Traces of Ink

By A. J. Fuentes

FINALIST IN THE FOURTH EDITION OF MULTIVERSO PUBLISHING COMPANY CONTEST.

What would you do if you discovered a family secret that could alter the course of a whole nation?
After his grandfather's passing, Jonah receives an odd note and an abandoned printing house as a part of his inheritance. From that moment on, he will find himself involved in a frenzied net of conspiracies that will lead him to unearth one of the best kept secrets of the dictatorship.
A journey riddled with the perils of an inheritance sealed by ink.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Antonio J. Fuentes García
• Release date: Mar 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386918196

Book preview

PROLOGUE

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Madrid, 1965

Palace of the Marquis, Villanueva Street.

In spite that the manor was monumental, he knew how to find the door that gave access to the drawing room, where two repulsive plaster statues with the form of naked women and in a lascivious attitude received him between glances of frozen luster. Even Joseph loved art, he never understood the moth-eaten satisfaction of the Spain’s rich men, who on and on surrounded themselves with kitsch art. A maid came to meet him —she was almost a child— sheathed in an ugly and grovel uniform, crowned with a coping that constantly kept tilting on her small head, giving her a funny appearance more than a formal one.

—May I help you Sir?— offered obedient with a weak voice.

—Of course, my name is Joseph Millán — he introduced himself. I’ve arranged with the Marquis to meet with him here.

—You mean Don Julio de ...?

—As he lives and breathes —interrupted her, afraid that the poor woman would spout all the titles, string and mentions attached to the name.— Could you be so kind please in announcing me; I’ll wait here. 

He stood as a soldier —a bit stagy —, and he hinted a big smile that pretended to calm the prepubescent chick. It seemed to be effective, since the girl escaped quickly, maybe to do her duty, or maybe to escape from the eyes of that old man with walrus’ moustache that stared at her in a so solaced way. While he was waiting, Joseph took a view of the huge drawing room, that finished in two spectacular marble stairs that went up in half a spiral up to the second floor.  Once more, it came to his mind the difference between social classes in that Spain’s postwar period.

Half an hour after the maid left him waiting in the drawing room’s vast space without one chair to seat down, Julio Muñoz appeared, the Marquis of Alella —and other surnames— trying to copy the way of those who truly have been born in high society. He was dressed on a brown silk shirt, topped with a portentous watery red wine waistcoat, and all that was completed with a well-tailored trousers and with italian loafers. A thin little ridiculous moustache tried to look like Europe’s emerging fashion, but in Joseph’s opinion, it looked very ugly in a face like that one of Don Julio. As he walked with his bandy legs he stared at him and noticed that he had no grace, so Joseph said to himself his dearest mother’s phrase: you can’t make a silk purse out of a saw’s ear.

—Good morning dear Millán— greeted the Marquis, although he had seen Joseph only once—. What brings you to my poor dwelling in such a wonderful day?

Joseph disliked him as bad as the first day he met him, although in his work he had to show cordiality. That’s what his lentils depended on.

—Good morning Don Julio—he answered—. I only wanted to ask you some questions about the Jarabo case.

The noble twisted his mouth and it didn’t go unnoticed to Joseph .

—A tragic incident, unfortunate I will say.

—Ok.

—You don’t know well what this means to...people like us—Joseph felt as his insides trembled—. That a gentleman of an aristocratic social standing could commit these atrocities. I mean, that people of low-class and villains kill themselves daily for a loaf of bread, but us... I can’t understand it at all.

—The motivations of the Jarabo case I fear were not-monetary —he added—. Rather of another nature —Joseph had released the hook, and the Marquis tumbled down the rabbit’s hole. Now only he had to pick up the fishing line—. But in fact, he did not just want to talk about the Jarabo.

The stuck up noble raised an eyebrow without understanding. That gesture made him uglier, if that was possibly.

—As you know, there was a time when I worked for the newspaper El País —Muñoz nodded —but since a few years my commitments have been directed towards other let’s say... intrigues.

—I don’t see the point right now mister Millán— Muñoz started to get nervous, a thin drop of sweat slipped on his waxed moustache—. Sorry I am very busy, so if you will allow me...

