The Marks Of Cain Part 8

'Amy. Thanks for telling me.' He looked at her. 'You didn't have to tell me any of this. In fact, you don't have to do do any of this.' any of this.'

'I'm in it now.'

'Kinda.'

'Not kind of,' she said. 'Definitely. And besides, I feel a...rapport. With your situation.'

'How come?'

'Because of my own own family.' Light, spiteful rain spattered the windscreen. 'My father died when I was ten, my mother started drinking soon after. My brother and I practically had to look after ourselves. Then my brother emigrated to Australia. And yet my drunken mum and my distant brother that's all I have left, because the rest of my family died in the Holocaust all those ancestors, the family.' Light, spiteful rain spattered the windscreen. 'My father died when I was ten, my mother started drinking soon after. My brother and I practically had to look after ourselves. Then my brother emigrated to Australia. And yet my drunken mum and my distant brother that's all I have left, because the rest of my family died in the Holocaust all those ancestors, the cousinage cousinage. They all died. So I guess I feel...a bit of an orphan.' She turned to look at him. 'Not unlike you.'

Amy's yellow hair was kicking in the cool rainy breeze through the car window. Her monologue seemed to have calmed her; she seemed less alarmed.

'Take the right here. Past the chapel.'

He turned the wheel obediently.

'I wonder,' she said, 'I sometimes wonder if my Jewishness explains my attachment to the Basques, because they have such a sense of who they are, and where they belong. They've been here for so long long. One people, living in one place. Whereas the Jews have wandered, we just keep wandering.' She rubbed her face, as if trying to wake herself up. 'Anyway. We are nearly there.'

David changed a gear as he took a final corner. He thought of Miguel Garovillo, the lean, menacing features, the dark and violent eyes. Amy had a.s.sured him Miguel was not going to show up at his father's house. Jose had guaranteed he would not be around.

But the way Miguel had come for Amy in the bar was just too hard to forget. Wild and violent jealousy. Something more than jealousy. A kind of l.u.s.tful hatred.

Amy gestured. 'Slow down it's the little road here.'

It was a shaded and very rutted track, that seemed to lead directly into the misty mountain forests. Carefully David nudged the car through the muddy narrows; just as the wheels began to slither they turned into a clearing and Amy said: 'There.'

The house was tiny, pretty, brightly whitewashed, and trimmed with green wooden shutters. The rain had stopped and spears of sunlight lanced the evanescing fog. And standing in front of the house, proudly waving a beret, was the sprightliest old man David had ever seen. He had very long earlobes.

'Epa!' said Jose Garovillo, looking at David very closely as he climbed out of the car. 'Zer moduz? Pozten naiz zu ezagutzeaz?'

'Uh...'

'Hah. Don't worry, my friend David...Martinez!' The old man chuckled. 'Come in, come in, I am not going to make you speak Basque. I speak your language perfectly. I love the English language, I love your swearwords. f.u.c.kmuppet! So much better than Finnish.'

He smiled and turned to Amy. And then his smiling face clouded for a moment as he regarded the fading bruise on her face.

'Aii. Amy. Aiii Aiii. I am so so so sorry. Lo siento Lo siento. I hear what happened in the Bilbo.' The man shuddered with remorse. 'What can I do? My son...my terrible son. He frightens me. But, Amy, tell me what to do and I will do it.'

Amy leaned close and rea.s.sured him with a hug.

'I'm fine. David helped me. Really, Jose.'

'But Amy. El violencia? El violencia? It is so terrible!' It is so terrible!'

'Jose!' Amy's response was sharp. 'Please. I am completely OK.'

The elderly smile returned.

'Then...we must go and eat! Always we must eat. When there is trouble the Basques must eat. Come inside, Davido. We have a feast to satisfy the jentilaks jentilaks of the forest.' of the forest.'

There was no time to ask any further questions; as soon as they sat down they were presented with food and drink, endless food and drink.

