Pan's Labyrinth Page 2

  Her arm felt warm. And strong.

  “Isn’t my mother beautiful?” Ofelia asked. “It is the baby who makes her sick. Do you have a brother?”

  “I do,” Mercedes replied. “You’ll see, you will love your little brother. Very much. You won’t be able to help it.”

  She smiled once again. There was sadness in her eyes. Ofelia saw it. Mercedes seemed to know about losing things too.

  Sitting atop the stone arch, the Fairy watched them walk back to the mill: the woman and the girl, spring and summer, side by side.

  The girl would come back.

  The Fairy would make sure of that.

  Very soon.

  As soon as her master wished.

  3

  Just a Mouse

  Yes, Mercedes had a brother. Pedro was one of the men hiding in the forest, a Maqui, as they called themselves, a resistance fighter, hiding from the very soldiers Mercedes cooked and cleaned for.

  Capitán Vidal and his officers were planning the hunt for those men when Mercedes walked in with the bread, cheese, and wine he had ordered. At one time the table on which they’d spread their map used to serve meals to the miller and his family. Now all it served was death. Death and fear.

  The flames dancing in the fireplace painted shadows of knifes and rifles onto the whitewashed walls and the faces bending over the map. Mercedes put her tray down and cast an unsuspicious glance at the marked army positions.

  “The guerrillas stick to the forest because it’s hard to track them there.” Vidal’s voice was as expressionless as his face. “The scum knows the terrain much better than we do. We’ll therefore block all access to the woods. Here. And here.” He brought his black-gloved finger down on the map like a missile.

  Pay attention, Mercedes. And tell your brother what they are planning, or he’ll be dead in a week.

  “Food, medicine, we’ll store it all. Right here.” Vidal pointed at the spot that marked the mill. “We need to force them down from the hills. That way they’ll come to us.”

  Here, Mercedes. They’ll store it all here!

  She took her time laying the food out on the table, glad that she was completely invisible to them, just a maid, just part of the room like the chairs and the firewood.

  “We’ll set up three new command posts. Here, here, and here.”

  Vidal placed bronze markers on the map. Mercedes didn’t take her eyes off his gloved fingers. That’s what she was: the eyes and ears of the rabbits they hunted, as silent and invisible as a mouse.

  “Mercedes!”

  She forgot to breathe when the black glove grabbed her shoulder.

  Vidal’s eyes were narrow with suspicion. He is always suspicious, Mercedes, she thought, calming her racing heart. He liked to watch his gaze spread fear on a face, but she’d played this game often enough to not give herself away. Just a mouse. Invisible. She’d be done for if he ever came to believe that she was a cat or a vixen.

  “Ask Dr. Ferreira to come down.”

  “Yes, señor.”

  She bent her head to make herself small. Most men didn’t want a woman to be tall. Vidal was no exception.

  Three command posts. And food and medicine stored at the mill.

  Now that would come in handy.

  4

  A Rose on a Dark Mountain

  Dr. Ferreira was a good man, a gentle soul. That much was apparent to Ofelia the moment he walked into her mother’s room. One can spot kindness as clearly as cruelty. It spreads light and warmth and the doctor seemed filled with both.

  “This will help you sleep,” he told her mother as he added a few drops of amber liquid to a glass of water.

  Her mother hadn’t argued with him when he advised her to stay in bed for a few days. It was a huge wooden bed, with plenty of room for her and Ofelia to share. Her mother hadn’t been well at all since they’d come to this miserable place. Her forehead was wet with sweat, and pain etched fine lines into her beautiful face. Ofelia was worried, but it comforted her to watch the doctor’s calm hands prepare the draught.

  “Just two drops,” he said, handing Ofelia the small brown bottle so she could close it. “You’ll see it will help her.”

  Her mother could barely swallow the water without gagging.

  “You need to drink all of it,” Dr. Ferreira softly urged. “Very good.”