—Are you familiar with the name Carmen Broto? —he said point-blank—. I fear that the Jarabo case leads me to reopen Miss Broto’s death.

The marquis radically changed his body posture and stopped pretending. In the end Joseph  could see the kind of person he was dealing with, and by no means he was a gentleman.

—Listen to me, I don’t know what a nasty pamphlet you subsist, but stop sticking your nose where you don’t mind—he approached threateningly—. Perhaps they are going to cut it off.

—Are you threatening me mister Muñoz?

—Gentlemen don’t threat— he arranged his gesture and turned to leave—, we pay for others to do it.

After saying this he went out through one of the doors that crammed the hall to the manor’s bowels, as if he had been waiting for this moment, the maid appeared at full speed. She stood in front of the guest with extreme shyness and showed him the way out.

—Don’t bother dear, I know my way out— he stared at the girl, thinking that she was about sixteen years and was a wild beauty—. Take care of your lord. Please?

The girl looked at him with her almond shaped eyes for the first time, and Joseph saw something in them that he couldn’t explain. Fear, determination maybe...

—If you allow me— she cut in with a hand gesture.

****

In spite that he didn’t like drinking, Joseph  had allowed himself to be persuaded by his redaction fellows and they all ended in the El Tapete, stuffing themselves with templated beer and tripe with tomato. Late at night he said goodbye to his fellows a little bit drunk, they were singing "face to sun" with their pitchers in high.

—Stay a little bit more killjoy! —they insisted, but he decided to decline the offer when he realized that he had difficulty in focusing.

—I’m leaving because drunk people and I don’t get mixed— he joked.

Hearing his fellows’ laughing he went out to the middle of May refreshing night, that against all weather forecasts it had appeared stormy. He went undecided through Severo Ochoa until Candilejas, and from there went across several Peleterías’ dark passageways. When he was arriving to the Gran Vía he felt a tremendous push in the back that made him stumble and fall to the ground, and almost before he could ask himself what was happening, two sinewy hands grabbed him by his nape and back and pushed him to a dark passage. He received punches in different directions that broke his teeth, nose and lips, and a kick in his belly that made him release all the air that because of the fear he had accumulated in his lungs. Blinded by fear he could distinguish two faces half hidden in the dark and dressed up in berets. One of them took the saddlebags that he had hanging from his belt, and in a glint sparkled in the dark, Joseph knew what was going to happen, but that didn’t stop that ten centimeters of a Toledo blade was inserted in his guts. He counted one, two, three times...until he founded himself laying on the floor, looking at the blade men’s old shoes walking away down the street. After that, his eyes closed.

Chapter 1

He gave the signal, and immediately a red light confirmed him that he was being recorded. He sat straight as practiced a thousand of times and started to talk. He moved slowly— so the camera could follow him—, trying not to lose his pretended naturality appearance. When he finished talking he sighed disgusted and told the man beside him.

—Did you imagine yourself at university that you would be covering a bunch of politicians? — he asked acidly. The cameraman, a chunky guy with more hair in his beard than in his head forced a gesture.

—You always forget Jonah, I never went to university as you the rich children— he joked—. I can see all this bullshit is glory for my stingy expectations.

—Bud guys don’t say such things as stingy — he answered giving him a hit in the forearm— if you are going to go tough, change your language.

Both got away from the congress door between laughs, where they have been covering the news of a new encounter between the politicians’ groups that didn’t decide to join forces to govern Spain. As almost always they covered news in Madrid, they left all their working stuff in the small Nissan Vanette van, and sent a message to the editor of the news network promising to take the interview in an hour, just to eliminate the spare minutes and correct mistakes. If by any chance something would not have been understandable, Jonah would made a locution in the studio, that he afterwards will put on top of his speech at the street. That were the advantages of not going alive. They got near to El Templete— a fashionable coffee bar famous between deputies because of its delicious variety of desserts—, and they asked as always.

—Bring me a coffee with semi-skimmed milk— demanded John—.With saccharin please.

