The Immortal Collection (A Saga of the Ancient Family Book 1)

by Eva García Sáenz

  “Oh, you’re overrating my presence. As far as I can see, I’m not indispensable. It’s clear you’ve managed very well without me. In any case, Iago, you shouldn’t be taking your work home. What will the museum say about your reputation? By the way, Adriana, I had no idea that your notion of ‘doing the right thing’ extended to my brother.”

  “You know I’m not going to give you any explanation, don’t you?” was my sole response.

  His jaw tightened.

  Iago was about to say something when one of the women approached him, purring, and placed a hand on his chest. I glanced at the glittering fingernails resting on Iago’s blue linen shirt. The contrast was offensive.

  “Why don’t you join the party, handsome? We were just on our way to your friend’s villa.”

  I felt as if I’d been kicked in the stomach. Yes, jealousy, pure and simple. Iago’s firm grip on my hand prevented me from biting off her head. Iago put his arm around my shoulder and slowly brushed a lock of my hair behind my ear. The Valkyrie squirmed uneasily at Iago’s simple gesture, but her claw didn’t release its prey.

  “I think my brother can sort things out perfectly well without me,” Iago answered her, staring hard at Jairo.

  Then he gave a small nod of farewell without even looking at the women, followed by a polite, curt, “Ladies.”

  But Jairo, it seemed, wasn’t prepared to miss this opportunity.

  “That’s not a bad idea. Why don’t you and Adriana join our little festivity?”

  “I think I’ll pass,” I replied as coldly as I could.

  “I insist,” he said in a silky voice.

  “And I also insist that I’ll pass.”

  “As you wish,” he said with a sigh of resignation.

  They bid us farewell, and we continued our walk toward Iago’s front entrance in silence.

  “With three?” I asked him when they were out of sight.

  Iago sighed. “Three is a sacred number in some cultures, and, unfortunately for me, Jairo’s favorite number,” he said, as if he didn’t find it the least bit amusing to have to account for his brother. “Jairo is a man who is devoted to his habits. Fridays he usually . . . Well, you’ve already seen what I’m talking about.”

  I didn’t really understand what he’d said about the numbers, but this was a night when I would forgive Iago anything, even his contradictions.

  “And where does he find them?”

  “You wouldn’t want to know.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m sorry you had to witness this spectacle,” he said, finally, in a bleak voice.

  “Don’t apologize. You’re not your brother’s keeper.”

  “Where have I heard that before?” he answered as if it hurt to ask the question.

  We walked across the last pedestrian crossing and headed for Paseo de Pereda. There were few people on the street at that very early hour of the morning—the odd phantom, the occasional insomniac dog dragging its owner along. The streetlights were our only escorts, as if they had been charged with ensuring that we reached home safe and sound.

  “Have you two always had a bad relationship?” I finally dared to ask.

  “Since the day he was born, believe me,” he replied, his gaze lost in the waters of the sea, which at that hour were a dark-blue color below the definitive outline of the Somo headland opposite. He put his arm around my shoulder again, pulling me in even closer to his body, and I put my arm around his waist. It didn’t take long for us to fall into step, and we walked very close to each other. If I had to retain any sensation from that night, it would undoubtedly be that walk.

  “In fact,” Iago continued, “Jairo introduced a major conflict into my family from the very day he was conceived. Jairo is the worst brother luck could provide, but he’s helped me out of critical predicaments several times. I have a few blood debts outstanding with him. As far as the rest of my family is concerned, he behaves like someone with a bipolar illness toward them, too. Jairo is the best safety net when you need help, and the most troublesome of enemies when everything’s going well for you.”

  He calmly ruffled his hair and lifted his chin skyward with his eyes closed, as if he was trying to expel some disagreeable memory, and then he turned to me. “Anyway, if you don’t mind, let’s stop talking about Jairo. I wouldn’t like him to destroy the memory of this evening.”

  “Absolutely,” I replied with relief.

