“I don’t interfere in your marital life. But I doubt there’s much Señora Bea doesn’t know or guess.”

“I strictly forbid you to talk to my son about Carax, Fermín.”

He put his hand on his chest and nodded solemnly. “My lips are sealed. May the foulest ignominy fall upon me if in a moment of tribulation I should ever break this vow of silence.”

“And while we’re at it, don’t mention Kim Novak, either. I know you only too well.”

“On that matter I’m as innocent as the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world: it’s the boy who brings up that subject, he’s not stupid by half.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I humbly accept your unfair remarks, because I know they’re provoked by the frustration of your own emaciated ingenuity. Does Your Excellency have any other names to add to the blacklist of unmentionables, apart from Carax? Bakunin? Mae West?”

“Why don’t you go off to bed and leave me in peace, Fermín?”

“And leave you on your own to face the danger? No way. There must at least be one sane and responsible adult among the audience.”

Fermín examined the fountain pen and the pile of blank pages waiting on the table, assessing them with fascination, as if he were looking at a set of surgical instruments. “Have you figured out how to get this enterprise up and running?”

“No. I was doing just that when you came in and started making obtuse remarks.”

“Nonsense. Without me you can’t even write a shopping list.”

Convinced at last, and rolling up his sleeves to face the titanic task before us, he sat himself down on a chair beside me, looking at me with the fixed intensity of someone who scarcely needs words to communicate.

“Speaking of lists: look, I know as much about this novel-writing business as I do about the manufacture and use of a hair shirt, but it occurs to me that before beginning to narrate anything, we should make a list of what we want to tell. An inventory, let’s say.”

“A road map?” I suggested.

“A road map is what people rough out when they’re not sure where they’re going, to convince themselves and some other simpleton that they’re going somewhere.”

“It’s not such a bad idea. Self-deceit is the key to all impossible ventures.”

“You see? Together we make an invincible duo. You take notes, and I think.”

“Then start thinking aloud.”

“Is there enough ink in that piece of junk for a round trip to hell and back?”

“Enough to start walking.”

“Now all we need to decide is where we begin the list.”

“What if we begin with the story of how you met her?” I asked.

“Met who?”

“Who do you think? Our Alice in the Wonderland of Barcelona.”

A shadow crossed his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that story, Daniel. Not even you.”

“In that case, what better entrance could there be to the labyrinth?”