Jonah looked at him with a grin, and his friend decided not to go in the same battle. Since a few months ago, John had stablished for himself some strange diet habits. He asked for coffee with saccharin, never tasted the food with anything else than water or Zero Coke, and although they drove him crazy, he didn’t touch pastry or sweets; but he didn’t doubt in taking chickpeas and bacon, arguing that for a big guy as him those were the proteins that his body needed. Jonah was very lucky to be one of those people that keep slim despite of eating almost anything, and he laughed again and again at his partner.

—Bring me a coffee with a small amount of condensed milk— he turned to his partner and gave him a cruel smile— and one piece of that chocolate tart that you have over there. Could you be so kind Clara?

The chick corresponded him with a teenager glowing smile and went to prepare the order. John grumbled something under his breath.

—What are you saying?

—Nothing.

—Yes partner, you have just said something— Jonah insisted— Come on, be brave!

The big guy half turned in his seat and gave him a sullen glance.

—I said— making great emphasis on his words— God bless me with the luck of being there the day that your belly looks like that one of a seventh months pregnant.

—Is very ugly to wish the evil of others.

—Dear Jonah, you know that inside I am a good person, but you get the worst out of me.

—Jonah laughed thunderous resonating in the deserted coffee bar and delivered a serious blow on his friend’s back. They did not have to worry in keeping formality’s sake, because although that in less than half an hour that store will be crowded from side to side, they were both alone with the waiters.

—You realize? I am tired of this— Jonah expressed changing his attitude and opening his arms-. From all of this. The stuffing articles, rushing to obtain a few words from the corrupt one in office, half-truths or politically correct corrections.

—And what were you expecting, are you a journalist?

Coffees arrived, and Clara waited more than usual for the Jonah’s morning compliment that wasn’t said. When he talked about his work he lost his usual manners.

—I expected another thing John, another thing! —he answered raising his voice, hot-blooded—. When I became a journalist I expected, whatever, another kind of journalism.

—Jonah nowadays we don’t have the same type of journalism that your grandfather had— said his friend stirring the coffee, knowing what was coming next. They have had that conversation several times before.

—Which, investigative journalism? —his ardor increased— Real journalism, real articles?

—That’s still being done.

—Yes of course, in documentaries about Chinese bazars or about businessmen who defraud! —he got upset—. I mean to catch news, pull the thread, sniff and publish the plot without restriction.

—That is the police’s task— he said giving little sips to his cup—. I think that you have mistaken your profession.

Jonah saw a snort of consternation when he noticed that the obtuse mind of his friend began to get him out of control. He grabbed the fork, cut a big piece of tart, making sure that his partner was looking at him before he ate it. That topic drove him round the bend, and John didn’t help to improve it. He chewed overreacting and he licked with a sigh of pleasure.  His friend growled at his side.

—Why did you leave the newspaper? —spitted the cameraman with a rough voice, since he knew he was putting his finger on the weak spots.

—Are you serious? —Jonah stopped, with the cup half its way—. Are you kidding me?

—They pay well— the other enjoyed it. Although he liked his partner, sometimes he enjoyed making him angry.

—Yes, for writing what others dictated me.

—Your father rules over you— John was using all his arsenal. The tart topic knocked him out of control—. You want it or not, the last name weighs.

Jonah finished taking the cup to his mouth and drank lengthily. He noticed as the heat started to travel across his insides, but he didn’t want to give his friend the satisfaction.

—Rich child stuff— he said ironically—. You’ve just said it.

With that phrase John ended his revenge. He knew his friend from college and knew that holding back with that matter was demanding him a great sacrifice. He decided to calm down and be nice.

—So, are you going to see that hot girl again?

—You mean Mar? I don’t think so. — Jonah maintained a commented relationship with a beautiful news journalist—. We didn’t finish very well.

Suddenly Jonah’ iPhone rang— he took it out of his command shirt —and stared at the screen. The number that appeared left him speechless. John look surprised at him, feeling that he had taken things too far and his friend was in risk to have a heart attack.

—And talking about the Devil’s invocation —he whispered. He pressed the green key to take the call— Yes, Dad.

John chocked with the last sip of coffee. He knew very well that Jonah had a long time without talking to his father since the time he quit the newspaper, more than three years ago.

—Aha— he nodded without saying a word—. And how is mom?

