Cathedral of the Sea Read online

That afternoon, Aledis was called back down to the workshop. The tanner was waiting for her behind the apprentice.

  “My love,” he said when she came up to him, “you know I don’t like anyone disturbing my apprentices.”

  Aledis saw the lad’s back. It was crisscrossed by ten thin bloody lines. She said nothing. She did not return to the workshop that night, or the next one, or the one after that, but by mid-July she was there time and again, caressing her body with Arnau’s hands. He was on his own! His eyes had told her so. He had to be hers!

  23

  BARCELONA WAS STILL in the midst of celebrations.

  It was a humble dwelling, like all those the bastaixos lived in, even if this one belonged to Bartolomé, one of the guild aldermen. Like most of their houses, it was situated in one of the narrow side streets that led down from Santa Maria, Plaza del Born, or Pla d’en Llull to the beach. The big kitchen was situated on the ground floor, with walls made of adobe bricks. Above it was another floor, with wooden walls, that had been added later.

  Arnau could feel his mouth watering at the meal Bartolomé’s wife had prepared: fresh white wheat bread; beef with vegetables fried with strips of bacon right in front of them in a big pan on the fire, and seasoned with pepper, cinnamon, and saffron! There was also wine with honey; cheese; and sweetmeats.

  “What are we celebrating?” asked Arnau. He was seated at the table with Joan opposite him, Bartolomé on his left, and Father Albert to his right.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” said the priest.

  Arnau turned to Joan, but he said nothing.

  “You’ll soon see,” Bartolomé repeated. “For now, just eat.”

  Arnau shrugged and gladly accepted the bowl of meat and half loaf of bread that Bartolomé’s eldest daughter handed him.

  “This is my daughter Maria,” said Bartolomé.

  Arnau nodded, without lifting his gaze from his bowl. When the four men had been served, and the priest had blessed the meal, they made a start on the food. Bartolomé’s wife, their daughter, and four other young children did the same, sitting on the floor, although they had only the usual stew.

  Arnau savored the meat and vegetables. What strange flavors he could taste! Pepper, cinnamon, and saffron—they were what noblemen and rich merchants ate. “When we boatmen unload sacks of spices,” one of them had told him on the beach one day, “we pray that they don’t fall into the sea or get spoiled somehow. If they did, there would be no way we could pay to replace them: it would be prison for sure.” Arnau tore off a chunk of bread and put it in his mouth, then picked up the glass of wine with honey ... Why were they all staring at him like that? Although they tried to hide it, he was convinced the other three were studying him. Joan seemed to be looking steadfastly down at his food. Arnau concentrated on his own food once more; he took one, two, three spoonfuls, and then suddenly looked up: he could see Joan and Father Albert making signs at each other.

  “All right, what’s going on?” Arnau insisted, putting his spoon down on the table.

  Bartolomé grimaced. “What can we do?” he seemed to be asking the others.

  “Your brother has decided to take the habit and join the Franciscan order,” Father Albert said at last.

  “So that’s what it is!” Arnau picked up his cup of wine, turned to Joan, and raised it, a smile on his lips. “Congratulations!”

  But Joan did not raise his cup. Nor did Bartolomé or the priest. Arnau sat with his cup of wine in midair. What was going on? Apart from the four smaller children, who were still blithely eating their food, all the others were gazing at him intently.

  Arnau put his cup down.

  “Well?” he asked his brother.

  “I can’t do it.”

  Arnau twisted his mouth.

  “I can’t leave you on your own. I will enter the order only when I see that you are with ... a good woman, the future mother of your children.”

  As he spoke, Joan glanced over at Bartolomé’s daughter, who hid her face.

  Arnau sighed.

  “You ought to get married and have a family,” Father Albert insisted.

  “You can’t stay on your own,” Joan repeated.

  “I would consider it a great honor if you were to accept my daughter Maria as your wife,” Bartolomé quickly added. The young girl clung to her mother. “You’re a good, hardworking man. You’re healthy, and a devout Christian. I am offering you a good woman, and would give you a large enough dowry for you to buy your own house. Besides, as you know, the guild pays married men more.”

