Old story that had a good idea but horrible execution. I’m mortified by it. I’m a much better writer now. I just have to finish stuff…
*
As we leave the arrivals hall, Gabriel pushes me up against a brick wall and hugs me. It’s been such a long time since I’ve had any human contact I feel like I’ll fall apart if I let go. A blowfly of light hovers over his watch face. Gold bars of light trap us. When he finally pulls away, I begin to cry.
‘What’s wrong?’ he says.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t help it,’ I blubber. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘Help it then,’ he says, a smile sweeping across his face like a monsoon. ‘I’ve waited over a year and a half for your visit. I think I can hug you all I like now.’
He takes my bag and shoos it over his shoulder like a disobedient child. Just as we arrive at the car, a few local boys ask me to take a photo of them. One of them has green eyes like slices of kiwi fruit. He winks at me, and I flush like a radish. Ignoring Gabriel, they arrange themselves into position, firing machine gun Spanish at each other. Once in position, I take the photo. After shouting their thanks, they orangutan to their car and drive off. Tooting their horn, they’re swallowed by the buttocks of traffic.
‘That was weird,’ I say, opening the car door.
Gabriel smiles, pushing his glasses up his nose.
‘Welcome to Spain,’ he says.
*
It’s hot. In the kitchen, Gabriel has already made dinner. I try to come into the kitchen to help, but each time he shoos me back out again. On my way out, I peek into the oven. A roast glows, as if he’s captured the sun and cooked it.
He’s made a feast. For starters we have little slices of bread with thin flags of prosciutto. These are salty and delicious and slide down my throat like oysters. For our main he’s cooked a massive spanish omelette, with thick, starchy layers of potato. The roast he carves up on the side. For dessert we eat a cake made out of nutella. The slices are huge and settle at the bottom of my stomach like mud. Afterwards, Gabriel makes us tinto de verano, a Spanish summer drink of cask wine and lemonade that is becoming easier and easier to drink.
‘This is amazing,’ I say, as Gabriel pours it into my cup, the cool wheels of pineapple orbiting around my drink. ‘So I take it you’re opening that restaurant?’
Gabriel raises his eyebrows. ‘In my next lifetime, perhaps,’ he says.
He tells me about his business plans. His break up with Kella. I tell him about James and the extinguishing of my degree. My resultant round-the-world trip. Throughout the conversation he listens intently, as if he can’t believe he’s actually hearing my voice. As we talk, I feel the same warm glow for him I used to when we were at uni together, as if nothing has changed. We talk until I’m about to fall asleep on the verandah, and he makes up the left side of his bed for me before I collapse.
‘I am so happy to see you,’ he says, as I fold into the arms of sleep.
*
With his usual meticulous care, Gabriel has planned a huge itinerary for my stay. Today we rise early for the bullfight. In the half-light, we fling coins of banana over muesli and shovel it into our musty mouths.
On the highway, the horizon flickers like a television set. Every time we turn on the air conditioning, the vents erupt with a fart of wind and then die. I wind down the window instead. In between jelly snakes, Gabriel asks me about my travels. While I think, the air laps at my face like a dog.
‘I’ve loved living in a vacuum on my own,’ I say slowly. ‘Being able to crash into others as individual molecules, so that brushing a hand accidentally down someone’s back, or knocking my knees against another the person, is the most intense experience of my life.’
‘It sounds lonely,’ says Gabriel, wiping sweat from under his glasses.
‘Well, maybe. In a way, travelling is like creating a million and one mini-deaths in which the soul dies and has to be reborn. Which is heart-breaking but ultimately life-affirming, I think. Like an orgasm.’
‘An orgasm? Slut.’
‘Prude.’
We laugh.
‘Although I have to admit, traveling really is lonely. What about you? How have you found it?’
Gabriel throws a chocolate bar wrapper onto the dashboard, a foil butterfly.
‘I love the heat here,’ he says. ‘I love how it cakes me in. How I can pass days here and not know where they went. I think I’ve been looking for this simplicity for a long time.’
Outside, the road shimmers. As we round a corner, Gabriel swerves to miss an oil spill. Passing it, the oil dissolves, as if sucked away by the air. I look into the rear view mirror. The road behind shimmers with an identical shining puddle.
‘And this is why I should drive,’ I say wryly.
A smile spreads across Gabriel’s face, a slow wick that explodes.
‘Damn it woman, you win!’ he says.
*
In the stadium, the heat charges at me like a raging bull. I take off my thin cardigan and stand sweating in my singlet. Heat spreads like butter across my bare arms. As we settle into our seats, the crowd roars around us. I last about five minutes before I can’t give in. Standing, I tell Gabriel that I’m going to get a drink. As I slide past him, he reaches into his pocket.
‘Can you get me one too?’
He drops the coins into my hands. His sandpaper palms touch mine. His fingers are electric and warm. For a moment, my heartbeat spikes. Then the moment is gone, and I head away before he can see my face. Down in the arena, the torero glitters like a scarab. The cape he waves is as red as my cheeks.
Beneath the arena, I find the line for the kiosk and fall into it like a pack of cards. My thoughts burn at the edges like a piece of toast as I wait. As the line angles around the corner, I notice a bunch of Spanish guys gathering around the entrance. Noticing me, they whistle. I flush deeply. When I reach the front of the line I grab my drinks and rush by without looking at them.
‘What’s wrong?’ says Gabriel as I return with our drinks.
‘Oh, Spanish men,’ I say, my face red.