  We reached his building, almost hurrying now, eyeing the dark sky suspiciously and realizing that the night was getting away from us, that there were not many hours left to us before daylight brought another twist to our particular story. And finally, after crossing the threshold of his apartment, he grabbed me by the hips and lifted me up toward him as I wrapped my legs around his waist. We collapsed onto the couch, which welcomed us as warmly as a mother.

  I touched his face in the way blind people do. I was saying good-bye to him at the very moment that my fingers were discovering him. I memorized the exact thickness of his eyebrows, the uneven bridge of his nose. Then I stroked his long chin with my cheek. Iago was breathing deeply, almost solemnly, saddened, as if he could read my thoughts; as if he knew that I was taking an oath that this would be the only time.

  Copying his own action in the museum, I buried my nose in his hair, somewhat shorter since he’d returned from his trip. I left it there, inhaling deeply within that dark field of lavender. I studied the texture of his hair with my fingers. Thickish, full of body, with those waves that framed his beloved face and ended in no particular style at the back of his head, covering the emphatically male nape of his neck. I caressed that spot, too. I memorized it. I brushed the folds in his neck with my lips.

  Iago, in the meantime, allowed me to explore. He understood the game I was playing, and he was in no hurry. He seemed comfortable with my methodical inspection.

  Slowly.

  Very slowly.

  There are times when love must be rolled out in slow motion.

  I reached his shoulders after unbuttoning his shirt. They were as I had sensed so many times: crafted muscles, powerful yet lean. Elegant and strong. His was an athletic body rather than a bulky one, long and hard under a skin that was somewhat weathered for its thirty-five years. He was hairy, with curls that swirled over his chest and reached as far as the base of his Adam’s apple, covering all the skin in between. Perfect, I thought to myself.

  I brushed the curls with the palm of my hand. His chest would be the perfect place for me to rest my head, close my eyes, and fall asleep without worrying about the changes that the morning would bring.

  Nothing would change this evening. That wouldn’t happen.

  This was my last attempt to tear him out of my mind. Perhaps it was an absurd and contradictory idea, the final bullet in the chamber of oblivion. So I carried on as if my suicidal plan was going to work. I continued my way down to his navel as if there were all the time in the world; as if the pulse of the planet could be stopped for once to wait for two lovers who were surrendering themselves to each other, sheltered from the first light of dawn.

  I paused between his legs, my mouth twinned with his moans. Finally, Iago released an animal growl, completely beside himself. I moved in time with his passion. He grabbed hold of my face, forgetting any gentleness. His shoulders seemed to grow and grow, and I relished every second of that overwhelming moment. We remained in a silent embrace for I don’t know how long. In fact, I lost all sense of time as I felt his pulse and breath surround me. When he emerged from his lethargy, he made as if to unbutton my trousers, but I moved his hand aside. I briefly contemplated the thought of his long fingers between my legs, and I shivered. That would make amnesia totally impossible.

  “There’s no need,” I said. “I ought to go.”

  But he put his mouth beside my ear and whispered in a voice I’d never heard
him use before, “Please, my love, won’t you give me one minute of your lifetime?”

  It was those two words, “my love,” so overused, and which in my case had meant nothing for so long, that swept away my defenses, because on his lips they sounded genuine and brought with them a reality I wasn’t prepared for.

  Silently, I acquiesced, hoping he wouldn’t notice my confusion, as my long boots and jeans gently but firmly disappeared. He moistened his fingers in my mouth and traced filigrees of saliva between my thighs. Then he turned me onto my back and I felt the weight of him on me, slowly and expertly setting the pace until I was ready. Then he pressed his cheek against mine and whispered in that recently discovered voice, “You can shout. There’s no one else in the building.”

  And I shouted his name again and again, unable either to stop or to censor myself, while Iago again offered my ears the gift of his moans.

