The Invisible Guardian

by Redondo, Dolores

  ‘That’s her problem, Víctor. You shouldn’t let Flora’s opinion influence you so much.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, pulling a face, ‘as if it were that easy.’

  The rain, which had only started recently, kept thundering down outside, but this only made the warmth of the house more welcoming. The aroma of the roast drifted from the kitchen and whetted everyone’s appetites as soon as they came in. Flora emerged from the kitchen carrying a glass of amber liquid in her hand.

  ‘Well, it’s about time, we were beginning to think we’d have to start without you,’ she said by way of a greeting. Her aunt bustled out after her, drying her hands on a small maroon towel. She kissed them one at a time. And Amaia noticed the expression on Flora’s face as she took a couple of steps back, as if escaping from Engrasi’s affectionate influence. Yes, she thought, heaven forbid you should kiss anyone by mistake. For her part, Ros sat down in the chair nearest the door, doing her utmost to avoid going near Flora.

  ‘Did you have a good time? Did you get as far as the cave?’ asked Engrasi.

  ‘Yes, it was a really nice walk, although only Amaia made it to the cave, I stayed behind. I twisted my ankle, but it’s nothing serious,’ said Ros, as her aunt bent over to look at it. ‘Amaia went all the way up; she made an offering and saw Mari.’

  Their aunt turned towards Amaia with a smile.

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  Amaia caught sight of the scornful expression on Flora’s face and sighed, feeling rather uncomfortable.

  ‘Well, I went up as far as the entrance to the cave and there was a woman,’ she said, looking at Ros, intentionally leaving the word woman to the end. ‘I chatted to her for a while. Nothing more.’

  ‘She was dressed in green and told Amaia that she had a house nearby, and when Amaia turned towards the path she disappeared.’

  Her aunt looked at her, smiling openly.

  ‘There you go, then.’

  ‘Aunt Engrasi …’ protested Amaia.

  ‘Well, if you’ve finished with the folklore perhaps we can think about eating before the roast is spoiled,’ said Flora, passing round glasses of wine, which she poured at the table and then handed to each of them. She left Ros to get her own and left Víctor out on purpose.

  ‘Go into the kitchen, Víctor,’ Aunt Engrasi turned to him, ‘there’s all kinds of things in the fridge, help yourself to whatever you’d like.’

  ‘I’m sorry not to offer you anything, Víctor,’ Flora excused herself, ‘but unlike everyone else, this isn’t my home.’

  ‘Don’t talk such rubbish, Flora, my home is my nieces’ home. All my nieces’,’ she emphasised, ‘yours too.’

  ‘Thank you, Aunt,’ she replied, ‘but I wasn’t sure how welcome I was here.’

  Her aunt sighed before speaking.

  ‘As long as I’m alive, you will all be welcome in my home, since, when all is said and done, this is my house and I’m the one who decides who is welcome and who is not. I don’t think you’ve ever experienced any hostility on my part. Sometimes, Flora, rejection stems not from the hostess, but the one who feels out of place.’

  Flora took a large gulp from her glass and didn’t reply.

  They sat down at the table, full of praise for their aunt’s amazing cooking and the roast lamb with roast potatoes and peppers in sauce that she’d prepared. For most of the meal it was James and Víctor who kept the conversation going, which, to Amaia’s delight and Flora’s evident disgust, continued to focus on her brother-in-law’s motorbikes.

  ‘Spending all your time restoring motorbikes seems almost like an artistic endeavour.’

  ‘Well,’ said Víctor, flattered, ‘I’m afraid that with all that muck and filth it’s more a case of mechanics than doing a delicate restoration job, especially at first when you’ve only just bought the bike. I bought the Lube that I rode here today from a small-holder over at Bermeo who’d kept it in a shed for over thirty years, and it was covered in shit from at least a hundred different animals.’

  ‘Víctor,’ Flora reproved him.

  The others laughed and James encouraged him to continue.

  ‘But once you’ve got it home, I imagine you dismantle it and you clean it, and that part must be a real joy.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true, but that’s almost the easiest part. What really takes time is finding replacements for the parts that are missing or beyond repair, and, most of all, restoring the parts that are no longer available, which I’ve sometimes had to make myself by hand.’