‘You better watch out for them,’ says Gabriel with a smile.
As we return to the action in the arena, we suck on our straws. The ice cold liquid unlocks my throat. While I was downstairs, the first bull had been killed. Now a second bull is being brought on. Quick as a flash, the torero lunges. The sword slips into the bull’s spine. The bull freezes. Rocks from side to side as if unsure about its direction. Then its legs buckle, it collapses and falls. The crowd roars. Gabriel and I clap politely.
As we leave the guy sitting next to me says something. I jump slightly with surprise. He’s a couple of years younger than me, with bright blue eyes like a gas burner flame and chocolate chip freckles on his face. The air around him glimmers a little in the intense heat. Although it’s obvious I’m in a rush, he seems intent on talking. I try to listen to what he’s saying but the ringing in my ears makes it impossible. Eventually I take a step forward into the shade to indicate my intent to go. When I look back he’s nowhere to be found.
*
Back at the homestead later that evening, I fall asleep on the couch exhausted from the heat. A couple hours later I wake to Gabriel’s equally exhausted face. Thin strands of his brown hair stick up on his head. He looks like a surprised coconut.
‘You shouted,’ he says.
‘I had a nightmare,’ I say weakly.
‘You’ll be fine. You just need a drink.’
Gabriel goes to get me a glass of cold water. The water has little cubes of ice floating merrily in it. Before he gives it to me, my eyes adjust to the light and the hand that is holding the glass flickers a little out of focus.
*
The next morning we wake early to head to the Prado museum. In the morning we eat muesli with coins of banana flung over it and wolf it down to catch the metro.
On the metro, Gabriel pulls me into a hug.
‘You’ve got to stop doing that. People will think we’re together,’ I say, unhooking myself.
‘I don’t think so, somehow. And anyway, maybe we are,’ he says with a wink. ‘I feel like knowing you is like a great painting.’
I pull back from him.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I don’t know…every time I connect with someone, it’s like standing in front of a great painting in the dark. You’ve only got matchsticks in your back pocket, so you get one out and light one. With this match, a corner of the painting is revealed. Eventually, the flame goes out. However, this isn’t just any painting, it’s a great painting, so you strike another match. Another corner, and another part of the painting is revealed. The more matches you strike, the more you get a sense of the overall picture, although you never see the whole thing in one go. It’s a huge mystery.’
‘What, the painting, or connecting with someone?’
‘Both.’
I laugh.
‘Wow. That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And the wankiest.’
Gabriel looks hurt.
‘Excuse me? I put a lot of thought into that.’
As we round the corner of the Prado, we’re met with practically no line. Not believing our luck, I sprint towards cloak room. However, Gabriel stops behind me.
I hear him say something about forgetting something, but I’ve already walked into the building. Instantly I am hit with a wave of air conditioning. Turning around, I find he’s completely disappeared. Walking back out the foyer, my arm is pulled and I realize someone’s grabbed my bag. Running outside the Prado, I see someone tackle the guy, but it’s not Gabriel, it’s some other guy, someone who’s as tall as Gabriel but it’s not him, and then Gabriel’s grabbed my bag, he’s walking towards me, he has the bag, his arms are around me, his arms are wrapped tight in a cyclonic hug.
*
We report the attack to the Spanish police. The policewoman who interviews me listens to my broken Spanish with the patience of a primary school teacher. Although Gabriel keeps offering frequent Spanish correction, she ignores him completely and writes down my statement.
Gabriel drives us home. I’m grumpy in the car and won’t talk to Gabriel. When we arrive home I feign a lack of appetite and head to bed. Gabriel kisses me on the cheek, before retreating to the living room to watch the football. The heat is characteristically unbearable, and it’s not until midnight that I begin to fall asleep. I’m stirring between sleep and dreams when I feel Gabriel’s warm body join mine on the bed.
The heat is suffocating, like a snake wrapped around my body. On top of the sheet, I lie in as many different positions as I can. Eventually I find some relief on my side.
It’s the middle of the night when the fever rises in me. My head pounds and my lips begin to swell. In my neck, my pulse taps like a hammer. Although it’s still horribly hot, I shiver. A cold chill passes over me. Running a palm over my forehead, I realise I’ve stopped sweating. Shivering, I reach my arm out in the dark for the sheets.
As I reach across the bed I brush against something, hair perhaps. Beneath the hair I feel skin, moveable and breathing, attached to something hard. As I hold on to the warm, solid arm, my body cools and heartbeat slows. Then, just as my heartbeat settles into its normal beat, the warmth is retracted.
When I open my eyes I realise I’m alone.
*
In the morning, I wake up to a cool breeze coming in through the window. I lie in the bed and let the breeze roll over me like a thick, fat, crinkly wave. Throughout the night I had kicked off all my sheets, and they lie on the floor next to my bed. As I get out of bed, I roll over and pick them up.
Gabriel’s place on the bed is still empty. I get up and pad to the kitchen. The apartment is dark and cool and quiet. The tiles like shocks of ice on my feet. I open the fridge door to grab some milk. As the door shuts, something flickers in the steel reflection of the door. I stand for a few minutes before realizing that it was a trick of the light.
Back in the bedroom, I lean across the bed to grab a book. Leaning my hand against Gabriel’s place on the bed, I realize that the sheet is cool. Standing back up, I place my hand on the pillow, I realize that there is no dent it, and never had been.
I head out to the living room. The air is cool. Out the window, the air shimmers.
