actually addressing me. I’d become accustomed to thinking of myself as Ricardo these last few days, so that I’d almost forgotten that up to then I had been Álvaro, at least to those who shared the miserable squalor of this quarter of Belém.
‘Álvaro!’
‘I heard you! I’m coming!’ I bellowed. ‘And stop chucking stones, you fuckwit! You’ll have my eye out.’
I struggled out of bed and crossed over to the window. The acid from last night’s cheap wine rose up, burning in my throat, and I coughed violently as I bent forward to see who was disturbing me at this unholy hour. How anyone can face being up before noon is a mystery I have never fathomed. What is the point of mornings, you tell me that? The taverns aren’t open, the whores haven’t unlocked their doors, and cock pits are empty, so what is there to get up for?
I blinked down into the street below. It was crowded with jostling people trying to edge around one another with barrels and baskets. Women balanced trays of fruit or pitchers of water on their heads, men held live chickens fluttering under their arms, and donkeys swayed under the weight of laden panniers or huge mounds of hay. In the midst of all this bustle, a solitary man was standing resolutely under my window gazing upwards. He was being shoved forward and backwards as those on the move barged into him, cursing him roundly for blocking the path, but he was ignoring all of them.
He was a scrawny-looking fellow, with fleshy ears that stuck out between the locks of his straight hair, like the handles on a flagon. I dimly recognized him as one of the potboys from the inn. What was his name – Felix … Filipe … ?
He beckoned with a frantic flapping of his hand as if he was trying to bat at a wasp. But I had no intention of going down there until I knew what he wanted. Had the lousy innkeeper sent him to collect the money I owed? Did I owe this Filipe some money as well? I couldn’t remember, but it wouldn’t be the first time I laid a wager after one too many glasses and not recalled the incident. If I was honest, I’d have to confess I’ve been told of many things I’ve done when I’m drunk that I don’t have the slightest recollection of, but then the world is full of liars. And, as I always say, if a man can’t remember laying a bet, then he was in no condition to make one. If you are going to trick a drunken man into making a wager, you can’t expect him to honour it when he’s sober.
I peered cautiously out of the window again. ‘What do you want?’ I yelled down.
‘It’s your woman … Silvia. You have to come.’
My heart began to thump against my ribs. ‘Silvia, but … Wait for me. I’ll have to dress. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
I knew it! I knew Silvia would be begging me to take her back, and it couldn’t be for the money, because she didn’t know I was about to acquire such a sum. She was coming back because she loved me, adored me in fact, and she’d found she couldn’t live without me, any more than I could live without her. She’d lay down conditions, of course; she had her pride. She’d make me promise I’d never do it again, whatever it was she thought me guilty of, and I would swear to it on my mother’s grave. But we’d both know she wouldn’t have sent this lad to fetch me if she hadn’t already made up her mind to return.
I gathered up the soiled clothes from the floor where I’d scattered them as I’d lurched to bed. Although I dressed as rapidly as possible, without paying any attention to the way I looked, it still seemed as if the simple task was taking hours to accomplish. My hands were trembling so much that I fumbled uselessly with every button and lace. I even managed to put my breeches on backwards and then had to fight to take them off again.
As soon as I crossed to the door, Pio leapt from the cupboard on to my shoulder, expecting to accompany me as usual, but I gently swung him on to the bed.
‘No, Pio, not today. You stay here.’
Silvia did not much care for Pio. He had the habit of springing