Carolyn noticed a small café that had dozens of oranges stacked behind a glass case. The man behind the counter was squeezing the fresh oranges by pressing down on a long lever on an elaborate juicer. The lure of the fresh-squeezed juice drew her over to the café. Carolyn stood in line behind a well-dressed businessman, and when it was her turn to order, she found it easy enough to use her limited Spanish and ask for “uno” and “grande.”
She paid with euros she had exchanged at the San Francisco Airport and found a small table in the corner. Parking her suitcase and her weary self, Carolyn took a long sip of the fresh-squeezed, heavy pulp orange juice. It was, she decided, the best orange juice she ever had tasted.
A slender woman took the seat next to Carolyn and gave her a quick glance. Carolyn smiled in response.
“Do you know what time it is?” the woman asked.
Carolyn checked her watch. “It’s eleven forty.”
The woman checked her cell phone, shook her head, and untwisted the top on the water bottle she had just bought. She glanced at Carolyn again. “By any chance are you on the one-oh-five flight to Chicago?”
“No, I just came from Chicago. I’m heading for the Canary Islands.”
Carolyn wasn’t sure why she had shared that bit of information. It piqued her fellow traveler’s interest, though, and she replied, “That’s one of the places I’ve also wanted to go. Have you been there before?”
“Just once.”
“Did you enjoy it? I hear they have some beautiful beaches.”
“They do. My mother lives there. In Las Palmas.”
“That’s nice. You have a place to stay anytime you need a vacation. Although the vacation part can be a downer, I suppose, if you don’t get along well with your mother.”
“Fortunately my mother and I get along very well. The only downer is that it’s been far too long since we’ve seen each other.”
“My mother lives in Topeka.” The woman leaned back and looked down at her nails. “I should go to see her more than I do. It’s been more than a year since I’ve made the trip. I travel a lot, but going home is like traveling back in time. I’m convinced I turn into a twelve-year-old as soon as I walk through her front door.”
Carolyn smiled. She regretted all the years she hadn’t been able to readily visit her mom. When her father passed away fifteen years ago and her mother made the decision to return to the Canary Islands, Carolyn was certain they would take turns crossing the ocean once every year to be together. Carolyn hadn’t managed to make the journey once during the past fifteen years. Her mother had come back for Tikki’s twelfth birthday and spent a wonderful month and a half with them. She returned again seven years ago for Jeff’s memorial service. On that visit, Tikki and Carolyn both tried to persuade her to move in with them. But that was about the time of Marilyn’s crisis in her first marriage, and she needed to be the one to move in with Carolyn.
In the wake of all the changes and sadness that had come to Carolyn in the past month, her heart had cried out to get away, to be with her mother.
“I hope you and your mom have a great visit.”
“Thanks. I hope so too. I’m a little nervous about how everything is going to work out because she doesn’t know I’m coming.”
The woman pushed up her thin glasses and looked intrigued.
“Her birthday is tomorrow. It’s her seventieth. I had lost track and didn’t realize until my daughter brought it up three weeks ago that this was a significant year for my mom.”
“Is your daughter coming as well?”
“No.” Carolyn swished the remaining orange juice in her glass. “I wish she were with me. That was our original plan. At first we talked about coming in the fall with one of my aunts, but she is having knee surgery this week. Then, when we realized it was my mom’s seventieth, we decided we should come now instead of in the fall. At the time my daughter was in the middle of a big life change, and it seemed like a good idea to get away.”
Carolyn wasn’t sure why she was telling all this to a stranger. She normally was much more private. But then, making the decision to take this trip and impulsively buying the expensive plane ticket was also out of the norm for her.
“It’s too bad your daughter couldn’t come with you.”
“I know. She just received a promotion at the bank where she works, and she couldn’t take off the time.” Carolyn wondered again why she was divulging all this personal information. She wouldn’t be this talkative with someone beside her in a coffee shop at home. Somehow she felt anonymous in the airport on the other side of the world. Expressing her situation, she felt as if she were still talking herself into why this was a good idea.