  Arnau could not bring himself to look Bartolomé in the eye.

  “We have looked around a lot, and we think Maria is the right person for you,” added the priest.

  Arnau stared at him.

  “Every good Christian has a duty to marry and bring children into this world,” insisted Joan.

  Arnau turned to look at his brother, but even before Joan had finished, a voice on Arnau’s left claimed his attention.

  “I don’t think it’s a very difficult decision, my boy,” Bartolomé advised him.

  “I won’t join the Franciscans if you don’t marry,” Joan repeated.

  “You would make us all very happy if you became a married man,” added the priest.

  “The guild would not look kindly on the fact that you refused to marry, and as a result your brother could not continue in the Church.”

  Nobody said another word. Arnau pursed his lips. The guild! There was no way out.

  “Well, Brother?” asked Joan.

  Arnau turned to face him, and for the first time saw someone he did not recognize: someone who was asking him a question in deadly earnest. How had the change in his brother escaped him? He still had an image of him as a smiling young boy running everywhere to show him the city, a boy with legs dangling over the side of a crate while his mother stroked his hair. How little the two of them had talked during the past four years! He had always been at work, loading and unloading the ships, arriving home at nightfall too tired to speak, content to have done his duty.

  “Would you really not take the habit because of me?”

  All at once it was just the two of them.

  “Yes.”

  Just him and Joan.

  “We’ve worked very hard for that.”

  “Yes.”

  Arnau rested his chin on his hand and thought for a few moments. The guild. Bartolomé was one of the aldermen: what would his colleagues say? He could not let Joan down after all the efforts they had made. Besides, if Joan left, what would become of him? He looked at Maria.

  Bartolomé waved for her to come over. The girl shyly left her mother’s side.

  Arnau saw a simple young woman, with wavy hair and a generous smile.

  “She is fifteen,” he heard Bartolomé say when Maria was next to the table. Feeling the pressure of all their gazes, the girl crossed her hands in front of her and looked down at the floor. “Maria!” her father called out.

  She raised her eyes and blushed as she sought out Arnau’s face. She was still squeezing her hands together tightly.

  This time it was Arnau who looked away. When he saw how Arnau was avoiding his daughter, Bartolomé became concerned. The girl gave a deep sigh. Could she be crying? Arnau had not meant to offend her.

  “Very well,” he said.

  Joan raised his cup, closely followed by Bartolomé and the priest. Arnau reached for his own wine.

  “You’re making me very happy,” said Joan.

  “To the happy couple!” cried Bartolome.

  A HUNDRED AND sixty days a year! By order of the Church, Christians were meant to avoid eating meat a hundred and sixty days each year, and each and every one of them saw Aledis, along with all the other housewives of Barcelona, go down to the beach near Santa Maria to buy fish at one of the two stalls in the city.

  “Where are you?” As soon as she saw a ship, Aledis peered along the shoreline to where the boatmen were loading or unloading the goods. �
�Where are you, Arnau?” She had seen him once, his muscles so taut it seemed as though they would burst through the skin of his body. “My God!” Aledis shuddered, and began to count the hours until nightfall, when her husband would fall asleep and she could go down to the workshop to be with Arnau, his image still fresh in her memory. Thanks to the many days of abstinence, Aledis came to understand the bastaixos’ routine: when there were no ships to unload, they carried blocks of stone to Santa Maria, and after their first trip they no longer stayed in line, but worked as each man saw fit.

  That morning Arnau was on his way back for another stone. On his own. He was carrying his leather headpiece in one hand, and was barechested. Aledis saw him walk past the fish stall. The sun was glinting off the sweat covering his whole body, and he was smiling at everyone he met. Aledis stepped out of the queue. Arnau! She longed to be able to call out to him, but knew she could not. The women waiting in line were already staring at her, and the old woman who was behind her pointed to the gap she had left. Aledis waved for her to take her place. How could she escape the attention of all these gossips? She pretended to retch. One of the women came to help her, but Aledis pushed her away: the others smiled. Aledis retched again, then ran off, while the other pregnant women gestured knowingly.

