The Butterfly Effect Read online

  Judge Callejo reached into the back pocket of his pants and took out a cigarette pack, but he remembered that smoking was no longer allowed in public places, so he threw it on the desk. He kept paying attention to the tired words of the woman. Nor did he overlook that Doctor Grau was writing it all in his perfectly aligned file.

  "But that afternoon, my six-year-old daughter, who was playing by throwing the ball against a wall and jumping on it when it came back, had other things on her mind. It’s possible that the ball slipped from her at the time of the rebound and shot out. Or maybe the driver was lighting a match at that very moment. Or maybe that October afternoon, in a typically autumnal wind, she was just one more distracted girl. In any case, Amelia did not see the approaching bus when she ran to pick up her ball. She may have heard or not heard the horn, but it’s clear that she didn’t have time to react.”

  Violeta stared into Callejo's eyes as she narrated the death of her daughter, which seemed almost heroic to the judge, given the circumstances.

  "According to the witnesses, the man turned the wheel, pressed hard on the brake, and stopped the vehicle generating a violent cloud of dust on the road. But it was useless. A strong impact was heard and felt on the front of the chassis. Rafael and I were surprised by the cries of the neighbors, so we rushed out of the house, where we found Amelia lying on the floor in a pool of blood. She was unconscious, but she still had a pulse. Rafael put her in the car and we rushed her to the sanatorium of the Virgen del Carmen in Torrelavega, inland more than thirty minutes from Ámber. That's where she finally died.”

  "Well, I'm sorry for the tragedy.”

  Violeta nodded in response to the judge's sincere condolences, but her gaze locked on him implying that the idea of the summons was not entirely to her liking.

  "The mourning lasted too long. Relatives and friends from all corners of Spain came to visit us during the following months to help us with the house and the care of the girls, who were still two babies at the time. My husband, who already had a good post as doctor in the clinic, couldn’t contain the pain that tortured him inside. At home, if anyone approached to lend a hand with washing dishes, for example, he would sit in the first chair he could find and begin to sob like a child. He grew a horrible beard, lost more than ten kilos, and the bags under his eyes swelled from crying.”

  "The worst of it was when Amelia's little sister, Verónica, approached him, begging for attention. Rafael could hardly look into the eyes of his own daughter, for when he did, it was as if he saw in her pupils the emptiness left by the person he’d ever loved the most and lost by a stupid carelessness.”

  "I understand," said the judge.

  "Lorena, the youngest of the three, who still lived among little dolls and fairy tales, didn’t help either. It was as if for Rafael she didn’t even exist. It could be said that the care and attention of Verónica and Lorena during their first years of life was exclusively my work. He was too busy fighting against his own demons. The years went by and things did not improve. His daily behavior depended on his state of mind: if he wanted to stay in bed all morning, he did; if he didn’t feel like going to the clinic, he would not go and that was that. The deep depression in which he had fallen was about to cost him his job. One thing was for sure: whatever time it was, whatever he did, you always found Rafael looking out the window at 5th Granite Street.”

  Violeta paused, staring into space.

  “Continue, please. What happened next?”

  "My ex-husband turned one hundred and eighty degrees for his problem," said the old woman. "He took refuge in his profession.”

  Callejo raised his eyebrows and leaned forward, showing maximum attention.

  “He spent most of the marriage locked within himself. He was a handsome and serious man, in my opinion with a certain resemblance to Robert De Niro, but he was too anchored in the tragedy of Amelia and lost his connection with the world. He was only able to focus on his work in the hospital, almost obsessively, a fact that served him to be considered one of the best. I think he thought that the better he did in his job, the fewer girls like Amelia would die in a hospital. During these particularly unhappy years, he alternated operating rooms with bars and more bars, and became something like the last ice of one of his Bourbon glasses: the coldest of all, which keeps cold when the others have already melted and ends up damaging your teeth if you bite it in the end. The few moments he spent at home he spent smoking and drinking. Many nights I would wake up and Rafael was not on his side of the bed. Then I would tiptoe to the kitchen, where I found him sitting at the table with the lights off. I tried by all means to help him, but I couldn’t reach him. I could not, and that's it. I begged him and begged. I even dressed up with the most sensual nightie and suggested a good night of sex, and... you know what happens when you have the feeling that nothing is going to happen? Well that was exactly what happened. The kitchen was his temple and the night his guardian. With a glass of whiskey, a packet of cigarettes, a cigarette lighter, and an ashtray, he spent hours alone in the dark.”