Fermina, Jose's much younger wife, turned out to be a fervent cook; with dark eyes and bangled arms she served them traditional Basque food from her miniature kitchen, all of it rapturously introduced and explained by Jose. They had fiery nibbles of Espelette chillies skewered with tripotx tripotx lamb's blood sausage from Biraitou; they had a lamb's blood sausage from Biraitou; they had a Gerezi beltza arno gorriakin Gerezi beltza arno gorriakin a cherry soup the colour of claret served with a white blob of creme fraiche; then the 'cheeks of the hake' decorated with olives; this was followed by unctuous a cherry soup the colour of claret served with a white blob of creme fraiche; then the 'cheeks of the hake' decorated with olives; this was followed by unctuous kanougas kanougas chocolate toffee and soft chocolate toffee and soft turron turron nougat from Vizcaya, and Irauty sheep's cheese next to a daub of cherry jam, and all of it sluiced down with foaming jugs of various Basque ciders: red and green and yellow and very alcoholic. nougat from Vizcaya, and Irauty sheep's cheese next to a daub of cherry jam, and all of it sluiced down with foaming jugs of various Basque ciders: red and green and yellow and very alcoholic.

Between the courses of this enormous meal, Jose talked and talked, he explained the origins of the beret amongst the shepherds of Bearn, he declaimed on the splendours of the ram-fighting of Azpeita, he showed David a cherished ormolu crucifix once blessed by Pope Pius the Tenth, he spoke mysteriously of the cromlechs in the forests of Roncesvalles built by the legendary giants and the mythical Moors, the jentilaks jentilaks and the and the mairuaks mairuaks.

It was exhausting but also engaging, even hypnotic. By the end David felt obese, drunk, and something of an amateur linguist. He had almost forgotten the fierce grip of anxiety, and the reason why he was here. But he hadn't wholly forgotten. He could never wholly forget. El violencia, el violencia. El violencia, el violencia.

It was hard to forget that.

David looked at Amy. She was gazing out of the window. He looked back.

Jose was sipping a sherry; Fermina was busy in the kitchen, making coffee it seemed. It was the right moment. David filled the silence, and asked Jose if he'd like to hear the story, the reason for David's mission to Spain. Jose sat back.

'Of course! But as I said in my texting message, I think I know the answer already. I know why you are here!'

David stared at the old man.

'So?'

He paused dramatically. 'I knew your grandfather. As soon as Amy told me the name, Martinez, I knew.'

'How? When?' When?'

'Long time ago so many years!' The old man's smile was persistent. 'We were childhood friends in...in Donostia, before the war. Then our families fled to France in 1936. To Bayonne. Where they have the Jewish chocolate. The best chocolate in the world!'

David leaned close, asking the most obvious question.

'Was my grandfather a Basque?'

Jose laughed with a scornful expression as if this was a surreally stupid query.

'But of course! Yes. He did not tell you? How very typical. He was a man of...some enigmas. But yes he was a Basque! And so was his young wife, naturally!' Jose glanced pertly at Amy, and then back at David. 'There now, David Martinez. You are Basque, in part at least: a man of Euskadi! You can play the txistu txistu on San Fermin day! And now, have I answered all your questions? Is the mystery solved?' on San Fermin day! And now, have I answered all your questions? Is the mystery solved?'

David sat quietly for a few seconds, absorbing the information. Was this all there was to it? Granddad was a Basque, but never admitted it?

Then David remembered the map, and the churches. And the inheritance. How did that fit in?

'Actually no, Jose. There is more.'

'More?'

Amy interrupted: 'Jose...The stuff in the papers. The bequest...The map. You didn't see it?'

'I never read the newspapers!' Jose said, his smile slightly fading. 'But what is this other mystery? Tell me! What else must you know?'

David gazed Amy's way, with a questioning expression: she shrugged, as if to say, go on, why not, we're here now go on, why not, we're here now.

So David began. He told the story of his grandfather, and the churches, and the bequest. As he did, he reached in his pocket and pulled out the map, marked with blue stars. As he did, he reached in his pocket and pulled out the map, marked with blue stars.

The atmosphere in the cottage was transformed.

Fermina was standing by the kitchen door, wrapped in a consternated silence. The old man was frowning as he stared at the map. Frowning very profoundly: almost tragically. He looked almost...bereaved.

Shocked by the effect of his story, David dropped the map on the table. It was as if the light in the room had dimmed; the only brightness came from the soft white pages of the map itself.

Jose leaned over and took the map in his hands. For a few minutes, he caressed the worn paper. Opening it, he examined the blue asterisks, muttering and mumbling. No one moved.

Then he looked up at David.

