Cristina Fernández Cubas: "One night I fell into a place where all the wisdom of the universe was revealed to me."

BarcelonaThe title of the new book by Cristina Fernández Cubas (Arenys de Mar, 1945) summarizes one of the vocations of his literature: to show what remains hidden, the mystery that beats on the margins of official stories. What is not coming (Tusquets) includes half a dozen new stories by the Catalan writer, who has been distinguished over the last decade with the Critics' Prize (2015), the National Fiction Prize (2016) and the National Literature Prize (2023). "When they called me to notify me of this latest award, I thought they had made a mistake because I already had it, but I was the one who was wrong," she admits with a smile. Fernández Cubas is not very prolific, but she doesn't want this collection to be the last and already has a new project in hand: "Some weird science fiction, the kind that only I would be interested in writing."

She has lived in Barcelona for decades, but the atmosphere of Arenys de Mar—or a town that could be one—continues to appear in some of the stories in What is not coming.

— I lived until I was fifteen. The story that might make you think most about Arenys is What do people talk about at parties? It's about a girl who enters high school and explains her relationship with another girl. The nuns at the school I attended were against the high school; they said that when we entered, no one would pay attention to us.

Was it like that?

— On the contrary. When I started high school, it seemed like paradise and freedom. I loved not having to wear a uniform.

One of the themes of most of the stories of What is not coming It is the duplicity of the characters and also of reality.

— I love exploring the relationships between two characters—mother and daughter, sisters, friends—who sometimes blur together. And I've always been drawn to the dark side of things, the shadows, what remains...

There are characters, like Bruno de Il Buco, who go through epiphanic moments.

— This came from a dream. One night I fell into a place where all the wisdom of the universe was revealed to me.

Did you feel satisfied or anxious when you woke up?

— I was happy and at the same time scared, to have discovered the secret of the entire universe. What I did in Il Buco It was to bring some depth to the subject by telling the story from the point of view of a man who is also going through a relationship crisis.

Has it happened to you more often that dreams feed your literature?

— Yes, many. I once dreamed that I met a woman on Pelayo Street at Christmas. Despite the bitter cold, she was wearing a low-cut dress and pointing at me. That's how it all started. The woman in green.

Don't all these visions scare you, considering that you live alone?

— I'm lucky to live in a very bright apartment. Besides, the best thing about nightmares is when you wake up and realize you're okay.

The book begins with the story of two sisters who have grown old and ends with another older woman who expresses the "need to stop the train, to pause life and reconstruct the film of existence."

— It's a feeling I've had. Between Nona's room and What is not coming Ten years have passed because I've needed to sort out who I've been, to take stock of the good things I've experienced, and also the bad things. Good isn't the opposite of bad: they complement each other. The protagonist of this story, Living Candle, think about this.

Do you think life goes as fast as she says?

— Life moves so fast and slips away from us. The expression used to be: "Stop the world, I want to get off." I've been mulling it over for a long time. I'm learning to stop time.

With stories like this?

— Literature can be healing, but it isn't always the case.

The characters often wonder about death.

— An obsession I've had for the past decade is having your bags packed for when you have to leave for the afterlife. I've had my share of unhappy times... but I'm fine now.

The title of the book, What is not coming, seems like a declaration of intent for all his literature.

— What you can't see is what's important. I've never believed only in the tangible. Other things may exist, even if we don't see them. Time will prove me right... or wrong.

Did you find it difficult to defend the fantasy genre when you debuted with My sister Elba (Tusquets, 1980)?

— What's been so difficult for me, to the point of being tiresome, is defending the short story genre. When I debuted, people asked me if it was a stepping stone to a novel. The answer was and is: "No." The short story isn't an experiment, nor a short film, nor a diversion. It makes sense as a genre. I've already written a novel, I know what it is... And it doesn't have the same characteristics as the short story.

In some cases, such as You Juan, I Bette, in just 20 pages synthesizes and versions an entire film as What has become of Baby Jane? (Robert Aldrich, 1962). Do you particularly like it?

— I've seen it many times. The first time, when I was a teenager, I was deeply moved and delighted. Later, there have been prequels, sequels, plays, and even TV series, but they've focused on the relationship between Joan Crawford and Bette Davis, the main characters. In my story, the sisters become the characters Joan and Bette play in the film.

Fiction dominates them.

— It's a game of mirrors. It's the other way around for me: I live my fictional characters so much that I talk about them as if they were alive.

In another story, The Chinese sisterThe narrator is convinced that whenever she's around her sister, she shines less brightly. She decides to distance herself from that...

— It's like allelopathy, that phenomenon according to which when you put two plants together, one beautifies the other. Here, it's Adelfa who beautifies Violeta. When they've been separated for a while and meet again, she feels as if the other has aged, but when they embrace, she drains her energy again. The only thing Adelfa can do is dream about cooking. oleanders –oleander flowers– to the sister. They're so toxic they can kill you.

Sometimes the horror in his stories is psychological. Other times it is more classical, as in Momonio.

— In this story, there's an invocation by a group of friends who are studying law and who are somewhat pretentious. Instead of playing with the Ouija board, they decide to summon a great power and invoke the innumerable... And it turns out he goes and keeps the appointment. What I like most about Momonio The narrator who tells us the story is the only one who wasn't present at the summoning. It's a story that warns us of the dangers of some games.

Although it is also suggested that the effects of the invocation could have been autosuggestion.

— You have to be ambiguous enough not to disappoint anyone.