resolved …”
“How can you resolve this one, Pastells? It offers no way out, it’s an absolute dead end.”
“Time is a great healer, Donya Emília … Don’t be so anxious.”
“You are very kind, Pastells, but you are forgetting how terrible such misfortunes …”
“One never knows, Donya Emília, one never knows …”
“One never knows, you say!”
“I repeat that one never knows …”
Long lull. Stillness. A waterfall of tears.
“I feel for you, Donya Emília …”
“I didn’t deserve this.”
“Of course you didn’t! Don’t act this way …”
“So how do you expect me to act?”
“Sometimes, those who stay put can replace those who depart …”
“And what is
that
supposed to mean …?”
“It wouldn’t be difficult to marry her off …”
“Who would you like to marry her off to?”
“What if we were to say it’s something we might discuss?”
“Would
you
marry her, Senyor Pastells?”
“Stranger things have happened under the sun. I don’t know why we might not discuss …”
“Poor Pastells! Would
you
marry her?”
“Why not? Who knows? Let’s talk about it anon. Forgive me if I’ve made things worse …”
“Pastells, poor Pastells …!”
Footsteps. The door closes. A flood of tears.
I stayed on in the boarding house for a few more days. I was very surprised these conversations didn’t echo further abroad. Everyone acted as if nothing had happened. I thought for a moment that it would be amusing to pass on the conversations I’d overheard. I only needed to speak to the maid. That elemental soul had a natural ability to turn the simplest matters into a wonderful hue and cry. I didn’t dare. I felt it would be cruel to play with everyone’s woes. In effect everything had taken the same road and we were all in this together.
At mealtimes, the deep seriousness of the boarders showed no sign of giving. My friend Veciana made one last effort to break the ice: it was hopeless. A series of indignant looks convinced him that the case of Angelina’s frailty had received its final sentence. She had gone too far. It was intolerable. Niubó assumed an air of righteous respectability, faced up to Veciana, and told him to be quiet. Pastells was evidently overjoyed.
The dining room became a highly unpleasant place. One could hear the flies buzz as the clatter of plates and cutlery faded. The clatter seemed to lighten the egg stains on the napkins. We struggled to swallow a mouthful of water and chew our meat. We had lost our appetite and thirst. We were like a collection of specters, and the maid passed round plates in a daydream. I looked at the row of them, Niubó the registrar between Sr Pastells and the bank debt-collector under the print of Romeo and Juliet on their idealized romantic balcony. One could say they were extremely subdued. Knowing what lay behind their ashen faces, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Their cordial manner upset me. They exchanged affable glances when each one was hoping his two colleagues would disappear to a far corner on the face of this earth. I discerned successive changes in their tired eyes. Sometimes one seemed to look perkier, as if his personal situation had improved. Generally, however, they reflected an awareness of the implacably impossible nature of things. They were like three broken-toothed, shabby old lions, down-and-out, ready to leap at anything, waiting for the right moment …
Every day toothpick time would come when the dining room turned into a cage of canaries as the lodgers trilled. Followed by the roll-a-cigarette moment …
“Sr Niubó, do invite me for a smoke …” said Sr Pastells.
“You wouldn’t have a paper, Sr Pastells?” asked the debt-collector.
“Sr Veciana, a match if you don’t mind …” piped the registrar.
These exchanges never ceased. It was a phenomenon that triumphed over any sporadic contingency.
When the meal was over, we all stood up looking
“How can you resolve this one, Pastells? It offers no way out, it’s an absolute dead end.”
“Time is a great healer, Donya Emília … Don’t be so anxious.”
“You are very kind, Pastells, but you are forgetting how terrible such misfortunes …”
“One never knows, Donya Emília, one never knows …”
“One never knows, you say!”
“I repeat that one never knows …”
Long lull. Stillness. A waterfall of tears.
“I feel for you, Donya Emília …”
“I didn’t deserve this.”
“Of course you didn’t! Don’t act this way …”
“So how do you expect me to act?”
“Sometimes, those who stay put can replace those who depart …”
“And what is
that
supposed to mean …?”
“It wouldn’t be difficult to marry her off …”
“Who would you like to marry her off to?”
“What if we were to say it’s something we might discuss?”
“Would
you
marry her, Senyor Pastells?”
“Stranger things have happened under the sun. I don’t know why we might not discuss …”
“Poor Pastells! Would
you
marry her?”
“Why not? Who knows? Let’s talk about it anon. Forgive me if I’ve made things worse …”
“Pastells, poor Pastells …!”
Footsteps. The door closes. A flood of tears.
I stayed on in the boarding house for a few more days. I was very surprised these conversations didn’t echo further abroad. Everyone acted as if nothing had happened. I thought for a moment that it would be amusing to pass on the conversations I’d overheard. I only needed to speak to the maid. That elemental soul had a natural ability to turn the simplest matters into a wonderful hue and cry. I didn’t dare. I felt it would be cruel to play with everyone’s woes. In effect everything had taken the same road and we were all in this together.
At mealtimes, the deep seriousness of the boarders showed no sign of giving. My friend Veciana made one last effort to break the ice: it was hopeless. A series of indignant looks convinced him that the case of Angelina’s frailty had received its final sentence. She had gone too far. It was intolerable. Niubó assumed an air of righteous respectability, faced up to Veciana, and told him to be quiet. Pastells was evidently overjoyed.
The dining room became a highly unpleasant place. One could hear the flies buzz as the clatter of plates and cutlery faded. The clatter seemed to lighten the egg stains on the napkins. We struggled to swallow a mouthful of water and chew our meat. We had lost our appetite and thirst. We were like a collection of specters, and the maid passed round plates in a daydream. I looked at the row of them, Niubó the registrar between Sr Pastells and the bank debt-collector under the print of Romeo and Juliet on their idealized romantic balcony. One could say they were extremely subdued. Knowing what lay behind their ashen faces, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Their cordial manner upset me. They exchanged affable glances when each one was hoping his two colleagues would disappear to a far corner on the face of this earth. I discerned successive changes in their tired eyes. Sometimes one seemed to look perkier, as if his personal situation had improved. Generally, however, they reflected an awareness of the implacably impossible nature of things. They were like three broken-toothed, shabby old lions, down-and-out, ready to leap at anything, waiting for the right moment …
Every day toothpick time would come when the dining room turned into a cage of canaries as the lodgers trilled. Followed by the roll-a-cigarette moment …
“Sr Niubó, do invite me for a smoke …” said Sr Pastells.
“You wouldn’t have a paper, Sr Pastells?” asked the debt-collector.
“Sr Veciana, a match if you don’t mind …” piped the registrar.
These exchanges never ceased. It was a phenomenon that triumphed over any sporadic contingency.
When the meal was over, we all stood up looking
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