“My mom’s birthday is coming up,” the woman said. “I suppose I should make arrangements to see her. I wouldn’t try to surprise her, though. She doesn’t do well with surprises. Does your mom like them?”
“I think so. We’ll see how it goes. The plan is for me to just show up at her big birthday party luncheon tomorrow. I hope I don’t give her a heart attack.”
“If I did that to my mother, she would throw a fit.” The woman smiled and took a long drink from her water bottle. She checked her cell phone again. “I better head toward my gate. It was nice visiting with you. I hope you have a fabulous time with your mother.”
“Thank you. I hope you have a safe trip to Chicago.”
“Thanks.”
As the woman walked away, Carolyn noticed that she carried herself with confidence as she balanced on the narrow heels of her pale sage ankle boots. She wore nicely fitting jeans and a thin, loose-fitting dark blue sweater that fell to her hips. Her outfit was simple, but she carried it off with an air of sophistication. Carolyn looked down at her zip-up fleece and her black, slip-on shoes. Boring but comfortable. She might have stepped out of her comfort zone to talk openly with the woman, but she still didn’t feel like a world traveler.
Carolyn finished her orange juice and watched people go by. She hadn’t fully absorbed that she was in Spain. Announcements floated from the airport PA system in several languages, starting with Spanish. A couple near her were speaking in Castilian Spanish, in which all the “s” sounds were delivered with a flattened tongue that produced a “th” sound.
Carolyn wished Tikki were with her. It had been difficult to convince Aunt Frieda that once Carolyn had bought the ticket she was committed to attending her mother’s birthday party rather than wait until the fall. It had been easier to break the news to Marilyn, who was so wrapped up in her house hunting and upcoming move that all she wanted to know was when Carolyn would be back to help with paint color selection.
Carolyn’s fledgling confidence waned even more when she boarded the flight that would take her to Las Palmas. Everything about the flight felt different from her U.S. flight. Loud, contemporary music played throughout the plane as she entered and found her seat in row nineteen. The seats felt narrower, and the flight attendants’ announcements were issued only in Spanish and German. The older couple that had the middle and aisle seats next to Carolyn spoke only German. They asked her something, but she couldn’t understand them, so they gave up trying to communicate with her.
For the next four and a half hours, the man in front of her kept his seat reclined all the way. If she looked straight ahead, she could see every hair follicle on the top of his thinning scalp. Carolyn didn’t dare recline her seat because the person behind her was using the tray table for his laptop computer and had managed to configure his legs in such a way that Carolyn could feel a foot or a knee pressing through her seat.
She tried to sleep. When that didn’t work, she tried to watch the movie playing in the small screen suspended two aisles ahead of her. She hadn’t bought a headset when the flight attendants came down the aisle, which made following the movie challenging. Carolyn also didn’t take a boxed snack when it was held up because she didn’t know if she had to pay for it, and if she did, her purse was stuffed into the overhead bin.
> All her reserves felt drained by the time the passengers deplaned, and she followed the crowds through to the luggage claim area.
Carolyn’s memories of this airport from more than twenty-five years ago were erased by the newer, more modern, and efficient airport she now strolled through. She was thankful when she saw her suitcase coming her way on the luggage carousel. At least she didn’t have to try to file a lost luggage request in Spanish. Aside from being hungry, she had no major complaints.
Easily managing the two bags, Carolyn headed outside the terminal where the plan was for Rodrigo, one of Aunt Isobel’s sons, to be waiting for her in a blue car outside of baggage claim. The plan sounded simple and easy last week. Now that Carolyn was outside of baggage claim, standing by the curb, looking right and left like a nervous squirrel, she thought the plan might have been too simple. No one was there to meet her.
Looking around, she noticed how the evening air felt warm against her skin. She drew in a deep breath of the faintly salt-laced air. Carolyn remembered now that the pace here was slower than at home. She wondered how much of her memory about the Canaries was still true.
