head. “And the fridge has been empty since the end of the summer. If you want, you can have a beer. We’ve got plenty of that.”
Roberto checked his watch, hesitating. It was still only eleven o’clock in the morning.
What the hell? he thought. It might be early, but he couldn’t think of anywhere better to be than sitting on that terrace, enjoying the weak rays of sunlight that filtered through the clouds scudding across the sky.
And doing something normal, like having a beer while he looked out at the sea and enjoyed the sunshine, seemed like a well-deserved prize and the perfect contrast to the events of yesterday.
“A beer would be great, thanks.”
The woman nodded and disappeared into the restaurant.
She returned shortly with a bottle of tepid Estrella Galicia and a bowl of tired-looking peanuts.
Even so, Roberto was delighted as he sat enjoying a view that was more than a match for anything to be had from the most elegant terrace one could imagine.
The tranquility lasted no more than ten minutes. As he sat there, his eyes closed, he sensed the presence of somebody casting their shadow over him. He opened his eyes, already wary.
“Good morning,” came the deep, nasal voice of Luis Docampo, the bearded man he had nearly come to blows with upon arriving on the island. “Mind if I sit down?”
Roberto hesitated. The man didn’t appear to be looking for trouble, despite their previous encounter, and there was nothing to gain from being unpleasant, so Roberto nodded politely.
Luis fetched a chair and dragged it across the floor, its legs squeaking on the tiles.
He groaned as he eased his large body into the seat.
“I think you’ve already met my wife, Amaia,” he said, pointing to the half-open door.
“Yes, she was very . . .” Roberto was about to say “friendly” but thought better of it. “Hospitable. And she brought me a beer.”
“Do you mind if I join you?”
Roberto shrugged, and Luis Docampo took the gesture as a yes. He turned toward the door and gave a loud whistle. Amaia popped her head round the door, and a minute later she returned with another beer for her husband.
“She told me you were here,” the man said, “so I came to see you. We didn’t get off to a very good start the other day.”
“You were tormenting a kid,” replied Roberto dryly. “A kid, what’s more, who has some kind of learning disability. If you want me to apologize for stopping you, I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
The man shook his head. “I wasn’t hurting him. I was just winding him up. I was going to give his stupid superhero toys back.”
“Even so, it isn’t right.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Luis leaned on the table, which creaked under his weight. “You’re like everyone else from the mainland, turning up here, thinking they know it all and we’re just a bunch of hicks. That boy isn’t what he seems.”
“Really? What do you mean?”
“The kid’s always going about spying,” said the man, before taking a sip of his beer. “He’s always hanging around our places, peering through the windows, trampling the fields.”
“That’s just a kid messing around!”
“Messing around? If only! A few weeks ago, a bunch of chickens disappeared from my coop, and later I found them with their heads chopped off.” Luis Docampo stared at him before adding ominously, “I’m sure it was him.”