The Dream of the City

by Andrés Vidal

  Finally, Jordi looked up and said, “Everyone was talking about it and I guess I ended up believing you wanted it as much as I did. The thing with Carlo I thought was just a misadventure. You should have told me this before, Laura. Now everyone will think I’ve been a fool.”

  “No one will think anything; what’s happening here doesn’t matter to anyone but the two of us.”

  Jordi smiled apathetically.

  “Sometimes you can be very naïve.”

  Laura looked at him in silence.

  “I don’t wan to lose you, Jordi. It’s important for me to have you on my side; you’re the person who knows me best …”

  Jordi sighed reflectively. It was no longer the same when he looked into her eyes. He used to see himself reflected in them; now they appeared cold and opaque.

  “I don’t want to lose you either, but you need to understand that I have to have a few days to get a grasp of all this, this new … situation.” His voice sounded firm. “It’s not easy to accept rejection. I think it’s better if we don’t see each other for a time.”

  Laura accepted his decision. She thought Jordi was unfair with her, but she also knew he would need that time to heal his wounds. Regardless, the conversation had taken an enormous weight from her shoulders.

  “That’s fine,” she answered.

  Then Jordi raised his hand in the air, signaling for the waiter. Shortly afterward, he brought the check and Jordi didn’t say another word for the rest of the evening.

  After leaving Laura at her home, Jordi went to his. Like the Jufresas, his family lived in a mansion of two floors, in the colonial style, located in the district of San Gervasio. They were almost neighbors, and this had permitted those chance encounters between Laura and him that had been common since their childhood. He still remembered how Laura would walk in front of his house in her flounced skirt, holding the hand of her mainadera, with a sweet in her mouth and that smile that had melted his heart so many times. Jordi was two years older than her, but his memory was good. He also remembered the first time they had kissed: Laura was eight, and one afternoon, while they were playing in the garden, hiding from the other children, they ended up alone in the toolshed. Sometimes Jordi missed his childhood, without responsibilities, without conventions. If only he could wipe it all from his memory, so he’d feel a little better. Laura wasn’t wrong: there had never been explicit talk of an engagement, but he had been silently in love with his friend since the first time he laid eyes on her.

  “You’re back early,” his father said. Josep Lluís Antich looked up from the book he was reading. His thick glasses made his eyes seem smaller, like two round, dark stones. He went immediately back to his reading.

  Jordi went over to his mother, who was seated in an armchair beside her husband knitting a soft wool blanket. The needles whirled agilely while her eyes looked away from her work. He kissed her tenderly on both cheeks and sat on the arm of the chair. The embers in the fireplace were cracking nervously and making the logs pop and sizzle.

  Since he had said good-bye to Laura with a saddened smile, he’d been riding in the carriage through the city trying to find the right way to face the conflict. His heart was wounded, and though he was angry, deep down he knew he didn’t want to lose their friendship. She meant enough to him that he was willing to be content with a mere friendship if it meant he could still be a part of her life. But he knew very well his parents wouldn’t take the news easily. For them, the most important thing was prestige. He was an only son, and his marriage to Laura had been such an accepted matter that they’d never even considered any other possibility. Jordi breathed deep and readied himself to tell them.

  “I have to talk to you all about something important,” he finally confessed.

  Josep Lluís looked back up at his son.

  “The night went well, I hope?” A thin smile revealed his rows of white teeth as he closed his book on his lap. “News about you and Laura?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Stupendous!” Josep Lluís exclaimed.

  “Well, you could say that, because it’s better to find out something like this now than when it’s too late.”

  Josep Lluís straightened up in his armchair and set his book aside. His wife sat attentively as well, and a dark look spread across her face.

  “What are you saying, son?” his father asked. He wasn’t a man who cared for surprises.

  Jordi stood up and walked to the back of the room. There, at the Louis XVI bar with an onyx marble top and an oil painting on the door enclosing its numerous bottles of liquor, he turned away from them and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

  “Laura’s and my engagement has been broken. That is, if it ever existed,” he said before taking a swig. Then he turned around to face his parents, who looked at him stupefied.

  Josep Lluís stood up. His slack face began to shake and flush violet.

  “What are you saying?” His voice grew louder and more insistent. “This isn’t a joke!”

  Remei had stayed silent and did nothing but look at her son with wide-open eyes, as if she needed to see better what reality faced her. Her hands stilled in her lap, as she finally stopped knitting.

  “I’m saying that I never formally asked for Laura’s hand and today she said to me that she doesn’t want to do it. Maybe I should have given her a ring long ago to make it formal, I don’t know …”

  “That wasn’t necessary! That snake in the grass never said no when the subject came up and she had more than enough chances to do so.”

  Josep Lluís sat back down, beat his fists on the arms of the chair, and looked up at the ceiling, as if in search of answers.

