“The big cities aren’t livable anymore, Murcia is nice that way, big enough to have what you need but small enough to be livable.” Josep offered his “how quaint are the country people look” and Paqui looked on with her “oh, these Catalans, with their weird ac-cents”. Paco, the foreman of the farm had been attentively listening in, he had been born onto the farm when it was still owned by the original owners before it was lost to the present clan of money lenders who were so in debt that the favor would soon be returned. He had seen it all, the drunken generations of “señoritos” playing farmer while he kept things afloat skimming enough off to put away a nice bundle but not enough to ever get caught, which doesn’t mean he wasn’t suspect-ed. He spoke with all the awkwardness and humility of a country bumpkin, which did little to disguise the ab-solutely astute man that was wise enough not to despise the rich man’s folly which had given him a lifetime of subsistence. He readjusted his hat before asking Josep the question that everyone wanted to ask.
“Tell me Josep, what is all this we read in the newspapers about the Catalonians wanting to become a country or whatever it is, are you people Spanish, or what, you’ll be doing me a favor by explaining all this, because I really don’t understand it.” I admired how smoothly he had marked his territory, like the dog slightly raising its hind leg.
Josep now felt the stage lights upon him, and as all good attorneys, attempted to tailor the answer to his client, the deep breath, the Clintonesque pensive nod. “Paco, it’s all about money, they want to keep as much as they can, that’s all there is to it really…” I looked deeply at him for a hint of complicity, there was none. My gentle nod was answered with innocence. Strange-ly enough he was telling the truth, at least his version of it, which only annoyed me more.
Slowly we became six around the dark table, my silence had been noted and awarded with Fabio’s rare generosity with the whiskey, and now that the help was out of sight he passed me the end of the joint, after it had made its way around the table. Charley was obvi-ously enamored with the country life, a place and a people much more in sync with what she had imagined Spain to be. The two of us meandered out to the ter-race, Josep out getting some air. We leaned against the railing, the almost half moon illuminating the olive trees to the sound of the wind gently caressing the cypresses. But the dominate note was the water falling into the large cement irrigation tank that looked like an old pool, the humidity making the air thick. She had the simplicity of people whose faces reveals their thoughts, and I knew she was thinking about home. “Don’t you ever miss home, I mean, this is really nice and all but sometimes I just miss wall to wall carpeting and speak-ing English.”
“Sometimes, but when I’m there I sometimes get-ting the same feeling about here, you’ll see, it’ll happen to you when you get back”. As I spoke I became aware of myself speaking, canned answers that had lost all relevance to what I might be thinking in real time. I could feel myself returning to a moment when this idea had occurred to me. “Have you had much luck finding a job?”
“Not really, with the problems with working papers and everything, Pep’s tried to help but the only thing I can do is give English classes and I’m not really into it.” She swished her blond hair around with a quick nod of the head, which reminded me of girls in high school. She couldn’t have been more than 25 anyway, adding to the illusion. “Pep’s a great guy, but I don’t know about staying.”
“He can be a bit overwhelming sometimes though, don’t you think. I mean, I don’t know how you could spend all day with him.” She nodded.
“In the beginning it was great, but the problem is he is always controlling me, where are you going, what are you doing. I mean, I can’t even go out with a friend to the movies without him becoming suspicious, this Latin machismo is just too much sometimes.” So the little trophy wasn’t so tame as she looked. “I don’t think I cand put up with it for too much longer.”
“You seem like you’re ready to head home.” After walking her back to the big house I decided to find Pep. From the large house I walked down the paths full of sheep droppings toward the olive trees. A sweater was enough to keep warm and I quickly found him walking amongst the large old olive trees. He had seen me yet continued his pensive stroll; Pep liked to take care of his image in all moments, calculated spontaneity being his strong point.
“Did you talk to Charley?” The anxiety was run-ning wild. I was worried he might think I had tried something which only bothered me more since I hadn’t.
“We talked a little, sounds like she’s having trouble finding a job.” He nodded in a way that almost looked truly spontaneous.
