I followed him to a large room with wide French windows overlooking the city. Corelli pointed to an armchair and then filled two glasses from a decanter on a table. He handed me a glass and sat on the armchair opposite mine.

I tasted the wine. It was excellent. I almost downed it in one and soon felt the warmth sliding down my throat, calming my nerves. Corelli sniffed at his and watched me with a friendly, relaxed smile.

‘You were right,’ I said.

‘I usually am,’ Corelli replied. ‘It’s a habit that rarely gives me any satisfaction. Sometimes I think that few things would give me more pleasure than being sure I had made a mistake.’

‘That’s easy to resolve. Ask me. I’m always wrong.’

‘No, you’re not wrong. I think you see things as clearly as I do and it doesn’t give you any satisfaction either.’

Listening to him it occurred to me that the only thing that could give me some satisfaction at that precise moment was to set fire to the whole world and burn along with it. As if he’d read my thoughts, Corelli smiled and nodded, baring his teeth.

‘I can help you, my friend.’

To my surprise, I found myself avoiding his eyes, concentrating instead on that small brooch with the silver angel on his lapel.

‘Pretty brooch,’ I said, pointing at it.

‘A family heirloom,’ Corelli replied.

I thought we’d exchanged enough pleasantries to last the whole evening.

‘Señor Corelli, what am I doing here?’

Corelli’s eyes shone the same colour as the wine he was gently swilling in his glass.

‘It’s very simple. You’re here because at last you’ve realised that this is the place you should be. You’re here because I made you an offer a year ago. An offer that at the time you were not ready to accept, but which you have not forgotten. And I’m here because I still think that you’re the person I’m looking for, and that is why I preferred to wait twelve months rather than let you go.’

‘An offer you never got round to explaining in detail.’

‘In fact, the only thing I gave you was the details.’

‘One hundred thousand francs in exchange for working for you for a whole year, writing a book.’

‘Exactly. Many people would think that was the essential information. But not you.’

‘You told me that when you described the sort of book you wanted me to write for you, I’d do it even if you didn’t pay me.’

Corelli nodded.

‘You have a good memory.’

‘I have an excellent memory, Señor Corelli, so much so that I don’t recall having seen, read or heard about any book you’ve published.’

‘Do you doubt my solvency?’

I shook my head, trying not to let him notice the longing and greed that gnawed at my insides. The less interest I showed, the more tempted I felt by the publisher’s promises.

‘I’m simply curious about your motives,’ I pointed out.

‘As you should be.’

‘Anyhow, may I remind you that I have an exclusive contract with Barrido & Escobillas for five more years. The other day I received a very revealing visit from them, and from a litigious-looking lawyer. Still, I suppose it doesn’t really matter, because five years is too long, and if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that I have very little time.’

‘Don’t worry about lawyers. Mine are infinitely more litigious-looking than the ones that couple of pustules use, and they’ve never lost a case. Leave all the legal details and litigation to me.’

From the way he smiled when he uttered those words I thought it best never to have a meeting with the legal advisers for Éditions de la Lumière.

‘I believe you. I suppose that leaves us with the question of what the other details of your offer are – the essential ones.’

‘There’s no simple way of saying this, so I’d better get straight to the point.’

‘Please do.’

Corelli leaned forward and locked his eyes on mine.

‘Martín, I want you to create a religion for me.’

At first I thought I hadn’t heard him properly.

‘What did you say?’

Corelli held his gaze on mine, his eyes unfathomable.

‘I said that I want you to create a religion for me.’

I stared at him for a long moment, thunderstruck.

‘You’re pulling my leg.’

Corelli shook his head, sipping his wine with relish.

‘I want you to bring together all your talent and devote yourself body and soul, for one year, to working on the greatest story you have ever created: a religion.’

I couldn’t help bursting out laughing.

‘You’re out of your mind. Is that your proposal? Is that the book you want me to write?’

Corelli nodded calmly.

‘You’ve got the wrong writer: I don’t know anything about religion.’

‘Don’t worry about that. I do. I’m not looking for a theologian. I’m looking for a narrator. Do you know what a religion is, Martín, my friend?’

‘I can barely remember the Lord’s Prayer.’

‘A beautiful and well-crafted prayer. Poetry aside, a religion is really a moral code that is expressed through legends, myths or any type of literary device in order to establish a system of beliefs, values and rules with which to regulate a culture or a society.’

‘Amen,’ I replied.

‘As in literature or in any other act of communication, what confers effectiveness on it is the form and not the content,’ Corelli continued.

‘You’re telling me that a doctrine amounts to a tale.’

‘Everything is a tale, Martín. What we believe, what we know, what we remember, even what we dream. Everything is a story, a narrative, a sequence of events with characters communicating an emotional content. We only accept as true what can be narrated. Don’t tell me you’re not tempted by the idea.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Are you not tempted to create a story for which men and women would live and die, for which they would be capable of killing and allowing themselves to be killed, of sacrificing and condemning themselves, of handing over their soul? What greater challenge for your career than to create a story so powerful that it transcends fiction and becomes a revealed truth?’

We stared at each other for a few seconds.

‘I think you know what my answer is,’ I said at last.

Corelli smiled.

‘I do. But I think you’re the one who doesn’t yet know it.’

‘Thank you for your company, Señor Corelli. And for the wine and the speeches. Very stimulating. Be careful who you throw them at. I hope you find your man, and that the pamphlet is a huge success.’

I stood up and turned to leave.

‘Are you expected somewhere, Martín?’

I didn’t reply, but I stopped.

‘Don’t you feel anger, knowing there could be so many things to live for, with good health and good fortune, and no ties?’ said Corelli behind my back. ‘Don’t you feel anger when these things are being snatched from your hands?’

I turned back slowly.

‘What is a year’s work compared to the possibility of having everything you desire come true? What is a year’s work compared to the promise of a long and fulfilling existence?’

Nothing, I said to myself, despite myself. Nothing.

‘Is that your promise?’

‘You name the price. Do you want to set fire to the whole world and burn with it? Let’s do it together. You fix the price. I’m prepared to give you what you most want.’

‘I don’t know what it is that I want most.’

‘I think you do know.’

The publisher smiled and winked at me. He stood up and went over to a chest of drawers that had a gas lamp resting on it. He opened the first drawer and pulled out a parchment envelope. He handed it to me but I didn’t take it, so he left it on the table that stood between us and sat down again, without saying a word. The envelope was open and inside I could just make out what looked like a few wads of one-hundred franc notes. A fortune.

‘You keep all this money in a drawer and leave the door open?’ I asked.

‘You can count it. If you think it’s not enough, name an amount. As I said, I’m not going to argue with you over money.’