A young couple speaking a language Carolyn didn’t recognize shared a cigarette and helped each other to adjust their backpacks before walking off hand in hand. Two women wrapped in the dark robes and facial veils of West African Muslims stood next to Carolyn while three small boys wearing caps ran in and out of their stack of suitcases and boxes.
Dozens of blue cars drove by. Carolyn finally stopped trying to make eye contact with the driver in each car because many of them were apparently taxicabs. The drivers stopped, said something in Spanish, and Carolyn had to put up her hand in a “no thank you” gesture and shake her head.
The sky was darkening. Carolyn watched as the lights came on across the airport parking lot. The low, blue-tinged glow sparked inside each of the milky saucers seemed to hum with a quiet strength until the entire area was lit.
As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Carolyn wished that Aunt Frieda had come with her. Frieda would have taken charge and, in her rapid Spanish, made all the arrangements.
A flock of small birds soared over the top of the terminal. The undersides of their bodies caught the fading light and turned from dark brown to a soft shade of yellow. As Carolyn watched them, a spontaneous plea sprang from her heart.
How much longer should I wait here? What if Rodrigo doesn’t come? Help me. I don’t know what to do.
Carolyn realized she was directing her thoughts toward God. She was asking for his help. It had been a long time since she had done that. What came out were not the recited prayers of her childhood. Nor were they the free-flowing prayers she and Jeff had shared since early on in their marriage when they were close to each other and to their Heavenly Father.
As soon as Jeff died, Carolyn found the only thing she could say to God was “Why?” When no answers came, she stopped asking the question and didn’t ask for anything.
Until now. Here. All alone in this no-longer-familiar place, Carolyn found that it gave her comfort to simply ask God to be with her. Somehow she knew he was. That was the truth that had been instilled in her since childhood.
For another twenty minutes she waited, waving off the taxis that pulled up. She stretched her sore neck and ignored her grumbling stomach. A small white car came to a lurching stop at the curb in front of her. With the engine still running, an older woman pulled herself from the driver’s position on the left side of the car and raised both her arms in champion style, the way Marilyn had done on the dance floor at her wedding.
Carolyn knew she had been found. One of the Women of the Canaries had come for her.
“¡Carolina, lo siento mi niña! ¡Pobrecita! Venga. Venga.”
As the woman came around the front of the car, Carolyn could see that it was Aunt Isobel, the sweet, petite baby of the five sisters. She opened her arms, and Carolyn fell into them. In their warm embrace, Carolyn was aware of how tall she was compared to her aunt. The distinct scent of onions mixed with rosemary and almond paste rose from Aunt Isobel as they hugged. The skin on her face felt like silk as she pressed her cheek against Carolyn’s and kissed her twice on both sides.
“Lo siento,” Isobel began again and followed with too many Spanish words for Carolyn to understand. She did recognize lo siento as an apology.
Drawing from old files in her memory, Carolyn pulled out the phrase “No te preocupes” and hoped that she was right and that the line meant “Don’t worry about it.”
“¿Más vale tarde que nunca, sí?”
“Sí,” Carolyn replied, even though she wasn’t quite sure what Isobel had said. She thought it was something like “Better late than never.”
Isobel reached for one of Carolyn’s suitcases, still chattering rapidly in Spanish. She opened the trunk of the small car, moved aside some gallon-sized water bottles, and hoisted the first suitcase into the narrow space. When it didn’t fit, she kept talking and pointed to the car’s backseat.
Carolyn opened the door to the backseat and stacked both of her suitcases upright like two toddlers strapped into car seats. Climbing in on the passenger’s side, Carolyn waited until she could wedge a word in between her excited aunt’s conversational barrage.
The opportunity came as they were pulling away from the airport and merging onto a main, well-paved road. The improvements to the road surprised Carolyn, but she knew from her mother’s reports that a lot had happened to modernize the remote islands over the past twenty-five years.