  ‘What normally takes most work?’ asked Amaia to encourage her brother-in-law further.

  Víctor seemed to think about it for a moment. Meanwhile, Flora was sighing with a boredom that didn’t seem to be affecting anybody else at the table.

  ‘There’s no doubt about it: one of the things that takes most work is restoring the fuel deposits. It wasn’t at all unusual for some petrol to be left in them in those days, and, with the passing of the years, the inside of the deposits has oxidised because they used to use tinplate instead of stainless steel like they do now. As a consequence, the plate would disappear over time and as the metal oxidised it would flake off and settle in all the fuel deposits. That sort of deposit doesn’t exist anymore, so you have to use every trick in the book to clean them and repair the insides.’

  Flora stood up and started to clear the plates.

  ‘Don’t worry, Aunt,’ she said, putting a hand on Engrasi’s shoulder, ‘I’m not at all interested in the conversation to be honest, and I’ll bring the dessert back in with me.’

  ‘Your sister’s made us one of her amazing desserts,’ said Aunt Engrasi while Flora went to the kitchen, gesturing to Ros, who had got up, to sit down again.

  Víctor had suddenly fallen silent, looking into his empty glass as if it held the answer to all the questions in the world. Flora came back in carrying a tray wrapped in tissue paper. She handed out plates and cutlery and unveiled the dessert with great ceremony. The sweet, greasy aroma of a dozen sticky little cakes wafted amongst the diners. There was a wave of admiring exclamations among those present while Amaia covered her mouth with her hand and looked in amazement at her sister, who smiled back at her in satisfaction.

  ‘Txantxigorris, I love these,’ exclaimed James taking one.

  Indignation and disbelief bubbled up inside Amaia while she fought against the desire to grab her sister by the hair and make her eat every single cake. She looked down, keeping silent, trying to contain the rage she felt inside. As Flora chattered on obliviously, presumptuously, she could almost feel her cruel, calculating gaze observing her, entertained in a way that sometimes made Amaia afraid. The same gaze with which her mother used to look at her.

  ‘Aren’t you eating, Amaia?’ Flora asked sweetly.

  ‘No, I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Not even for these?’ she joked. ‘Don’t disappoint me, eat a little bit,’ she said, putting one of the txantxigorris on Amaia’s plate.

  Amaia looked at it, unable to prevent herself from thinking of the girls’ bodies giving off that greasy smell.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse me, Flora. Certain things have been making my stomach turn recently,’ she said, staring at her fixedly.

  ‘Who knows, maybe you’re pregnant,’ Flora pushed her still further. ‘Aunt Engrasi said you were trying for a baby.’

  ‘For the love of God, Flora,’ complained her aunt. ‘I’m sorry, Amaia, it was just a passing comment.’ She put her hand over Amaia’s.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Aunt Engrasi,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t be so insensitive, Flora, Amaia’s had to deal with a lot of unpleasant things over the last few days,’ Víctor intervened. ‘Her job’s really tough; I’m not surprised she can barely eat.’

  Amaia noticed how Flora was looking at him. Surprised, perhaps, that he had dared to disagree with her in public for once.

  ‘I read that you’ve arrested Johana’s father,’ said Víctor smoothly. ‘I hope these crime
s will stop at last.’

  ‘That would be great,’ Amaia agreed, ‘but unfortunately, although we have evidence that he killed his daughter, we’re also certain that he didn’t carry out the other murders.’

  ‘Well, I’m happy you’ve caught that bastard in any case. I know his wife and I knew the girl by sight, and you’d have to be a monster to harm a girl that sweet. That guy is a bastard, and I hope he gets what’s coming to him in prison,’ said Víctor, displaying a passion rarely seen in him.

  ‘A bastard, you say?’ Flora jumped in. ‘And what about the girls? Because the truth is they go looking for it.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’ Ros interrupted Flora indignantly, addressing her directly for the first time in the whole meal.

