From the Shadows by Juan José Millás

Author:Juan José Millás
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bellevue Literary Press
Published: 2019-10-06T16:00:00+00:00

10

ON THE FORUM Damián visited most often, dozens of posts started appearing daily from people claiming to be the beneficiaries of Ghost Butler’s visitations.

“He lives in my parents’ bedside table,” said some.

“I’ve felt him in the garbage room of my building,” declared others.

Damián always replied to these messages, asking people to post something that only he and that individual could know. Of course, nobody ever could, until one day someone—user name “Grateful”—posted a message saying, “Dear Ghost Butler, I think it’s me you’ve been looking after.”

And when Damián made his usual request for proof, Grateful described, in some detail, the dinner the ghost had cooked for her and her family the previous night.

So, in their excitement, heads throbbing, Ghost Butler and Grateful withdrew from the public board to continue conversing in the intimacy of direct messages.

Damián wanted to know whether Lucía’s husband and daughter were aware of his presence; the possibility worried him.

“Only slightly,” she wrote, “if at all. When it began, I mentioned it—that a benevolent presence had come into the house at the same time as my grandparents’ wardrobe—and they both thought it was a big joke. But later on, as it became clear to me you really did exist, and not wanting to share you now, I made light of my previous assertions. They both know I have an interest in the world of the paranormal, but they’ve never taken it seriously.”

“So who do they think has been doing all the chores?” he replied.

“Me. Food on the table, clean clothes, beds made—that’s as far as the questions go for them. I’ve also spent quite a lot of time getting rid of evidence, anything that screams out that you’ve been here. It would actually be better if you didn’t do so much; otherwise, they’re bound to suspect. I sometimes end up having to do twice as much, just to make it seem like everything you’ve done is my work.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if they simply accepted my presence?” he asked.

“But I already said I don’t want to share you with anyone. And I mean it. I want you for myself.”

Damián felt so moved by this that it was as if she had whispered it in his ear, not typed it on a computer. Since he knew her voice, it was easy to imagine the words being softly spoken. It was eleven in the morning. By his calculations, Fede would be at the toy store, María at school, and Lucía at the bakery. The only person in the house was the one who did not belong there: him. And he was now struck by the sheer oddness of the situation; here he was, an intruder in the bedroom of a girl whose bed he had just made and whose panties he had not long before dropped in the laundry basket. Here he was, incredibly, passing himself off as a ghost while the world outside continued—it was as if the real world were a bus, continuing on its way, and he had simply alighted.

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