Love in Lowercase

by Francesc Miralles

  “This time the people had come to an agreement and had nominated the head man of the village to speak for them. The head man said, ‘Some do and some don’t.’

  “The crowd fell silent and everyone looked at Nasreddin, who concluded, ‘Then those who know should enlighten those who don’t.’

  “Having said that, he left.”

  Heaven

  The tale of Nasreddin brought the class to a successful conclusion. As those stories have been around for hundreds of years, there’s something to be said for the oral tradition.

  I had another class early that afternoon, so I decided to go for a walk and make the most of the sun. I crossed the Plaça de la Universitat and dived into the Raval quarter. After walking past a Russian bookshop, I went down Carrer de les Egipcíaques.

  This is one of the few streets I go down simply because I like the name. Since my midday meetings with Valdemar had come to an end, I was a little lost, and I started roaming around, up one street and down the next, without stopping anywhere.

  After an hour of this aimless meandering around the neighborhood, I sat down under a palm tree on the Rambla del Raval.

  You’re such a moron, wandering around like this because you can’t decide whether to call her or not.

  I looked at my watch and saw that it was half past two. Gabriela was probably on her way home, or walking through the streets like I was. She’d given me her cell phone number, so there would be no problem finding her.

  I dug a couple of coins out of my pockets and unfolded the bit of paper on which I’d written her number. I must have been learning the hard way, because I didn’t feel too nervous as I waited for her to answer.

  “Hello?”

  That changed everything: just hearing that question was enough to rekindle the flame. But I’d promised myself I’d handle myself with dignity.

  “Hi, this is Samuel.”

  “Hello, Samuel. Where are you?”

  “Everywhere and nowhere. I’m working at what they call killing time.”

  “Not a bad job,” she said in the affable tone of someone speaking to a small child. “Do you do that often?”

  “I try to.”

  “I was in bed, about to have a nap.”

  “I’m running out of money and don’t have any more coins. Tell me when and where to meet.”

  The silence barely lasted an instant. “Tomorrow, six o’clock, at Caelum.”

  “I don’t know where that is. What did you say it’s called?”

  “Just think about heaven.”

  We were cut off. Though I didn’t know where we were supposed to meet, I felt very calm. I leaned against a palm tree and did as I was told.

  I stared at the sky and, all at once, the world seemed to make sense again. The children’s shouts weren’t noise but life in the purest state; the wind wasn’t a chilling knife thrust but a cool caress.

  I looked again at the scrap of paper. I liked seeing her name written next to the nine numbers. Gabriela.

  None of This Is Real

  “You know what? I often have the feeling that my accident in Patagonia didn’t end the way I think it did.”

  Valdemar was on the couch, smoking in the darkness again. He’d come downstairs just before midnight, when I was about to go to bed. It seemed that he was at his most lucid at midday and late at night.

  “Really? So how did it end?”

  Valdemar’s sweaty forehead momentarily glistened in the faint light of a deep drag on his cigarette. “Sometimes I imagine that I died in that accident. You’re right. It’s impossible to survive a fall of one hundred feet. Ever since then, everything that’s happened has been only a dream—the path on the bank of the frozen river, the flash of my camera, being rescued, the hospital, my return to Barcelona, this conversation, and all the rest—none of it’s real.”

  “If it’s not real, how come we’re sitting here talking about it now?”

  “It’s part of a dream, the only place where the dead can live.”

  “So I’m part of your dream?”

  “More or less.”

  “That means I don’t have a life of my own. I exist just in your head or, worse, in the eternal dream of a dead man.”

  “Something like that.”

  We drifted into a long minute of silence. Valdemar, hatless this time, was blowing clouds of smoke toward the ceiling, in shapes I couldn’t make out. Then he seemed troubled by some thought and sat upright, crushing the butt in the ashtray.

  “When are you going to stop fretting and embrace nothingness at last?” He was going for the jugular.

  “Maybe when I’m sure I’m dead.”

  “That’s the biggest joke of all, because there’s no way we’ll ever know that.”

  Date in Heaven

  I had to do a bit of research in order to discover where I’d arranged to meet Gabriela at six that afternoon. Her comment, “Think about heaven,” confirmed that the name of the place was Caelum—Latin for “sky.”

  During my lunch break I went to the Fnac bookshop to check out the Barcelona city guides and eventually found Caelum in a list of “charming” cafés and restaurants. It was in one of the backstreets near Plaça del Pi, and I learned that it was a tearoom that served only cakes and biscuits made by nuns.

  Somewhat surprised by this choice, I jotted down the address in my diary and went home to have a nap.

  My alarm went off at five, and Mishima started circling around my bed. I had the impression I’d slept for only a few seconds, but the clock clearly showed that my nap had lasted an hour and a half. Too long.

