The Blasphemer: A Novel by Nigel Farndale

continued reading. ‘That’s odd …’
    ‘What?’
    ‘He seems to have known he was going to die. Listen: “ Je mort avec votre visage sur mon esprit .” I death, I think he means I will die, I will die with your face on my mind. He goes on, I won’t be afraid if I can do that.’
    Nancy fell silent as she read on.
    ‘What else?’ Daniel prompted.
    ‘ “ Pendant … dernière année … ” For the past year my wish when I saw the sun rising was to see it set, setting, again, that was the, the measure, yardstick of my life ... You are my one pensÉ , thought, my darling, and I would not have swapped one moment, minute, I spent with you, not even if it would have meant escaping what is to come.’
    She looked up. ‘Quite the poet.’ Her eyes returned to the letter.
    ‘ “ Ne pluie pas pour moi .” Don’t rain – no, don’t weep for me. Be happy, be happy pour moi ... I know God is with me ... You know what I saw. “ Vous seul …” You alone understand … Look after our child.” Then he ends.” Tell him, I know it will be a boy, tell him that his father faced his death like a soldier, gallantly like a soldier.” ’
    Nancy lowered her glasses once more and looked across at Daniel. Her eyes were glistening. ‘That’s.. .’ She swallowed. ‘That’s so .. .’
    ‘Can I see?’ Daniel felt the texture of the letter, rubbing it thoughtfully. He held it up to the light and nodded. Like a primate, he sniffed its mustiness. It weighed heavily in his hand, with a gravitational pull of its own. ‘Does this room have a safe?’
    ‘Haven’t found one.’
    ‘Reception will have a safe. These letters should be … Come on, let’s go and explore the town.’
    Daniel handed the letters over at reception and, as an afterthought, slipped the poppy out of his buttonhole and tucked it behind the string. ‘Can you keep these in your safe?’
    ‘Of course, señor.’
    ‘Are there any markets nearby?’
    ‘Not far away, in a cobbled square called the Puerta del Angel. It is the highest point of the city.’
    The walk cleared Daniel’s head a little, but the sight of stalls laden with glassy-eyed rabbits, and geese with their heads still attached, made him feel nauseous again. The air smelled of spices, tobacco and incense mixed with burning hair and open sewers. The sticky afternoon heat did not help. ‘It smells like my lab,’ he complained, covering his nose.
    Green and red bunting criss-crossed the square, evidence of a recent fiesta. In one corner three teenage girls were standing around an open-doored jeep, grinding their hips in time to a samba thumping from its speakers. Nancy copied them briefly, swaying her hips as she did a triple step backwards and forwards, her arms turning rhythmically outwards for balance.
    Daniel grinned and shook his head in awe. ‘Didn’t know you could samba.’
    ‘I’m an enigma. That’s why you love me.’ With this, Nancy turned and gave a little wave over her shoulder as she strolled across to a fruit stand. Daniel looked for a shady doorway to sit down in, away from the press of bodies. Unable to find one, he leaned against the crumbling plaster of a wall and watched Nancy testing the firmness of a mango, rolling it between her hands. When a dog appeared and began barking at him excitedly he moved a few yards on, to an area of wall sprayed with graffiti. He was feeling breathless. His eyelids were heavy. Distracted by a small, rust-coloured dust devil whirling across the street, he did not at first notice the young man in the white cotton thoub staring at him. With his fine features, long hair and bulging, wide-set eyes, the youth looked out of context to Daniel, more like a Moroccan beach boy than an Ecuadorian street trader. Though half in silhouette, he looked familiar, too. Daniel narrowed his eyes. When the young man invited him over to his stall with a wave of his hand and a broad, golden smile, Daniel stayed where he was. Feeling unnerved, he walked over