by Colm Toibin
And now that the horses had been slowed down, women came to the doors of their houses and asked riders to take the horses through the narrow doors to their hallways and into their living rooms for a botet. They kept appealing for a botet, for the horse to lift its front legs for a second within the building and thus bring luck to the household for the rest of the year. Carme watched as some riders obliged, guiding the horses through the almost impossibly narrow spaces, and, once outside again, looking away as more requests came, and then beginning to move towards the next street.
As she watched them going, she noticed again what she remembered from years before when the horses, having performed their ritual, left the street on St John’s Eve. There was a melancholy that came over everyone, a sort of communal deflation as people realized that the excitement had come and gone. The summer was at its peak; from now on the days would get shorter, the shadows would grow deeper. This feeling lasted only a few minutes, but it brought with it memories of those who had witnessed this night over the years and had died, those who would have loved this night and were gone for ever. As she looked around her, especially at the faces of the women, she saw it, the look of regret, a sudden stillness. And then it lifted just as quickly as it had come. People reached for drinks, which were handed free from the houses, or decided to move on and follow the horses, or turned back and made their way home.
She was planning to return to the car when she saw a group of men coming towards her and found that she recognized some of them from summers on the island in the past. A few of them were islanders, she knew, and a few from Barcelona. She wished she could have slipped by them until she realized, with relief, that none of them seemed to know she had been away. They spoke to her as though they saw her every day. They were surprised that she was alone as she told them Nuria was at home minding her children; and then they insisted that she come with them. She did not bother to ask them where they were going; she knew they were ready to walk the streets and then go to bars and later to the beach as the dawn broke and the jousting began. She loved their easy manners and was amused by their purposeful attitude as they pushed through the crowds at the first corner they came to as though they were organizing the entire festival and were urgently required to be elsewhere. And she loved too that none of them asked her a single question and that none of them tried to make a claim for her or flirt with her in any open way. They took it for granted that she was coming with them; their company and the heat of the night made her feel free to laugh and smile with them as they moved along.
In the first bar they ordered beers and included her without asking her; she had not tasted an Estrella beer in all her years away and the taste uncovered almost limitless sets of feelings and memories – of summers on the island, of drinks with friends and comrades in bars around Plaza Universidad in Barcelona after meetings in the university – all of them mixed in her mind now with pleasure. She closed her eyes and drank the beer down; one of her companions ordered her another before showing her a rolled joint and asking her if she wanted to come around the corner with him and his friend and smoke it. As she looked at the group she was with, she understood that their mixture of speedy determination and mellow humour came from the fact that they were all stoned. It was something, she thought, she should have noticed the second she saw them on the street.
Outside, she was shocked at the openness with which they smoked the joint, the nonchalant way it was passed from one to the other. Although many people went by, no one seemed to care. Her two companions were from Barcelona but she knew them both from the island rather than from the city. The taller one she had known as Nando, but he now was called Ferran, which she thought was funny; the other had always been Oriol. She understood that, by coming out now with them like this into the street, she had at least left it open to one of them to move closer to her and stick with her for the rest of the night. If she didn’t want this, she knew she should move back into the bar soon and leave them there. They would know not to pursue her. She took a few more puffs on the joint and drank the cold beer; she thought about it as she looked at the two of them. They had a lovely way of pretending that this was all nothing, but she knew from the way they stood that they were waiting for her to stay with them or go back in. She shrugged and leaned against the wall and decided to let things happen, to linger here, to make no decisions, to let Ferran and Oriol work it out between them. But if one of them wanted to stay near her as they walked the streets, if one of them wanted to get drinks for her in bars and go to the beach with her when the sun came up, then that, she thought, would be fine.
Once they both seemed to know that she was going to stick with them, she almost laughed out loud at their different ways of being the one who might end up with her. She was tempted to ask them if there was a shortage of women on the island. And she found herself giggling at the thought that every mother in Menorca was keeping her daughters indoors, away from the clutches of Ferran and Oriol. Ferran tried to talk to her, explaining something about the house they were all staying in, his Catalan filled with Spanish slang words and some local terms; she enjoyed how he was barely making any sense. Oriol simply stood by looking cool. His hair was long, his jeans were tight, he was skinny like a rock star. He managed to be part of the conversation without saying anything; she was tempted for a moment to poke him in the stomach and ask him to rescue Ferran, who in mid-story had lost his way. When they finished the joint, they went back into the bar and found the others, who were ready to move on.
In the next bar they ordered gin and tonics; the music was too loud for anyone to speak much, so Ferran and Oriol just hovered, Ferran swaying and smiling, Oriol remaining more mellow and distant. For a second, when Oriol brushed his hair back, she noticed how beautiful his face was. He saw her looking at him and smiled with a look of recognition that was proud, almost self-regarding. And that made her turn towards Ferran and say something to him that she knew he would not be able to hear; they moved closer to each other. And once he let his arm linger around her waist, she brushed against him and then moved away. It was enough to signal that, unless something happened, she would stay with him for the rest of the night.
