“This story was inspired by my stay as a writer-in-residence in Vil\u00b7la Joana in Barcelona, part of the Cities of Literature network, a fantastic place that I shared with fantastic fellow writers (gracias chicas…). It was a chaotic time in Barcelona, and I worked that into my story. On Tuesday 30 July the temperature in the city reached a record high of 40\u00ba C, which came as a shock to the locals and was almost unbearable.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“On Thursday 8 August, Carles Puigdemont, the former president of the Catalan government and a prominent advocate of independence from Spain, turned up in Barcelona. He had spent the previous seven years in Belgium, because he was wanted by the Spanish authorities in connection with the independence referendum that he organized in Catalonia in 2017. He popped up near the parliament buildings, made a speech, and vanished again immediately afterwards. The Mossos d\u2019Esquadra, the Catalan police, tried to take him into custody, causing major traffic jams and sending out helicopters above the city, but he eluded them. It eventually became clear that Puigdemont had already returned to Belgium, with help from within the Mossos d\u2019Esquadra. The event threw Barcelona into turmoil and dominated the news for weeks.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
2:56 am<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n The clock has run into some trouble. His workings creak, incessantly demanding oil. The hot night wraps itself around him like a blanket. The temperature is 25 degrees Celsius. The hills are asleep. The trains to and from Barcelona are on time. The question is whether the same can be said of him, the clock, tonight. It should be just a few more minutes now. He listens. To the silence around him. To the time that has passed, but pulses, pulses inside him like a heart. In all his memories. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The things to come\u2014that\u2019s a thornier problem. It\u2019s as if they are drifting away, he and his clockwork can\u2019t keep up. They can\u2019t seem to demarcate the moments, to give them meaning. For example, two new women arrived this afternoon. He saw them coming, of course; he sees everything from here on the hilltop. They were lugging their suitcases up the hill from the station and kept pointing at him. He is old, he is used to people pointing. The women withdrew into the villa from which he rises, which is partly a museum. He hasn\u2019t seen them since. Most visitors come to view his clockwork innards. Maybe the weather was too hot for them. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He strikes three. <\/p>\n\n\n\n 4:32 am<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Eulalia sits bolt upright in bed and covers her ears. The sound is so loud it\u2019s unbearable. At first, she thinks she must be dreaming, but after a splash of water on her face and a glance in the mirror, she knows she\u2019s awake. The clock, she thinks, could it be that bombastic thing. Her telephone shows the time. She sees it. No, it\u2019s not the clock. She goes out into the hall. It\u2019s dark in the villa, all the shutters are closed to keep out the heat. It hasn\u2019t helped. The heat is omnipresent, as if Eulalia has wandered into a kitchen where the ovens have been on for hours. In the corner, red light is dancing on the wall. A moment later she\u2019s found it: an alarm going off, above a large red button. Pressing the button doesn\u2019t help. The alarm ignores her completely, continuing its deafening racket. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Then Teresa is standing next to her, groggy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat is this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAn alarm. We\u2019d better find the caretaker, pronto,\u201d she shouts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They hurry down the corridor and knock on the caretaker\u2019s door. No response.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShit,\u201d Eulalia says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFire? A break-in?\u201d Teresa asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Eulalia thinks of the darkness, the withered forest around the villa, the soil that has dried to dust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCome on, let\u2019s go see for ourselves,\u201d Teresa calls out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They turn on the flashlights on their cell phones and cautiously go down the stairs. They can\u2019t see or smell anything out of the ordinary. Then they open the window. Another infernal racket\u2014the alarm must be going off outside too. They shine their flashlights around. Nothing. No smoke. No suspicious people. Absolutely nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The alarm just won\u2019t stop. They decide to call the Mossos. At first, the policeman doesn\u2019t understand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou mean you\u2019re in a museum now, in the middle of the night? With an alarm going off?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, that\u2019s right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A brief silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHave you seen any signs of fire? Or burglary?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, but it\u2019s dark and the building is in the middle of the woods. We just arrived and don\u2019t really have our bearings yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo nothing substantial. No, ma\u2019am, in that case we can\u2019t help you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Teresa sighs as the policeman ends the call.