  His voice was as warm as the blankets on the bed and Ofelia wondered why her mother hadn’t fallen in love with a man like the doctor. He reminded her of her late father. Just a little bit.

  Ofelia had just sat down on the side of the bed, when Mercedes came into the room.

  “He wants you downstairs,” she said to Dr. Ferreira.

  He. Nobody spoke his name. Vidal. It sounded like a stone thrown through a window, each letter a piece of broken glass. Capitán. That’s what most of them called him. But Ofelia still thought Wolf fit him much better.

  “Don’t hesitate to call me,” the doctor said to her mother as he closed his bag. “Day or night. You or your young nurse,” he added, smiling at Ofelia.

  Then he left with Mercedes, and Ofelia was alone for the first time with her mother in this old house smelling of cold winters and the sadness of people from ages past. She liked to be alone with her mother. She always had, but then the Wolf had come.

  Her mother drew her closer.

  “My young nurse.” She pushed her hand under Ofelia’s arm with a tired but happy smile. “Close the doors and turn off the light, cariño.”

  Even though she’d be at her mother’s side, Ofelia dreaded the prospect of sleeping in this strange room, but she did as she was told. She was reaching for the door latch, when she saw the doctor standing on the landing with Mercedes. They didn’t notice her and Ofelia didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help listening. To listen . . . after all, that’s what being a child is about. Learning about adults’ secrets means learning to understand their world—and how to survive it.

  “You have to help us, Doctor!” Mercedes was whispering. “Come with me and see him. The wound’s not healing. His leg is getting worse.”

  “This is all I could get,” the doctor said quietly, handing Mercedes a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. “I am sorry.”

  Mercedes took the parcel, but the despair on her face frightened Ofelia. Mercedes seemed so strong, like someone who would protect her in this house filled with loneliness and the ghosts of the past.

  “The capitán is waiting for you in his office.” Mercedes straightened her back and didn’t look at Dr. Ferreira as he descended the stairs. His steps were heavy, as if he felt guilty walking away from Mercedes’s desperate face.

  Ofelia couldn’t move.

  Secrets. They add to the darkness of the world but they also make you want to find out more. . . .

  Ofelia was still standing by the open door when Mercedes turned. Her eyes widened with fear the moment she saw Ofelia and she hastily hid the parcel under her shawl, while Ofelia’s feet finally obeyed and she stepped back to latch the door, wishing Mercedes would just forget she had seen her.

  “Ofelia! Come here!” her mother called from the bed.

  At least the fire spread some light in the dark room, along with two flickering candles on the mantelpiece. Ofelia crawled into the bed and wrapped her arms around her mother.

  Just the two of them. Why hadn’t that been enough? But her baby brother was already kicking in her mother’s belly. What if he was like his father? Go away! Ofelia thought. Leave us alone. We don’t need you. For she has me and I take care of her.

  “Heavens, your feet . . . they’re frozen!” her mother said.

  Her body felt so warm. Maybe a bit too warm, but the doctor hadn’t seemed too worried about the fever.

  Around them the mill was moaning and creaking. It didn’t want them. It wanted the miller back. Or maybe it wished to be alone with the forest, tree roots breaking through its walls, leaves covering its roof, until its stones and beams became part of the forest again.

  “Are you afraid?” her mother whispered.

  “A little,” Ofelia whispered back.

  Another moan rose from the old walls, and the beams above them sighed as if someone was bending them. Ofelia pressed closer against her mother. She kissed Ofelia’s hair, as black as her own.

  “It’s nothing, cariño. It’s nothing, just the wind. Nights are very different here. In the city you hear cars, the tramway. Here the houses are so much older. They creak. . . .”

  Yes, they did. This time they both listened.

  “It sounds as if the walls are speaking, doesn’t it?” Her mother hadn’t held Ofelia like this since she had learned she was pregnant. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’m giving you a surprise.”

  “A surprise?” Ofelia looked up at her mother’s pale face.

  “Yes.”

