Stay out of trouble,the skipper of thePunta Suidohad told him.
For Christ’s sake, Lobeira! It didn’t take you long.
A while later, a shout roused him from his thoughts. Fifty yards away, walking along the beach, was Diego, jumping with excitement, accompanied by two people pushing a wheelbarrow.
He was surprised to see that one of them was Diego’s sister Helena, the girl who had been at Rosalía Freire’s side, and that the other was Tristán Docampo, the son of Luis. Perhaps the two clans set aside their differences when there was an emergency. Or maybe they distrusted each other so much that if something unexpected happened, they sent a joint delegation. Whatever the explanation, he was delighted to see them. Even in peak condition, he would barely be able to move the bundle on his own, and after his near-death experience, it was out of the question.
When they reached him, they stared at him open mouthed. Their gaze flitted from the yellow bundle to Roberto and back to the bundle, as if they were faced with an impossible mathematical problem.
“Hi, guys.” He raised a hand. “Diego and I found this. Can you help us?”
“Where was it?” Tristán asked when he finally recovered the power of speech.
“Floating close to the shore. We dragged it in.”
He omitted the part where they had almost drowned. The last thing he needed was to be told off for putting the boy’s life at risk. There would be time to explain properly later.
“This could be a problem,” Helena mumbled.
“These things are always a problem,” Tristán agreed, in a way that suggested this wasn’t a first. “A massive pain in the ass.”
“What do you think it is?” the girl asked. “Dope or snow?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Roberto interrupted, keen to get off the beach as quickly as possible. “It’s obviously a bad business. Let’s take it to the village and call the Guardia Civil to come get it.”
The two youngsters looked at each other but said nothing.
“We have to hand it in,” Roberto repeated. “There’s no alternative. Help me get it into the barrow.”
Between the four of them, they lifted it up. With its heavy load, the wheelbarrow sank into the soft sand, and it took them more than ten minutes of pushing, shoving, and cursing to get to the foot of the ramp.
When they reached the village, a small crowd was already waiting for them in front of the church. Both the Freires and Docampos waited expectantly, the two clans forming distinct groups. The tension was palpable when, sweating, they finally unloaded the barrow. Helena and Tristán gravitated automatically toward their family groups, but Diego stayed by Roberto’s side, oblivious to everything.
“Where was it?” Rosalía Freire asked. “Who took it out of the water?”
Roberto considered his answer carefully. There was something in the atmosphere that he couldn’t put his finger on but worried him.
“I found it.” He placed his hand on the yellow plastic. “On the beach at Area dos Cans.”
“What’s inside?” Ramón Docampo spoke. The old man looked from the bundle to his grandson Tristán with an impenetrable expression on his face, as if the boy had something to do with the bundle’s unexpected appearance.
“I don’t have a clue, but it doesn’t matter,” replied Roberto, exasperated. “We have to notify the authorities. Let them deal with it.”
A heavy silence greeted his words, more eloquent than any reply.
“On the island, we like to resolve our problems in our own way.” Ramón Docampo clicked his tongue. “Let’s take a look inside.”
“Come on!” Roberto protested. “We can’t open it. It could be evidence of a crime. We can’t handle it without permission. Don’t you see?”
“There might be nothing illegal about it,” said another Docampo, a short, stocky man. “It could just be a float or some equipment.”
“That’s true,” Rosalía Freire chipped in, to his surprise. “What if it’s just some floating garbage? We’d have made the Guardia Civil come all the way out here for nothing, and with this weather, that would probably mean a helicopter trip. That doesn’t come cheap.”
“They wouldn’t be at all happy about that.” A strange smile had spread across Ramón Docampo’s face. “They’d be furious.”
“Absolutely raging.”
Roberto looked around for someone to back him up, but they all seemed to be in agreement. He had to admit that they weren’t completely wrong. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if they called the authorities to open up a bundle of old clothes. The recrimination, the jokes. What people would say about the islanders panicking for no reason.