  We lay on our backs, eyes fixed on the ceiling of his living room, our bodies spent with pleasure, our minds befuddled, and our fingers strongly entwined as if our hands, indifferent to our wishes, refused to abandon that final contact.

  “Thank you for granting me a little of your time,” he whispered, short of breath.

  But the moment had passed, and my self-discipline took control. I didn’t allow myself to stay and sleep beside Iago. Now the sound of his name had an extra nuance, and I wondered if I’d be able to pronounce his name again in his presence without revealing what it meant to me.

  “I really ought to go now. I hope you understand,” I said, starting to search for my clothes among the chaos. “It’s very late.”

  Iago looked toward the window with a lazy smile. A cold spring sun was already beginning to appear.

  “You mean it’s very early. But go, if that’s what you want. Do you want us to see each other this weekend?”

  I looked at him, and he returned my look in silence, waiting for my reply while I arranged my pants and T-shirt.

  “Ummm . . . Iago. I think it would be better if we only saw each other at the MAC. Nothing has happened between us, okay?” I said, finally, struggling to get the words out of my mouth.

  He nodded and his face showed no emotion. “Of course. As you wish.”

  “See you Monday, then,” I replied without turning around as I walked to the door.

  I’ve always been hopeless at hiding my emotions.

  31

  IAGO

  Saturn Day, the sixth day of the month of Uath

  Saturday, May 19, 2012

  I watched her disappear down the street, as proud as a queen unfazed by her possible fall. Fleeing from me, or who knows, perhaps from herself.

  I expelled some of my warm breath and watched it form whimsical spirals in the freezing morning air. My hands sought out the warmth of the pockets in my leather jacket. The weather was unusually cold for May, but I knew all there was to know about the cold. When her figure finally disappeared around the corner of Lealtad and Calvo Sotelo, I went back into my building, sporting a half smile on my lips.

  I reached the third-floor landing, my footsteps dragging from sheer exhaustion, and slowly opened my door. Everything was just as we’d left it: cushions scattered across the carpet, crumpled blankets on the couch. I had another erection as I recalled her at my feet. I got into the shower and masturbated furiously. I was going to be late. I rang my father’s cell phone.

  “I’ll be heading your way in five minutes.”

  “Judging by your voice, I’d say you haven’t slept much,” he said sarcastically. “Have you had a busy night?”

  “It’s none of your business. I’ll see you soon,” I replied and hung up.

  When I got to Héctor’s house, I found Jairo installed in a sofa in the living room, waiting impatiently.

  “Tell all, Brother,” he fired off at me without even giving me time to sit down.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” I shot back, distracted.

  “Come on, man! I’m bored this morning. I want details,” he insisted, irritated.

  “How did it go for you, with your select company?”

  “Boring. Very, very tame,” he snorted, his expression revealing his disappointment. “Which brings us back to what started this conversation. Out with it, Brother.”

  I considered for a moment. “It was good,” I conceded.

  “About time. I was beginning to think you were losing your superpowers. And now the details, if you don’t mind,” he urged me impatiently.

  “She’s good at oral play,” I was about to say. But I didn’t. I preferred to keep that knowledge to myself. After millennia of sharing bacchanals, initiation and fertility rites, threesomes, and group sex, there was nothing I couldn’t tell my family. And yet I didn’t want to expose Adriana to my brother’s lust.

  My father and Kyra had just joined us. They made themselves comfortable on the sofas, pretending not to pay too much attention to our conversation.

  “Can we get going with the business at hand?” Kyra interrupted.

  Always so efficient, I thought with relief.

  “No problem as far as I’m concerned. Bring us up-to-date on your conclusions regarding the Kronon Corporation,” I encouraged her.

  “That’s where I was headed. Look, Iago, I’m sorry to have sent you on that trip, especially because of your painful amnesia episode, but I fear we’ve taken a risk for nothing.”

  “You’re not convinced, Daughter?” Héctor interposed.

