“Incredible that I’ve walked past that spot up there countless times and I’ve never noticed that there was a cave down below,” he murmured.
While I sat down, he walked into the cave behind us. He emerged again after a few minutes. “There’s nothing in there,” he said, “but the view from here is—”
“Spectacular.”
“No, it’s not just that,” he said with a shake of his head. “It’s a time warp.”
“A what?”
“A time warp. Wherever we look, the scenery is unmarked by civilization,” he explained, stepping right to the edge, where the waves lapped at the soles of his impeccable brown suede shoes. “We could just as easily be in Paleolithic times as in the Middle Ages, or at the height of the Industrial Revolution—there’s no human imprint to be seen anywhere. There’s nothing that would reveal what era we are in.”
“Except for us,” I had to interject.
“Not even that, if we were naked,” he commented, looking toward the west.
If those words had been pronounced by any other man I would have sensed a note of mischief in the tone of his voice. But that wasn’t Iago’s intention, and that was precisely what annoyed me. Even worse, I was irritated by the fact that I let it annoy me. Perhaps he picked up on this, because he held my gaze, while I lowered mine.
“Forgive me for insisting,” I said, seizing on the first thing that came to mind in order to put a stop to this uncomfortable moment, “but I’d be grateful if you didn’t show this place to anyone else. I’ve become accustomed to coming down here, and it won’t be the same if other people begin to use it.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t want it to lose its magic either.”
I used to climb down every week, bringing a book with me and staying a while to read if it was around lunchtime. I hadn’t been here since my trip to Madrid, since that moment when everything had changed. Iago sat down beside me and stared at the sea. I changed my position a number of times, trying to limit my thoughts to what I had enjoyed on my other visits. But I couldn’t anymore, because he wouldn’t stop observing me in silence, and I felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
“Adriana, is everything all right?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“I’m not sure, but lately I find you more serious, less communicative.”
“I apologize if I didn’t give one hundred percent today. It won’t happen again.”
“I’m not talking about work.”
I know, but you aren’t the only one who knows how to be evasive, right?
“I’m talking about you seeming to be more distant toward me. Does it have anything to do with seeing me suffer from amnesia?”
“No, I think it has to do with the pressure we’re under because of the Prehistory Hall—and please don’t take that as a complaint. I actually enjoy the pace at which we work. It’s just that you can’t put in at the same level every day.”
It had come out sounding quite convincing, so I continued to play the role of the perfect employee. “Speaking of which, I haven’t asked you about that amnesia business, though I see you’ve recovered all your faculties.”
“I think you saw me when it was at its worst. I was back to normal within a few hours.”
“I’m delighted. Have you already seen your doctor?”
“He’s aware of what happened, yes.”
“Is he a local?”
“No, he’s a neurologist with a practice in Barcelona. He specializes in cases like mine.”
“I hope you won’t feel I’m being nosy, but what type of amnesia do you suffer from? What I mean is, is it primary, or is it a symptom of some other illness?”
Would he pick up the fact that I’d spent the weekend submerged in my mother’s psychopathology reference books looking for answers?
“Don’t worry, it’s not linked to any illness,” he hastened to clarify. “But thank you for being concerned about me. I’ve never before had a crisis that lasted as long as the one you saw, and I’ve only had half a dozen of them to date. In the past, the usual pattern was the one I described to you: a bit of confusion when I wake up, not knowing where I am for a while. Doing something with my hands, like the models, helps me to refocus, and the confusion eventually goes away.”
“And it only happens to you, or do your brothers have these episodes as well?”
“No, neither Héctor nor Jairo experiences them. And our parents didn’t either, as far as we know. It’s not hereditary, if that’s what you’re wondering. The neurologist thinks it’s probably due to stress.”
“And you’re not being treated for it?”
“No, the doctor doesn’t think it’s necessary.” He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes fixed in front of him. “They’re sporadic crises, and that’s that.” He turned to me with a smile. “But again, thank you.” And then he asked once more: “Are you certain there’s nothing else bothering you, Adriana?”
I shook my head and gazed silently at the sea. So what do I tell you, Iago? That I no longer know what to think? That I don’t know if you are trustworthy? That I don’t know the extent of whatever it is you and your family are hiding? And that I keep wondering if your secret is of secondary importance or something that defines you?
What is it you want to hear, Iago? That I loathe this sensation of not knowing if what I am doing with my life now is the right thing and you are an ally, or if all my work here, my move, my career, my day-to-day existence are part of a farce and I’m just one more of your puppets?
What can I say? That, hidden in a tunnel, I overheard you? That I’ve checked you out and the pieces don’t fit? That I’m thinking of running away once more, even though I have no desire or strength to start all over again? Can I tell you that you’ve thwarted this new life I was enjoying so much until the day I overheard your conversation?
