‘I think I am in the wrong place,’ I told him again. I just wanted to leave. Or to never have arrived.
He stared at me. His eyes had a force to them. ‘No. You are in the right place, I assure you. And that is why I must finish telling you about the lizards. Now they are dying. Everywhere. People do not understand how important it is. Especially the fuckers in the hills.’
There was a violence to the way he said that. He was a man with clear resentments. Sabine’s words echoed in my mind. I think he is the only person who knows what happened to her…
‘The people with the fancy gardens and the olive trees. The millionaires and billionaires with their yoga mats and infinity pools. I can say this to you because you are clearly not a rich woman.’
I did not like him, even before that sentence, but that sealed the deal.
‘Clearly,’ I said. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, could I—’
But I was distracted. I noticed that as he was talking his thumb was massaging the area under the snake’s neck, and the reptile seemed to be slowing in its movements.
‘These snakes are Montpellier snakes. They get in with the imported trees, in the…holes…the…They lay their eggs there…Their eggs are in the trees…And now they are here they multiply like crazy. And the whole ecological system is fucked up. Really fucking fucked. Fucked like a dolphin. And dolphins really like to fuck. Dolphins are built for pleasure. They are pleasure machines.’
I thought he was trying to shock me. So, despite my anxiety in that moment, I kept my face as still and strong as an Easter Island statue and gave him not even a flicker of the prudery he was probably expecting.
‘So there are snake-catchers, and they smash their heads with rocks. But I can’t do that to him. Look at him. His mind is full of questions. You can’t hear them, but trust me, this is a very curious snake. I suppose because he is a transplant, like you. He is somewhere he is not designed to be…Don’t worry, snake. Everything is fine…So, I will put him to sleep for a little while. Look, the dude is asleep. His eyes are still open because he is a snake. But look.’ The snake slid away from his arm as he held it up. He went over to his desk and opened a drawer for it and then closed the snake away. ‘I will call my friend. He works in security for a nightclub. His little girl keeps them as pets.’
I wasn’t a connoisseur of conversations these days but even I knew this was an abnormal one.
‘Is the snake okay?’
‘Sí, sí. It’s a technique I learned from an Argentinian general.’ He came over and held out his hand, which I tentatively shook. He spoke English with an accent that was half Spanish and half American, probably from his time at the University of California.
‘Alberto Ribas,’ he said. ‘Friend of the animals and the sea.’
‘I’m Grace. Friend of a person who died in mysterious circumstances. I am trying to find out what happened to her.’
‘Welcome to my office.’ He gestured to the futon. ‘And my home.’
‘You live here?’
‘Yes, yes. Why not? I have other options. My daughter has a lovely house in the north of the island, and she wants me to live with her, but I like it here. I get up. I bathe in the sea and dry in the sun. What could be better?’
‘Plumbing?’ I offered.
He ignored me.
‘Please,’ I tried again. ‘I would like to find out what happened to my friend.’
‘You said your name was Grace? Like Grace Kelly?’
It was frustrating. The way he could keep steering the conversation away from where I wanted it to go, but I humoured him.
‘My mum loved her. I was born the year High Noon came out.’ This was all true. But hardly what I came here to share.
‘Did you know that she had her honeymoon in Ibiza?’
‘No. And I don’t think—’
‘Well, she did. Look it up. People think celebrities have only started coming here. But they always have. Errol Flynn came here on his yacht. Laurence Olivier. Elizabeth Taylor. All before we even had an airport. Later on, Joni Mitchell came here to get inspired. A young Cormac McCarthy came to write back when he was a hippy. Bob Marley came here to go dancing. I met him. He was a hero.’
I tried to guess Alberto’s age. The beard and mahogany tan made it hard. He could have been anywhere between sixty and eighty. Yet despite the wear and tear on his body, he had a youthfulness to him. He was someone who had never learned to be a grown-up.
‘Listen,’ I said, surprisingly strict given my nerves, ‘I am here to ask about an old friend of mine.’
He ignored this completely. Maybe he hadn’t heard. No. He had heard. But he carried on, talking not quite to me, but over me, as if to an imaginary but adoring crowd somehow squeezed into the shack. Maybe a lecture hall of admiring students in a universe where he still had a career. ‘You see, this is not a normal island. I know people say that all the time, but I really know it to be true. This island is not normal. There is something special here. It is everywhere you look, if you know what you are looking for. Take the goat…’
I tried to interrupt. It was like filling the gap in a number sequence that had already been filled.
‘I named him after Nostradamus because the great Frenchman originally predicted Ibiza will be the last sanctuary for life on Earth. Did you know that?’
I stared down at the empty bowl of oats, trying to imagine what any of this had to do with Christina or scuba diving or anything else.
‘There are goats on Es Vedrà too. They always want rid of them. Say they are “malos para el hábitat”! Humans! Saying goats are bad for the habitat! Imagine! Fucking humans, huh?’
He then made a strange sound. Like a howling wolf. God only knows why.
I felt a little scared, I admit. He was not only an insane man but also a big one. A big, wild, hairy one. And for his age – whatever that was – probably pretty fit. Even with my revamped legs I wouldn’t have been able to outrun him. So I was stuck in a deserted shack, quite a long distance from the beach and even the car park. Any scream would have been drowned out by the relentless mating call of cicadas.
‘It was the seagrass, wasn’t it?’ he asked me. His eyes had switched from child-like to ancient. The stare had a force to it. I felt it could knock me off my feet.
‘Sorry?’
‘It was the picture of the seagrass. That was what brought you here.’
And I had no idea what to say.
