Category: Parent

32

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A very special one

Francesc looked out the window every bit until, in one of these occasions, was he stretched his neck to look towards the start of the street, he saw a Seat 124 appearing. He forced his eyes to find that it was registered under Jaume. Sitting in front of him and giving the first sip to the red vermouth, Marta said: They are already here. And she turned her body to the left obstructing the view of the car. If she had turned the opposite way, to the right, the 124 would have been seen moving away in search of parking.

Marta was very impatient to meet a woman such as Mireia Mainer, who came with Jaume; she wanted things around her to follow a different inertia, something that allowed her to leave the leisure routine and get to work, get something ready, and finally put her thoughts of something else other than Francesc and wasting spare time. Logic told him that Mireia had not come to pass the time and such a little chat on the phone with Jaume indicated that the arrival of the couple would very well change Marta’s expectations.

Jaume had mixed feelings, he did not like the idea DEQ I exposed, trying to drive and calm down the nerves he felt at closing the car door; he did not want his colleagues to see the extent up to what he was in love with that woman. Before Francesc and Marta could see the gesture through the glass of the café, Jaume caressed Mireia, and called her by her fake name again, trying to get used to its weird sound in public, Trahamunda.

On the contrary, Mireia, Trahamunda Soutullo, full of arrogance and immodesty, clashed with the intelligence and love of the affectionate praises of Jaume. Mireia felt completely safe, firm, convinced of her moral and intellectual superiority, knowing that was what mattered most in the end. And she was sure that the other two people holding that informal meeting were aware of it ­– even though at that precise moment they still did not know enough – that she would be a very special piece in their group, a very special one indeed.

 

30

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The river is high then it is low. Whenever I look at her, she never looks the same. The sea is not far. That’s what I am saying to myself when I see the river moving this way. They keep throwing stuff into the river. When the river is low, you can see a bike or any unlikely thing that has nothing to do in a river. I wonder what kind of stuff they would not throw into the river. There are lots of buoys near the river just incase they would throw someone into the river. Just in case anyone would just jump into the river. Anyone walking in the street could stop, throw the buoy and shout “Catch it! I said catch it! Life is not over! Your time has not come today! Catch it!”

When summer is here with its first ray of sun, everybody is in the street. Hot, some guys walking shirtless. Young people are jumping into the water. They are swimming in the river. They know they keep throwing stuffs into the river but they don’t care. When summer is here, it is time to play. Jump into the river, laugh and dream even with the eyes open wide. Let the water caress the skin and dream. Let the body think he is far. He is under the water, hiding from the hot sun. Protecting the skin from the burning sun.

The river is playing too. She is flowing-running towards the ocean. I am looking her running away and I can hear the mermaid singing from a long way. “If we have the sun, when we are looking up and the color of honey on our skin. If we have the sea in our eyes, a bitter sweet taste in our mouth. If there was what we see in our dreams in the earth, if there was what we need to become better…“

29

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In a wood cabin, a fireplace crackles out heat, warming a room where a man stirs from a deep sleep. Next to the bed, which creaks as the man begins to wake, there is a night stand with a glass of water, a hand written note and a computer tablet.

Kepa opens his eyes. Layers of thick blankets weigh down on him. The smell of dust and lavander ease him into the waking world. He turns to take in his surroundings and every muscle in his body complains. Slowly, he pulls himself into a sitting position. The room is warm and he is grateful that someone thought to leave a glass of water for him. He gulps down half and returns the glass to the table. Picking up the tablet, he notices that it is password protected and turns to look at the note:

 

IMAG1338

28

  By

Something new

Trahamunda Soutullo parked her Seat 128 close to a Seat 124 with a Catalan number plate, very close to the Roman baths. She raised her face to look at the medieval town hanging at the middle of the mountain. It was some years ago when she had visited Saint Bertrand de Comminges and the Cathedral of Notre-Dame for the first time. Five years ago, before starting her studies in Rome she went there with the Mother Superior  of the convent where she was raised, a gift before leaving the nest in Ferreira de Pantón, a reminder of where she came from, an incentive to follow the path she had started watching with devotion the arch of St. Xoán de Panxón.

Trahamunda had to get the shoes off to rise, she did it barefoot on the grass, just on the side of the path that passed beside the ruins of the Roman theatre. She found Jaume Bastida in the hostel in front of the cathedral. She would take a coffee before entering to the temple, and there he was, sitting at a table, alone. His face showed he haf recently awakened from a too long nap. They looked at each other for a few seconds and she sat at another table after asking for a coffee, but on the sight of the young man. When she took her first sip he was looking at her. Jaume greeted her with a movement and she replied with the same.

Salut! Salut! C’est un bel soir. Oui. Tu viens visiter la cathédral? Oui, et toi? Moi aussi. Ça fait combien que tu étais ici? Ça fait cinq ans, tu sais comment que j’y suis déjà étée? C’est evident que tu n’est pas d’ici et tu es toute seule. Tu es seul aussi, ou pas? Oui, mais je pourrais être du pays. No, parles malament francés, sembles català i, a més, em sembla que tens uns Seat 124 aparcat a baix, al cantó de les termes. Que observadora, em dic Francesc Bastida, i tu? Em dic Mireia, Mireia Mainer, anem a la catedral? Som-hi!

Both Trahamunda and Jaume entered the cathedral, in sight of the Epiphany and they kissed in front of the sacred remains of Saint Bertrand. She explained the different stages of the building, the Romanesque phase with two huge pillars that rise in the narthex, the sixty-six chairs carved in the magnificent choir and the most curious votive offering ever seen: a enormous stuffed crocodile, face down, on the surface of a column. And before lying in bed, she showed him another corner of the village: the place where Gunther killed Gundoald.