'Forget about this. Please, I beg you. Forget about this. Forget about this. You don't want to know any more about the churches. Keep your money. Get rid of this map. Go back to London. You don't want to know any more about the churches. Keep your money. Get rid of this map. Go back to London. Por favor.' Por favor.'

David opened his mouth. No words emerged.

'Take it away,' said Jose, handing the map back. 'Get it out of my house. I know it is not your fault. But...get it out of my house. Never mention these matters again. Ever. That...that map...the churches...this is the key to h.e.l.l. I beg you both to stop. stop.'

David didn't know what to do; Jose's wife was wiping her hands on a cloth, still at the door to the kitchen. Wiping her hands over and over, full of nerves.

The tension was heightened by a noise. Jose Garovillo looked up; the scrunch of the gravel outside the house was distinctive.

A red car was pulling up.

Amy had a hand to her mouth.

'Oh no...'

Jose was gasping.

'But no! I told him not to come. I am sorry, I told him you were coming but I asked him to stay away. Barkatu. Barkatu. Barkatu. Barkatu. Fermina!' Fermina!'

The very tall man climbing out of the car was unmistakable: Miguel Garovillo. A second later he was pushing the farmhouse door and was inside the house, tall and wild and glaring at Amy and David. And gazing at the map in David's hand. A little twitch in his eye was quite noticeable, likewise a slender scar above his lip.

'Papa!' said Miguel, his voice rich with contempt.

The son had his hand raised; for a ghastly moment it looked like he was actually going to clout Jose, to beat his own father. Jose flinched. Fermina cried out. Miguel's black eyes flashed around the room; David saw the dark shape of a holster, under the terrorist's leather jacket.

Fermina Garovillo was pushing her son away, but Miguel was shouting at his father, and at Amy and David, shouting in Basque, his words unintelligible the only thing that was obvious was the ferocious anger. ferocious anger. Jose shouted a few words in return but weakly, unconvincingly. Jose shouted a few words in return but weakly, unconvincingly.

And then Miguel shouted in English. At David. His deep angry voice vibrated in the air.

'Get the ffffff.u.c.k ffffff.u.c.k out of here. You want the wh.o.r.e? Then take her. You take all this s.h.i.t out of here. Go now.' out of here. You want the wh.o.r.e? Then take her. You take all this s.h.i.t out of here. Go now.'

David backed away. 'We're going...We're going...'

'First time I hit you. Next time I shoot you.'

Amy and David turned and ran into the yard and jumped in the car.

But Miguel followed them outside the house. He had taken out his gun, he was holding a black pistol in the air. Holding it as if to show them. David got the strange jarring sense of something inhuman about him: a giant. A violent jentilak jentilak of the forest displaying his strength and anger. The gun was so very black. Glinting in the watery sunlight. of the forest displaying his strength and anger. The gun was so very black. Glinting in the watery sunlight.

David urgently reversed. He spiralled the wheel and at last they turned, revving in the mud, and then they rocked down the track, skidding out onto the road.

For half an hour David drove fast and hard, into the green grey foothills, just driving to get away.

When the panic and shock had subsided, David felt a rising anger, and a need to stop and think. need to stop and think.

He pulled over. They were halted at the edge of a village, with a timberyard on their left. The distant Pyrenees seemed a lot less pretty now; the pinetops of the forest were laced with an insistent and smothering mist. A church, surrounded by circular gravestones, sat on a hill above them.

Everything was damp, everything around them was faintly, ripely, perceptibly rotting away in the damp.

David cursed.

'What. The. f.u.c.k.'

Amy tilted her face, apologetically.

'I know. I'm sorry.'

'What?'

'Sorry...'

'It's not your fault.'

'But...' She shook her head. 'But it is. Maybe you should should go home, David. Miguel is my problem.' go home, David. Miguel is my problem.'

'No. No way. This is my problem too.'

'But I told you what he is like. Murderously jealous. He...really will...do something. He might even...'

'Kill me?'

She winced.

David felt the surge of a rebel spirit.

'f.u.c.k him. I want to know the answers answers.' He started the car and negotiated the road slowly for a few minutes. 'I want to know it all. My grandfather wouldn't have sent me here sent me into all this unless he had a reason. I want to know why.' why.'

'The map.'

'Exactly. The map. You heard what Jose said, saw how he reacted there is something something '

He was searching for a way to describe the complexity of puzzles; his next words were interrupted.

'Don't stop.'

'What?'