The next bar they went to had softer music. They found places to sit and were joined by other friends of the group. She liked the way Ferran left her alone and Oriol admitted defeat by keeping away; Ferran did not try to impose himself on her, but talked to the others and went regularly to the bar, but he remained within her orbit and made sure she understood that he was not going anywhere without her. Eventually he came over to tell her that one of the group wanted to go up to the convent and wait outside, that the horses and riders before going to the beach for the jousting were going to visit the nuns, who would be awake before dawn. They were all going to go soon, he said, when they were finished these drinks, or it might be a while more. There was no point in being there too early, he said, as the nuns might not be dressed yet.
She laughed and said that the nuns would, no doubt, be delighted to see them all. He sat beside her. For a moment she thought that he was going to kiss her, but he was distracted by something and instead merely looked at her closely several times, the expression on his face serious. As she sipped her drink, she felt tired and was almost sorry she had stayed out so late; she wondered if she might go. But then, when the music changed and became louder, she settled back in her seat and enjoyed being tired. When Ferran suggested that they go outside and smoke another joint, she stood up and followed him.
By the time they were on the beach the sun was almost hot and the crowds had gathered, some revellers from the night, others who had risen specially to witness the jousting, which had all the elements of a medieval pageant. Two large poles had been dug into the sand and between them a piece of wire had been hung with an opening in the centre. The riders carried a javelin in one hand; the horses began slowly way down the beach and then moved at breakneck speed as the riders attempted to pierce the hole with the javelin as they passed to the chee
ring of the crowd. While earlier at the convent, and then when they had made their way lazily to a café to have coffee, Carme had felt exhausted, almost irritated, and desperate to lie down anywhere and get some sleep, now she was filled with energy again and found herself shouting with the others as the horses and riders approached.
The sea was soft and beautiful in the morning light, and there were times over the next hours when she felt exhilarated by the night that had passed and wanted to take Ferran home with her and make love with him. But still she kept him at arm’s length, never once moved towards him, or touched him, or let him find that she was looking at him. She knew, however, that he would not go, and the feeling that they had made a tacit arrangement added to her ease and happiness as it became clear that it would soon be time to leave.
She waited for a while and then caught Ferran’s eye and nodded to him. They walked into the city together as though all of this had been set up in detail. She was glad that he did not try to hold her hand or put his arm around her, instead he brushed against her fondly and remained silent as they went towards the car.
When she checked the time, she discovered it was only six fifteen. They would be sleeping still at her grandmother’s house; she would not have to worry about introducing Ferran to her family. Nonetheless, she put her finger to her lips when she had parked the car; they moved gingerly around the corner like teenagers coming home late. She almost panicked as Ferran let out a shout when he saw the swimming pool, indicating to him that he would have to be quiet. He looked around as though he were a thief in a comedy as he made signs in return asking her if she wanted him to roll another joint. She almost laughed out loud as she let him know that she did.
As she sat back and smoked, Ferran quietly stripped to his underpants and then, having taken a pull from the joint, turned and dived into the pool. The noise of the splash filled the air and caused some pigeons that had been nesting nearby to fly away in an immense flutter. Ferran swam using a vigorous and awkward breast-stroke and she realized that the sound of him in the water would surely wake those sleeping in the rooms above. Thus she was not surprised when one of the shutters opened and her mother’s head appeared. Her mother made a dismissing signal with her hand to suggest that Carme and her friend, whoever he was, should take themselves off the property. Carme responded by having a long relaxed pull on the joint and then waving at her mother with the joint in her hand. She began to laugh. As her mother closed the shutter, she found that she could not stop laughing.
When Ferran came out of the pool and dressed himself, they both discovered they were starving. In the kitchen, they made sandwiches from cheese and meat they took from the fridge; Ferran opened a cold bottle of cava to toast the morning and let the cork pop noisily against the ceiling of the kitchen.
Later, when she woke to the sound of children’s voices, she looked at Ferran sleeping; one of his arms lay stretched out away from him and the other was curled around her shoulder. No Englishman could ever sleep like that, she thought, or none she had ever known. Ferran’s mouth was slightly open, she could hear the rise and fall of his breath, which was almost gentle, and could sense how peacefully he was sleeping. Ian would always snore if he slept lying on his back, she remembered, and he could never sleep in any case with an arm wrapped around her. He turned away from her in the night, and if in the morning he moved towards her it was a sign he wanted sex.
But maybe in the end there was not that much difference between these men, they had the same tender needs. They would spend a whole evening, as Ferran just had, as Ian once did too, tactfully watching and waiting, making sure they did nothing that would cause her to want to sleep on her own. They were alert at each moment to what was ahead. They were like children on their birthdays, she thought, and found herself having to stifle a giggle. Whatever Ferran had put into the joints, she thought, had lasted through the morning.