 

27

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Sixth scene, TALES OF OLD

Later that day, Jeanne and Claire are sitting at quite a sturdy table while an overcast weather and a light drizzle have replaced the morning sunny spell. The mother is explaining to her daughter who looks rather bored how to recognise edible berries from poisonous ones. Sophie is standing on a chair next to the window where she just lit a candle.

Jeanne – Sophie, come here, will you ? We need some light over here while birds and rodents have little use for it. Besides, you’ll wet the wick. – Sophie grabs the candle and waves it gently in front of the window – Well, what are you doing ?

The young girl turns to her mother and there seems to be something like a smile on her face. At this moment, we hear the door in the other other room being opened, then closed and a few moments later, François appears at the door looking distraught and his clothes dripping on the wooden floor.

Jeanne, quavering with goggled eyes – Here you are ! We were so worried ! Where have you been ? Come on, don’t just stand there, you’ll get cold.

Then, he starts to move forward with small and clumsy steps so Jeanne and Claire dash towards him to help him stand on his feet and to undress him – when he sits at the table, he wears only his linen pants and the blanket that has just been put on his shoulders. Jeanne is crouching in front of him with her hands on his lap while the two girls are standing a few steps behind her.

François, looking up from the ground and meeting his partner’s face – I… I was getting some wood to guard against the storm that was brewing when it preyed down on me unexpectedly. I didn’t know where to go nor what to do, so I climbed up the mountain as if I could stand above the clouds. There I stood before a dilapidated chapel in which was a most peculiar man. After having come to blows, I let him lying on the floor, I waited a while to see if he would wake up and nodded off. The next day, I found him as I had left him and went to get some food. When I came back, the chapel was empty and, as I was looking about the area, I received a violent blow on the back of my neck. – He pauses and sighs heavily – Upon waking, so dark was the night, cold as Hell was the ground and there I lay amidst an unknown forest, unable to move and with the hooting of an owl as the only token of my being awake. Later, I managed to get up and wandered as a blind man in the dark, searching for a way out. The only thing that I remember after this is that glimmer dancing in the distance.

Jeanne – Oh, François, I was so afraid ! But you are among your own now, you don’t have to be afraid any more.

25

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Mother

 “We’re alone again and it’s dinner time. What do we cook tonight?”

Both walked into the kitchen, Victor trying to shake off the unpleasant sensation his mother had left him with, and the kid trotting by his side.

“I want cheese.”

“You always want cheese.”

“Mum says it’s good.”

“Mum…” he bit his tongue not to make the mistake of saying something bad about their mother in front of his sister. “OK.”

His mother’s sudden and completely indifferent attitude was totally incomprehensible for him. Only until a few months ago he had always found her excessively sweet and curious. When Victor thought about his mother, the first image that came to his mind, the most powerful, was her head appearing, cheerfully, at his door when she came from work and asking him about his day. His everlastingly patient mother, who used to give him advice, usually too indiscrete, about the girl he was going out with. The woman who, more than once, he and his sister had emotionally blackmailed so she went out with her friends to have some fun, even for a few hours, for them to be able to enjoy throwing themselves at the sofa, watching some films and eating popcorn until feeling ill. But now…

Victor felt the intense look of his sister on his back while he took out every kind of cheese he could find in the fridge and started to fear any of her too elaborated questions judging by the silence of the kid. He chose the easy way and looked for some bread too.

“You told mum you’re going out tonight. Are you seeing Ana?”

“Yes, I am. Do you want me to tell her something?” although the kid had not shown any interest for the girl he was going out with, for some reason, he always tried for some kind of friendship to arise between the women in his life.

“No. I don’t like it,” not in the form of a question, but the girl, indeed, let the issue drop.

“You don’t like Ana?”

“No. It’s a too common name.”

“Well, it’s the one she’s got.”

“I’d rather you go out with someone with a prettier name.”

Victor could not help but laugh. Maybe his sister thought he had chosen the girl because of her name. Maybe her looks. Why not? How else, he thought, would kids choose the things they like. Some reflection about that idea emerged on the depths of his mind, but he opted for dismissing it.

“Prettier? Like what?”

“Blue.”

24

  By

Money

Manuel de Pedrolo

1951

Half of the buildings in the city –almost two million inhabitants– were banks. In reaching this situation, there was a long hiatus during which a lot of people asked themselves, with anxiety, how would that issue end. Until then there had not been any example of any bank closing. The shops and other trades, however, suffered repeated defeats. At that moment there hardly were any coffee shops –only a sort of small caves where, with such little space, customers had to go in one at a time– or cinemas –only a few rooms, for the use of poor couples, which showed the same films all night and all day, without a stop. Other shows like theatres had been long gone out of sight and memory. The shops coped with a precarious life, practically vegetative, and it was not difficult to guess that they would eventually give up. And so it was.

One day, the number of banks in the city surpassed by one half the total number of open establishments. From that moment on, the race was frantic. The traders cleared their existences through sales and quit. The following day there were bars where there once had been shop windows. After a few months, only a few willful –perhaps two or three bad counted dozens– continued selling perfumes and clothes, toys and books, groceries and drinks. The streets offered an unusual pungent aspect. It could have been said that it was an imprisoned city, and nobody knew for certain if prisoners were the ones inside or outside. But still, it was not enough.

With every sort of well-flourished excuses, the banks, which detained by now the absolute majority, gained an order from the municipal authorities that made the shops install bars on their windows as well. According to the decree, there was a need of giving the city a uniform aspect, a severity of features suitable to the character and habits acquired by the inhabitants of the city. The traders leaned their heads and obeyed. There was nothing else they could do. Therefore, the scarce shop windows left disappeared then, and in their place, bars were installed.