“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph . . .” He pressed the wound with his hand and checked the traffic. Despite his grumbling, the taxi driver was performing juggling tricks with cars, buses, and pedestrians at breakneck speed.

Fermín felt his breakfast swiftly rising up his throat. “If at all possible, the idea would be to get to the hospital alive. One person at death’s door is more than enough.”

“Ask the Three Kings for miracles. And if not, you’re welcome to take the wheel,” replied the driver. “How’s it going back there?”

“We could do better.”

Fermín stroked Alicia’s face and patted it gently, trying to revive her. She opened her eyes. Her corneas were bursting with blood from the blows. “You mustn’t fall asleep now, Alicia. Make an effort to stay awake. Do it for me. If you like, I can crack dirty jokes or sing you some Frank Sinatra hits.”

Alicia gave him a dying smile. At least she could still hear.

“Picture the Generalissimo in his hunting outfit, with his little beret and his boots. That always gives me nightmares and won’t let me sleep.”

“I’m cold,” murmured Alicia weakly.

“We’re almost there . . .”

Fernandito was watching her in dismay. “It’s my fault. She kept asking me not to take her to any hospital, and she scared me,” he said. “She kept assuring me that they’d look for her there—”

“It’s to the hospital or to the graveyard,” Fermín interrupted.

Fernandito looked as if he’d been hit in the face. He was only a kid, Fermín remembered; he was probably more frightened than anyone else in the taxi. “Don’t worry, Fernando. You did what you had to do. In moments like these, anyone can get his underwear in a knot.”

Fernandito sighed, consumed by guilt. “If anything should happen to Señorita Alicia, I’ll die . . .”

She took his hand and pressed it feebly.

“What if that man finds her . . . Hendaya?” Fernandito whispered.

“There’s no fucking way anyone’s going to find her,” said Fermín. “I’ll make sure of that.”

With her eyes half-open, Alicia was trying to follow the conversation. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“To Can Solé. Their prawns with garlic resurrect the dead. Just the job, you’ll see.”

“Don’t take me to a hospital, Fermín . . .”

“Who said anything about hospitals? That’s where people die. Hospitals are statistically the most dangerous places in the world. Rest assured. I wouldn’t take a bunch of lice to a hospital.”

In an attempt to dodge the traffic that had solidified on the lower stretch of Vía Layetana, the taxi had moved into the oncoming traffic lane. Fermín saw a bus go past within a hairsbreadth of the window.

“Father, is that you?” called Alicia. “Father, don’t leave me . . .”

Fernandito looked at Fermín, panic-stricken.

“Pay no attention, kid. The poor thing is delirious, she’s hallucinating. It’s quite common in the Spanish temperament. Boss, how’s it going out there?”