  “The day they opened the new store, for one thing,” Remei interrupted in a desperate voice. “I don’t understand, we were all so sure …”

  Jordi knew that Remei had always had great affection for Laura. She used to help him choose his presents for her, and she would ask about her whenever he received a postcard from Rome. During all that time, Jordi had been counting the days; sometimes they would write each other, and he would be overjoyed to hear from her. When Laura spoke to him of Carlo, he was surprised, but she seemed to have gotten over it, and he had thought that now he was the only one and that she even loved him in her own way. And he had continued to feel that way during the six months since her return.

  He gulped down what was left in his glass and walked over to his parents. He sat in one of the empty chairs. His legs were weak.

  “She apologized for what’s happened,” he said in a conciliatory tone, resting his elbows on his knees. “She feels worse than I do. Blame was eating her up inside, I can assure you of that. Don’t worry, I’m fine and all this will be over soon.”

  “She’s met someone,” his father commented, still looking at the ceiling.

  “She would have told me,” Jordi responded. Though in fact, the same doubt was plaguing him.

  “Sure, just like she told you she didn’t want to marry you. You seem stupid sometimes, son. A single girl who leaves the country for that long, comes back, and goes on doing whatever she wants isn’t someone you can trust. She’s a liar and a manipulator for playing with you the way she did.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying, Father.” Jordi was beginning to feel weary.

  “I do too know, and that is exactly why I know that things will not stand this way. If this engagement is broken off, the Jufresa family will have many things to regret!” he exclaimed in a blind fury.

  Jordi stared at him incredulously. His father’s personality, as well as his pride, were much stronger than Jordi’s. Josep Lluís Antich always accomplished whatever he set his mind to. With little more than a thimble and a needle, he had started off in the textile business, in the very company he now owned. He had refused to have partners for fear that they would rob him behind his back, and he had fought
hard to win contracts with most of the department stores in Barcelona. And if there was one thing he detested, it was humiliation. Since Laura had spoken to him in El Suizo, Jordi knew his father wouldn’t just stand by with his arms crossed, but he also hadn’t believed he would use what had happened as a justification to become enraged at the entire Jufresa family.

  “If Laura breaks the engagement with you, our relations with the Jufresas will be heavily compromised. So the best thing for you is to do everything in your hands to get her back,” Josep Lluís threatened him before stomping out of the room. In the meanwhile, Remei watched her son’s imperturbable face from her armchair.

  “Mother, Laura and I will continue to be close friends; I don’t want to cause any damage.” Jordi sighed, staring at the floor.

  He knew his father and it was clear that whatever he had in his head, it was bound to turn into a disaster. But his mother had always supported Jordi when he had found himself in difficulties. For a brief period when he’d left the family business, she had passed him money that his father refused, and she had covered for him whenever he’d missed the family’s celebrations. He hoped that this time, his mother would intervene for him, or at least suggest what he could do. Jordi looked at her defeated, anxious to hear her answer.

  But all she said was, “If you don’t want to do any damage, then you don’t have to.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Second consignment sunken by Allied submarine near the coast of Inverness.

  FDO. J. TORDERA

  After the defeat of the Germans in the Battle of the Marne in September of 1914, the positions of the combatants had solidified even further. The army under Lieutenant General Helmuth von Moltke tried to reach Paris, but the English and French troops comprised a line of fortified positions stretching more than one hundred fifty miles. Dug down in their trenches, they rebuffed the enemy’s intrusion with ferocity and any thoughts of an attack coming from the North Sea to the border between Switzerland and France were a mere fantasy. Moreover, now in December, it had been only two days since the victory of the British in the Falklands off the coast of South America; thanks to the strategy of Admiral John Fisher, the Royal Navy had reestablished its dominion over the seas. But even there, the equilibrium was fragile: the war depended on positions and the surface of the sea was becoming like the trenches. As a consequence, it had been difficult to get at the German forces from any point in the east.

  It was for that reason that on December 10, when Ferran read the clipped lines of the telegram, sitting comfortably in his office, he couldn’t keep from uttering a blasphemy: the second batch of cellulose they had shipped to the Germans had been attacked by a British submarine, and along with those fifty tons, his entire investment was lost. He cursed these new armaments, those unbeatable submarines and iron ships capable of launching explosives up to ten miles away. And he cursed himself for taking on the cost of the shipment in order to reap greater benefits afterward. If he had stayed in his role of intermediary, Tordera would have taken the better part of the loss, but now. … Ferran still didn’t know exactly how much, but he could assume it was a devastating quantity of money that had been left scattered over the waters of the North Sea. The accursed war was turning out to be very costly indeed.

  Andreu Cambrils i Pou was far from happy about the calamity. Ferran was sure that one way or another, he would soon receive word from the politician looking for the slice of the pie he’d been promised. He should let Chief Bragado know immediately, as he was probably the only one still unaware of anything. Ferran sat up, grabbed his coat and hat from the coat tree, slipped the message into one of his pockets, and was on the verge of opening the door when he heard knocks coming from the other side. Without waiting for a response, Laura opened the door: she was standing there with a wooden tray full of models for new pieces.

