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  `Take the bandage off, take it off ...' A ray of light lends a strange glint to the woman's eyes and Espol experiences his first mirage. Gradually, he begins to undo the bandage, but when his hand is free of it, he is brought to his senses by the sound of an aircraft engine overhead and he runs away.

  Without the protective bandage, the fear inside him grows. He holds his fist more tightly shut and, to make quite sure, he puts his hand in-his-pocket.

  The wind, which blows only for him, whips up the sand and Espol narrows his eyes against it. He leaves behind him on his right an island of palm trees, he crosses the park and begins to be tormented by thirst. He walks and walks, his feet sinking into the sand, and he feels the parched skin on his face creaking. In the arid desert of his thoughts, little lights come on only to be immediately extinguished. He is filled with a nostalgia for the time when he was not even aware of having a life, and the heat weighs on him.

  The sound of distant music makes him look up and he sees a caravan of people and camels approaching. He feels somebody tugging at his jacket and, when he turns, he is met by the astonished gaze of a small beggar girl. In utter despair, Espol crouches down and tells the child everything, asks her what she would advise.

  `If I were you,' says the girl, `I would put my hand in a jug of water and then wait for a timeless sleep to begin.'

  An inexplicable trick of the light plunges them into shadow and Espol continues on his way; in the desolate landscape that accompanies him, the desert wind causes things and ideas to flutter about him. The camels are slowly coming nearer and he sits down to watch them pass. A drumroll disperses the low mist of sand, and some red letters etch themselves on Espol's eyes: `Circo Donamatti. 3-ring circus! Coming soon.'

  He is just about to succumb to sleep, slightly turning his head to watch the caravan pass. A blonde trapeze artist, mounted on a horse, gives him a graceful wave, and Espol, distracted, responds, stretching up his right arm and opening his hand.

  An amber-coloured ball escapes; startled, he tries to catch it, but fails. He slowly collapses, filled by the ineffable anxiety that he may have left the gas on at home.

  © Pere Calders

  Translated by Margaret full Costa

  Pere Calders (Barcelona, 1912) started life as a commercial artist. In 1936, he published his first collection of stories, El primer arlequi. When civil war broke out, he enlisted as a military cartographer on the Republican side and, following the Nationalist victory, spent twenty-three years in exile in Mexico. There he found work as a graphic designer and continued to write and publish in Catalan. His first piece of fantasy literature, Gaeli i 1'home-d& (1938) depicted a magical world in which supernatural powers prevailed over evil. In later books he explored his interest in time travel and science fiction: Dema' a les tres de la matinada (1959) and L'invasio subtil i altres contes (1979; winner of the Lletra d'Or Prize). A selection of his stories is available in English translation (The Virgin of the Railway and other stories, tr. A. Bath, Aris & Phillips, 1991). This story is taken from Crdniques de la veritat oculta (Edicions 62, Barcelona, 1979).

  It is very hard to know what we are, but the problem does not end here; there is also what we were before and what we will be afterwards.

  The owner of the hotel, a tall man with a contemptuous, indifferent air about him, was just explaining the affair to a few male customers who had called in for a drink. The hotel also has a cafe and a bar.

  The story involves two newly-weds who arrived a few days ago. The husband claimed that he knew the mountains because he had been in Salardu before, although the owner of the hotel doesn't remember him. He said that he wanted to climb Beciberri, and the previous night he asked them to prepare some lunch for him. His wife says that he left alone, at dawn, and that he promised he would be back before seven o'clock in the evening. It is now ten'o clock at night.

  The men consult their large pocket watches. One says it's a quarter to ten, one five past ten, the other seven minutes to. Each one declares that his watch is right, not that it really matters. One of them asks:

  'Beciberri?'

  They are slow on the uptake and have to have things explained to them three times before they understand.

  `Yes.,

  `Well, he should be back by now.'

  Another man, who does a little hunting, calculates how long it would take.

  `Seven hours to go up and five to come down, that makes twelve. If he left at dawn, that's more than enough time.'

  An old man, who is no longer up to risking his life on steep slopes, asks:

  `Does he know the route?'

  `He said he did.'

  All they know about her is that her name is Eulalia and that she is standing at the dining room window staring unceasingly out at the mountains. But night has fallen and she can see nothing now. She keeps looking, her eyes motionless. The outline of the landscape from which he will emerge is engraved on her eyes.

  The other guests dare not approach. They do not know her. She has been at the hotel for three days, but no one has spoken to her. The couple did not take part in the general conversation. She keeps asking, as if out of habit, almost without taking her eyes off the darkness:

  `What time is it?'

  She began asking at eight o'clock and they told her it was eight, then that it was nine, and now no one dares to tell her that it is ten o'clock. She asks of no one in particular:

  `What time might he be back?'

  No one answers. Some don't know and those who do know don't want to say. The men are now talking about taking some sort of action, but they can't really be bothered. No one takes the initiative. The owner of the hotel sends a boy to Arties to find a guide, just in case. They have a guide there, but not in Salardu.