  "Was that the cause of your divorce?" Inquired the judge.

  "I honestly think he came to hate me," the woman said with a slight shrug. “Unconsciously he blamed me for not paying more attention to Amelia that day, those things are noticeable.”

  Callejo thought it was easy for Violeta to shrug her shoulders at the moment, but at that time it must have been a nightmare for all the family members.

  “We were finally divorced in 1979. It wasn’t an easy decision, and not just for me, but also for the girls. Verónica, in particular, was a teenager and didn’t understand. She was a very particular girl, you know. For some reason I would always be grateful, she showed a special affection for her father, despite the incessant scorn she received from him.”

  “If I am not mistaken, you married shortly afterwards with the one who was the mayor of Ámber in those years.” The judge cleared his throat, aware that he was touching a delicate subject. “How did that affect Dr. Salas and the relationship with his daughter?”

  "I'd rather not talk about my second marriage, if you don’t mind," the woman said in annoyance.

  “I get it.”

  "Yet, I will answer your question: they became strangely inseparable. I mean, they no longer lived in the same house, but that might be the reason they got along so well. Verónica was already an adult and Lorena had gone to study in London. I think Verónica was lonely, and she needed her father figure somehow. That miracle was wonderful. Rafael smiled again and stopped drinking. With me, he was still grouchy and the disgusting person from whom I had separated, but I didn’t care. Somehow, everything seemed fine, and even more so when, a few years later, Verónica had an offspring with her new husband, Alfonso.” The old woman drew the gesture of the cross with her right hand, a sign of respect for her late deceased son-in-law, and then continued as if nothing. “On leaving the hospital after childbirth, Alfonso and Verónica went directly to Rafael's house, where they gave him little Óliver. Rafael held him in his arms and tenderly cradled the baby who had just entered his home, I suppose he was remembering our missing Amelia. When their eyes met, Rafael's wrinkled face lit up, as if he felt the glow that once radiated from his own daughter. He gripped the boy and never let him go again.”

  "I understand he has spoiled him," Callejo said.

  "He loves him madly." The woman smiled proudly. “Madly,” she repeated. “That's exactly the word.”

  The judge turned the page and, considering that they were getting too long in time, decided to get to the point of matter by questioning the woman for her opinion on the matter.

  "About what?"

  "Last week, his son-in-law passed away, leaving a second baby on the way. Until that day, both the family and the doctor who was taking the case had been deceived by her ex-husband, making them believe that the one who was going to die was their daughter.”

  She paused.

  "Well, I'd like your opinion," he added firmly.
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br />   "With all due respect, Your Honor, I am here to speak of Rafael, not to give my opinion.”

  “But you didn’t take part in your daughter's complaint against him."

  "Exactly, I did not," replied the woman with some aplomb.

  The judge took a few seconds to think upon his next question.

  "At least answer this: what do you think was the reason he illegally changed the diagnoses?"

  Violeta didn’t answer, however, for a new voice broke into the conversation for the first time. Dr. Grau had looked up from his papers to interrupt the interrogation in a hollowed-out voice, as if he were speaking to an empty chair:

  "Were you surprised by the misdeed of your ex-husband?"

  The woman, stunned, stammered.

  "Do you think Rafael Salas is a person who acts impulsively, without taking into account the possible consequences, and putting at risk both his reputation and his family life? After all, you are the person who has lived with him the longest, and therefore the one who knows him best.”

