Читать книгу The Wonder Singer - George Rabasa - Страница 14

“What shall we talk about this morning?” the Señora asked two days later.

“We should pick up on the story about your father’s card game with Pep Saval.” Lockwood clicked the recorder on and settled back in his chair. “That way we can go into your childhood more or less chronologically.”

“I haven’t been able go past my childhood in eighty years,” she said. “You’re welcome to try.”

“We don’t have to talk about anything that causes you distress. We’ll ease into things.”

“We can leave the big rats for another time, Señor Exterminador?”

“Sure,” he said amiably. “But it might be better to drive them away now.”

“You are heartless.”

“Did you anticipate that first night how your life would be affected by Pep Saval?”

“I watched my father stare at the half-dozen slips with my name scribbled on them, at the coins that had piled up in the middle of the table, finally glancing up at the stranger’s face, now flushed with the success of his winnings. Pep Saval noted that there were enough songs there to last a year. ‘Do you know who I am?’ he finally asked.

“Father rubbed his eyes and held a match to the burned-out stub of his cigar. He stared through clouds of smoke at the man opposite him.

“ ‘I am Pep Saval.’

“ ‘Ah, Saval, the empresario.’ Father stared at him suspiciously. ‘The famous Pep Saval should be in Barcelona or Paris or Milan. Not in a humble inn in some out-of-the-way village, un poble de mala mort.’

“ ‘There are not so many gifted artists for me anymore.’ And then with a long sigh he added, ‘Your child is very much a talent. If she would sing again, well, that would be the brightest light yet at the end of this long night.’

“ ‘Nena!’ my father called. ‘You must keep your father from the poor-house.’

“ ‘What is your pleasure, sir?’ I asked with grudging humility.

“ ‘Anything you choose. Something appropriate for ushering in the dawn.’

“Father tilted his head toward me as I whispered. ‘She would like to sing for you “El Cant dels Ocells,”’ he announced.

“ ‘Ah, yes, “The Song of the Birds.”’

“I met his gaze directly for the first time, but didn’t return his smile. I was about to begin when he held up his hand. ‘Come closer,’ he said. ‘I want to hear every note.’

“He placed two fingers on my throat. I didn’t move away. I began to sing.”

“You didn’t think all this was very strange on his part?”

“At his touch I felt a tingling right at the place inside me where I knew my voice resided.

“Nobody had ever listened to me like that. I imagined my voice resonating inside his own throat so that he would know exactly what I felt as the song poured out. I fancied that my low notes settled in his chest. My highest range could make his hair stand on end. My saddest songs make his eyes smart.”

“You made his eyes see pesetas.”

“There was more to it than that. Pep Saval withdrew his fingers as if feeling heat from my throat. He sat erect on the chair, both feet firmly planted on the ground, his fists like stones on the table. When I finished the song he sent me to where the innkeeper’s wife waited with a bowl of hot milk flavored with coffee and a slice of yesterday’s bread, buttered and sprinkled with sugar.

“Pep Saval waited until I had gone back to my place near the kitchen, out of hearing range. He flipped through the slips with Father’s signature as if he were shuffling cards and selected one. He slid it across the table. ‘There. Now you only owe me twelve songs.’

“ ‘I don’t force my daughter to sing. Mercè sings because she loves to.’

“ ‘She sings stupidly,’ the man corrected. ‘She pushes her upper register. A singer has only so many high notes in the bank. She shouldn’t spend them all while she’s still a child. In six or seven years we will know if she has a voice.’

“ ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying,’ he snapped. ‘Her charm is that she is spontaneous.’

“Pep Saval sighed. ‘She needs a teacher.’

“ ‘We can’t afford one.’

“ ‘I could give her advice. Teach her to care for her voice. You could leave the girl here until you return tonight from visiting clients.’

“ ‘I’m to hand over my daughter to you?’ Father’s eyes narrowed.

“Pep Saval nodded as if he had reached a conclusion after giving serious thought to a grave matter. ‘A man would not take such a task casually. This would not be for my benefit.’

“ ‘For mine, then?’

“ ‘It would give me much satisfaction to help such a gifted child.’ He shrugged as if the merit of his idea were self-evident. ‘And you would be released from some of the debts incurred at this table.’

“A pallor washed over Father’s face. He stood up unsteadily and bounded up the stairs without a glance back.

“Sometime in the morning, wearing a clean shirt, his face glowing from a recent shave, his breath masked with clove, he clattered down the steep wooden stairs and emerged into the room, armed with his sample case.

“He led me by the hand. ‘Nena, I feel you didn’t sleep well last night. I want you to stay here today. These good people will take care of you until I return.’ He leaned down to kiss my forehead.

“I stared at Father with disbelief. ‘When will you come back, papá? ’

“ ‘In the evening.’ He called over his shoulder to Pep Saval, ‘You can give her advice with her singing if she lets you.’ ”