“True.” He felt a little stupid. “Please don’t tell anyone. These few days have been ... quite challenging.”
“Don’t worry, it can be our little secret.” He smiled warmly. “I’m sure that when the storm passes, you’ll see everything differently. Nothing like a sunny day to chase away the fears.”
“I hope it won’t be too long.”
“And don’t believe a word that old witch Elvira Couto says,” Varatorta scolded. “Still less when it comes to some crazy legend from over a hundred years ago. Someone who’s seen as much of the world as you have ought to be above all that.”
“You’re right.” Roberto shook his head. “With everything that’s been going on, I’ve lost perspective.”
“Absolutely!”
“Sometimes you have to take back control of your life,” said Roberto, more to himself than to Varatorta, who he saw was looking at him strangely.
“Well, I see we understand each other.”
“Of course we understand each other,” Roberto replied, placing a hand on the lighthouse keeper’s forearm and giving it a squeeze.
Varatorta looked down at the hand, and then at Roberto again with a peculiar expression. In a split second, it came to Roberto that the man had perhaps misunderstood his touch, and he instantly withdrew his hand, as if burned.
“What I meant to say was ...”
Just at that moment, the overweight figure of Ibaibarriaga appeared in the doorway.
“What, what’s happening?” he said. “Are we eating or what?”
“I was just telling Mr. Lobeira some stories of the island,” explained Varatorta, winking at Roberto. “He’s getting steeped in the true spirit of Ons.”
“Well, enough talk.” Ibaibarriaga gave Roberto a couple of fulsome slaps on the back. “À table!”
When Roberto sat down at the table, it once more struck him just how ravenous he was.
Just as they were uncorking a bottle of wine, the kitchen door opened, and in walked a figure wearing an oilskin. He pushed back the hood to reveal the face of a young man, no more than twenty-five, with frizzy hair and a haunted look. He gave Roberto a half smile.
“Were you going to start without me?”
“You’re late, Pazos,” said Ibaibarriaga. “Where have you been?”
“I was in back, securing the solar panels,” Pazos replied as he struggled out of his raincoat. “With the wind tonight, they could easily fly off.”
The head lighthouse keeper nodded with a grunt.
“Say hello to our guest, Mr. Roberto Lobeira. Roberto, this is Borja Pazos, our assistant.”
The young man nodded in greeting, but his attention was more on what Varatorta was placing on the table. And that, Roberto had to admit, was perfectly understandable.
The first course was a tray of scallops that had been lightly browned on the griddle and gave off a delicious aroma of the sea. Next came some cuttlefish on a bed of sautéed vegetables, a platter of tuna loin with what Roberto guessed was homemade kimchi, and to finish, a plate of broad beans with shrimp in a sauce so thick that the spoon was almost standing upright.
They ate in silence, exchanging only a few comments, all food related. The three men were clearly used to one another’s company—a gesture was all it took to communicate when they wanted something. Roberto supposed that if he lived cut off from the world in a lighthouse, he’d end up just as monosyllabic.
For his part, he savored every dish that was placed before him. When he didn’t have room for another morsel, he leaned back in his chair, as satisfied as if he had eaten at the finest restaurant.
Pazos began to clear the table, and neither of the other two offered to lend a hand. When Roberto got up to help, Ibaibarriaga grabbed his arm.
“Let’s go to the library for coffee,” he said. “I’ve got so many questions I want to ask you.”
It wasn’t Roberto’s first encounter with an enthusiastic reader who wanted to take advantage of some time with him. It was part of his job, and, if his host wanted to chat, he was hardly going to refuse, especially after such a feast.
They went back to the library, where the stove was still burning well. In addition to the books, there were all sorts of other items: a glass jar filled with tiny seashells, a bird skeleton, and the shell of an enormous spider crab. Roberto sank into the couch while Ibaibarriaga poured the coffee.