  I got out of bed and staggered into the shower, where the hot water gradually woke me up. I was wondering whether I should shave or not. Most women like clean-shaven men, especially if they have to kiss their cheeks by way of greeting. Then again, if I looked too dapper, I’d be admitting that the date was very important for me. And that might put her on the defensive.

  So in the end I decided not to shave, though I did put on the best clothes in my humble wardrobe: some gray trousers, which were quite stylish, and a somewhat tight blue sweater. My long overcoat provided the requisite bohemian touch.

  Let’s go. I locked my door believing that when I came back I’d be a new man.

  Where God Looks

  To my surprise, Gabriela was already there when I arrived at the agreed time. Before going inside I saw her, looking like a mirage in the tearoom window. The place was lit only by the tremulous glimmering of candles, creating an atmosphere that was somewhere between monastic and romantic.

  Gabriela was studying the list of teas when I nervously presented myself at her table.

  Should I greet her in the usual way with a kiss on each cheek? I opted to sit down and see what happened. I greeted her shyly and started perusing the menu. Since I don’t know much about tea, I ordered a Lady Grey, simply because the name appealed to me.

  “I’ll have the same, please,” Gabriela said to the waitress, who asked if we’d like some of the nuns’ cakes as well.

  “Not yet, thank you,” I answered for both of us, still surprised that she’d asked for the same as me.

  After these formalities, we sat there looking at one another in silence. I saw that she wasn’t wearing earrings, but she did have two butterfly clips holding back her wavy hair. In my addled state, I interpreted this as a good omen.

  While I was trying to think of some way of starting up a conversation, Gabriela, who’d been turning her empty cup round and round in her hands, said without looking at me, “Japanese craftsmen are geniuses when they make cups. Do you know which part requires the most effort?”

  “I don’t know. The handle maybe?”

  “Japanese cups don’t have handles.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I lived there long enough to find out.”


  “You lived in Japan?”

  “You haven’t answered my question.” She frowned teasingly.

  “I suppose they make an effort to keep the decoration on the outside of the cup as simple and harmonious as possible. Something very Zen.”

  “No, not that.”

  “Then they try hard to make it perfectly round.”

  “No. An irregularly shaped cup can be a work of art.”

  “I give up. Which part is it then?”

  “The bottom of the cup, the part you can’t see—and do you know why?”

  “No idea.”

  “That’s where God looks.”

  “They must have a word for that,” I replied, as the waitress served our tea.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Japanese must have a word for the hidden beauty that only God can see. If not, they should invent one.”

  “How do you know? Have you lived in Japan?” She laughed, then blew on her hot tea.

  “No, but I’ve got a dictionary of strange words. Lots of them exist only in Japanese, and I get the impression that they live in a separate world with codes that only they can understand.”

  “It’s a bit like that.”

  A sad expression crossed her face, and she used her index finger to block a tear that was trying to escape.

  It was evident that I’d accidentally tugged at something that she didn’t want touched. This was confirmed by the swiftness of her next comment, so that I wouldn’t have time to ask any further questions: “This dictionary sounds appealing. But I’d be even more interested in one made up of words that don’t exist and need to be invented, as you just said. I’m sure you could do that.”

  “What makes you think I could write a dictionary?”

  “You look like someone who’d do that kind of thing.”

  I was annoyed by her comment, mostly because it was true. Only someone like me would set out to do that kind of thing. Francis Amalfi’s book—even if I was doing it as a favor to Titus—was a similar type of project. I went on the offensive.

  “You’ve persuaded me. I think I’ll write one. But I’ll need your help. What other concepts need a name, apart from the beauty that only God sees?”

  “There are lots of words that need to be invented. Why do we have the term ‘orphan’ for a child who loses his or her mother when there’s none for a mother who loses her child? Does she suffer less, perhaps?”

  “You’re right. Now that I’m thinking about it, I have a definition that requires a word for it: love in lowercase.”

  “Love in lowercase?”

  “It’s when some small act of kindness sets off a chain of events that comes around again in the form of multiplied love. Then, even if you want to return to where you started, it’s too late, because this love in lowercase has wiped away all traces of the path back to where you were before.”

  “That sounds beautiful, but I’m not sure I understand.”

  “I don’t understand it myself. But the proof that it exists is that we’re here.”

  I immediately regretted having revealed myself. It had all gone well so far and, like an idiot, I’d messed it up at the last moment.

  She confirmed my fears. “It’s getting late. I must get home.”

  We both stood up. “Where do you live?” I asked.

  “In Plaça dels Àngels.”

  “Let me walk with you some of the way,” I offered spontaneously.

  “No, don’t bother. I want to think of some words that need inventing.”

  What an excuse! But Gabriela had fallen into her own trap.

  “If I’m going to write this dictionary, I’ll need to know what entries you come up with. Can I take you to lunch one day? There’s a restaurant in Gràcia, and I’ve never been able to work out why it’s called what it is. It’s the perfect place for inventing words.”