  “Em... no. Well, I couldn’t tell!”

  The doctor had managed to corner the woman, who was now nervous and insecure.

  "Understand, Madame, that we need to be sure before we make a decision. Any minute detail will be of use,” he insisted relentlessly.

  Dr. Grau struck the desk with the tip of his pen as he spoke, an action that irritated the judge greatly. Violeta, for her part, had come to breathe faster.

  "Rafael is a difficult and unpredictable person, there is no doubt about it. It's impossible to know what's going on in his head," she said.

  "Do you think he would do what he did again?" Was the doctor's next question.

  The woman was not going to doubt this time.

  "Very well, yes.”

  Grau looked at Callejo with his gaze for the first time all afternoon, and they both knew immediately what was going to happen next.

  "For my part, I think we can terminate the summons," said the first, and rose to his feet. “The decision is clear.”

  José Miguel Callejo nodded and added, “the die is cast” in a curt whisper that was lost in the sound of the chairs that were moving away from the desk.

  Tuesday, November 7, 2006

  The morning of November 7th had begun with strong bursts of wind, and Violeta had to grip the steering wheel firmly to keep the car inside the lane. Twenty minutes into the journey, the old Volvo drove into a narrow dirt road up the hill. When it ran up to the iron door, she stopped the car and turned off the engine. She descended and walked to the gate. Dr. Salas had done the same and was already there, watching closely the countless latches and locks.

  "Here it is," she said. “We have already arrived.”

  In front of them stood a single construction of stonewall, and as large as a castle or a palace. Seen from close up, the wall was very tall. And the gate, old and rusty, was devoid of doorbells and bell pulls.

  “You’re not saying anything?” Violeta insisted.

  "Go to hell," he said grimly.

  The old man peered through the bars. She, struggling to swallow her tears, turned and looked at the landscape. They were facing south, which meant that Ámber, as well as the sea, were on the other side of the hill. From that height, the Cantabrian range was planted forming a wall that separated the coast from the plateau, and extended from east to west like an impregnable stone curtain. The woman felt like it was the end of the world.

  Inside the enclosure, beyond the gates, an individual approached from the end of a road that ended at the entrance of a huge building. When he reached the gate, he inserted an iron key as large as one of the locks, and although the old man clung to the bars like a child who did not want to go to school, the door opened. A raucous screech gave Violeta's skin goose bumps. She approached her ex-husband and kissed him on the cheek, accompanying the gesture with a "you'll be fine." He averted his face with inappropriate abruptness and allowed the man with the keys to grab his arm and drag him inward. He just turned his head to take a last look inside the Volvo. In the back seat, a ten-year-old boy watched him with his open eyes the size of saucers. They looked at each other for a moment. No gesture of farewell was needed. The gate closed again, and the two men disappeared behind the door of the main building. Then Violeta started the engine again and let it slip, without haste, downhill.

  Chapter 2

  "Now that we're out in the open, enjoying this great day, let's talk about serious things."

  "Propose a topic, then.”

  “For example: the family you have out there, Morgan, is it musical?”

  "What do you mean, doctor?"

  "You know, one of those families that make you dance without meaning to, even in your pajamas. Of the ones that are standing on the table and singing, You Can't Leave Your Hat On, while you unbuckle your belt. You let your dog off its leash and open a bottle of wine to celebrate, because, what the fuck, you only live once! You convert the shampoo into a microphone and the shower tray into your recording studio. You watch that fucking sad movie while you smile, because until that moment you always let yourself only see it halfway thinking my life is depressing enough as it is without seeing that drama. Those kinds of families. Musical families. Like the one I threw away.”

  “Well! You're nuts, you know.”

  "If we consider where we are, that may be an advantage."

  Tuesday, 5 March 2002

  "Look mate, the park!" She exclaimed, addressing Tallent with very Castilian English. “Mate” was one of the few colloquial words in the Anglo-Saxon language that she had managed to internalize all these months. “How weird! With the good day that it was, so sunny, it should be crowded with people sunbathing or playing soccer.”