He listened in silence a couple of seconds more, meanwhile he kept nodding. Then, without saying goodbye or pronouncing a sound, he hanged down.

—What happened? —his friend asked— it’s your mother ok?

Jonah had a good relationship with his mother, even though they talked on special dates as birthdays or holidays. Despite of living in the same city, Jonah had more than six months without visiting his parents’ home, and the last time he did so was because his father was on a trip in Barcelona.

—Eh? Yes, yes, my mother is all right— he claimed —It’s my grandfather.

—Jonah seemed broken, and his partner feared the worst. If there was someone that his friend respected that was his grandfather.

—John, I need you to do me a favor— he asked —. Could you take for me the news from the congress?

—No problem pal, but what’s up? — he became worried.

—Partner, later I call Rachel, but I need a few days to do so— he acted as he was no longer there— Would you tell her for me?

—Man, you have not taken a day off since you started, Rachel will even be relieved.

His friend agreed with an unreal smile in his face and called Clara to ask her for the bill. After paying he gave a hug to his friend and turned around.

—But where are you going? — John had a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe he should not have messed with him so much—. Have I to worry?

—Stay calm— he tried to smile but it didn’t go well—. I’ll return home partner.

Chapter 2

He decided to catch the train at the New Ministries Station even though the Atocha Station was closer. He needed to clean up his mind, walk a bit, and Atocha always was more congested.

He bought a tourist class ticket and declined to buy a return ticket for half the price. Despite the recommendations of the girl at the counter referred to the AVE, he preferred to take Altaria train, although it took a little longer, it brought back to him very good memories. He declined too to arrive non-stop to Lorca, for a strange melancholy that had taken over him and he wanted to recreate the same journey that he made every summer when he was a child. He remembered that loaded up with bags and suitcases, they took the train up to Carmen Station —in the middle of Murcia’s downtown—, and at that little stopover his parents, due to his good behavior during the trip, let him choose a big ice cream with balls of different flavors. That ritual became the only real moment that he experimented with his parents. He did not remember to have lived another moment that made him feel such illusion and excitement as those trips to his grandfather’s home. At least nothing that the three of them had lived together. When his father accepted the position of the editor in chief in La Razón, they lost him forever.

When they left the station in the big illuminated sign appeared the names of the next stations that they will stop, Jonah took out the tray in his spot and connected the laptop. A quick glance to the main pages of the newspapers confirmed him that they all were referring to the same topic; the meeting that morning and the lack of consensus. He glanced again at the sign that indicated that they left Madrid behind and the hour of the arrival to Murcia was estimated in four hours and fourteen minutes. He took out the laptop, connected the iPod and felt asleep.

When the megaphone of the train announced the end of the journey, he woke up startled. He had slept during all the journey, improper way in him, as much he used to sleep only a few minutes leaning against the window. The breaks’ bellows resounded with great noise above the people’s muttering, and still sleepy he waited to stand up until the rest of the wagon was emptied. When he stood up he went to take his suitcase and he realized that he had a pain caused by the wrong position used during his four hours of travel, and he also had difficult in focusing; how can it be that I felt asleep for so long? I am getting older he told himself.

The Carmen Station had changed too much since he was there the last time at twelve. Very little was left of that small stopover, and although it was far from being one of that great railway stations, the one of Murcia had cleaned up its appearance compared to others much bigger but less reformed. A little bit lost he went to the line of the ticket office where the tickets to the surroundings were sold and he bought one for the next train to Aguilas’ direction. As informed in a big bright sign where were the schedules’ parade, his train departure was at 3:45 pm; so that he had to wait an hour and a half. He decided to eat something, because since his breakfast based in coffee and tart he had not tasted anything, and he was starving. He searched a little restless for the ice cream shop and checked with disappointment that in its place was a little bazaar that prayed in its slogan, if we don’t have it, it doesn’t exist. He went in Breads & Company and ate a delicious ham, bacon and melted cheese sandwich. He checked his cell phone two or three times while he devoured his snack, but there were no calls or messages. Better this way he thought, even though for some reason he couldn’t guess, he felt disappointed. Ten minutes before the outskirts train made its departure, Jonah was sitting looking with sadness and melancholy through the window.

