3 - The Prisoner of Heaven (2011) by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Author:Carlos Ruiz Zafon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, Historical, Thriller, Adult
ISBN: 9780062206282
Publisher: Harper
Published: 2011-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

23

Fermín could feel the lorry slowing down and negotiating the last obstacles along the dirt track. After a couple of minutes of potholes and groans from the lorry, the engine stopped. The stench wafting in through the canvas was indescribable. The two gravediggers walked round to the rear of the lorry and Fermín heard the click of the metal bar that locked the back panel. Suddenly, a strong pull on the sack flung him into the void.

He hit the ground on his side, a dull pain spreading through his shoulder. Before he could react, the two gravediggers lifted the sack from the stony ground and, holding one end each, carried it uphill until they stopped a few metres further on. They dropped the sack again and then Fermín heard one of them kneel down and start to untie the knot. He could hear the other man’s footsteps as he moved away and picked up a metal object. Fermín tried to take in some air but that miasma burned his throat. He shut his eyes and felt the cold breeze on his face. The gravedigger grabbed the sack by the closed end and tugged hard. Fermín’s body rolled over stones and puddles.

‘Come on, let’s count to three,’ said one of them.

Four hands gripped him by his ankles and wrists. Fermín struggled to hold his breath.

‘Hey, listen, isn’t he sweating?’

‘How the fuck can a stiff be sweating, you jerk? It must be the puddles. Come on, one two and …’

Three. Fermín felt himself swing in the air. A moment later he was flying and had abandoned himself to his fate. He opened his eyes in mid-flight and all he managed to see before the impact was that he was plunging into a ditch dug into the mountainside. In the moonlight he could only glimpse something pale covering the ground. Fermín was convinced that what he was seeing were stones and, calmly, in the half-second he took to fall, decided he didn’t mind dying.

But the landing was gentle. Fermín’s body had fallen on something soft and damp. Five metres further up, one of the gravediggers was holding a spade which he emptied into the air. A whitish powder spread like a shiny mist that caressed his skin and, a second later, began to devour it like acid. The two gravediggers walked away and Fermín stood up to discover he was in an open grave packed with rotting bodies and covered in quicklime. He tried to shake off the fiery dust and scrambled over the bodies until he reached the wall of earth. He climbed up the wall, digging his hands into the earth and ignoring the pain. When he reached the top, he managed to drag himself to a puddle of dirty water and wash off the lime. He stood up and saw the lights of the lorry disappearing into the night. Turning around for a moment to look behind him, Fermín stared at the open grave spreading at his feet like an ocean of tangled corpses.

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