“That’s what she told you, let me have a cigarette.” I knew he had quit smoking but I wasn’t going to fall in the trap of mentioning it, so I gave him the cigarette. “The other night I get home and she’s not there, so I started to look through her things. I know I shouldn’t but I did anyway. I know. I know, but anyway. I see she’s got a box of condoms, a full box, in a bag, so she had bought condoms, ok, so what, when she came back I asked her where she had been and she said she was out with some friends, she said she was bored and there was nothing wrong with her seeing Americans once I in a while.” He took a deep drag on the cigarette, as if he were smoking a joint, the stars were clear if not bright due to the half moon, giving the night a cheerful open character. “Fine, a week later she tells me she’s going out, for me not to worry. OK. I go into her room again and I find the box of condoms, and there’re three miss-ing.”
“And she hadn’t used them with you.” He shook his head.
“So I now I’m steaming, the whole story was really starting to break my balls. I looked through everything, a checked the tape on the answering machine, rewind-ing it all the way and listening to the messages that hadn’t been taped over, and I hear, ‘meet me in La Vis-agra, I’ll be the one in the red shirt.’.” I didn’t want to think it was as bad as it sounded.
“She’s not an escort, is she?”
“So I’m waiting for her to get back, looking down for the balcony, and she finally arrives in a convertible BMW, gives the guy a kiss goodbye and comes in. When I ask her where she’d been she says she had been with a girlfriend having a few drinks. I blow up, called her a whore, told her about the condoms and every-thing, and she admitted it. She’d been working as an escort, just once or twice a week for a guy who had a whorehouse.”
“And you’re still with her.” He shook his head then raised one eyebrow. “Give her a kick in the ass and get her out of your apartment.” But as I said it I knew he was in love with her, in a bad way.
“She said she wouldn’t do it anymore, that she needed the money. She really didn’t have anything. I don’t know.” I felt like telling him a bad woman was like a car that’s lemon, better to trade it in, but I also noticed he liked the whole thing, as bad as it was it made him feel absolutely dramatic. “She said she had done it Hong Kong when she was there, she really needed the money and it got her out of a bind. She met this guy one night when she was out and thought about doing it again, he wanted her to work in the club but she said no, only out calls. My god, if she has been with someone I know, can you imagine, hi, this is my girlfriend Charley. They’ll think I’m paying her.”
“You can’t let her go, can you?”
“No, even when she talks about going home in makes me nervous.” We had started the stroll back to the house, the shepherds dogs chained to the doors of the corrals. We opened the heavy door to the main house, and at the top of the stairs we parted and I walked toward the kitchen to get something to drink. The light was on; Paqui had both hands on the marble table top, her breasts dangling freely, Fabio behind her. They both looked at me with out pausing, the four eyes possessively on me, the pitch of their moans rising. I waited before turning back.
CHAPTER 27
I hadn’t worn the dark wool suit I used on the flight over since I had got to Spain. Irene
had allowed me to leave all my things in an abandoned storeroom in the farm house and she’d even given me a lock. The faint odor of mothballs still lingered, one uncovered light bulb hung from a stiff piece of wire coming out of the ceiling. Below the rights side of the house, which was reserved for bedrooms and a large office there was a large kitchen, several bedrooms and storage rooms. These rooms led to a patio which finally reached the other side of the house which was reserved for the main kitchen, dining room and more storage and maids quar-ters.
From the long hallway leading to the bedrooms I opened a door a to a poorly lit, rarely used staircase connecting the upper rooms with the workers living quarters below. My storage room was at the break in the staircase. The room was approximately ten feet by ten feet, a thin piece of wood crossed the room as an improvised pole to hang my clothes, my books stood upon a fruit crate on its side. The rooms filled my need for a place, that was all I needed, a 10 by 10 room, proud I was able to minimize things to such an extreme. I spent hours there organizing papers and looking through pictures of Begoña left in a worn copy of Crash.