Ferran, when he woke, told her that he had arranged to meet his friends at five that afternoon. It was something they did every year, he said, on the twenty-fourth of June, they went to a restaurant that two of them owned and ate there in the hours between lunch and supper when it was closed to customers. They had all paid for the food, he said, and it would be good. She said yes when he suggested that she come with him. They used the bathroom down the corridor to shower. Carme agreed to stop by the house where Ferran was staying so he could get fresh clothes.
Downstairs, at the table outside, her parents and Nuria were having guests to lunch. Carme had warned Ferran not to stop, that she was not doing introductions, they were just going to walk by and say they were in a hurry if anyone spoke to them. Her mother, when she saw them appear, made as though to stand up. Carme looked at her bravely and showed the key of her car to everyone at the table and led Ferran past them without saying a word or waiting to be introduced to the guests. She was tempted to peer around the corner for a second once she had reached the car and see what her mother was now doing, but instead she drove away from the house towards Ciutadella.
The restaurant was more like a cabin; it was built at the edge of a cove, was close to a pier. Under the awning in front the owners had placed a long table, set perfectly for twenty or more people. When they arrived, one of Ferran’s friends, whom Carme had met the previous evening, shouted to Ferran from the pier. He was going down the coast in his motorized dinghy, he said, to collect two or three people, and he invited Ferran and Carme to come with him.
She sat on the edge of the dinghy as it moved out of the harbour at speed. The water was clear and blue and the sun was hot in the cloudless sky. But there was also a wind that made the journey rocky at times and meant that the dinghy had to be steered with skill and deliberation. Within a few minutes she was covered in sea spray and had to sit right down in the boat. She closed her eyes and held on to a rope and laughed as the bottom of the dinghy filled up with water. Her clothes were now completely wet and her hair destroyed by the salt spray. At one point as the dinghy turned in towards a cove, she almost cried out to Ferran’s friend to slow down and go more carefully, but he would not have heard her with the sound of the engine.
When they had collected the others and were about to make their way back, she was on the verge of suggesting to him that he should take it a bit easier on the return, but the look on his face and the way he dealt with the dinghy made her hesitate. She realized that she had failed to recognize how much his behaviour, which was gruff, masculine and utterly competent, belonged to the island. He would think she was silly and from Barcelona if she asked him to go more slowly. In his flip-flops, his torn jeans, his faded T-shirt and his uncombed hair, he was in full command.
By the time they returned, bowls of salad were being put on the table, and one of the cooks, wearing a white apron, was bringing out bottles of white wine and jugs of water. She could smell the fresh prawns being grilled. When finally everyone was seated, the seafood came to the table as soon as it was cooked, with regular promises that there was more. The first prawns were small and sweet, but the ones that came later were larger, some of them closer to crayfish. They had been cooked perfectly, without garnish or any sauce; the texture was hard but not too hard or rubbery. They were full of flavour. She loved the idea that there was nothing else except the salad to accompany them, no rice or potatoes or vegetables. She wished Ian could see this table now as everyone feasted with constant good-humoured shouting and banter and passing of dishes and pouring of drinks. Big ceramic bowls were brought for them to throw the leftovers into, and dishes with water and lemon wedges to wipe their fingers clean when they were finished.
When the plates had been taken away, and the cooks had been allowed to sit down to eat the last of the prawns, and the cups for coffee were being put on the table, a woman whom Carme did not know, sitting at the other end of the table, called to her.
‘Have you been on the island for long?’ she asked.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I mean I haven’t been here for years.’
S
ince this was the first time the table was listening to a single conversation, she wished it was about something else, or addressed to one of the others.
‘You were in England?’ the woman asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you have to get a British passport?’
‘No. I had a student visa.’
‘But did they not take your passport away?’
‘They delayed it when it needed to be renewed, but I didn’t …’
‘They were such bastards!’ the woman said.
‘Who? Who are you talking about?’ a man down the table asked.
‘The police,’ the woman said. ‘They tortured her.’
‘No, they didn’t,’ Carme interrupted.
‘Your grandmother told me that they did.’
‘I was arrested.’
‘Your grandmother said that you had to be got out of the country very quickly.’
‘When was that?’ someone asked.
‘It was under Franco.’
They all became silent. Carme looked at Ferran, who was studying her with a new attention. The way the last statement had been made seemed to suggest that Franco was a long time ago, part of a history that had passed. Even though he was dead for less than three years, his name had been spoken as though it came from a time as remote as the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella. Carme felt suddenly singled out as if her presence, or politics itself, had cast a brief shadow over the lives of these people, the meal, the festival. She was glad when the coffee came in two huge pots, a bottle of Mascaró cognac was handed down the table and everyone was distracted and no one paid her any more attention. When she caught Ferran’s eye he shrugged and then gestured with his hands out flat towards her, signalling that she was someone he would not safely meddle with. When she pointed at him with her finger threateningly, he recoiled, and they both laughed. He rolled another joint.