****

In size it had grown a little, but the platform of the Aguilas’ Station was right the same way that Jonah remembered it as a child. The tiny canteen, the end of the journey with those disused railroads and with its wagons —who had exceeded its services—, waiting to be dismantled to dress more up to date machines.

Jonah didn’t wait for a welcome committee, but neither that helplessness. He was the only one that descended from the train, although that was the last stop. There was no soul in the platform, neither in the canteen, except for the bored owner who did not deign to look up from the your newspaper. Outside, a sun of justice hit him immediately, and he was surprise to see no parked cars. It is true that in Murcia at 4 pm in June, you can’t wait to see crowds in the streets, but he didn’t expect such emptiness. He walked along the bus station and asked for a taxi in the nearest stopping place. The sleepy taxi driver asked him the address with rude manners, and when Jonah told it to him he seemed to listen that the taxi driver cursed under his breath. When he arrived at the Vida Plena’s hostel he suddenly had butterflies in his stomach when he saw his parents’ Mercedes parked there.

Chapter 3

The retirement home was a modern exposed brick structure with a bony color, surrounded by an awesome extended garden that it was lost in the distance. Jonah felt overwhelmed by the huge surface that the manor presented and by the modern installations.

He called at the little phone at the entrance, and after saying his name and whom he had come to visit, they opened the door for him. As he followed the arrows he crossed a stone road that snaked between slender eucalyptus and he arrived at the main entrance. He had to repeat there the little phone scene, and Jonah couldn’t put down the feeling of being penetrating a high security prison and not an old people’s home.

As he was indicated at the reception he should go through the corridor at the right and take the lift to the fourth floor, where the rooms were. On several occasions he had to look away uncomfortable due to the old men’s inquisitives reviews, as they hanged around the corridors in the pure style of a zombies’ movie. He made a mistake in looking inside a room that was near the lifts, where the patients with reduced mobility were crowded together dozing in their chairs and waiting for the nurses to come and take them for a walk or bring them their foods. The vision produced a chill in Jonah in just thinking that his grandfather could have been in that room.

The fourth floor was totally different from downstairs’ stays, since the dark and lifeless colors were replaced by a pink and green palette that gave the place a most alive aspect. The furniture’s design looked more like that one of an art-deco hotel than that one of a nursing home, the air smelled like fresh flowers, that probably came from the vases that have been put all along the corridors spaced three or four meters from one another. The girl at the reception had told him to go to the 246 room, at the end of the corridor.  On his way he met an old couple who greeted him with a slight nod. They were luxurious dressed, and they seemed to be keeping a secret, as they both laughed between whispers and they kept quiet to each other. When he had only a few meters left to arrive to his grandfather’s room, an oppression appeared in his testicles and went up through the stomach until it stopped in his chest. Standing up there, in a retirement home’s corridor of the region where he had grown up, he felt the awfullest panic in all his life. From there he could smell his father’s expensive and conservative perfume, mixed with the little drops that his mother used behind the ears; as Marilyn used to she joked. There, holding his chest with despair, he seemed to listen his grandfather’s laughter when he tried to throw the phishing line and it got tangled between the rocks. For a while he thought that he was having a heart attack, until that hot ball that had been installed in his chest continued ascending to the throat. He felt breathless, and the bright colors of the room seemed to grow dark. Suddenly, he remembered that he had been sometime in this situation before and tried to relax. He left his arms fall inertly to each side of his body and raised his head a little shutting his eyes at the same time. He inspired noisy by the nose, and he expelled the air very slowly through the mouth. He repeated the same action several times, trying in not thinking about that a few meters from there, in that retirement home’s room his powerfullest fears were gathered together. For some strange reason that was worrying him, his father exercised a devastating effect on him. They didn’t get on well, and that must matter little to Jonah, but in a strange way Anthony Ulloa brought him back to the age of six with only one glance. To this was added the anxiety about his grandfather’s illness, the only man that he had truly loved and respected to the extreme. Every treasured memory that he kept from that man was a childhood trace of happiness.