  Ofelia felt so safe in her embrace. For the first time since . . . since when? Since her father died. Since her mother met the Wolf.

  “Is it a book?” she asked. Her father had often given her books. Sometimes he had even tailored clothes for them. Linen. To protect the binding, Ofelia, he would say. They bind them in very cheap fabric nowadays. This is better. Ofelia missed him so much. Sometimes it felt as if her heart were bleeding and it wouldn’t heal until she saw him again.

  “A book?” Her mother laughed softly. “No! Not a book! Something much better.”

  Ofelia didn’t remind her mother that for her, there was nothing better than a book. Her mother wouldn’t understand. She didn’t make books her shelter or allow them to take her to another world. She could only see this world, and then, Ofelia thought, only sometimes. It was part of her mother’s sadness to be earthbound. Books could have told her so much about this world and about places far away, a
bout animals and plants, about the stars! They could be windows and doors, paper wings to help her fly away. Maybe her mother had just forgotten how to fly. Or maybe she’d never learned.

  Carmen had closed her eyes. At least when she was dreaming she saw more than this world, didn’t she? Ofelia wondered, pressing her cheek against her mother’s chest. So close, their bodies fusing into one, as they had been before she was born. Ofelia could hear the tide of her mother’s breath, the soft thumping of her heart beating so regularly, like a metronome against bone.

  “Why did you have to get married?” Ofelia whispered.

  As the words escaped her lips, part of her hoped that her mother was already asleep. But then the answer came—

  “I was alone for too long, my love,” her mother said, staring at the ceiling above them. The whitewash was cracked and lined with spiderwebs.

  “But I was with you!” Ofelia said. “You were not alone. I was always with you.”

  Her mother continued to stare at the ceiling, suddenly seeming so far away. “When you’re older you’ll understand. It wasn’t easy for me, either, when your father—”

  She drew in her breath sharply and pressed her hand on her swollen belly. “Your brother is acting up again.”

  Her mother’s hand felt so hot when Ofelia covered it with her own. Yes, she could feel her brother too. And no, he wouldn’t go away. He wanted to come out.

  “Tell him one of your stories!” her mother gasped. “I am sure that’ll calm him down.”

  Ofelia felt reluctant to share her stories with him, but finally she sat up. Under the white sheets her mother’s body looked like a mountain covered in snow, her brother sleeping in its deepest cave. Ofelia put her head on the bump in the blanket, caressing it where her brother was moving, deep under her mother’s skin.

  “Brother!” she whispered. “Brother of mine.”

  Her mother hadn’t given him a name yet. He would need one soon to get ready for this world.

  “Many, many years ago . . . in a sad, faraway land . . .” Ofelia spoke in a soft, low voice, but she was sure he could hear her. “There was an enormous mountain made of black flint . . .”

  Behind the mill, in the forest as dark and silent as the night, the creature Ofelia called the Fairy spread her wings and followed the sound of the girl’s voice, the words building a path of bread crumbs through the night.

  “And atop that mountain,” Ofelia continued, “a magic rose blossomed every dawn. People said whoever plucked it would become immortal. But no one dared to go near it because its thorns were filled with poison.”

  Oh yes, there are many roses like that, the Fairy thought as she flew toward the window behind which the girl was telling her story. When she slipped into the room, her wings fluttering as softly as Ofelia’s voice, she saw them: the girl and her mother, holding each other against the darkness of the night outside. But the darkness inside the house was far more frightening, and the girl knew that it was fed by the man who’d brought them here.

  “People talked about all the pain the thorns of the rose could cause,” Ofelia whispered to her unborn brother. “They warned each other that whoever climbed the mountain would die. It was so easy for them to believe in the pain and the thorns. Fear helped them believe that. But none of them dared to hope that in the end the rose would reward them with eternal life. They couldn’t hope—they could not. And so, the rose would wilt away, night after night, unable to bequeath its gift to anyone. . . .”