No, better that I tell you I’ve tried to replace your image in my head with substitutes, that it hasn’t worked, that I hate you, because before, I did whatever I felt like doing, and I can’t stand the fact that you have such power over my actions.
Will you understand if I tell you that my day-to-day routine is an exercise in self-control? Preventing myself from brushing against you in the Prehistory Hall; avoiding your eyes so that I don’t get lost in them; not breathing when you’re nearby because your aroma—uniquely yours—takes over, uninvited, and sets me on fire.
I need to move on, to overcome all this, control this attraction. Because that’s all it is: an attraction. Attraction fueled by your charisma, your science-fiction eyes, that presence which already affected me that very first day.
But I have inner resources, ways to stop myself from being swept along, ways of not stretching myself to the limit every day. This is starting to fester inside me, and I have to move on. And no, Iago, don’t expect me to confide in you. I don’t trust you anymore, so stop pressing me while you continue to lie to me.
Neither of us noticed the person who had, for quite some time, been observing us from above with considerable interest.
27
IAGO
Mercury Day, the fourth day of the month of Feam
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
It was a midweek afternoon when Kyra turned up at my apartment with a “Hi, I’m your sister and you’re overly concerned about me, even if you don’t entirely trust me. Two thousand years ago I gave you that scar which adorns your hand.”
I smiled at her, despite the slight sensation of unease, which brought back remnants of my dream about Boudicca and the lab. If I’d been an apprehensive or superstitious man, I would have recognized a sign or warning in my unexpected goose bumps. Fortunately, I’m neither, and I got rid of the thought as quickly as someone brushing away a troublesome fly.
“I need a hug, Lyra.”
She came to me, discarding the hostile-woman mask she always
wore. “Was it that tough?” she asked, nestling her cheek against my chest.
“It’s very lonely out there without any memory.”
I stroked her hair. Time stood still within her blond locks.
“Let’s go upstairs to the attic,” I said to her after a while. “I was distracting myself by making soap.”
The top floor of my building was flooded with light and had little furniture, so I used it as a workshop. The third-floor apartment was more than enough for me, and the two lower floors were kept locked to ensure I had no neighbors. I had personally organized the construction of this building in 1883, a few weeks after the snowfall that paralyzed the entire city. That was when I had reinstalled myself in Santander as the head of the Astro shipping company. Back then Paseo de Pereda was where the traders lived, and anyone with a successful business established their warehouses at the lower end of the street with genuine pride. In reality, I’d hung on to the property because of the views of the bay, even when that identity was no longer of any use to me and I had to disappear. Fifty years later the building stoically withstood the force of the thirty-foot waves and the wind gusts that brought with them the fire which destroyed the rest of the city. After that, I insisted on keeping it, using the various identities of my father and my siblings as my heirs.
We used to do that with our properties. It was the only way to maintain our four estates throughout the millennia. The recent idea to unite all our businesses under the one acronym, TAF, for “the ancient family”—an intercontinental holding company—had greatly simplified the legalities of ownership. Although, to be honest, all four of us had held on to private businesses and properties for ourselves. The years and misfortunes had made us cautious and suspicious; we were like four scalded cats.
“So was the trip worth the pain?” asked Kyra as she put down the sack of lavender. She brushed the purple powder from her shoulder and started taking out the flowers and putting them on top of my old walnut table.
“I want you to examine it thoroughly,” I said to her as I passed over a MAC flashdrive containing my modified report, “because I think this Kronon Corporation research could be something important. I was suspicious of their work at first, too, given all the hype about the Immortality Enzyme. It was like revisiting the business of the Fountain of Eternal Youth. You weren’t there to experience the madness of the conquistadors with us when we landed in Peru, but I swear it became almost a national obsession. Ponce de León, with two thousand men, attempted to find that damned fountain by following the Orinoco River. He believed it was near the source of that river, but all we found were mosquitoes.”
“You’re digressing,” Kyra prodded with irritation. She never liked listening to talk of the past. It made her feel old.
“Sorry. There are some memories I’m letting through, and others that I’m blocking, but it’s a difficult selection process.”
“That’s precisely why I’m not hassling you too much this week. I feel somewhat guilty about what happened to you in San Francisco. We may be pushing you too hard. So take advantage of this break until your obsessive sister becomes insistent again.”
“I’m feeling pretty well recovered, Kyra, I really am. But I appreciate the gesture. In a few days I’ll be back to help you with your conclusions regarding the antioxidants, okay?”
She gave me a satisfied look. “Now you’re the one who seems to be in a hurry around here. Who has penetrated your façade, little brother, and encouraged you to throw caution to the wind? It wouldn’t have anything to do with Adriana Alameda, would it?”
“You, too, Brutus?” I replied, making a face. “Héctor gave me his advice before I could even remember what I had going with her.”
Never mind Jairo and his contribution!
“And what was that, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I’m under the impression that there was nothing between us,” I answered with a shrug.