  All the guests have had supper by now, but they dare not go to bed. She has had no supper nor has she sat down at the table. The owner of the hotel has begged her two or three times to have something to eat and she says only that she wants to wait for her husband. At half past ten, the owner goes over to her and this time he doesn't suggest that she eats something, but that she goes to bed. She looks at him insolently, as if he had insulted her.

  `What time is it?' she asks.

  `Half past ten.'

  `What time is he likely to be back?'

  'I don't know. He can't be much longer.'

  `I'll wait for him.'

  `Perhaps he's got lost and has decided to spend the night on the mountain.'

  Eulalia fixes her hard eyes on the owner of the hotel and asks him:

  `Why don't they go and look for him?'

  `They'll go later, they say. They've sent for the guide.'

  Time passes implacably. Each minute weighs on Eulalia's heart. At eight o'clock, already impatient, she had decided to wait until half past eight. At half past eight, she had decided to wait until nine. And thus she has continued to divide up the time in search of boundaries to bind about her heart so that it does not break into pieces. From eleven o'clock onwards, though, she can wait no longer. Time has beaten her. Now all she wants is to see coming down the dim path the image of the man she loves. She can barely see the path in the black night and her eyes are wide open and staring, as she peers into the shadowless dark. At last, she sits down by the dining room window and covers her mouth with a handkerchief so that they do not hear her moans. The hotel owner's wife has tried several times to persuade her to go to bed, to no avail.

  At midnight, the guide from Arties arrives. He is lean and strong, a man of few words. He proposes that they wait a little longer and set off at two. There is no point in leaving any earlier because it would be a waste of time looking in the dark. Meanwhile, they organise the expedition. No one feels like joining in.They do not like the mountain.They know it because at some point they have all had to climb it, for their livelihood partly depends on the mountain. But they do not love it, they have no feeling for it. Nevertheless, they all offer their help, one after the other, the youngest first.Two foreigners offer t
o go as well.The guide chooses those who seem strongest and gets together a team of six men. He says that will be enough.

  The women take care of Eulalia. The hotel owner's wife has still not managed to convince her to go to her room, but there are four or five women around her now, all insisting that she should go upstairs. She finally gives in because, from her room, you can also see the darkness surrounding the path. She remains standing at the window, her eyes fixed on the night. Her whole life depends on a physical shape that might condense out of the gloom. She has refused to go to bed or to eat anything. She couldn't. Her eyes are dry and she cannot speak. In the end, they all leave her. She no longer wants to know how much time has passed, but she does not lose hope. He said he would come back and he will. Perhaps he won't come back until the next day. Perhaps he has got lost and is waiting for dawn with fear in his heart. She accepts anything except the idea of death.

  At two o'clock, the expedition leaves in silence. They do not tell her. They know she is watching from the window and they take a detour so that she does not see them. They do not turn on their lights until they are some distance away. The guide is at the head of the group. The owner of the hotel has not gone with them. They are all muttering amongst themselves. They do not go gladly. One says:

  `.He shouldn't have gone up there if he didn't know the area.

  The guide repeats the hotel owner's words:

  `He said that he did.'

  `What was he like?' asks another man.

  And one of the guests describes him. He's tall, strong and very young. He looks as though he could get out of any scrape without help from anyone. But the mountain demands respect; they all know it and the guide says so too. He knows it better than anyone, for he knows all the mountain's tricks and traps.

  `It's not to be treated lightly.'

  And they walk on, unhurriedly but purposefully, taking long strides, their heads held high. They all savour the rare pleasure of breathing in the night air.

  Now everyone in the hotel is asleep, apart from her. The women have lain down on their beds fully clothed, in case she needs them. She has promised that she will call them. She has not moved from where they left her. The room is in darkness. That is how she wanted it, because she believes she can see the night more clearly like that. She is alone and her eyes are wide open, staring at the black mountain. She cannot see the lights of the expedition. She cannot see anything.

  Suddenly, she feels a presence near her. She had seen nothing on the path and she feels this presence inside the room, behind her. Before turning round, she knows that her heart is not mistaken. He is there! He is standing in the middle of the room, with his knapsack on and a rope slung over his shoulder. He is surrounded by a ghostly light and she can see him in the dark. She cannot cry out, she cannot move a step, she is frozen to the spot. He holds out a hand to her and calls her by her name.

  `Eulalia!'

  She hears that beloved, unmistakable voice. But she hears it not with her ears, but with her heart. She knows that he has called out to her and that she did not hear his voice. She knows that he is there and understands at the same time that he is also somewhere else.

  He looks at her tenderly and she is not afraid, but she does not move, nor does she throw her arms about him or respond to his voice. The ghost repeats that dear name:

  `Eulalia!'

  And she realises that he has blood on his forehead.

  `Did you fall?'

  She knows that she has just asked this question, but she did not hear her own voice. He touches his forehead with one hand and the hand becomes stained with blood.

  `Yes, I fell. I was left hanging on by my hands and then the stone crumbled. I fell from a great height and hit my head on the rocks.'

  `Does it hurt?'

  `No. It did at first, but not any more.'

  `I told them to go and look for you.'