The thin strap the Patek Phillipe comforted me as I looked at myself in a mirror, there I was, probably as good as I’d ever looked. I was incredibly calm, dan-gerously calm, the state of mind that doesn’t look for trouble but explodes when it finds it. The dark shiny blue shirt went straight into the well fitted pants. I had lost the gut I had upon arriving, no longer did I feel left out or strange. I felt strong and decisive.
*
Fabio had his back to us while speaking to a cou-ple. “So, John, a nice farm they’ve got, I wouldn’t mind spending a few months there myself, shit, go out in the morning, do some hunting, take a long nap, I love that view. You want to do a line, come with me.” Luis didn’t give me much choice. The entrance to the bath-room was a curved hall, with dark a dark tile floor and opaque glass. He passed me the credit card with four lines on it, and I sent two whisking into my nose, then we set up another round before heading back to the bar.
“Let me buy you a drink.” The long wooden bar was tended by two long legged beauties with strong expressive noses and the olive skin. The relaxed service accompanied by retro music. The ceiling revealed all the cables and wires for the lighting, my heart was pounding hard, I looked at Fabio and he was wearing his look of vice. Louis’s eyes were staring directly be-tween us to a beautiful ass behind me. I took a swift look, the jeans were the perfect frame for the strong thighs and the ankles, the ankles were so well formed that I was sure her face had to be balanced and defined. When she finally turned the face was horrendous, terri-ble, another theory down the drain. But they were fun while they lasted, and there are exceptions to all rules. A small girl behind her smiled at me, she wore a red wrap around skirt with a solid blue tank top, she began to walk toward us when I realized she had been smiling at Fabio and Luis.
“Hola, Fabio.” The two kisses.
“John, my sister Mencia”. Another two kisses, the thin cotton of her shirt rubbed against the wool on my coat, from her strong neck hung a silver chain, my eyes taking a quick glance below to find everything very well in order. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll go with you.” A smirky smile ran out across my face, the joy of beauty was uncontrollable, the joy of plentiful youth for a man at the height of his powers. We all die sometime, I thought, and you’d never guess by the looks of me. Out of the side pocket of my jacket I removed the red pack of cigarettes and opened it to-ward her, the blue lighter placed the flame just below the packed tobacco and I watched as it crackled. Her thin wrist reached out and took mine, the small thin hands placed their fingers firmly on my watch, turning it over. I watched the dark eyes move quickly up and down.
“It’s precious, my father has one, it was the en-gagement present from my mother.”
“Your mother has good taste.” She wore a pair of simple slip on shoes with practically no heel and I en-joyed the sense of being far above her. Fabio and Luis returned sniffing. “John, give me a cigarette, let’s go, another round.” He whistled obnoxiously at the bar-maid who took the order with her habitual cool. Slowly putting the long thin glasses on the bar, what we’d call ice tea glasses, then the different bottles of booze next to them. One by one the cubes of ice fell into the glass-es, she opened the different bottles of mixers, except for Mencia who drank Habana Club 7 with ice and lemon and my bourbon on the rocks.
“Fuck, its Susana. I’ll be back in a minute.” He raced off into the crowded swell of people, smoke and almost screaming voices behind the loud seventies mu-sic. Mencia began to sway to the sounds of “I will sur-vive”. I moved my arms as I looked straight into her eyes.
“He’s really in form tonight; let’s see how he ends up. Last time we went out I had to save him from some girl’s boyfriend after he pinched her in the ass. I kept telling him, you can look but you can’t touch.” Fabio’s round body swayed as the words rolled out of his bearded face.
“And then he gets hungry. He’ll go into the restau-rant and eat whole raw steaks, but I mean whole steaks, just eat the whole thing, a good case for mad cow dis-ease.” She shook more in amazement than disgust, which led me to think what surprised her was the size, not the fact that it was raw.