  “We need to prepare more molds, Ferran. We only have one left for the Toulouse piece and I’m not sure how much longer it will hold up. It’s our most popular bracelet.”

  “I don’t have time now. Put in an order for whatever you need.” His voice cut her short while he buttoned his jacket, and he didn’t even stop a second to look at her.

  Laura must have noticed that Ferran was distraught; he was normally immaculate in matters of dress, but today his hair was disheveled, his tie loose, and the collar of his shirt hung open, revealing his worry.

  “Are you all right?”

  He was aware that his relationship with Laura had never been as close as the one she shared with Ramon or Núria, and he decided now was not the moment to try and cultivate a greater closeness.

  “I would be fine if you would let me by. I don’t have time now for you and your little knickknacks.”

  As Ferran left the office, crossing through the workshop, all the craftsmen looked back down at the projects that they had put on hold as they listened in. Laura swallowed and with a lowered head, she turned to her father’s office, where he was absent more often than not since leaving the business in his son’s hands.

  Ferran did nothing to excuse himself. With a harried step he walked between the tables and then outside. It was still morning, but the gray Thursday clouds already bathed the day in yellowish light. He looked up and closed his eyes, letting the fine droplets of rain splash against his face and hair, soaking and cleansing him. He pushed Dimas aside when he came over with an umbrella to cover him.

  “Wait for me inside; I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  Ferran started the automobile and it roared with power. The wheels slipped over the wet pavers and gave off a strange sound, very different from when they were dry.

  In the workshop, Laura had picked up her charcoal again and was tracing a new sketch, thinking of making a pair of earrings. They would also belong to the collection she had named after the Sagrada Familia, the first piece of which had been the brooch with the three towers representing Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. The idea was that all of the pieces would make clear reference to the Expiatory Temple she was assisting with, and to everything it represented. Gaudí’s art had come to impress her so deeply that she wanted to honor its imagery with forms like those in his work, but rendered in lasting precious metal. Not copies, but pieces made in the same spirit. The forms, the curves, the trencadís … The incandescent light on the table lit up the details that she sketched out as soon as they entered her imagination. The folders and papers laid out on the table created shadows. On the nearest wall hung various sheets of paper with the outlines of elements that had been useful to her as she fashioned certain designs.

  This time Ferran had stepped over the line; he had disrespected her in front of their employees, and as his sister, she deserved better, thought Laura. Besides, if she had gone to his office, it hadn’t been to bother him, but rather because she was worried about the business. But her brother never had enough: greed and selfishness controlled him and he and his desires were all that existed for him; other people barely mattered. People like her brother lived from one day to the next fretting over their next objective: what they still didn’t have and how they were going to get it. And when they did, they often took no pleasure in it, because they had to keep pushing, going from one thing to the next and never looking back.

  Laura pressed the charcoal into the paper, clearly marking the lines of the earrings, which were composed of an interlocking pattern of the Greek letters Alpha and Omega. They were symbols of the beginning and the end, and they could also be seen on the Nativity Façade of the new cathedral. They were on the main portico, devoted to Charity, which represented disinterested love, the very opposite of what her brother personified. The portal was separated by columns from the other two, which stood for Hope and Faith; together they were the three Theological Virtues. The charcoal cracked over the paper, dirtying everything and making a disaster of the drawing, and smudging Laura’s fingers as well, and she pounded her fist on the table in frustration. A few knocks on
the door made her look up. Dimas appeared in front of her, and the morning was suddenly better.

  He left it open behind him, aware of what the workers would think if he did otherwise, and came over to the table.

  “Señorita Jufresa,” Dimas said aloud, so that everyone could hear him from outside. And then, in a whisper: “It looks like you’ll have to do that one again.” He grinned. She did the same, and then asked, for the benefit of those listening in, “What may I do for you?”

  Dimas improvised a quick response.

  “Your brother has just left and I’ll be here until his return. If I may assist you in anything, please let me know.”

  “Of course,” she responded, feigning a distant attitude. “I do need to move some trays.” She pointed to those that were spread about the office, on the desk, the shelves, and the chairs.

  “You have something on your face,” he whispered again, rubbing away, as softly as a caress, a smudge that the charcoal had left on her cheek. Laura wished that time would stop; his touch had made her shiver. But a knock at the door frame brought the moment to an end. Àngel Vila was waiting.

  “I’m sorry for interrupting …”

  “What is it, Àngel?” she asked. Dimas moved away from the table slightly, and his expression hardened.

  “Nothing, I just came to see if I should take care of those molds that you had to talk to your brother about.”

  Laura raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t hear our little dustup. …”

  “Well …” the artisan responded prudently.

  “What dustup?” Dimas asked.

  “Between Ferran and me before he left. He seems to be having a bad day and he didn’t want to hear anything about molds or anything of the kind. He ran out of the office like he was being chased by the devil. By the way, why are you not with him, Navarro?” she asked, again affecting a certain aloofness.

  “He didn’t need me.”

  That was one thing, at least, that she could be thankful to her brother for, Laura thought.