which are preludes to misfortune. Or like someone hearing the doctor utter the name of an illness that has nothing to do with us, an illness that afflicts other people but not us, and yet, ridiculous though it may seem, this time, he’s saying that we have that illness, how can that be, there must be some mistake or else he didn’t say what I think he said, that sort of thing doesn’t happen to me, it just doesn’t, I’ve never been unlucky like that, and I’m not going to start being unlucky now.
I was startled too, filled by a momentary panic, and I almost stood back from the door so as not to hear any more, so that I could then persuade myself later on that I’d misheard or hadn’t actually heard anything. But once we’ve started, we always go on listening, the words fall or float out on to the air and no one can stop them. I wished they would just lower their voices, so that it wasn’t up to me to listen or not, I wished their talk would become muffled or entirely indistinct, and then I could have my doubts, and not have to trust my own ears.
‘Of course, who do you think?’ retorted the other man slightly scornfully and impatiently, as if now that he had given the alarm, he had the upper hand, the bearer of news always does, until he blurts out what he has to tell and hands it over and is left with nothing, and the person listening no longer needs him. The bearer’s dominant position is short-lived and lasts only for as long as he can still announce that he knows something, but has as yet said nothing.
‘And what’s he saying? Not that he can say much. I mean, what can he say? What can the wretch say? What does it matter what a madman says?’ Díaz-Varela kept nervously repeating the same thing over and over, to himself really, as if he were trying to exorcize a curse.
The visitor gabbled his response – he could hold it in no longer – and in doing so, his voice rose and fell erratically. I caught only fragments of his response, but of these quite a few.
‘… talking about the calls he got, the voice telling him things,’ he said; ‘… about the man in leather, meaning me,’ he said. ‘It’s no joke … it’s hardly a serious matter … but I’m going to have to mothball them, which is a shame because I really like them, I’ve been wearing them for years now … They didn’t find a mobile phone on him, I took care of that … so they’ll think it’s all in his imagination … They’re not going to believe him, I mean, the man’s a nutter … The danger would be if it was to occur to someone … not spontaneously, but with a bit of nudging … It’s unlikely, because if there’s one thing the world isn’t short of, it’s lazy sods … It’s been a while now … It’s what we expected, the fact that he refused to speak initially was a real bonus, it’s just that things now are as we thought they would be from the start … We had relaxed a bit, that’s all … At the time, in the heat of the moment … worse, but more credible … Anyway, I wanted you to know straight away, because it’s a change, and not a minor one either, although it doesn’t affect us at the moment and I don’t think it will … But I thought it best you should know.’
‘No, you’re right, Ruibérriz, it isn’t a minor change,’ I heard Díaz-Varela say, and I heard that unusual surname clearly, Díaz-Varela being too upset to moderate his voice, incapable now of whispering. ‘He may be a nutter, but he’s saying that someone persuaded him, in person and via telephone calls, or else put the idea in his head. He’s sharing out the blame, or broadening it, and you’re the next link and I’m right behind you, damn it. What if they show him a photo of you and he picks you out. You’ve got a record, haven’t you? You’re on their files, aren’t you? And, as you yourself say, you’ve been wearing those leather coats all your life, that’s how people recognize you, that and your T-shirts in summer, which, by the way, you’re far too old for. At first, you told me