  Arnau was striding along the beach on his way to the royal quarry at Montjuic. How could she catch him? Aledis ran along Calle de la Mar to Plaza del Blat. From there she turned left beneath the old gateway in the Roman wall, next to the magistrate’s palace, and then ran all the way down Calle de la Boqueria until she reached the gate. Everyone stared at her: what if someone recognized her? What did she care! Arnau was on his own. Aledis left the city by La Boqueria and flew down the track leading to Montjuic. He must be somewhere near ...

  “Arnau!” This time she did shout out loud.

  Halfway up the path to the quarry, Arnau halted, and turned to see the woman who was running toward him.

  “Aledis! What are you doing here?”

  Aledis fought for breath. What could she tell him?

  “Is something wrong, Aledis?”

  What could she say?

  She bent double, clutching her stomach, again pretending to be retching. Why not? Arnau came up to her and took her by the arms. Just to feel his touch made her tremble.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Those hands of his! They gripped her forearm fiercely. Aledis looked up: she was pressed close to Arnau’s chest, still glistening with sweat. She breathed in his smell.

  “What’s the matter?” Arnau repeated, trying to get her to straighten up. Aledis seized her chance and flung her arms round him.

  “My God!” she whispered. She buried her face in his shoulder and began to kiss him and lick his sweat.

  “What are you doing?”

  Arnau tried to push her away, but Aledis clung even more tightly to him.

  Arnau was startled to hear voices beyond a bend in the path. The other bastaixos! How could he explain ... ? It might be Bartolomé himself. If they found him there, with Aledis clinging to him, kissing him like that... they would throw him out of the guild! Arnau lifted Aledis round the waist and plunged off the path, behind some bushes. He covered her mouth with his hand.

  The voices came near and then continued on their way, but Arnau was no longer paying them any heed. He was seated on the ground, with Aledis on top of him: one of his hands was still round her waist; the other was on her mouth. She was staring at him. Those brown eyes of hers! Suddenly Arnau realized he was holding her close. One hand was across her stomach, and her breasts... her breasts were heaving next to his chest. How many nights had he dreamed of holding her like this? How often had he dreamed of her body? Aledis did not struggle in his grasp; she simply stared at him with those huge brown eyes.

  He took his hand from her mouth.

  “I need you,” he heard her lips whisper.

  Then her lips came close to his, and kissed them. They were soft, sweet, filled with desire.

  The taste of her! Arnau shuddered.

  Aledis was trembling too.

  Her taste, her body ... her desire.

  Neither of them said anything more.

  That night, Aledis did not go down to spy on the apprentices.

  24

  IT WAS ALMOST two months since Maria and Arnau had been married in Santa Maria de la Mar. The ceremony had been led by Father Albert, and all the members of the guild of bastaixos had been present, as well as Pere and Mariona, and Joan, who already had the tonsure and the white habit of the Franciscan order. With the promise of increased payments after his marriage, Arnau and his wife chose a house down by the beach. Maria’s family and all the many others who wanted to contribute helped them furnish it: Arnau did not have to do a thing. House, furniture, crockery, linen—all appeared thanks to the efforts of Maria and her mother, who insisted he do nothing. On their wedding night, Maria gave herself to him willingly, even though with little passion. When Arnau woke at dawn the next morning, his breakfast was waiting for him: eggs, milk, salt meat, bread. The same scene was repeated at midday, and that evening, and the next day, and the one after that: Maria always had Arnau’s food on the table. She also took his shoes off, washed him, and helped treat any cuts or wounds he might have. She was always willing in bed. Day after day, Arnau found everything a man could want: food, cleanliness, obedience, care and attention, and the body of a young, attractive woman. Yes, Arnau. No, Arnau. Maria never argued with him. If he wanted a candle, Maria dropped whatever she was doing to fetch him one. If he complained, she smothered him in kisses. Whenever he breathed, Maria ran to bring him air.