  ‘What am I trying to say? I’m saying that those girls are just common sluts, I’m fed up of seeing how they dress, how they talk and how they behave. They’re like whores, it’s embarrassing to see how they carry on with boys; I swear that sometimes, when I walk through the square and see them almost sitting on their laps like tarts, it doesn’t surprise me that they end up like this.’

  ‘Flora, what you’re saying is barbarous. Are you really justifying someone killing these young girls?’ her aunt snapped.

  ‘I’m not justifying it, but if they were the sort of well-behaved girls who are at home at ten then none of this would have happened, and if they go around provoking men like this I’m not saying that they deserve it, but they do go looking for it.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can talk like that, Flora,’ said Amaia incredulously.

  ‘It’s what I think; they’re not saints just because they’re dead. I’m entitled to my opinion, aren’t I?’

  ‘That man who killed his daughter is a bastard,’ declared Víctor, ‘and there is no justification for what he did.’

  They all looked at him, surprised by the unusual force-fulness with which he spoke, but Flora was truly astonished.

  Amaia took advantage of the opportunity.

  ‘Flora, Johana was murdered and raped by her father, her stepfather. She was a good girl who got good grades, dressed suitably and was at home by ten. She was harmed by someone who should have been protecting her. Perhaps that only makes it more incomprehensible, more horrible. Because it’s terrifying that someone who ought to care for you can harm you.’

  ‘Ha!’ exclaimed Flora, forcing a laugh. ‘Here we go! Why not?! Let’s dig up traumatic events that wouldn’t be out of place in a trashy melodrama. The person who was supposed to care for me hurt me,’ she said, putting on a childish voice. ‘What? Poor little Amaia, the traumatised child. Well, let me tell you something, little sister, you didn’t protect her when you should have either.’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’ asked James, taking his wife’s hand.

  ‘I’m talking about our mother.’

  Ros shook her head, aware of the tension building around her.

  ‘Yes, our weak and elderly mother, a very ill woman who once lost her temper. Just once, and that was enough for the whole family to condemn her,’ said Flora, full of disdain.

  Amaia looked at her carefully before answering.

  ‘That’s not true, Flora, Ama’s life continued as normal, it was mine that changed.’

  ‘Because you had to come and live here with Aunt Engrasi? That suited you, it was what you’d always wanted, to go your own way and not have to work in the workshop. It turned out well for you, and what Ama did was just a mistake, a one off, an accident …’

  Amaia pulled her hand free from James’s hold and brought it up to her face, covering it completely. She breathed through her fingers and said very quietly, ‘It wasn’t an accident, Flora. She tried to kill me.’

  ‘You’ve always exaggerated. She told me. She slapped you and you fell against the kneading table.’

  ‘She hit me with the iron rolling pin,’ said Amaia, without uncovering her face. The pain of her words was evident in her voice, which trembled as if it was about to disappear completely. ‘She hit me on the head until she broke the fingers of the hand I was using to defend myself, and she carried on hitting me when I was lying on the floor.’

  ‘Liar!’ shouted Flora, standing up. ‘You’re a liar.’

  ‘Sit down, Flora,’ ordered Engrasi in a firm voice.

  Flora sat down without taking her eyes off Amaia, whose face was still hidden behind her hands.

  ‘Now listen to me,’ said their aunt. ‘Your sister isn’t lying; the doctor who attended Amaia that night was Dr Manuel Martínez, the same one who was treating your mother for her illness. He recommended that Amaia should not return home. It’s true that she only hit Amaia on that one occasion, but she almost killed her. Amaia spent the following months shut up here without going out until her wounds healed or were hidden by her hair.’

  ‘I don’t believe it, she only slapped her, Amaia was small and she fell, her injuries are from when she fell; she gave her a slap like any mother would give her daughter, and it was more common in those days. But you …’ she said, looking at Amaia as she pursed her lips in disdain, ‘you stayed bitter forever and you didn’t care for her, either, when you had the chance. You were like that father: you took advantage of the situation to be abusive.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’ shouted Amaia, uncovering her tearstained face.

  ‘I’m saying that you could have helped her when that thing happened in the hospital.’

  Amaia’s voice became so low it was almost inaudible as she made an effort to contain the fury that, once again, was boiling up inside her.

