Obabakoak by Bernardo Atxaga Page A

sat down to write.
    Third of December. Twenty-three years old. My family sent me a birthday card. It’s been a very noisy day here in Albania. In the morning skeins of geese flew over, tracing numbers in the sky, and because the strong winds force them to fly very low, there are hunters everywhere. There’s been the sound of rifle shots all day. And, excited by all the fuss around them, the dogs haven’t stopped barking either. I’m writing these lines keeping one eye on tonight’s cake. Judging by the smell coming from the oven, it should be a good one.
    She went across to the window and wondered if she should add something more to that paragraph. But she didn’t feel like going over the feelings provoked by Her Best Friend’s neglect. She didn’t want to wallow in despair.
    At last she wrote: “The moon is playing hide-and-seek in the sky.”
    She was just about to take the cake out of the oven when she heard someone knocking at the door.
    “Manuel, what are you doing here?” she exclaimed, surprised to find the little servant boy there.
    “I’m very worried about something, Miss,” replied the boy, keeping his eyes on the ground.
    Once in the kitchen, the schoolmistress noticed his bruised, swollen lip and thought she understood the meaning of what he’d just said.
    “What happened to your mouth, Manuel?” she said, alarmed. “It’s nothing, Miss. I just had a fight with a pig weighing one hundred thirty pounds more than me. You probably know him. He’s one of the men working on the drains.”
    “The one with a tattoo on his arm?”
    “No, not the dark one. One of the others, a much fatter bloke.” The schoolmistress felt relieved to hear that.
    “But why were you fighting?”
    “Because the other day he tried to take the school key away from me and I kicked him. And of course this morning he came to get his own back. But he didn’t stand a chance with me.”
    “He didn’t stand a chance with you, eh?” laughed the schoolmistress. The boy’s confidence in himself amused her.
    “He’s a coward, that fat bloke. At first I fought clean, then I had to back off because the brute was just too heavy for me. But because he’d hurt my mouth, I picked up a stone and bashed him one right on the head. You should have seen his face, Miss!”
    Now it was the servant boy’s turn to laugh.
    “And,” he went on, “I told him that he’d better not come near me again, if he does he’ll pay for it. I know you shouldn’t really use stones but there’s a huge weight difference between us. What do you think, Miss?”
    “I think you did very well,” replied the schoolmistress with a broad smile. She felt proud of the way the boy had acquitted himself.
    “But I didn’t come here to tell tales, Miss. Like I said, there’s something I’m worried about.”
    “Wait a minute, Manuel. First, I’m going to ask you a question. Have you had your supper?”
    The boy shook his head.
    “And have you noticed the good smell coming from the oven today?”
    This time he nodded. It was impossible not to notice.
    “There’s a cake in there. Have you ever had cake?”
    “Twice.”
    “Well, today will be the third time. But first we’re going to eat some other nice things. To start with, croquettes. Do you know what they are?”
    “I think so,” said the servant, his eyes widening a little. Then he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a fistful of cigarettes. “Would you like one?”
    She was going to refuse, but the despair lodged in her heart rebelled against the negative. She was fed up with being what her mother called “a nice girl.” There was no point in being a nice girl. And she was, after all, celebrating her birthday and Manuel was keeping her company at the only party she was likely to have.
    “I will have one, but after supper. First things first. And while we eat you can tell me what you’re worried about.”
    “Well,” the boy began, not even touching the croquettes she set before him,