Read Online The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carlos Ruiz Zafón
Ads: Link
cocooned in his hollow laughter.
8
A reef of clouds and lightning raced across the skies from the sea. I should have run to take shelter from the approaching downpour, but the man's words were beginning to sink in. My hands were shaking, and my mind wasn't far behind. I looked up and saw the storm spilling like rivers of blackened blood from the clouds, blotting out the moon and covering the roofs of the city in darkness. I tried to speed up, but I was consumed with fear and walked with leaden feet, chased by the rain. I took refuge under the canopy of a newspaper kiosk, trying to collect my thoughts and decide what to do next. A clap of thunder roared close by, and I felt the ground shake under my feet. A few seconds later, the weak current of the lighting system, which lit up the shapes of buildings and windows, faded away. On the flooding pavements the streetlamps blinked, then went out like candles snuffed by the wind. There wasn't a soul to be seen in the streets, and the darkness of the blackout spread with a fetid smell that rose from the sewers. The night became opaque, impenetrable, as the rain folded the city in its shroud.
'A woman like that . .. anyone could lose his senses.' I started to run up the Ramblas with only one thought in mind: Clara.
Bernarda had said Barcelo was away on business. It was her day off, and she usually spent the night with her aunt Reme and her cousins in the nearby town of San Adrian del Besos. That left Clara alone in the cavernous Plaza Real apartment and that faceless, menacing man unleashed in the storm with heaven knows what in mind. As I hurried under the downpour towards Plaza Real, all I could think was that I had placed Clara in danger by giving her Carax's book. By the time I reached the entrance to the square, I was soaked to the bone. I rushed to take shelter under the arches of Calle Fernando. I thought I could see shadowy forms creeping up behind me. Beggars. The front door was closed. I searched my pockets for the keys Barcelo had given me. One of the tramps came up, petitioning me to let him spend the night in the entrance hall. I closed the door before he'd time to finish his sentence.
The staircase was a well of darkness. Flashes of lightning bled through the cracks in the front door, lighting up the outline of the steps for a second. I groped my way forward and found the first step by tripping over it. Holding onto the banister, I slowly ascended. Soon the steps gave way to a flat surface, and I realized I had reached the first-floor landing. I felt the marble walls, cold and hostile, and found the reliefs on the oak door and the aluminium doorknobs. After fumbling about for a bit, I managed to insert the key. When the door of the apartment opened, a streak of blue light blinded me for an instant and a gust of warm air graced my skin. Bernarda's room was at the back of the apartment, by the kitchen. I went there first, although I was sure the maid wasn't home. I rapped on the door with my knuckles and, as there was no answer, allowed myself to enter. It was a simple room, with a large bed, a cupboard with tinted mirrors, and a chest of drawers on which Bernarda had placed enough effigies and prints of saints and the Virgin Mary to start a holy order. I closed the door, and when I turned around, my heart almost stopped: a dozen scarlet eyes were advancing towards me from the end of the corridor. Barcelo's cats knew me well and tolerated my presence. They surrounded me, meowing gently. As soon as they realized that my drenched clothes did not give out the desired warmth, they abandoned me with indifference.
Clara's room was at the other end of the apartment, next to the library and the music room. The cats' invisible steps followed me through the passageway. In the flickering darkness of the storm, Barcelo's residence seemed vast and sinister, altered from the place I had come to consider my second home. I reached the front of the apartment,
8
A reef of clouds and lightning raced across the skies from the sea. I should have run to take shelter from the approaching downpour, but the man's words were beginning to sink in. My hands were shaking, and my mind wasn't far behind. I looked up and saw the storm spilling like rivers of blackened blood from the clouds, blotting out the moon and covering the roofs of the city in darkness. I tried to speed up, but I was consumed with fear and walked with leaden feet, chased by the rain. I took refuge under the canopy of a newspaper kiosk, trying to collect my thoughts and decide what to do next. A clap of thunder roared close by, and I felt the ground shake under my feet. A few seconds later, the weak current of the lighting system, which lit up the shapes of buildings and windows, faded away. On the flooding pavements the streetlamps blinked, then went out like candles snuffed by the wind. There wasn't a soul to be seen in the streets, and the darkness of the blackout spread with a fetid smell that rose from the sewers. The night became opaque, impenetrable, as the rain folded the city in its shroud.
'A woman like that . .. anyone could lose his senses.' I started to run up the Ramblas with only one thought in mind: Clara.
Bernarda had said Barcelo was away on business. It was her day off, and she usually spent the night with her aunt Reme and her cousins in the nearby town of San Adrian del Besos. That left Clara alone in the cavernous Plaza Real apartment and that faceless, menacing man unleashed in the storm with heaven knows what in mind. As I hurried under the downpour towards Plaza Real, all I could think was that I had placed Clara in danger by giving her Carax's book. By the time I reached the entrance to the square, I was soaked to the bone. I rushed to take shelter under the arches of Calle Fernando. I thought I could see shadowy forms creeping up behind me. Beggars. The front door was closed. I searched my pockets for the keys Barcelo had given me. One of the tramps came up, petitioning me to let him spend the night in the entrance hall. I closed the door before he'd time to finish his sentence.
The staircase was a well of darkness. Flashes of lightning bled through the cracks in the front door, lighting up the outline of the steps for a second. I groped my way forward and found the first step by tripping over it. Holding onto the banister, I slowly ascended. Soon the steps gave way to a flat surface, and I realized I had reached the first-floor landing. I felt the marble walls, cold and hostile, and found the reliefs on the oak door and the aluminium doorknobs. After fumbling about for a bit, I managed to insert the key. When the door of the apartment opened, a streak of blue light blinded me for an instant and a gust of warm air graced my skin. Bernarda's room was at the back of the apartment, by the kitchen. I went there first, although I was sure the maid wasn't home. I rapped on the door with my knuckles and, as there was no answer, allowed myself to enter. It was a simple room, with a large bed, a cupboard with tinted mirrors, and a chest of drawers on which Bernarda had placed enough effigies and prints of saints and the Virgin Mary to start a holy order. I closed the door, and when I turned around, my heart almost stopped: a dozen scarlet eyes were advancing towards me from the end of the corridor. Barcelo's cats knew me well and tolerated my presence. They surrounded me, meowing gently. As soon as they realized that my drenched clothes did not give out the desired warmth, they abandoned me with indifference.
Clara's room was at the other end of the apartment, next to the library and the music room. The cats' invisible steps followed me through the passageway. In the flickering darkness of the storm, Barcelo's residence seemed vast and sinister, altered from the place I had come to consider my second home. I reached the front of the apartment,
Similar Books
