“What about the boys?” Mariana’s father said. “Are you saying that they will escape punishment?”
“Oh, no, they will be punished, of that you may be sure.”
Ferrol’s punishment was confiscation of his BB guns, a one-month suspension of his allowance that he relied on to purchase extra sweets at school, and a fiery lecture from his father.
The banker raged, “You realize that I know the truth in this matter, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know what you did wrong?”
“Lied, sir?”
“I don’t care about lying to these peasants but lying to me is the worst thing you can possibly do. What else did you do wrong?”
“Touched the girl?”
“I don’t care about that either. I care about your getting caught. Use your head in the future, not your pecker. Don’t fool around with simpletons like this girl who goes running to her parents. Do you understand me?”
The boy understood perfectly.
Hugo’s punishment was harsher by far. Señor Gaytan’s estate manager paid a visit to his house informing the family that Hugo’s boarding school fees would no longer be paid and that his father was dismissed, with immediate effect, from his employment as a tractor driver. All of them were banished from the estate.
Hugo bitterly denied being the main perpetrator, but his cries fell on deaf ears and his father beat him within an inch of his life.
For Hugo and his family, it was the blackest of Christmases.
29
Over the next year, Ferrol excelled in school and solidified his place as the brightest and most popular student in his form. His teachers praised his abilities in mathematics and natural sciences and on his thirteenth birthday, he declared to his parents and grandmother that he would be a famous scientist one day who would find a cure for cancer or some horrible disease. He hardly cared about Hugo’s absence and didn’t ask what had become of him. As far as he understood, his family had moved from Lirio to another village some distance away. He suspected that his father had told his mother about the incident, because from that day forward, she was colder and more aloof than before, but much to his relief, he detected no change in his grandmother’s behavior.
By the next Christmas, he was taller, physically stronger, and immensely self-confident. Señor Gaytan had been on a business trip to New York City and the entire family didn’t gather until Christmas Eve when they hosted a gala dinner for the employees of the bank inside the grand banqueting hall. Ferrol had been obligated to wear his best blue suit. He was fighting off boredom at the family’s table when his grandmother delighted him with the request that he accompany her back to her apartment.
“I’m feeling quite tired, Ferrol,” she said. “Could I tear you away?”
“With pleasure,” he said, grinning.
In her kitchen, she set the kettle on the stove and made piping-hot mugs of instant cocoa that they sipped by the fire.
“These parties are dreadfully dull,” she said.
“I thought I was going to die,” Ferrol said.
“That’s what old ladies say, not young boys. Don’t feel obligated to stay with me. Do whatever you fancy.”
“I fancy staying with my grandmother.”
She laughed lightly. “You’ve just given me my best Christmas present,” she said. “The last time I was in Segovia, I bought myself a new jigsaw puzzle. I haven’t even opened it yet. Would you like to start it with me?”
“What’s the picture?” he asked.
“It’s the Swiss Alps. It’s three thousand, mostly white pieces!”
Ferrol kicked off his shoes and removed his necktie while his grandmother changed out of her gown into her night dress and bathrobe. Then the two of them spread the pieces on the large table she used for her puzzles and began sorting the straight edges. She became tired first and retired to bed. He kept going for another hour, then trundled off through the dark, cold corridors of the ancient castle, skirting the remnants of the Christmas party, until he was under the warm covers of his bed.
*
It was 3 a.m. when a figure dressed all in black made his way toward the castle past the bare orchards, the stables, and barns. He had been walking for hours in the frigid air and he was shivering. The castle loomed in total darkness. Because he knew his way around, he went straight for the northern wall of the keep that housed the main family residence. Señor and Señora Gaytan’s bedroom suite was above a large reception room on the ground level. Above them on the second floor, was Ferrol’s bedroom.
He had a backpack, which he removed and zipped open. Inside was a wine bottle with a smelly rag stuck into its neck. He had thought of everything. In case he couldn’t find a suitable rock in the darkness, he had brought one with him. Without a second of hesitation, he threw it through the largest ground-floor window, struck a match, and lit the gas-soaked rag.
He threw the bottle as hard as he could through the broken pane of glass and moved closer to witness the blast with his own eyes, but he had the misfortune of striking a brass lamp right by the window. The Molotov cocktail exploded and the resulting fireball shot through the hole in the window, engulfing his head in flames. He took off, wailing into the night.
The petrol bomb caught the heavy draperies, the furniture, and