  ‘No, I couldn’t help her, nobody could, least of all me.’

  ‘You could have gone to see her,’ Flora reproached her.

  ‘She wants to kill me, Flora,’ shouted Amaia.

  James intervened, standing up and embracing Amaia from behind.

  ‘Flora, it would be best if you dropped this. Amaia is finding this subject very difficult and I don’t know why you keep going on about it. I know what happened, and I can assure you that your mother was lucky not to end up in prison or in a psychiatric institution. It would definitely have been the best thing for her, and it would certainly have been the best thing for Amaia as a little girl, a little girl who had to grow up with the weight of an attempted murder. She had to hide it by lying about it and she had to leave her own home, as if she were the one responsible for the horror she had had to go through. What happened to your mother is sad, I’m sorry that she couldn’t go home when she was ill, but you’re wrong to blame Amaia for the fact that she died in hospital.’

  Flora looked at him, stunned.

  ‘That she died? That’s what she told you had happened?’ she said, turning to Amaia in a rage. ‘You dared to tell him that our mother is dead?’

  James looked at Amaia, visibly confused.

  ‘Well, I guessed that was the case, the truth is that she didn’t tell me she was dead, I assumed it. It was only yesterday that I heard what happened at the hospital, and when you said that she got worse, I assumed that …’

  Calmer now, Amaia resumed her explanation.

  ‘After my last visit, my mother fell into a catatonic state, in which she remained for several days, but one morning, while a nurse was leaning over her to take her temperature, she sat up, grabbed her by the hair and bit her on the neck so hard that she pulled off some skin, which she chewed and swallowed. When the other nurses arrived, the nurse was already on the floor and my mother was on top of her, hitting her again and again while the blood poured out of her neck and my mother’s mouth. The nurse suffered serious injuries, they took her down to the operating theatre and they gave her several blood transfusions and her life was saved because she happened to be in a hospital. She was lucky, although she’ll have a scar on her neck for the rest of her life.’

  Flora looked at her, fixing her with eyes full of scorn, while her mouth pursed in such a tight, harsh line it could have been chipped onto her face with an axe.

 
‘We were lucky,’ Amaia continued. ‘Our mother entered a psychiatric institution by order of the judge and the hospital was found civilly responsible for not anticipating such danger in a patient who had already been diagnosed.’

  She looked Flora in the eyes.

  ‘I couldn’t have done anything, and there was nothing we could have done at that stage, it was the judge who made the decision.’

  ‘And you agreed,’ spat Flora.

  ‘Flora,’ said Amaia, gathering her patience, ‘it’s taken me a lot of time and pain to be able to say this out loud, but Ama wants to kill me.’

  ‘Oh, you’re crazy! And not just that, you’re really evil.’

  ‘Ama wants to kill me,’ she repeated, as if doing so could free her of that evil.

  James put a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Darling, you shouldn’t talk like that, this all happened a long time ago, but you’re safe now.’

  ‘She hates me,’ murmured Amaia, as if she had not heard him.

  ‘It was just an accident,’ repeated Flora, stubbornly.

  ‘No, Flora, it wasn’t an accident. She tried to kill me, she only stopped because she thought she had succeeded, and when she thought I was dead she buried me in the kneading trough.’

  Flora stood up banging the table with her fist and making the glasses ring.

  ‘Curse you, Amaia. Curse you for the rest of your life.’

  ‘I don’t think the rest of my life will be any different from my past,’ answered Amaia in a tired voice.

  Flora picked up her bag, which was hanging on the back of the chair, and left, slamming the door behind her. Víctor murmured his apologies and went out behind her, visibly concerned. After they had left the others remained silent, not daring to say anything to break the tension of the storm that seemed to have engulfed them.

  In the end it was James again who tried to bring things back to normal. He embraced his wife.

  ‘I ought to be very angry with you for not having told me everything sooner. You know that I love you, Amaia, there’s nothing that could change that, which is why I find it hard to understand why you didn’t confide in me. I know that everything has been very painful for all of you, and especially for you, Amaia, but you have to understand that I’ve learned more about your family in the last few days than I have in the last five years.’