The Blind Man of Seville

‘How terrible a monster do you think your father was?’ asked the voice. ‘So far we know he was a murderer, a pirate, a depraved hedonist, a fraud and a thief. The world is full of those sorts of people. They are quite ordinary monsters, I would say. What would make somebody extraordinary?’

‘My father was charismatic. He was charming and witty, intelligent …’

‘You can’t go out there with blood dripping from your lips,’ said Sergio. ‘You have to be two-faced or society deals with you straight away.’

‘He understood the ambiguity of being human, that good and evil resides in us all …’

‘That’s an excuse, Javier,’ said the voice. ‘It’s not what made him extraordinary.’

His brain slopped from side to side as he strained against the flexes.

‘He’s a desecrator of innocence,’ said Javier.

‘Normal.’

‘He’s an abuser of trust.’

‘Normal, but warmer,’ said the man. ‘Try thinking of the most extraordinary, incomprehensible …’

‘I can’t. My mind doesn’t work like that. Maybe yours does. You find out about people and show them their most secret horror. Now that is extraordinary.’

‘You think it monstrous what I have done?’

‘You’ve killed three people in the most brutal …’

‘I haven’t.’

‘Then you are insane and I can’t talk to you.’

‘Ramon Salgado hanged himself rather than face his music’

‘So facilitating his suicide makes you innocent?’

‘Raul Jimenez writhed himself to death.’

‘And what about the innocent Eloisa?’

‘Oh, I’m probably just in denial … like you,’ he said.

‘Only society is guilty,’ said Javier, dismissive.

‘Don’t be trite. I haven’t come here for received opinion. I want creative ideas.’

‘You’ll have to help me.’

‘Who do you know that loves or loved you?’

‘My mother loved me.’

‘That’s true.’

‘My second mother loved me.’

‘How touching that you don’t call her your madrastra.’

‘And, whether you like it or not, my father loved me. We loved each other. We were intimate.’

‘Were you?’

‘He told me. He even wrote it to me in the letter that came with the journals.’

Silence, while the horizons changed in his head.

‘Tell me about the letter,’ said the voice. ‘I haven’t seen it.’

Javier recited the letter verbatim.

‘How interesting,’ he said. ‘And what do you understand from this document, Javier?’

‘He trusted me. He trusted me over and above my elder brother and sister.’

‘It’s interesting that he made you the guardian and destroyer of his works,’ said the voice. ‘What do you think was in his mind when he imagined you reading that letter in the storeroom, surrounded by those trashy attempts at copying my grandfather’s work?’

‘Your grandfather?’ said Javier, to himself, the sweat breaking out from his hairline and trickling down his face.

‘You didn’t mention the date on the letter,’ said the voice. ‘When did he write that?’

‘It was the day before he died.’

‘Extraordinary timing.’

‘He’d already had one heart attack.’

‘What about his last will? When was that dated?’ asked the voice.

‘Three days before his death.’

‘I suppose coincidence isn’t that extraordinary.’

‘What are you implying?’