After writing my 750-word entry 'Between Two Waters' I felt inspired to write a longer story set in beautiful Andalucía. I hope you enjoy indulging with me in my strange sexual fantasy.
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
A Spanish Alchemy
"We are travelers on a cosmic journey, stardust, swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share. This is a precious moment. It is a little parenthesis in eternity."
- Paulo Coehlo, The Alchemist
My name is Julia. I am an American woman in my mid-thirties. Recently, I've quit a stressful job, broke up with my long-term boyfriend, and left the rest of my life behind to travel the world. I've also just been turned into a cat.
My absurd story starts on a late August afternoon. I was sitting at a café in a quiet plaza in Tarifa, Spain. The heat was sweltering but bearable as a constant breeze from the ocean found its way through the narrow streets to me. It was a nice, cool breeze.
It was the hour of the siesta, which, though in many parts of Spain had long been forsaken as a ritual, was still honored dutifully here in Andalucía. Most Tarifeños had escaped into their homes from the blazing sun. But I'm a lover of the sun, even at its most blazing.
An orange tree full of bright Seville oranges offered some shade, and nearby a pair of old date palms stood where doves picked at the sun-drying dates. In my hand was the book that first inspired me to come to Andalucía -- The Alchemist by Paolo Coehlo.
The novel's hero, Santiago, is on a quest to the pyramids in Egypt in search of treasure there - his 'personal legend'. I couldn't remember how the story ended, I had only read it once before in high school, but I remembered some of the places Santiago visited on his travels. One of these places was Tarifa.
I finished my espresso and was starting to nod off when a particularly strong gust came through. A bandana, the same bright red of a torero's cape, fluttered through the air like a butterfly to land at my feet. I picked it up. Spotted the woman that it must belong to sitting opposite the plaza from me. She sat in the shade of another orange tree at another café.
She did not bother to chase after the bandana. I wondered if she knew it had been carried off by the wind. I was inclined to walk over to give it to her, but then, I thought, maybe I won't. Not yet at least. I wanted to see how long it would take for her to miss it. A bit of a game to pass the time on another listless afternoon. I put the bandana beneath my book so that another stray gust would not carry it away from me, and I continued reading, glancing secretly at her from time to time, hoping to catch her the moment she begins her search.
When I finished my espresso, she got up and walked towards me. I buried my nose deeper in my book. A smile curled on my lips. My heart pattered excitedly. She knows I have it.
"Perdóna," she said as she arrived at my table. She spoke with an accent strong and sumptuous like my espresso.
I looked up from my book. Cupped my hand to my brow to shade my eyes from the sun to see her better.
"Hola," I replied. I was always nervous about speaking Spanish, though I was quite strong at it. I was just very self-conscious, and my biggest pet peeve was coming across as an obvious 'gringo'. But something about her besides the prospect of speaking Spanish made me suddenly nervous. What it was, I was not quite sure at first, but as my eyes adjusted to the sun and her silhouette gained resolution, I understood that it was because of how beautiful she was.
The first thing I saw of her was her cotton white t-shirt, damp with sweat, so much that it gripped her chest tightly so I could see the dark outlines of her nipples on her small breasts. Averting my eyes upward, I found her eyes. They were vivacious and lively in how they watched me. They crinkled at the edges with her smile. Her face was delicate. It was a kind face. One that belonged to a woman living a carefree life. Her hair, raven, curled in the humid air in a thousand different ways. An artful cascade that seemed purposefully messy.
She was the very image of what I expected of a woman from Andalucía, so much so that Paco de Lucía might have written a song about her.
She put a hand on the back of the chair across from me.
"I'm sorry, but I believe that is mine," she said in English.
"Oh, this thing?" I replied in Spanish, wanting to return to the beautiful language. I picked the red cloth off the table and waved it in the air.
She raised an eyebrow. Amusement spread across her face.
"You speak Spanish," she said brightly.
Encouraged, I replied, "Of course. Why wouldn't I? We are in Spain, aren't we?"
She laughed. A laughter containing the brightness of the sun.
Just then, the waiter, a portly man with a bushy mustache, came out to us and asked if I'd like anything else.
"Sí señor, una mas café por favor," I said, in the best Castellano accent I could conjure.
He smiled and looked at the woman to whom I still hadn't given the bandana,
"And for your lovely friend?"
"Tinto Verano, por fa," she replied without hesitation.
"Vale," he replied.
"Excuse me?" I laughed.
"Red wine with lemon soda," she answered.
"I know what that is. Just perplexed at the presumption that you'd be joining me."
She shrugged, pulled the chair out, and sat in it.
"I wasn't sure how long it would take for you to give me back my bandana. It could take forever. I might as well have a drink in the meantime."
I realized I had it clutched in my hand. So, I held it out to her.
"There you go."
She took it.
"Gracias,"
"De nada."
"But I'll still have my drink," she replied. "I need refreshing."
Impressed by her assertiveness, I gave her a smile. A Tinto de Verano sounded very good at this moment. So, I called out to the waiter before he could disappear.
"Excuse me, señor. Please change my order to a Tinto de Verano as well."
"Very good. Two Tinto de Veranos," he replied as he disappeared into the café.
Eliana leaned back in her seat. Put her elbow on top of the backrest. Her t-shirt went tight against her breasts. Her nipples strained against the white cotton. I blushed and glanced away when I found myself staring for a bit too long. She smiled. A glee in her eyes showed that she had caught my momentary voyeurism.
"So, what's your name?" She asked.
"Julia. And you?" I avoided her eyes by watching an old man on a park bench reading a newspaper. Rare to see anyone read newspapers anymore. Perhaps a habit he developed long ago which he refused to give up as it would then become just another fond memory of younger days.
"I'm Eliana."
"That's a beautiful name."
She nodded her head in thanks.
"Are you from here, Eliana?"
"No. But I've been here for as long as I can remember."
"Where are you from?"
She shrugged. "All over. But really, this is home."
I could tell she was completely disinterested in her origin story, so I didn't press it.
"It's a beautiful place to call home. I would love to live in a place like this."
"It's not a bad place. You should."
Our Tintos de Verano came. Ruby red. Fizzing. Condensation beaded like sweat on the glasses from the heat.
Eliana raised hers.