“When we studied in Madrid together, he would go to a butcher shop near the Reitiro, buy quarter of a kilo of ground beef and ask for it in cone, and then he would go walking through the park eating the raw ground beef while he watched the ducks and the children play, what a guy.” Her hair rolled in long curls down to the bare bony shoulders, her hand occasionally pushing a black wave away from her eyes. A free stool appeared behind me and next to the bar. Mencia jumped quickly to it, sitting on my left, leaving Fabio to my right.
I don’t believe it’s possible to seduce women. They decide whether they are interested or not, which in most circumstances is a split second decision, leaving no time to make ones case. What many people confuse with seduction is simply reading the signs. The female performs a display of feathers type of dance that, de-pending on the woman and circumstances, can be either obvious or subtle. Mencia had just done her dance, and I read it. Now the only thing left to do was respond with approximately the same intensity as the sign dance. Fabio, an expert himself, took careful note and meandered his way over to Louis. What worried me was that he would tell Louis about my condition, but he seemed more interested in doing a few more lines of coke.
My left hip leaned up against the bar while the heel of my right shoe rested on the crossbar of the stool. She almost immediately began to speak, forcing me to move my head close to her mouth, my eyes on her shoulders, my senses at an absolute peak. I could feel my hands running across her ribs, the energy vibrating between us. “I’m really getting hungry, always happens to me when I drink and smoke.”
“Let’s get something to eat. I’m always hungry too, one of my favorite things to do, do you know any-place open.”
An ironical grin filled her small face, the thick lips wide atop the well formed, long jaw bone. “Let’s finish the drinks and I’ll take you to the restaurant, don’t wor-ry. I cook the steaks. You know, I love your countries movies, especially the older ones, “The Big Sleep”, “Double Indemnity”, they’re great. You could be one of those guys, with that smart ass look on your face.” The translation a bit liberal. “How did you learn to speak Spanish so well, you almost don’t have an ac-cent?”
“My mother was Spanish, she was from San Sebas-tian, what a mix, the old man is Irish and my mother was Basque, born with a Molotov cocktail in my hand.” Her head shook slightly in amazement. Fabio and Louis approached with two girls, the party was on. My complicity with Fabio’s imminent adultery let me know, with a quick look in his eyes that, that we had agreed to mutual silence.
“We’re going to be in “The Cathedral”, we’ll see each other there.”
I rolled up the large
metal blind that covered the entrance to the restaurant, Mencia turned the keys to the sound of the bolts, we closed everything and she turned an interior bolt, “Just in case he gets hungry.” From the circuit breaker she switched on the lights over the bar and for the kitchen, illuminating the hanging hams and the ceramic bowls full of artichokes, asparagus, sausages, eggplants and zucchini. The doors swung open to the large industrial kitchen. “Open a bottle a wine, anyone you want, how about a fillet mignon, with some grilled asparagus?”
“Sounds good.” I walked toward the sound of the sizzling meat, approaching her from behind, wrapping my arm around her to place the glass of wine by her side, letting my hand slide up her side, and kissing her neck. She leaned back then turned to kiss me.
“You see, I at least cook my steaks.” She took a drink of wine then turned to kiss me again. “I threw some of these shrimp on the grill, they’re really fresh.” In Spain there are many categories of shrimp, this one known as the ‘Gambon’ big shrimp, fished from Garru-cha, a fishing village in Almería. The color is dark red, almost purple and they measure about four inches and inch in width. “You just turn these over on the grill and that’s it, if you cook them too long they get tough. She had a pot cover over the asparagus, the big steaks and the shrimp across the grill, my hand reached up to her breast as we breathed deeply the sizzling aroma.
We sat below the hams in the dim light. I lifted the peeled shrimp and placed it into her mouth. Our minds and bodies awash in wine, food and lust; she placed the end of the asparagus into my mouth, it crunched with flavor as she sent the whole shaft in, leaving me to relish the flavor on her finger. The passion grew as our plates emptied. She returned from the kitchen with two lemon mousses, light and fluffy, bubbly to the bottom of the cup. From behind the bar she served bourbon and rum in shot glasses, and I lit her a cigarette. “Anything else for the gentleman.”