  "It's not so strange. It's a workday and it's still early. In a few hours this will look very different,” the native said absently.

  “Let's go there! I still have some time left until the bus leaves, and I don’t want to go home having wasted a last game. Come on, get the Frisbee and we’ll play some!”

  Without waiting for a reply Tallent who affectionately called her partner Brunet, went on the grass. The British shrugged and followed in her footsteps. It was nice to be outdoors on a day like that, maybe a sign of the prelude to spring.

  Brunet had left the suitcase where she could watch it, and she already had the Frisbee in her hands. Over the next few minutes, Oxford University Park witnessed the beautiful dance of two lovers who refused to say goodbye, playing a sport whose enjoyment they had discovered over the past few months. Tallent's dream would soon be over, and all the magical evenings since Brunet's arrival in the city in mid-September were going to become bittersweet memories. The adventure had come to its end; there was only an hour and a half to take a bus headed for Gatwick, London, where a huge plane was waiting for her to go to Spain.

  "Let's go back to the road, come on. It's been half an hour and I don’t want you to miss the bus because of me.”

  After her ill-timed words, Tallent watched as the plastic disc fell into the hands of her Brunet, who then projected it with rage against the dry grass. The sadness in her eyes, she realized, had become extreme. Up to that moment, she had maintained her composure, as if she had promised not to cry or make a farewell drama. But wasn’t the meaning of drama implicit in farewells? She could feel how those dark Spanish eyes that had seduced her in her day were wet. Tallent knew the strength of her lover, much greater than hers. What had happened was that they had feared that dreadful day since they met, and it could not be otherwise, for their romance had been truly beautiful.

  "No, mate," replied Brunet, and repeated it more firmly, "No! Let's play some more, please.”

  She retrieved the disc from the grass and threw it back hard, as if it might stop the time.

  "Come on, now throw it to me!" She cried, her eyes moist, and she ran.

  The British female obeyed and ran behind. They played as if they had agreed to savor every second. And so they went into a wooded area
. At that point where it was difficult for the native British to maintain her steady breathing, she begged a truce. Her opponent, however, did not grant it. They laughed out loud at their mischievous last moments at Oxford, they had begun to sweat. Then, trapped in an ecstasy of desperate love that went back and forth with each Frisbee pitch, Tallent stepped on unstable ground and lost her balance. She sank to the ground. A stabbing pain invaded her right ankle, and the pain multiplied when she rested her sole on the surface as she tried to stand on her foot again. Upon analyzing the terrain, she discovered that she had stumbled on an old root that hovered between two mounds.

  The ankle gave way and she fell again. It hurt even more.

  The next few minutes were strange, and from that day on there would be an imperfect mist among the memories of Tallent.

  Brunet telephoned an ambulance. Despite her poor level of English, she managed to have the ambulance attendants come to the park in a few minutes that seemed eternal for the sufferer.

  It all happened slowly. As three men lifted her from her arms and legs to place her on a stretcher, Tallent tried to reach out to embrace her love, but she couldn’t move. The reaching out to her was unbearable. She understood it immediately, and looking into her eyes, she knew Brunet was aware too. There was no solution: the bus would leave in less than an hour and she would not have time to accompany her to the hospital. Irremediably these were their last seconds together. Pain, pain...

  Then she was transported inside an ambulance and her tears burst out of control. The doors of the vehicle closed at her feet and everything was invaded by the gloom. She knew that, as life was, they would never see each other again. The engine started, and Tallent felt a throbbing pain in her chest, far more intense than her ankle.

  Tuesday, November 7, 2006

  Dr. Rodolfo Grau took a quick look at the papers the nurse had just laid on his desk. Everything seemed to be in order, Rafael Salas’ official form was correct. He decided that he would later read the reports carefully, so he put them in the upper drawer of the desk and shouted in the air, "come in!"