The Scent of Lemon Leaves

by Clara Sanchez

  At half-past five I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I went to the Transylvania gift shop. This would help to calm my nerves. I was really on tenterhooks over the lab results.

  There was only one assistant, who was about thirty-five and with little to do. I told him I wanted to give someone a gift but didn’t know what to buy.

  “This is craftwork from Romania and the Balkans,” he offered, without the slightest interest in selling me anything, or in the wares he had on display. He had a Romanian accent.

  I looked at the prices of some of these items, some of which hadn’t even been dusted, and chose quite a pretty lacquer box to give to Sandra. With the box in my hand I kept poking around in case anything interesting happened. The shop assistant took a call and in the unintelligible chatter I made out the names of Frida and Alice. It may also have been my imagination. In my desire to hear something familiar, I could have forced the names. It could also be the case that they were merely carrying objects from the shop in their cardboard box. Then again, it was curious that it hadn’t been gift-wrapped.

  The Romanian unenthusiastically took the lacquer box and clumsily wrapped it. To cap it all, when I only had fifteen euros in cash, he said it didn’t matter, that he’d prefer to accept fifteen than to go through the rigmarole of a bank card. The place certainly reeked of a front for something. They could be the ones who brought the product from wherever it was and who kept it in the back room until Alice came to pick it up. It was highly likely that, owing to her special relationship with Sebastian, Alice had been given the job of safeguarding and distributing the treasure. And – another doubt – did Fredrik and Karin know where the collection point was? Even if they knew, they probably didn’t dare to make the slightest move, because if Alice had been granted this power, it was because she had other powers that effectively covered her back.

  The laboratory was on the outskirts of town, near the industrial estate, and although the director was almost my age, the installations were new and up-to-date. They asked me to come back in an hour, just before closing time, since the director wanted to see me personally and explain what he’d found with the tests. The patients sitting in the waiting room were also there to get their results and they looked at me pityingly but with a certain degree of relief. They thought I was in such a bad way that my tests called for comment by the director himself, and at the same time they were happy that I was one of the rare few to require this level of attention, rather than them.

  I went for a walk around the estate, admiring the original design of the new factory premises, which bore no relation with those empty concrete hulks that used to be filled with greasy machinery. Nowadays, it was all glass, steel, plastic and luminosity. I was jumpy. Today was going to be a great day. I went into a DIY store and watched them cutting planks. It smelt very good, of sawn pinewood. Raquel would have loved this place. She liked anything that was half ready to take home, wooden things that had to be mounted and painted, ceramics that needed decoration, leather that required dyeing. She drove me crazy with these things. I walked around. It was a pity I was never going to be a client of this store and that I hadn’t made the most of the years when these things made sense. Beautiful chests that only needed sandpapering, cupboards artificially aged to look a hundred years old. I sat in a chair with a bulrush seat while I was waiting. Couples got excited over unvarnished bookshelves while trying to restrain their children. Students were looking for a flawed, cheaper table for some provisional lodgings. There was no better place in the world to be waiting for the past, for the test results that would take me back to a time that no longer existed but that still struggled to keep existing at any price. Everything should smell like this store.

  When there was only a quarter of an hour to go, I walked back to the laboratory, admiring the trees and the people who were working, who earned their living doing something for other people, making things they could see and touch.

  Back once again in that oasis of peace, I was as jittery as I’d been when they were doing my heart tests. The doctor ushered me into his mahogany office and closed the door. He was very pleasant, asked me how I was and remarked on the good weather we were having. He apparently had all the time in the world. At last he opened up the folder and some typical-looking test results appeared. I’d had so many tests myself that I recognized them straight away. At least, I thought, they’ve been able to extract a bit of the liquid.

  “Well,” he said, “we’d need to repeat the tests. We’ve worked with a minimal sample which we assume has been contaminated, because we haven’t found anything special.”

  “Nothing?”

  He shrugged.

  “And you say your son’s been injecting this? There’s nothing to worry about. It’s a potent vitamin complex.”

  “Doctor, I’m not a doctor myself, though I spend my life surrounded by them, so let me ask you without beating around the bush. Is it possible that this compound might have effects of rejuvenation or of giving an old person like myself the energy of a young man?”

  “The concentrations of vitamins and minerals such as phosphatidylserine, taurine, B-group vitamins and others are very high. Of course they can improve concentration and give a feeling of vitality, but they can’t work miracles. It’s certainly a compound that’s much more effective than the stuff students tend to take.”

  “Sometimes,” he went on, “people will pay a fortune for some vulgar formula, whether it’s something to be taken orally or for local application, and here I’m referring to cosmetics. They let themselves be taken in by the illusion of becoming younger and more intelligent. I hope your son isn’t one of them. What works best in many cases is the placebo effect.”

  The doctor settled more comfortably in his chair. Like all people of my age he was something of a windbag.

