The Frozen Heart by Almudena Grandes Read Free Book Online Page A

took her in his arms again. ‘What’s the matter ?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ And she didn’t know. ‘It just makes me sad when you talk like that.’
    ‘Don’t worry. I’m happy, even if I don’t seem like it. Now I can go back too.’
    The following morning, Raquel could not remember going back to bed, but she would never forget that conversation. She remembered her grandfather hugging her, lying down next to her, and the next thing it was morning, and Mamá was in her room, ‘Get up, Raquel, mi hija . Come on, breakfast’. Later, her grandmother had taken her to school as if it was an ordinary day, and it was an ordinary day except for the fact that she was exhausted and fell asleep at break time, and later, when Aunt Olga picked her up and took her and her cousins to the cinema, she fell asleep again and didn’t see the film. As it turned out, this was lucky, because when she got back to her grandparents’ house she was wide awake and she immediately realised that the young man getting out of the taxi outside the door was her father, and this sparked off another fiesta, one that was private, and familial, sour, sweet, bitter, salty, one that was perfect.
    ‘I wanted to be with you, Papá, with you and Mamá,’ her father said simply. He handed out presents, a huge box for Raquel, a smaller one for Mateo, a bottle of perfume for his wife and one of olive oil for his mother, and a patient, detailed account of the events of the previous day as they had been witnessed at first hand. His father listened attentively, his expression solemn; he did not even smile when his eldest son admitted that he was still hungover after the epic drinking binge. He had had a few glasses of champagne at the office in the morning, and had continued the celebration with cider, white wine, rum and whisky. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he said, ‘we had to mix our drinks, because by lunchtime, there wasn’t a glass of champagne to be had in Madrid.’ Grandmother was already making plans, juggling dates, calculating how many bedrooms they would need, ‘we could live somewhere near you, what do you think, Ignacio?’
    Her husband did not reply at once. He drained the glass of brandy in front of him, got up from his chair and put his fists on the table; only then did he explode.
    ‘What are you talking about, Anita? Would you mind telling me what the hell you’re talking about?’ Grandmother lowered her eyes and said nothing, no one dared to speak, although Uncle Hervé, who was French and who had had his fill of these outbursts of Spanish passion, gave a weary shrug which his father-in-law did not notice. ‘You know who’s giving the orders in Spain? Haven’t you seen the hijo de puta crying? Don’t you know who he is? Phone Aurelio, go on, let him tell you, or call Rafaela, they know all about him in Malaga.’
    ‘But the other day, when you saw Ramón, you told me . . .’
    ‘I know what I told you! I told you that Ramón told me that X said that Y had heard that Z had been informed at some secret meeting - though nobody knows when or where this meeting took place - that somebody, and we don’t know who that somebody is, said they weren’t going to do anything without us. And do you know what that means? It doesn’t mean shit, that’s what it means. It’s possible, Anita, that right now, at this very moment, I’m not fucking Spanish any more. I don’t have a Spanish passport, or a French passport or any other kind of passport. All I have are papers stating that I’m a political refugee and my membership card for the Spanish Communist Party, something that’s even banned in France. Where do you want me to go with that?’
    ‘But Aurelio . . .’
    ‘Aurelio was ill, I’m not ill . . .’
    ‘That has nothing to do with it.’
    ‘It has everything to do with it! Aurelio is retired, I’m not, I’m fifty-seven and I can’t live on fresh air, Anita, I can’t suddenly decide to get up and leave, and neither can you.