  The Fairy sat on the windowsill to listen. She was glad the girl knew about the thorns, as she and her mother had come to a very dark mountain. The man who ruled this mountain—oh yes, the Fairy knew all about him—was sitting downstairs in his office, the room behind the mill’s wheel, polishing the pocket watch of his father, another father who had died in another war.

  “The rose was forgotten and lost,” Ofelia said, pressing her cheek to her mother’s belly. “At the top of that cold, dark mountain, forever alone until the end of time.”

  She didn’t know it, but she was telling her brother about his father.

  5

  Fathers and Sons

  Vidal cleaned his father’s pocket watch every night, the only time when he took off his gloves. The room Vidal had made his office was the one right behind the huge wheel that had once helped grind the miller’s corn. Its massive spokes covered most of the back wall and at times gave him the feeling of living inside the watch, which was strangely comforting. He polished the richly engraved silver casing and brushed the dust off the gearwheels as tenderly as if he were caring for a living thing.

  Sometimes the objects we hold dear give away who we are even more than the people we love. The glass of the watch had cracked in the hand of Vidal’s father at the very moment he died, which his son took as proof that things could survive death if only one kept them clean and in perfect order.

  His father was a hero. Vidal had grown up with that thought. He had built himself around it. A true man. And that thought brought a memory, almost invariably, of the day when he and his father had visited the cliffs of Villanueva. The rugged seascape on the horizon, the jagged rocks beneath—a hundred-foot drop. His father had gently guided him to the edge and then held him fast. He had grabbed his son when he recoiled, forcing him to look down into the abyss. “Feel that fear?” his father asked. “You must never forget it. That is what you must feel every time you grow weak—when you try to forget that you serve your fatherland and your station in life. When you are faced with death or honor. If you betray your country, your name, or your heritage, it will be as if you take a step forward to take a plunge. The abyss is invisible to you, but it is no less real. Never forget it, my son. . . .”

  A knock on the door made the present delete the past. It was a knock so soft that it betrayed who was asking for permission to enter.

  Vidal frowned. He hated anything interrupting his nightly ritual. “Come in!” he called, keeping his attention on the shiny workings of the watch.

  “Capitán.”

  Dr. Ferreira’s steps were as soft and careful as his voice. He stopped a short distance from the table.

  “How is she?” Vidal asked.

  The wheels of the pocket watch began to move in their perfect rhythm, confirming once again that there was no end to well-kept order. Immortality was clean and precise. For sure it didn’t need a heart. A heartbeat became irregular so easily and at the end it stopped, however carefully one treated it.

  “She is very weak,” Dr. Ferreira said.

  Yes, soft. That’s what the good doctor was. Soft clothes, soft voice, soft eyes. Vidal was sure, he could have broken him as effortlessly as he could a rabbit’s neck.

  “She’ll get as much rest as she needs,” he said. “I’ll sleep down here.”

  That would make things easier anyway. He had grown tired of Carmen. He grew tired of every woman quite easily. They usually tried to get too close. Vidal didn’t want anyone to get close. It made him vulnerable. All order was lost when love moved in. Even desire could be confusing unless one fed it and moved on. Women didn’t understand that.

  “And what about my son?” he asked. The child was all he cared about. A man was mortal without a son.

  The doctor looked at him in surprise. His eyes always looked slightly surprised behind those silver-rimmed glasses. He opened his soft mouth to answer when Garces and Serrano appeared in the doorway.

  “Capitán!”

  Vidal silenced his officers with a wave of his hand. The fear on their faces never ceased to please him. It even made him forget what a miserable place this was, so far away from the cities and battlefields where history was written. Being stationed in this dirty, rebel-infested forest—he would make it count. He would plant fear and death with such precision that the generals who had sent him here would hear about it. Some of them had fought with his father.

  “My son!” he repeated, impatience cutting like a razor in his voice. “How is he?”

  Ferreira still looked at him with bewilderment. Did I ever meet a man like you? his eyes seemed to ask. “For the moment,” he replied, “there is no reason to be alarmed.”