<\/p>\n\n\n\n 5:47 am<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s been a confusing night. The difficulty of making himself heard on time, the alarm making such a ruckus, and those two women shining their flashlights at him. It\u2019s dark and he is alone with the hills, the pine trees, and his memories. That should be a comfort to him, but it isn\u2019t. He\u2019s worried. All these things that keep happening, things he can\u2019t follow. Time has a purpose, he thinks. For example, it draws a line between day and night. <\/p>\n\n\n\n 6:22 am<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Flies and moths are flying around on the balcony, remnants of the night. Eulalia and Teresa wait for the sky to turn blue above the hills. Finally, the temperature outside is pleasant. They drink coffee together. When the first beams extend over the hilltops, Teresa retreats into her room to try to get some sleep. Eulalia goes downstairs, eager to have a look at the garden while it\u2019s still so deliciously cool out. The garden is shriveled. Dust and dull shades of grey-green wherever she looks. Wizened succulents in pots. A large hose leading to the pine trees. She has just set off in that direction when she notices something rooting in the soil. It\u2019s an enormous beast. A wild boar. As she takes a second astonished look, she notices two piglets wandering around beside it. The boar is already preparing to charge toward her as she slowly turns around and walks back inside the museum. Eulalia is hyperventilating. Wild boars live in forests, don\u2019t they, she wonders, far from civilization. No, apparently not. Beads of sweat are running down her forehead. And the day is just beginning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n 6:53 am<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n It had almost gone wrong. He had nearly failed to strike six. Just before the hour, two men came into the clock room. One leaned a ladder against the wall and climbed to the top to remove the fire alarm from the ceiling. The hot weather broke it, he explained to the caretaker. He wonders how long this heat wave will continue. The stones of the tower are already so searingly hot. He can\u2019t remember ever going through heat like this. And now the fire alarm is broken. Oh, fire, yes, he remembers that. Tall red tongues licking straight through the pine trees. A wild wind nimbly whipping up a sea of flames. There, there, he mustn\u2019t let his own memories frighten him. It\u2019s almost time to strike seven. After all, the morning is just beginning. He has a job to do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n 7:15 am<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Eulalia has managed to start up the laptop. She searches for wild boar. There\u2019s a plague of them here in the Parc de Collserola. They crash into cars, overturn trash cans and devour their contents, hurtle down sidewalks, terrorize shops. It\u2019s like a video game that\u2019s escaped into real life. She sighs. She\u2019s tired. \u201cBreaking\u201d flashes across her screen. Something about a politician who\u2019s back in Barcelona after seven years. Eulalia turns off the laptop. She needs to get some sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n 7:43 am<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Christ, it was one hell of a job to strike the hour on time. Now he can rest a while. The sun has just come up, he still has cool air around him, and the museum is closed today. In this heat, no one will travel to see a museum dedicated to a dead Catalan poet, however much he might wish they would. The clock and the poet both belong to a different age. An age that\u2019s showing cracks and crumbling to pieces. Just like his own tower. They can hardly maintain it anymore. Now and then a piece of it falls to the ground. And now the fire alarm is broken. Who will warn him if he bursts into flames?<\/p>\n\n\n\n 10:05 am<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Teresa is standing in the doorway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHey, Eulalia. There\u2019s another bell ringing. Don\u2019t worry, it\u2019s not an alarm this time. But I can\u2019t figure out what it is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Eulalia hops out of bed, and they go out into the hall, where a bell is ringing. It turns out to be a doorbell with a screen next to it. Teresa pushes the button. A man with a full head of brown hair appears on screen, panting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCould you open the door?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy?\u201d Eulalia says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI need a hiding place.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you have an appointment?\u201d Teresa asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd who are you?\u201d says Eulalia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The man on the screen looks surprised.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou don\u2019t know who I am?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo,\u201d they reply in unison.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m\u2014\u201d he starts to say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On the road behind the man, a few wild boars come into view, followed by a speeding car with a blue light. The man panics, disappearing suddenly from the screen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA hiding place! Who\u2019s chasing him, the wild boars?