  “No. I’ve studied the report they gave Iago, and there’s nothing to find. It’s my opinion that we shouldn’t go down that track; it would mean hunting among thousands of genes for the one that specifically causes telomerase to become active. And it’s just a theory. So this is our agenda for the next few months: we’ll finalize our conclusions regarding the antioxidants as planned, and at the same time I’ll visit a couple of gerontology labs. When we’re certain that Iago has recovered fully and won’t have another crisis for some time, we’ll send him off again to spy. You have to admit there’s no one to match him when it comes to acquiring confidential information. Are we all in agreement?”

  To my surprise, all three of them meekly agreed—even Jairo. Had my amnesia been so worrying?

  “If that’s it I’d like to go and play some golf,” said my brother, stretching himself like a cat. “Father, will you come with me today, or have you got some wild boar to bring down?”

  “No, Son, today I’m going with you.” Héctor gave me a brief, resigned look as he put his arm around Jairo’s shoulder, and they headed off together, leaving me and Kyra on our own.

  “Are you annoyed by the Kronon business?” Kyra asked me as soon as they’d gone.

  “No, it’s just that I thought it was a good lead, too,” I replied, distracted by the view through the window to Los Peligros Beach. The morning mist gave it the appearance of an impressionist watercolor. Pure mysticism.

  “But I have to admit that you’re right,” I continued, stifling a yawn. “It was a bit far-fetched.”

  Kyra moved over to my side of the couch, and I could feel her scrutinizing me.

  “Listen if you don’t mind, I’m going to go and have a sleep,” I said, standing up. “I’ve been awake for almost thirty hours.”

  “Of course. Do you want to talk about anything?”

  “No.”

  Of course not.

  I started the car, which I’d left parked on Cuesta de las Viudas, but I didn’t move off in the direction of Paseo de Pereda. I was exhausted, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep. As I headed for the museum, I couldn’t stop thinking about Kyra.

  She had fallen for my deception, and none of them had realized it. A worrying idea had been spinning around inside my head these past few weeks since I’d returned from San Francisco and recovered my capacities. But how could I prove my theory? How could I investigate it behi
nd their backs without any of them knowing?

  A lie within a lie.

  A cover-up within a cover-up.

  If I wanted to carry out my research, I’d have to take the first steps well away from Kyra’s laboratory. I did not, in fact, want to find the longevo gene—the LGV, as Kyra and I referred to it—but I definitely had to assure myself that telomerase wasn’t the answer. If it was, I had to keep Kyra and, in particular, Jairo well away from it.

  Finally, I reached a decision, took out my cell phone, and found the number I wanted. “Flemming? I think I’ve got something for you.”

  I had set the ball rolling. Even I couldn’t imagine all the pieces that would fall as a consequence of that phone call.

  Minutes later I was back at the MAC. I could see that there were hardly any cars in the parking lot. The museum was almost deserted after the previous night’s activity.

  The sunlight was bothering me; my eyes were a disaster thanks to my lack of sleep. I parked the car and hunted for my sunglasses in the glove compartment. Barefoot, I climbed down to the rock ledge, maybe in the faint hope of finding Adriana there despite there being little chance of that happening. I really needed to think, and there’d be too many recent memories in my apartment to be able to think clearly.

  Anyway, this place, just like Adriana, had something timeless about it, the only sounds those made by the waves endlessly coming and going. I sensed that we had started the drifting apart phase. I was expecting it, and that in itself hurt. I stayed there for some time, watching the spray, my mind blank, but then I was forced to stand up to avoid being soaked.

  That was when I found it. There was something partially hidden in a bend in the cave. If Adriana had left it there, she’d had to climb up to reach that small opening. I went over to check it out and saw that it was a book, Miller’s Tropic of Cancer. I had read it when it was finally published in New York in the sixties, after the trial for immorality that kept it censored for thirty years. I recall it was deemed a scandal in New York, and it was precisely for that reason we progressive couples used to read passages from it in bed, out loud.