She was sitting in a cafe in the old, dignified city, watching the counter girl placing chairs in front of a fake fireplace. When the girl was done she put small signs on the back of each in her language. She walked over to Barbra and said, in excellent English, "Please do not sit in the chairs."
Barbra nodded, although wondering what that was about, and sipped her drink, looking out the window. The city looked so, so, normal, yet was so utterly different than home. It was the same yet not, like not only different place but a separate dimension or world. She knew she'd never get over the sense of difference of herself in these places.
"Old," she muttered. "Old and ancient."
Across the night-time street she could see forms moving in what looked like a park; she had to admit she hadn't noticed the place at all, during the day. In the deep dark small pinpricks of light moved and flickered. People were walking around with candles. She wondered what they were doing; it was probably another mysterious holiday or celebration she knew nothing about.
As she sat quietly, thinking, two people emerged from the park, a man and a woman. They walked across the street to the cafe and came in.
Barbra tried not to study them, but she had to: they were striking. The woman was stunningly beautiful, probably in her early thirties but in the prime of her life, a pale Slavic study in perfection, her blonde hair in an immaculate swooshy hairstyle; her coat was a deep purple and extended to her knees, and below the lower hem Barbra could see perfectly shaped legs. The shoes looked familiar, and Barbra realized she'd seen them in a shop earlier in the week: they were designer and hideously expensive.
The man was easily the woman's match; older, maybe mid-forties, Barbra thought; he had a short, graying beard and long hair, usually a Euro-douchebag look she couldn't stand, but this man easily pulled it off. He wore a black coat and shoes that looked Italian and expensive; he turned and looked squarely at her and smiled, and she saw his eyes were black and weirdly intense against pale skin. She caught herself freezing solid and staring back at him. The woman looked at her as well, but turned up her chin and regarded Barbra haughtily before moving on to the counter.
The girl behind the counter spoke with them in their language, and out of the corner of her eye Barbra could see the girl was nervous with the pair, almost frightened. Barbra wondered if they were mobsters or something, the kind of Eastern Bloc criminals she'd seen in train stations, gangsters with their molls. She saw the girl glance at her while talking to the couple, and she knew they were talking about her. It made her uncomfortable, but also, this time, she felt slightly thrilled that the couple would be interested in her, dressed in her traveling garbof light pants and logoed hoodie. She felt like a dowdy tourist, a caricature of the twenty something backpacker. She thought about why she'd taken out her savings and come here, traveling. Then she remembered: why not? It wasn't like she had or could get a decent job. She grimaced and clenched her hands.
A sharp blast of cold air came in under the old, wooden door, and Barbra shivered briefly, quickly sipping another hot sample of her drink. She turned to the window, watching the candles move in the park, looking through her own reflection.
When she turned back the couple was sitting at the table directly next to hers. She hadn't heard them at all, not even a rustle of clothing or coats. She started, surprised. The man said, "Hello," in good but accented English. Barbra responded in kind, looking at the two. The woman had taken her coat off, revealing a black dress that contrasted sharply with the paleness of her skin. She obviously wasn't wearing a bra, and the woman had absolutely luscious, perfectly shaped breasts that stood up by themselves and poked nipples through the black fabric of the dress. Barbra caught herself staring at the woman's supernatural chest.
The man said, "I am Carlo, and this is my sister." He didn't say another name. Barbra introduced herself, sipped her drink, and looked out the window again, through her reflection.
Carlo said, "That's a cemetery." He pronounced it oddly, like 'CEM-ay-tory', rolling the final 'R'. "The people are placing candles on the graves of their relatives and loved ones." He asked where she was from, and she told him; he nodded.
Carlo said, "It is, like your Halloween. But here, there is no tricks, or treats; it is a day for the departed." He pointed at the chairs. "Those are for the family who can be here, only in spirit. The girl-" he waved at the girl behind the counter, who widened her eyes when Carlo indicated her- "those are for her family members who no longer walk on the Earth."
He picked up the cup sitting in front of him and sipped. "It is a quaint custom, the chairs." He smiled, a gentle expression that still managed to lock Barbra in her place.
The three sat quietly for a while, while Barbra tried honestly to think of something to say that might interest these two unearthly stylish people.
