The Prisoner of Heaven: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

usually rob us. I’ve been to the Santa Lucía market.’
    Fermín and I looked at each other in bewilderment.
    ‘Aren’t you going to help me? This weighs a ton.’
    We proceeded to unload the contents of the bags onto the counter while my father unwrapped the box. The bags were packed with small objects, each one protected with more brown paper. Fermín unwrapped one of them and stared at it, perplexed.
    ‘What’s that?’ I asked.
    ‘I’m inclined to say it’s an adult sumpter at a scale of one to one hundred,’ Fermín suggested.
    ‘A what?’
    ‘Namely, a donkey or an ass, the delightful hoofed quadruped that with winning charm and zest peoples this uniquely Spanish landscape of ours. Only this is a miniature version, like the model trains they sell in Casa Palau,’ Fermín explained.
    ‘It’s a clay donkey, a figure for the crib,’ my father explained.
    ‘What crib?’
    My father opened the cardboard box and pulled out the enormous manger with lights he’d just bought and which, I guessed, he was planning to place in the shop window as a Christmas advertising gimmick. Meanwhile Fermín had already unwrapped a number of oxen, pigs, ducks, as well as three wise old kings riding camels, some palm trees, a St Joseph and a Virgin Mary.
    ‘Succumbing to the tyranny of National-Catholic propaganda and its surreptitious indoctrination techniques through a display of Yuletide figures and tall stories does not sound to me like a solution,’ Fermín declared.
    ‘Don’t talk rubbish, Fermín,’ my father interjected. ‘This is a lovely tradition and people like to see nativity scenes during the Christmas season. The bookshop needed some of that colourful, happy spark that Christmas requires. Have a look at all the shops in the area and you’ll see how, by comparison, we look like an undertaker’s parlour. Go on, help me and we’ll set it up in the shop window. And move to the second row all those books on physics and the history of Western philosophy, Fermín. They scare the seasonal customer away.’
    ‘The end is near,’ mumbled Fermín.
    Between the three of us we managed to position the manger and set the little figures in place. Fermín collaborated unwillingly, frowning and searching for any excuse to express his objection.
    ‘Señor Sempere, with all due respect, may I bring to your attention that this Baby Jesus is thrice the size of his putative father and hardly fits in the cradle?’
    ‘It doesn’t matter. They’d sold out of all the smaller ones.’
    ‘Well, I think that next to the Virgin Mary he looks like one of those Japanese fighters with a weight management problem, greased-back hair and swirly underpants tied up like a loincloth over their nether regions.’
    ‘Sumo wrestlers, they’re called,’ I said.
    ‘The very ones,’ Fermín agreed.
    My father sighed, shaking his head.
    ‘Besides, look at those eyes. You’d think he was possessed.’
    ‘Come on, Fermín, shut up and switch on the crib lights,’ my father ordered, handing him the plug.
    By performing one of his balancing acts Fermín managed to slip under the table that held the manger and reach the socket at one end of the counter.
    ‘And there was light,’ my father pronounced, gazing enthusiastically at the shining new Sempere & Sons nativity scene.
    ‘Adapt or perish!’ he added, pleased with himself.
    ‘Perish,’ mumbled Fermín under his breath.
    Not a minute had passed after the official lighting-up when a lady, with three children in tow, stopped by the shop window to admire the crib and, after a moment’s hesitation, ventured into the shop.
    ‘Good afternoon,’ she said. ‘Do you have any storybooks about the lives of the saints?’
    ‘Of course,’ said my father. ‘Allow me to show you the much recommended collection Little Jesus light of my life , which I’m sure the children will love. Profusely illustrated and with a foreword by our beloved archbishop. Doesn’t get any better.’
    ‘Sounds