  “What’s the name?” Gabriela was already on the street, buttoning up her coat.

  “Buzzing. When would you like to go?”

  She gave me an exasperated look. She could see that I wasn’t going to let her go without her granting me another date, so she said, “Thursday perhaps.”

  “That works for me. Since you don’t know where it is, I’ll come to the shop and we can go there together.”

  “As you wish.”

  I kissed her on both cheeks to say good-bye.

  “You’re prickly,” she said with a faint smile, and walked away. This made me think that not all was lost.

  A Spark in the Darkness

  In the Metro, on my way to the hospital, I felt totally embarrassed about what I’d done. The fact that I was in love with Gabriela didn’t give me the right to pressure her the way I had when we said good-bye.

  It was lovely to have tea with you, Gabriela. If you like, we can do it again some afternoon. You know where to find me. That would have been the most elegant and sensitive thing to say.

  If I’d said that, she probably wouldn’t have felt under duress and might have called me again. But no, I’d forced her to agree to another date. Now, in all likelihood, she’d phone before Thursday and leave me a message to cancel it. My just deserts.

  —

  Making my way along the endless corridors of the hospital, I realized it was almost a month since I’d last been to visit Titus. That wasn’t good. Yes, we’d talked on the phone a couple of times a week, but that wasn’t enough. After all, thanks to a section of model-train track, Titus had enabled me to step down from the train heading toward a life of solitude.

  He seemed a lot more frail to me this time, probably because I hadn’t seen him for so long. His small bald head was nestled so deep in the pillow that it looked as if it was about to disappear.

  I sat down beside him as a porter wheeled off his roommate, a man of about fifty with a dreadful cough.

  I got to the point right away. “I’ve let you down.”

  I feel guilty: the leitmotif of the day.

  “Enough of that! I don’t think I have much longer to live, so listen carefully. I have something important to tell you.”

  With a feeling of dread, I moved my chair closer. His voice was so weak it was difficult to understand him.

  “This is purgatory, Samuel. But you can learn important lessons in purgatory.”

  I tried to distract him from this gloomy talk by bringing up the only thing I thought might console him.

  “Sorry to change the subject, but do you remember the mad physicist I told you about?”

  “Valdemar.”

  “Good memory. Well, the other day he said that his life’s just a dream and that, in reality, he’s dead. Maybe he’s right and we’re all dead. Or real life is just what we see and do when we dream. What I’m trying to say is . . . well, he said that none of this is real, so we shouldn’t worry. And you shouldn’t worry either, even if you are having a bad time right now.”

  Titus rubbed his hand over his unshaven chin, as if looking for the right words. He seemed calm enough. Then he cleared his throat and said very slowly, “This damn Valdemar is right. We can’t be sure that this is the only world in existence. Call it a dream or an illusion or whatever you like. But we’re just a spark of consciousness in the darkness of the universe. But since the time that comes before us and that which comes afterward are infinite, we might say that this spark never happened. Are you with me?”

  “More or less. But what is this important thing you want to tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now, damn it!”

  After raising his voice, Titus was gasping, so short of breath I was on the verge of ringing for a nurse. But he grabbed my arm to stop me. After a few ragged attempts at trying to breathe steadily again, he got some color back in his face.

  “Don’t push yourself,” I whispered. “There’s no need. If you want to talk, ta
ke it slowly. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  “But I haven’t. Please don’t interrupt me.”

  I nodded and clasped my hands like a good boy. When he began to speak, I could see that he’d been rehearsing the words for some time. They were his farewell to me.

  “We live too far away from the outer galaxies. We’ll never be able to reach them. We’re also too far away from the quantum universe, so we can’t understand it. We’ll never get across the last threshold of matter. If we did, we’d discover that nothing exists, as Valdemar says. We live in a world of sensations and feelings. Always remember that, Samuel. Never reject your sensations and feelings. They’re all you’ve got.”

  His words made quite an impression on me. Then Nasreddin’s dictum came to mind. Those who know should enlighten those who don’t. However, I was sure that I’d never have anyone to whom I could confide what Titus had just revealed.

  “Now go and don’t come back,” he added.

  I was shocked. “Why?”

  Everything I’d felt part of was moving away from me, like an expanding galaxy.

  “I have nothing more to say to you. I don’t want you to call me either. Leave me alone to play the last round with Death. I fear the cards are stacked against me.”

  The Price of the Moon

  I was devastated when I got home.

  When I walked into the living room I was relieved to see that the answering machine wasn’t flashing. Gabriela hadn’t canceled our date yet, but she probably would sometime before Thursday. Was I getting paranoid?

  I put some water on to boil for my pasta and played with Mishima, hoping all the while that Valdemar wouldn’t come down to visit. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to him. I just wanted to have some dinner and crawl into bed and put an end to the day.