* * *

A tram waited at the stop, an oasis of light in the darkness. There were no passengers on board, only the conductor and the driver, who were chatting and sharing a Thermos flask of coffee to keep away the cold. Fernandito got in, ignoring the conductor’s look.

“Young man?”

Fernandito fumbled around in his jacket pocket and handed over some coins.

The conductor gave him his ticket. “You’re not going to throw up here, are you?”

The boy shook his head. He sat down in the front, by a window, and closed his eyes, trying to take a deep breath and think about his Vespa waiting for him at the foot of the avenue. He could hear a voice talking to the conductor, and the tram swayed gently as a second passenger got in. Fernandito heard footsteps approaching. He clenched his teeth. Then he felt the touch. A hand resting on his knee. He opened his eyes.

Hendaya was gazing at him with a friendly smile. “Are you feeling all right?”

Fernandito froze. Trying not to look at the red marks dotted over Hendaya’s shirt collar, he nodded.

“Are you sure?”

“I think I’ve had too much to drink.”

Hendaya gave him a sympathetic smile. The tram began its descent. “A bit of bicarbonate of soda with the juice of half a lemon. When I was young, that was my secret. And then to sleep.”

“Thanks,” said Fernandito. “I’ll do that as soon as I get home.”

The tram was sliding down at a snail’s pace, caressing the hook-shaped curve that crowned the avenue. Hendaya leaned back in his seat opposite Fernandito and smiled at him. “Do you live far?”

The boy shook his head. “No. Twenty minutes on the metro.”

Hendaya felt his coat and pulled out what looked like a small paper envelope from an inside pocket. “A eucalyptus sweet?”

“I’m all right, thanks.”

“Go on, take one,” Hendaya encouraged him. “It will do you good.”

Fernandito accepted a sweet and began to peel off the wrapper with trembling fingers.

“What’s your name?”

“Alberto. Alberto García.” Fernandito popped the sweet in his mouth. His mouth was dry, and it stuck on his tongue. He forced a smile of satisfaction.

“How’s that?” asked Hendaya.

“Very good, thank you so much. It’s true, it really helps.”

“I told you it would. Tell me, Alberto García. Can I see your ID?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your ID card.”

Fernandito gulped the saliva he didn’t have and started searching his pockets. “I don’t know. . . . I think I must have left it at home.”

“You know you can’t go out without ID, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. My father is always reminding me. I’m a bit of a disaster.”

“Don’t worry. I understand, but don’t let that happen again. I’m telling you for your own good.”

“It won’t happen again.”

The tram was now heading down the last stretch toward the final stop. Fernandito glimpsed the dome of the Hotel La Rotonda and a white point caught by the tram’s headlights. The Vespa.