\u201d Teresa asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI think we need another cup of coffee,\u201d Eulalia remarks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n 2:04 pm<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Those last two strokes took a lot out of him. He has the feeling he\u2019s falling behind, maybe only a few seconds behind, but still, he can\u2019t let that happen. Then everything will go off the rails. His clockwork can\u2019t take it anymore, that much is clear. One of the women below him has turned on the radio, and the news is making him nervous. An endless series of reports about a politician in Barcelona who had a good plan for the future of the country and then vanished. It makes no sense to him. The country must be governed, mustn\u2019t it? Then he hears something truly terrifying. His neighbor, the Fabra weather station on the next hill over, has measured the record-breaking temperature of 40 degrees Celsius. He almost faints, but of course he can\u2019t, towers don\u2019t fall over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n 3:38 pm<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Eulalia and Teresa are sitting in the kitchen. It\u2019s too hot outside to do anything. They\u2019ve left the door open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhores, stupid whores.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They both spring to their feet and rush to the balcony. Below them, a man is running around in swimming trunks, swearing at two people sitting in the shade of a tree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, no,\u201d Teresa says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The man in the swimming trunks goes on shouting. The people give up and hurry off, in search of a different way into the park. Then the man wanders off. They can hear him shouting through the trees. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet\u2019s call the Mossos again. This is getting ridiculous,\u201d Eulalia says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Eulalia dials the number and is immediately connected to a policewoman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s a scruffy man in the park here, shouting and scaring people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She explains where they are.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat park is near Barcelona, isn\u2019t it?\u201d the woman asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, why do you ask?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAre you sure that man was wearing swimming trunks?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes. I don\u2019t know what color.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOK. Can you describe his hair?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHis hair? Long, gray, and messy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot brown?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. Hold on. We did see a man with brown hair here today. He rang the doorbell. We don\u2019t know who he was.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat did he want?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe said he needed a hiding place.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019ll be right there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The call is abruptly cut off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Five minutes later, a helicopter is circling above the villa. Not long afterward, four Mossos cars come racing toward the house. Eulalia and Teresa are standing on the balcony. The police officers scatter into the woods in all directions. A couple of them are carrying automatic rifles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWho is that man?\u201d Eulalia asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA lunatic, a murderer, a jaywalker. No idea.\u201d Teresa says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Half an hour later, the police officers come running back out of the woods. The helicopter has already left. Eulalia and Teresa take a bottle of white wine out of the fridge. It\u2019s time to cool off. They sit on the balcony, utter silence all around them. And there they stay until the sun goes down and they can finally breathe normally again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n 8:18 pm<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n He is running slow, he knows that for certain now. His clockwork is creaking, moaning, and groaning. He thinks he\u2019s fallen about ten seconds behind. The things happening in the now are not bounded in time anymore. He\u2019s no longer certain how to keep track of them. His memories are turning into whipped cream, sliding in all directions, beyond recovery. He sees the wild boar and her two piglets running into the woods. The animals don\u2019t need him, of course, they have a very different concept of time. He understands that. But surely civilized people need some solid framework for their reality. After all, order is the only path to growth. He sighs. In the distance, the train to Barcelona rattles through the valley. It\u2019s on time, he\u2019s not. The sun is sinking below the horizon. The wind has risen. He thinks about rain, lots and lots of rain. But for now, he\u2019s alone with the approaching night. He needs to cool down. He is no longer keeping good time. He is alone with the approaching night and the time that is slipping away from him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Albertina Soepboer \u2013 August 2024 \u2013 Barcelona<\/p>\n\n\n\n English translation by David McKay, based on the Dutch translation by Martsje de Jong and the original Frisian<\/p>\n\n\n\n “This story was inspired by my stay as a writer-in-residence in Vil\u00b7la Joana in Barcelona, part of the Cities of Literature network, a fantastic place that I shared with fantastic fellow writers (gracias chicas…). It was a chaotic time in Barcelona, and I worked that into my story. 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