  “We’re appalled by death. We’re panic-stricken,” he said. “This is completely stupid and a waste of time, because death never misses an appointment. Death is punctual. We can’t stop it or detain it. Delay it? Well, maybe, but I’m not so sure. And you know why? Because death is good. It’s necessary for life. The death of a cell means its renewal. If some cells didn’t die and others weren’t born we wouldn’t be able to stay alive. Tell your son to eat well, do some exercise, make love as much as possible, enjoy his life and that he shouldn’t complicate things.”

  “And what about me, doctor? He’s young, but I…”

  “The same thing, but in small doses.”

  When it came to paying, I had to get out my gold card. It had turned out they’d had to do some very fine-tuned analysis and two assistants had worked until early morning. It cost me two thousand euros and he asked me if I needed the invoice. I told him that with something like this it wasn’t necessary.

  I walked out with my head spinning even more than when they told me they had to replace a valve in my heart. In the end, the sadistic experiments of Doctor Death and Himmler had been of no use in the quest for immortality or eternal youth, or even in prolonging life. Packing up the magic potion in those suspicious ampoules and distributing it from Transylvania was pure stagecraft, just a swindle.

  I couldn’t wait to tell Sandra. What with my conversation, it was now after a quarter-past eight and I didn’t want her to think I hadn’t been able to come. My pulse was racing. I had a good drink of water in the car and tried to calm down. If anything happened to me, they’d be able to go on sleeping like logs and believing they were the elect until the end of their days. Pull yourself together, I ordered myself and drove off to the lighthouse.

  I was carrying the folder with the test results and was thinking that I’d tell Sandra we should go somewhere else in case they’d followed either her or me. I thought that we could go separately to a church near the entrance to the town. We’d have some peace and quiet there. But she wasn’t there when I arrived. It was eight thirty and sometimes Sandra had no room for manoeuvre because of Karin’s damn whims. I went to stone C. There was no one around. I lifted it and
there was nothing there. No note. She hadn’t come. If she had, she would have left some sign for me. I went inside to have a cup of herbal tea and to pass the time.

  I sat down at out usual table and the waitress came over.

  “She came and she’s gone.”

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “The girl came and didn’t even wait ten minutes. I know I’m getting involved in something I don’t care about, but don’t waste your time. That girl doesn’t love you.”

  I was about to burst out laughing.

  “And how do you know?” I enquired.

  “It goes without saying. She could be your granddaughter. Look, if you were her, would you go for somebody like you?”

  “Thank you for the advice. I’d like a camomile tea.”

  “She’s out to get your money,” continued this woman of some fifty badly weathered years, whom I didn’t want to offend because of what might happen.

  “Well, she should have chosen somebody else, because I don’t have much. I live on camomile tea and set menus, and the days I have lunch I skip dinner.”

  “That’s something, but that girl couldn’t care less.”

  “You don’t think it’s possible that there might be just the remotest possibility that she could fall in love with me?”

  “Hell no. You’re crazy if you’re under that illusion. It’s pathetic the ideas that people get into their heads.”

  “A lot of things can go through a head. Don’t tell me that you never dreamt about some famous actor that you were never going to meet.”

  “An actor? Like who?”

  “An actor, well I don’t know… like Tyrone Power, for example.”

  “Like who? Didn’t he die ages ago? I wouldn’t even know what he looked like.”

  “He was your classical ladies’ man.”

  “That girl doesn’t like ladies’ men and she doesn’t like you. Go back home. I wouldn’t have had a clear conscience tonight if I hadn’t given you a piece of my mind.”

  I was going to tell her that I’d always thought she was on Sandra’s side and it had been a big surprise to find that she was worried about me.

  I was grateful that the camomile tea was steaming hot, so I could hang around, because I knew that Sandra would be rushing here as soon as she could. Something major must have happened for her not to turn up for the most important appointment we’d ever had, and that we were probably ever going to have: the revelation about the Great Treasure. Without Sandra, without her pluck, it would never have happened. Some day her courage would have to be recognized. In comparison with what she’d done, everything I’d done didn’t count, because I was full of hatred towards those people and any action of mine would only be personal revenge, yet she was doing it for everyone. The waitress didn’t have the faintest idea of who she was talking about, or of who the person she’d judged so grossly really was. I looked at her with contempt when she came with my bill.

  I wrote the word success on the serviette. “Waiting for news and hope you’re well.”

  I put the serviette in my pocket, picked up the folder and went out. I sat for a few minutes on our bench and then put the serviette under stone C.

  Sandra

  I had time to wander round the shops before going to meet Julián. I’d got to the point of finding some pleasure in the simple fact of being able to walk at my own pace and not having to adapt to Karin’s tiny steps, or Julián’s for that matter. We were always seated when we were talking, but he took for ever to put his cup down on the saucer, to pay and to get his jacket on. Feeling free, without Karin’s weight hanging on my arm, was delicious. I walked towards the street full of artisans’ and artists’ shops where you can find all sorts of one-off items, handmade shoes, some really original dresses and objects in wood and leather.