  The rain was pouring down. The sky suddenly darkened, and flashes of lightning pierced the dark clouds, lighting up the stormy sea. Soaked to the skin, Arnau and Bartolomé were standing on the beach. All the ships had left the dangerous open port of Barcelona to seek refuge in Salou. The royal quarry was shut. There would be no work for the bastaixos that day.

  “How are things with you, my boy?” Bartolomé asked his son-in-law.

  “Good, very good ... except...”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “It’s just that ... I’m not used to being treated as well as Maria treats me.”

  “That was what we brought her up to do,” said Bartolomé proudly.

  “But it’s too ...”

  “I said you would not regret marrying her.” Bartolomé looked at Arnau. “You’ll get used to it. Enjoy the love of a good woman.”

  They were still discussing the matter when they came to Calle de las Dames, a small side street that gave onto the beach. They saw a group of about twenty poor-looking women, young and old, pretty and ugly, healthy and sick, walking up and down in the rain.

  “Do you see them?” asked Bartolomé, pointing in their direction. “Do you know what they are waiting for?” Arnau shook his head. “On stormy days like today, when the fishing boat captains who are not married have done all they can to stay afloat, when they have commended their souls to all the saints and virgins in the Church and still cannot ride out the storm, they have only one other choice. Their crews know it and demand they keep the tradition. In his moment of despair, a captain must swear to God in front of his crew that if they reach port safely he will marry the first woman he sets eyes on as soon as he steps on dry land. Do you understand, Arnau?” Arnau looked more closely at the group of women pacing nervously up and down the street, staring out to sea. “That’s what women are born for: to get married, to serve their man. That was how we brought Maria up, and that’s how we gave her to you.”

  The days went by, with Maria utterly devoted to Arnau, while he could think only of Aledis.

  “Those stones will ruin your back,” said Maria as she massaged him and applied ointment to a wound Arnau had near his shoulder blade.

  Arnau said nothing.

  “Tonight I’ll check your headpiece. It can’t fit properly if the stones cut into you like that.”

  Arnau s
till said nothing. He had returned home after dark. Maria had helped him off with his footwear, served him a cup of wine, and forced him to sit down while she massaged his back, in the same way she had seen her mother do for her father all through her childhood. As always, Arnau let her get on with it. If he said nothing, it was because the wound had nothing to do with the stones for the Virgin, or with his headpiece. His wife was caring for a wound that shamed him, a wound made by the nails of another woman, a woman Arnau could not renounce.

  “Those stones will destroy all your backs,” Maria repeated.

  Arnau drank down the wine in one gulp, feeling Maria’s hands gently rubbing his shoulders.

  EVER SINCE HER husband had brought her down to the workshop to see the punishment he had meted out to the apprentice who had dared look at her, Aledis did no more than spy on the young men at night. She discovered that they often slipped out into the garden, where they met women who climbed over the wall to be with them. The apprentices had the leather, the tools, and the knowledge to make themselves thin sheaths, which they greased and put on their penises before they penetrated any of the women. The guarantee that they would not become pregnant, added to the youthful vigor of their partners and the darkness of the night, meant that many local women succumbed to the temptation of an anonymous nocturnal adventure. Aledis had no difficulty getting into the apprentices’ sleeping area and stealing some of these ingenious sheaths; the lack of any risk in her relations with Arnau served only to inflame her passion still further.

  Aledis told him that with these sheaths they would not have children. Could it be the grease from them that stuck to his penis? Was it a punishment for going against divine law? Maria was still not pregnant. She was a strong, healthy young woman. What other reason apart from Arnau’s sins could there be for her not being with child? Why else would the Lord not reward her with the offspring she so desired? Bartolomé needed a grandson. Father Albert and Joan both wanted to see Arnau a father. The entire guild of bastaixos was waiting for the moment when the young couple would announce the good news: the men joked about it with Arnau; their wives visited Maria to offer their advice and to extol the virtues of family life.