Free The Winterlings by Cristina Sánchez-Andrade Page A

scissors, a file, and a hammer. From another, slightly larger, drawer he slowly pulled out the spatulas, the callipers, and the prostheses. This was always the first thing he did; he loved having the table overflowing with things. His objects mitigated the void, making him feel better because deep down he knew that he’d never learn to live alone. He slowly placed the instruments on the tabletop and counted them. Then he stood up on his tiptoes to look at himself in the mirror that hung from the wall. He shook his head, and a lock of hair came loose. He tried a half-smile, and making a face he’d never tried before, not even in front of the mirror, and he told himself that yes, nearly all of them were there.
    As a young man, Tenderlove had been active in the Popular Front, and had dreamed of sharing out wealth and changing the world. But when the war started, after he was arrested and tortured, he understood that this was an impossible ideal and that there was no point getting caught up in a battle that he was bound to lose anyway. He swore he would never again meet with anyone who had anything to do with politics, and fell back into his work.
    His father had been a good mechanic, and had taught his son everything there was to know about the craft. But ever since he was a child, Tenderlove had shown a dark passion for dentures. He knew each and every mouth in Tierra de Chá: dark pits in which teeth sharp like a crocodile’s rotted away; hills separated by valleys and topped with golden crowns; unfathomable and decaying grottos; fixed and hanging bridges; caves like a great abyss, with stones and pebbles that gave off a putrid stench. Soon enough, he realised that his future lay in those toothless mouths.
    And so one day, when he was helping his father fix a motor, he thought of combining his knowledge of mechanics with his passion for the mouths of others.
    Soon after the war broke out and he was arrested, he was transported in a covered wagon with a dying comrade, who asked him to take a love letter to his wife as a final favour. In return, the man said, he could keep his gold tooth when he died, seeing as he had nothing else to offer. Tenderlove didn’t think he’d be able to pull anyone’s teeth, much less those of a comrade from the Popular Front, but when the poor kid died, he got out some pliers and, one by one, pulled out the teeth, which he then kept in his pocket.
    When he returned to Tierra de Chá and delivered the letter, he began his new life. While his former comrades joined the underground resistance, stealing through the mountains of Galicia with their rifles and daggers, he set about putting together the set of teeth he had been keeping in a glass of milk. He never told anyone where he got the teeth. In the meantime, he observed people’s mouths, and learnt all he could about chewing and swallowing.
    At the Festival of the Virgin, Tenderlove and Saladina had spoken at length. As soon as he saw her he noticed that she used false teeth, and while he didn’t make any direct comments, to avoid hurting her pride, he did tell her that in his house he had some teeth that were as white as pearls from Japan — teeth he’d made himself, he clarified — so that he could make a set of false teeth on his own at any time.
    To start with, the idea of getting new dentures seemed frivolous to Saladina. Then, after she’d thought on it for a while, she realised that plenty of other people in Tierra de Chá had done it. Mr Tenderlove’s reputation for skill was such that it was almost fashionable in the village and its surrounds to have your real teeth pulled and dentures put in.
    â€˜New teeth like pearls from Japan,’ she explained to her sister, her eyes wide and shining. ‘New teeth, Dolores. Don’t you think it’s a good idea? What do you say?’
    Dolores stared at her. It had been quite some time since she’d seen her sister so engaged.