“That woman has an old soul. She goes her own way. It’s as if she had no need to ally herself with any of the factions at the MAC.”
“Just like you, Sister.”
“Stop being so perceptive and stir this, or it will solidify, spoon and all.”
“You’re going to teach me to make soap?”
“Men and their little egos,” she clucked. “Anyway, back to Adriana. I want to ask you something.”
“Fire away.”
“Does she know anything about what we are?”
The spoon stopped dead at an impossible angle.
“How would she know anything?” I asked in amazement.
“What I mean is, have you said anything to her?”
“About our family?” I looked at her, stunned. “No, of course not.”
“Listen, I’m not criticizing you if you have. You have every right to do so, as long as she’s discreet.”
“Kyra, please, I’m telling you that I haven’t told her anything, and I have absolutely no intention of doing so. Not her, not anyone. You know that I’ve never, ever shared our secret.”
“Not like me,” she said, sighing. “Yes, I know. But I don’t regret it.”
“I hope you didn’t really mean to say that,” I replied harshly. “I hope you meant to say that you regret falling in love like a schoolgirl with that damned dealer who wanted to sell our secret.”
“Don’t you start. Nagorno dealt with that.”
“Yes, but the world came very close to knowing of our existence,” I said, fuming, spoon in hand. “That won’t happen through any fault of mine, I assure you. And now stop talking in circles and tell me why you think Adriana knows something.”
“Well, a couple of weeks ago Adriana appeared in my office in the lab. She didn’t have anything important to ask; it was more an excuse. While she was talking, I had the impression she was scanning the room out of the corner of her eye as if she was looking for something but without knowing what. It was just a feeling, but what alarmed me was the way she was scrutinizing me, my face, my expression, my gestures . . . It was strange, Iago. You know what I mean.”
“Wow . . . you’re even more paranoid than I thought. As far as Adriana’s behavior is concerned, I don’t know what to say. She can’t possibly suspect anything, although she has changed a lot since I returned from San Francisco.”
“What do you mean?” she encouraged me, as she poured the still-liquid soap from the pot into the rectangular molds.
“She saw me in the airport when I was still disoriented, and she picked up on my amnesia right away, even though Héctor did everything possible to prevent her from doing so. If there was any sort of closeness between us before the trip, it’s lost now, although I still can’t work out why.”
“I can’t answer that, but in any event, her inspection visit to the lab was before your trip.”
I tried to work out some explanation for the lab visit, but I failed. “I have no idea, Kyra, no idea at all. I doubt she suspects anything about us. We’ve been in Santander for four years, and tell me, in that time, have you noticed any sort of wariness, any ‘strange look’ from anyone at the museum? No, no one has the slightest idea what’s going on behind the scenes.”
“Not until the day Adriana came down to the lab with that strange look on her face.”
Kyra was making me nervous.
Once we could leave the bars of soap to cool, we went downstairs to my apartment and idled away the afternoon lounging on the sofa talking about other times, the ones you always remember as being the best. It was one of those rare occasions when Kyra abandoned her almost permanent expression of pain—when we were alone together without Héctor, without Jairo. It was a duty I imposed upon myself and did my utmost to fulfill with the precision of a Swiss watch: providing her with breaks, such as this one, so she’d continue to believe that life might still be worth living.
I saw her off as night was fal
ling. She left the apartment suffused with the lavender smell of the soap. I lay down on the couch in the hollow she’d left beside me and spent a considerable amount of time staring at the ceiling.
28
IAGO
Month of Nion, 7,798 SB, Oppidum d’Ensérune
500 BC, in what is now known as Languedoc
After climbing a steep slope, I sat down to rest facing the field of lavender. It took me a while to realize there was someone behind me.
“Oh! You’re Yennego. I mistook you briefly for your brother. Forgive the intrusion.”
I looked at the tiny woman who had stopped beside me with her empty basket and invited her to sit down beside me, despite my slight discomfort. She snuggled deep into her sheepskin, for the cold of the day made her body shake as a shiver ran through it. She seemed more fragile than ever, as if a mere puff of wind could carry her away like a blade of grass. Her blond hair was caught up in a braid fastened into a figure of eight at the nape of her neck in a style worn by almost all the women of Gaul in that era, but it was clear that she hadn’t expected to come across anyone, because I found her attire somewhat unkempt.
“You’re not bothering me, Bryan,” I reassured her. “I usually come up here when my day is done in the workshop. This purple landscape soothes my nerves.”
“I was picking some sprigs when I saw you,” she apologized nervously. She was quiet for a moment, and then with a look of determination on her face, reached a decision. “There’s something I have to ask you.”
I knew perfectly well the reason for her unease, but I nevertheless continued to conceal it. “About what?”
The Immortal Collection (A Saga of the Ancient Family Book 1) Page 21
