Free The House of Silence by Blanca Busquets Page A

smile to my face. But at the time, what I was thinking of was Mr. Karl and the opera singer and the smack he’d received. I was unpleasantly surprised; I didn’t expect that from my boyfriend, I don’t know why. I already knew that some people did those things that Mr. Karl did, but I thought he was a decent boy. He was the only boyfriend I’d ever had, and up until then I’d enjoyed it—but that day I suddenly stood up and repeated: not until we’re married. And I waited. I thought that he would say: Well then, let’s get married, and that he would kneel down in front of me and ask me for my hand. I really thought that: I was such a fool; for heaven’s sake! When you get older you realize all the stupid things you’ve done. Because that boy, that boyfriendof mine who sat in the back rows of the church, like I did, so it wouldn’t look like we were trying to blend in with the gentlemen and ladies of the neighborhood—well, that boy, despite how much he devoutly prayed, found some other girl who would let him put his hand up her skirt, and maybe more. I found that out because, when he didn’t show up at mass the next Sunday or the one after that, I got worried. When I went to his house, they told me he had gone out with his girlfriend. Of course, I thought that I was his girlfriend, and clearly I wasn’t.
    I walked back home with my heart hurting and my eyes filling with tears that I couldn’t hold back. I looked at the ground, so no one would realize that I had just lost my heart’s desire. When I got home, I couldn’t see a thing because everything was water clouding my vision. I felt abandoned, betrayed, and alone, I had no one. I’d thought that I had the right to end up one of those women who marry and have children. And it turns out it was not to be. I opened the door and, without a word, without even a gut’n Tag to Beethoven, I headed straight to my room, stretched out on my bed and cried. I only cried for half an hour, and that was it—because I had to serve Mr. Karl his lunch, but my tears returned just as I had finished cooking and bringing him his food. I prayed: Dear Lord, don’t let him notice, and he really didn’t notice for a while. But finally he did. Yes, toward the end of the meal, when I brought out dessert, he said: Is the fruit going to taste salty today? I looked at the plate and a tear had fallen in one corner. Oh, sir, forgive me, I said, all flustered. And I went back to the kitchen to clean the fruit and put it on a new plate. Then, when I was in there, I heard his voice: I guess you and your boyfriend broke up. Mr. Karlwas a direct person, and it made me cry even harder. I’m sorry, it just happened; I managed to get out between sobs. It happens to everybody, he said with a small smile. He was talking about the opera singer, I guess, and I blurted out: Oh, no, sir, it’s not like that. I thought he was a decent guy and wanted to marry me. His reaction was immediate. Oh, fine, so you think that I’m not a decent guy. I was horrified: Oh, no, sir, forgive me; I didn’t mean that, I just thought that, that . . . I didn’t know how to explain myself. Then I lifted my head and saw that Mr. Karl was still smiling. It seemed he didn’t mind too much what I had said; it seemed he even found it amusing. He stopped smiling for a moment to tell me, with a look in his eyes that I will never forget: True music has to be found down deep in the depths, you understand? I looked at him, now without tears, and I said: No, sir, I don’t understand.
    Mr. Karl didn’t say anything, but that day he washed the fruit himself, and he told me to take the whole afternoon off—that we would figure it all out tomorrow. Thank you, I whispered. I told myself that, when all is said and done, I was lucky to have a boss who treated me as well as Mr. Karl did.
    The next day he was waiting for me at