  I was window-shopping and diving in and out of the shops when I felt like it. This, which I used to do before meeting the Norwegians, before Villa Sol, before Julián, before the queasiness in my stomach that never left me now, without even thinking about it or giving it any importance, now gave me a feeling of independence, of being my own woman. One of the shops I liked most had handmade clothes for children and sold pullovers like the one I was trying to make in Villa Sol. And I was studying an armhole when, walking past the display window, which was decorated with baby baskets with delicate embroidered sheets, towels with lace edgings and a thousand other ways of making a child feel pampered, I saw Frida.

  It wasn’t surprising that I should come across her in any part of the town, yet seeing her outside of the realm of Villa Sol startled me, and the sick feeling in my stomach went berserk. Frida didn’t fit into the normal world, although I was the only one in this street who knew it. My first impulse was to step to one side so she wouldn’t see me, but then I realized she was obsessed with something else and wasn’t looking anywhere. She probably thought that I didn’t exist outside of Villa Sol or outside the grip of the old people, and now she could take a break from having to keep an eye on everything. I left the pullover on the counter and went outside. I was almost certain that Frida wouldn’t look back. It was cold and she was wearing a padded navy-blue sleeveless jacket over a red pullover with a miniskirt and suede boots, and she’d done her hair in a plait.

  She went into a small gift shop called Transylvania and came out with a big bag. For once she didn’t have the face of a killer. She almost looked like a normal girl with something like excitement in her expression. She went on her way without taking any notice of what was happening around her, and I could quite comfortably follow the strong calf muscles that bulged out of the boots as she went up the street. I only hoped she wasn’t going to get her bike, because I’d parked the motorbike quite a way lower down. She turned off towards the fishermen’s quarter, walking increasingly faster. Either she was running late or she was keen to get to wherever she was going. Though it got difficult for me to breathe at some points, I didn’t want to lose sight of her. Instinct had made me pursue her and instinct forced me to find out where she was going. I could have stayed where I was, looking at baby clothes and feeling free, but wanting to know what Frida was up to was stronger than my sense of freedom.

  She stopped in front of a bar to look at herself in the glass of the door. She ran her hand over her plait and went inside. The glass had an octopus etched into it and it was hard to see inside, so I went round the corner and, as I’d anticipated, there was a large window, and through the window I could see Frida from behind and the Eel facing me. The Eel! I moved away a little so I could see them better without them seeing me. The Eel! She was speaking. He was looking at her. She produced what she was carrying in her bag. It was a very nice leather jacket. He took it and, after barely looking at it, handed it back to her. She took his hand and gently, without any brusque movement, he removed it. They talked, he leaning back in the chair, sometimes running his hand over his hair, and she with head and shoulders inclined forward, towards him. I was half concealed behind a car and didn’t plan to move until this scene came to an end. How could I trust someone who had solitary trysts with Frida?

  After half an hour Albert paid and they got up. Frida held out to him the bag with the jacket. He hadn’t taken it at first but had put his hands in the pockets of his jacket so as not to take it, but she insisted, begged him with her whole body not to reject it, and he had no choice but to accept it. Even I had become so tense with the situation that I was glad when he took the bag and put an end to the scene. It didn’t seem prudent to follow them. They’d most likely go their separate ways, so I went to get the motorbike.

  I went up to the lighthouse as fast as I could and waited ten minutes for Julián. I thought he might have left, but since there was no note under the stone, he may not have been able to come. I was about to ask the waitress and fortunately changed my mind immediately, because it would only have brought us even more to her attention, and the only real information I was going to get out of her was whether Julián had already been and
left.

  8

  Soap, Flower, Knife

  Julián

  The day Sandra found the Gold Cross and confirmed that Fredrik was Fredrik, I was hugely relieved. I imagined how hard it would be for him not to be able to flaunt it on his chest, not to be able to show it off to anyone who wasn’t one of his “brothers”. His brothers would be sick and tired of the damn cross because Fred was an upstart. He was Aryan, well yes, but at bottom he was somebody who’d got to the very heart of the Reich to snatch the glory from others and to claim a place. They’d despised him a little and they’d feared Karin, because when she had embarked on this project she was very clear about her aims: get close to the Führer, seduce him, get herself infused, defiled with his power and rule over the world. The story went that she’d tried to oust Eva Braun herself from Hitler’s heart. Would the Führer really have been capable of falling in love when even his slightest movement created waves of death? Would he have been sighing over Eva or Karin while, in Auschwitz or in Mauthausen, he was killing thousands of people just by wishing to? What did Karin see in his eyes? Would she have seen in them all the evil of the human world, and of the universe, of the stars, of heaven, of hell, of the future and of the origin of life?

  Not even Satan, who was supposed to be evil incarnate, would have dared to be all evil at once.

  But I didn’t want such thoughts to distract me from the basics, and the basics consisted of knowing the movements of Aribert Heim or, rather, the Butcher of Mauthausen. He was part of the group, yet led a slightly separate life. He spent practically all his time on the Estrella, which was anchored in the port with its eye-catching, beautiful timbers gently creaking. He spent his free time polishing her, looking after her and, when not on the boat, he was at the fish market buying the best fish at the best price. When they were offering good lobster, red prawns and turbot, he scurried back to his boat more quickly in his haste to try them.