  `They've already left. I saw them going up the mountain. They'll find me tomorrow when it's light. But don't tell them that you've seen me. They won't believe you. They and I no longer inhabit the same life.'

  She looks and looks at him and does not dare to say anything. She does not dare to say his name or to fall into his arms. She is not afraid, because he is her husband, and she cannot be afraid. But despite his beloved presence in the room, she begins to feel infinitely alone. He speaks to her tenderly.

  `Eulalia, I've come to say goodbye to you. I couldn't leave without seeing you again. But if you wait for me, I will come back one day. I know that I will be able to come back. Wait for me always, always, always ...'

  She is holding out her hand and her mouth is open. but she cannot move her feet or cry out. The ghost slowly fades, but does so reluctantly, engaged in a terrible struggle to stay as long as possible. It becomes blurred. He is now no more than a vaguely luminous shape. All that are left are two eyes open like windows onto the infinite. At last, she feels her own heart stop and she falls to the floor at the ghost's non-existent feet.

  The women go into her room first thing in the morning and they find her lying face down on the floor, unconscious. They pick her up and carry her to the bed. They rub her wrists and her temples. She remains for a long time with her eyes closed and when she finally opens them, she doesn't look at anyone or see anything around her in the room. A vision blocks her sight. They call to her and she does not reply. A dear, distant voice has robbed her of words.

  They try to console her and she does not hear them. She knows that he is dead. She knew before anyone else did. The dead man visited her in the night to say goodbye. She knows it, but she knows too that she can tell no one. And she knows that she must wait always, always, because he will return one day.

  When she comes to, when it is fully light, she asks a question that surprises the women.

  `Haven't they brought him back to me yet?'

  The expedition arrives at midday. They are carrying the body wrapped in a blanket. Four men carry him. They found him shortly after dawn, hanging from a rock. His forehead has been pierced by the nails of his climbing boots. It seems that, as he fell, he performed a strange pirouette.

  She receives him in silence. There is no point in hiding anything from her because she already knows everything. She cannot cry or speak. They all respect her silent grief.They do not dare to keep her from her husband's body. She goes over to him fearlessly and uncovers his face. However, she does not see his disfigured face, but the face of the ghost who bore only a bloodstain on his forehead. She will always remember him like that, alive and more handsome than ever, but with that one bloodstain.

  Then there are long unpleasant formalities to go through. Some men come for the widow and take her away in a car. They take the body too in another black car. Everything returns to normal in Salardu. The men and the women have another story to tell during the long winter nights.

  Twenty years have passed. Eulalia had a daughter a few months after her husband's death and she has devoted her life to the girl. They are rich and live in a large house with a garden, in one of the exclusive areas of Barcelona.

  The mother has always kept alive the memory of the husband who died so young on the mountain and who visited her that night to promise her that he would return. She knows that it was all an hallucination, but she has never stopped believing in the dead man's words and has continued to wait for him. She has never mentioned it to anyone, not even to her daughter. She knows that no one could understand the reason for that absurd hope.

  The daughter is nineteen. She is lovely, as was her mother, but there is always something vaguely sad about her. Perhaps she has caught it from her mother. Sadness is an infectious disease. The daughter finds men rather comical. She still does not believe in love, despite her nineteen years. Her mother has often told her the story of how her father died, and the daughter thinks that the men who flirt with her are not like her father, even though she never knew him.

  She has always liked the story. She found out about it when she was older. He
r mother did not want to tell her when she was a child, so as not to frighten her. But one day, she told it to her and the daughter has since made her repeat it again and again. She likes the story. She has never been to Salardu and sometimes she says to her mother:

  `Take me there one day.'

  `I don't want to go.'

  `Would you let me go without you?'

  `Yes, if you go with other people.'

  The mother does not like to be apart from her daughter, but she believes that her daughter's desire to go to Salardu is out of love for the father she never knew. And she gives in, out of respect for her daughter's love.

  The daughter is also called Eulalia and one day she organises the trip with some friends. They are a married couple with a daughter and a son. The daughter is the same age as Eulalia, the son a little older. It seems that the son is in love with her, but Eulalia is not sure that she likes him. Something in her heart tells her that this is not the man for her.

  Eulalia has a very vague idea of her father. There is a picture at home in a silver frame. It shows a young man with a pleasant face, but the photograph is rather blurred. It is not the work of a professional photographer, but an enlargement made from a smaller photograph, the one that her mother liked best. Young people do not think about death and have no interest in having a good photograph of themselves taken, of the sort that can be kept for ever as a souvenir.

  The friends accompanying Eulalia know that her father died years ago in the mountains and that he fell to his death, but they do not know that it was there, in Salardu. Eulalia prefers them not to know and says nothing to them about it. She just wants to find out where her father died and to be in the room where her father stayed. She does not know that he also appeared there after his death.That secret has not been revealed to her. It was room number 2. Her mother has often told her that and she remembers it well.

  `Number 2, the best room in the hotel.'

  That is what her mother always said.

  They reach Salardu and the hotel owner, who is older now, shows them the rooms. The hotel has changed little in twenty years. It has been renovated now and then, but the furniture is the same. Things change very little in twenty years.