Little by little his calm was recovered, and noticed the air flowing again into his lungs. Those panic attacks weren’t usual for him, but not strange at the same time. He had suffered some of them when he studied for the selection, at the end of his career, his first interview, and of course, after a strong discussion with his father when he worked at the newspaper. It was during that quarrelling that he decided to appoint himself to yoga, making meditation a habit up to the present day. He opened his eyes and his pulse accelerated.  He made a gesture and gave a jump backwards. Right there, at distance of one meter, a man was looking roughly at him. In his eyes dark as night was a disgusting shine.

—Jonah.

—Anthony.

For some seconds they studied each other, and Jonah realized that calling his father by his name it was still disgusting for him. His progenitor’s thin lips curved in a grimace and turned around without saying a word. Jonah, feeling not knowing why he had lost the first battle, followed him. Before they came in the room his father turned and putting his hand on his chest he stopped him.

—Don’t make him upset— he ordered—. He doesn’t need your bullshit.

Without giving him an option to reply he disappeared through the door.

The room was warm and friendly as much as it could be that one of a retirement home no matter how modern it was. He confirmed that the absence of personal stuff, although more beautiful than a hospital’s room, made it a transitory abode. In the middle of the little room was a bed —not very big—, but it seemed like a football field in comparison to the body that was on it. To both sides of the bed there were small night tables crowded with medicines and plastic cups. His mother was next to the bed, sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair. When she saw at him she jumped to her feet and run to hug him. Jonah left himself to be wrapped in the arms of that woman as he noticed the familiar fresh smell that she always gave off, and he could not avoid seeing his grandfather laying in that bed and reduced to half his essence. That vitality remembered by Jonah had vanished with his health, and in those eyes where he had seen security and optimism, there was only left an ill-concealed suffering. He felt an irrepressible desire to cry, but his father’s phrase came to his head He doesn’t need your bullshit; he bitted his tongue very hard.

—My son! — exclaimed his mother between whispers—. You are so handsome.

—Thanks mom.

—When have you arrived?

—On the train—he answered, still unable to articulate due to the anguish—. A few minutes ago.

—You should have come with us— his father replied dryly from the other side of the room—. In the Mercedes we have only taken four hours.

He doesn’t need your bullshit, he remembered.

When he could get rid gently of his mother’s arms, he approached slowly to the bed’s side, as if afraid of waking up the old man in spite that it was evidently that he was not asleep. He felt a pain when the man turned in the bed as to see him better.

—How are you, granddad? — he asked with a shaky voice.

—Waiting that they let me get out of this dump to go fishing with you captain.

Jonah was happy to realize that the illness hadn’t lessen his grandpa’s sarcasm and inventiveness. He broke almost into tears when his grandpa’s deep and magnificent voice broke and started coughing uncontrollably.

—How many times I’ve told you that you should have stop smoking? — his father ticked off while the old man was still struggling with his coughing.

Jonah raised his eyes up to his father until he fixed his sight on his father’s eyes. Anthony realized that he was being observed, fixed his gesture in a more decent one that he adopted as to appear as an honest man of flawless influence. Jonah wished to punch his distinguished face until that grimace of petulance disappeared.

—My son —answered the old man in a low voice— Fuck off!

Jonah almost let off a loud laughter, while his mother let off a little shout and covered her mouth, pretending to be scandalized. Grandpa always had been the only one able to put his father in his place.

—All right— he said with a rictus of a condemned to death—. I am leaving to the coffee bar. Call me if you need something.

—Don’t hesitate— the old man replied.

When he had left the room, the grandfather turned to Jonah and to his mother and apologized.

—Sorry—he excused—. It is my son and I love him, but sometimes he is a handbook annoying as hell.

—At that point with his father’s absence, Jonah could not repress his feelings anymore and blew up in a noisy laughter. He went near to his grandpa and gave him a strong hug and several kisses in cheeks and forehead. The old man got rid of his grandchild’s pampering with an unreal rudeness.

—It was time for you to come and see your old grandpa— he expressed in a false tone of reproach. You could notice happiness in his voice— I have to die so you come and visit me?

Jonah felt awfully, he desired to have left aside his selfish misfortunes and centered a little more in the person that he loved better. In spite that it was almost more a decade that they haven’t