“Aunt Isobel, I have to tell you that my Spanish isn’t very good. I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Ah.” She clicked her tongue. “Sí. Ah. Rodrigo he have a baby. Today! This is early for baby. So I come for you but too much cars.”
“A lot of traffic?”
“Sí, sí. Y … and …” She waved her hand, as if trying to brush away the challenge of explaining everything in her limited English.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” Carolyn gave Isobel’s arm a tender squeeze. She was amazed how firm the woman’s arm was. No wonder this sixty-something auntie could hoist Carolyn’s suitcases with ease. She was a strong woman.
Carolyn smiled. She was here. She was in the Canaries, riding beside her strong aunt. A long sleep awaited her, and then tomorrow she would see her mother.
“¿Tienes hambre?” Isobel glanced at her. “Hungry?”
“Yes. Sí.”
“We have food and …” Isobel added another string of Spanish.
“I hope you didn’t go to any trouble. I’m pretty tired. I’ll probably fall asleep as soon as I eat something.”
“No problema.” Isobel glanced over and gave Carolyn another one of her warm smiles and squeezed Carolyn’s knee. “Mi niña.”
Carolyn recognized the phrase her aunt used. The words literally meant “my girl” and was an endearing term her aunts all used when they referred to any of the women in the family. Carolyn smiled back. She liked being one of the “my girls” of the Canaries.
The wide highway that led them into the city and the amount of traffic was nothing like Carolyn’s memories of this place. She knew that her aunt and mother were living in the city now and not on the outskirts where their parents had lived when Carolyn last visited as a teen.
The high-rise buildings, traffic roundabouts, and huge, bell-shaped recycle containers at the end of the main streets all surprised Carolyn. So did the sight of the hills. The arid views of tall cactus anchored in the dusty brown curves of the dormant volcano were missing from this entry to the city. Instead, the landscape now was filled with apartment buildings stacked up like toy blocks in a variety of primary colors. Streetlights climbed up to the dark sky along black asphalt ribbons of new roads. Much had changed.
Carolyn stared out the open car window and caught sight of a few faded stars in the sky overhead. She thought of the multitude of vibrant stars she had once counted from a beach blanket at Las Canteras.
She was certain those stars were watching her every move from the heavens. They were perhaps the only ones that saw her leave the group that last night on the beach. They saw when she slipped into the shadows and ran barefoot through the sand to where Bryan Spencer waited for her. And what happened after that, the stars saw too. They saw, but they never told.
And neither had she.
“Genio y figura hasta la sepultura.”
“Character and presence from the cradle to the tomb.”
ISOBEL PULLED INTO a gated underground parking structure beneath a cement apartment building that ran the entire length of the block. She rolled down her window, pressed in a code on the keypad, and steered her compact car forward as soon as the gate lifted. They drove past rows and rows of parked cars before Isobel pulled into a narrow space and turned off the engine.
None of this arrival had been anything like Carolyn’s previous visit. This gated, high-rise apartment was quite a departure from the flat-roofed home where Carolyn had stayed last time, with chickens in the yard and a back patio covered with a thick trellis of magenta-colored bougainvillea.
The wheels of Carolyn’s suitcases squeaked as she rolled them into the elevator that took her aunt and Carolyn to the fifth floor. A security light came on, lighting the way while Isobel’s heels clicked on the brightly polished floor. She wore classic pumps in a caramel brown shade and a full skirt in a soft orange and brown print. Her cream-colored blouse bore a variety of end-of-the-day crinkles. Even so, she looked fresh. Ready for a party.
And that’s exactly what greeted them when Isobel opened the door to her apartment. From out of the living room and into the short entryway hall spilled every relative Carolyn had on the islands. Everyone but her mother.
Eighteen relatives greeted Carolyn with kisses and strings of lovely Spanish words that were more than she could absorb in the moment. For at least an hour she made the rounds, trying out her Spanish as they each tried out their English.
Canary Island Song Page 7