Sonder Village

by Taylor Hobbs

  ****

  The countryside flew by, and soon the city enveloped Remy. After so long in isolation among her village, with only side trips into Ortigueira and Coruña, Remy had forgotten what a big city was like, how it pulsed with its own unique energy. It flowed around the people, shaping their lives and intertwining them into one collective experience, but at the same time separated by individual perceptions. Everyone was leaving their mark on the city by living, seeing, and breathing in a slightly different way.

  Now Remy added to it, bringing her own form of crazy to Madrid. But among such a dense population, her problems diffused and seemed infinitely smaller. She wove Anita’s car in and out of narrow streets, deciding to drive until she either reached a dead end or found somewhere she recognized. That plaza has to be around here somewhere. It turned out that the dead end was her first option, and she parked.

  Thinking ahead for once, Remy snapped a photo of the street she left the car on. If she brought it back in one piece, maybe Anita wouldn’t list grand theft auto onto her many sins from the past few days.

  Remy hailed the next taxi that came by, handing the driver Maggie’s business card with her office address. “Take me here, por favor,” she said, juggling the stack of books she held in her arms.

  “Okay,” the driver said, surprisingly in English. He gave her a smile, and motioned for her to get in. “I help you with the books?” he asked, eager to practice his new language skills.

  “No, thank you,” Remy said. The driver tried twice more to engage her in conversation on the drive to the plaza, but Remy’s monotone answers soon discouraged him. Her thoughts were preoccupied with how to explain the situation to Maggie. She had an ex-husband problem, a—possibly ex-—best friend problem, a new man problem, and a village problem. There were too many places to begin her story, and she couldn’t decide which was most important. Should she try to tell her the whole truth, exactly how she had experienced it? Or should she just get Maggie to translate the books for her and leave the rest out? Addressing the village first would be the most helpful, but Remy was dying to talk to someone about Jack and Bieito. How do I explain Bieito without sounding like a nutjob?

  Remy shouldn’t have worried, because the moment she walked into the realtor’s office and saw Maggie, she collapsed into her arms, and the story released in a flood of tears. The arms around her were not Maggie’s, but Nana’s. They held Remy with an iron grip, anchoring her to reality, and allowed Remy to stick to the facts. Just as she had run to her Nana to confess her sins on that first fateful night, she poured out the events of the last three days to a bewildered Englishwoman, who, to her credit, took it all in stride.

  Maggie let Remy ramble through her tale, waiting until the end to ask questions and trying to understand exactly what the artist was telling her.

  “Your ex-husband came looking for you? And he got hurt at the village?”

  Remy sniffed, trying to get her tears under control while they soaked into the back of Maggie’s shirt. “Yeah,” she said, the hint of a southern twang creeping into her cracked voice.

  “But he’s okay. And your friend Anita is there with him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Maggie gently untangled Remy’s hands from around her neck and guided her to a chair. “That must have been very scary. But, child, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t ever think that. It was an accident.”

  “But if he hadn’t come, then he wouldn’t be hurt!”

  Maggie looked at her sternly. “He is an adult who made his own decision. Put it from your mind for now; there’s no point in worrying about it when you can’t change it. He will be good as new, and he will heal in more ways than one without you being there.”

  Remy hiccupped, already feeling less guilty now that she had been absolved by the older and wiser woman. Sometimes, you just need someone else to forgive you when you can’t forgive yourself.

  “Now, you couldn’t have come all the way down here just for this, not that I’m not overjoyed to see you. Are you unhappy in your new home, or afraid, after what happened?”

  “I—I needed your advice about something. I may have met someone.” Remy blushed.

  “A significant someone?”

  “Maybe. Sort of. I don’t know! It’s just, when I’m with him, I lose myself. And I’m not sure if I’m losing myself in a good way.”

  “What do you mean? Is he a bad person?”

  “No! Bieito is a wonderful person. That’s the problem. When I’m with him, it is like nothing else matters. I lose track of time and place, and I find myself not caring one bit.”

  “It sounds like you are just in the honeymoon stage of young love,” Maggie said. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten what it is like to feel this way. And now you are feeling guilty about having feelings for another man while Jack is hurt.”

  Remy didn’t know how to fully explain it to Maggie and shrugged hopelessly. “I’m not even sure what I feel for Bieito right now, honestly. I think I’m interested, it’s just that something feels wrong. Off-balance. I don’t trust myself when I’m with him. He makes me so happy, but what if I lose everything else that matters to me in the process?”

  “How long have you known this Bieito?”

  “That’s the thing. I’ve only ever been with him twice. I met him at the beach, and then again at my…his family’s cottage. I need to know more about him, but when I’m with him, all of my questions and doubts fade away and before I know it, he’s gone again, and I feel empty.”

  Maggie’s eyes were bright as she considered Remy’s despondent gaze. “He sounds like a special person, Remy, for you to feel this deeply so quickly. Take caution, though, for I, too, fell for a man such as that, and he broke my heart. It comes along once in a lifetime. All you can do is cut off all ties with him now and save yourself, or grab on for the ride, and hope you hold onto enough of yourself to rebuild from the wreckage at the end.”

  Remy shook her head. “I am already such a wreck. I know I should just walk away, but…” Remy couldn’t very well explain that somehow Bieito and his family were residing on her property, but only part of the time. She took a deep breath. “I thought Jack was my forever. He should have been my forever. But walking away and starting over was easier than I thought. But this…this would be different.” I am already more entangled with Bieito than I thought.

  Maggie nodded in understanding while Remy gathered steam. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” Remy said, voice thick with emotion. “The village was supposed to be mine, a place for me to find myself. Now it’s causing more complications, stirring up things between me, my past, and my future, and throwing in two men who couldn’t be more different just for the fun of it. I hate not being in control. That leads to bad things.”

  Thankfully, Maggie ignored the last part of Remy’s comment, and didn’t ask for clarification on the “bad things” she was talking about. “You can’t exist in a bubble. The village is just that—a village. It is the people inside who matter.”

  Remy let out a harsh laugh. “It was supposed to be my milagro de Santiago. My miracle.”

  “Just give yourself more time. Jack’s accident was unfortunate, yes, and you are understandably cautious with Bieito, but have more faith in yourself. The universe is unfolding as it should.”

  “I just wish I knew why.”

  “What would be the fun in that?” Maggie asked. “I, for one, am so proud of you. I was actually planning on making a visit up to Ortigueira in the next few weeks to see what you’ve done with the place.”

  “I haven’t made a lot of progress, I’m afraid,” Remy confessed. “I had hoped to have more done by now, but I really don’t know what I’m doing. It is mostly trial and error so far. I jump from project to project, when I need to just focus my energies on one thing in particular and see it through to the end.” She hesitated. “Plus, I want to be as true to the integrity of the village as I can be. You know, preserving its true character. I want to do it right, but I just don’t kn
ow enough about the history of the place to be authentic.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you very much on the authenticity. You’d be better off asking Sebastian for that, or talking to some locals. But I understand wanting to get it right.”

  “Actually, I think you can help me with something. How are your translation skills?” Remy gestured to the books she’d thrown onto Maggie’s desk when she had embraced the older woman. They had been through quite the adventure—from the library, to the village, to the hospital, and finally to Madrid. Now, Remy was hopeful that their secrets could be unlocked and help her make sense of her life in more ways than one, starting with construction.

  “My Spanish should probably be better than it is, considering I’ve lived here for more than enough time, but I’m willing to take a stab at it.”

  “Can we start with the history book?”

  “If I’m going to do this, we’re going to get comfortable. Come on, I’ll close up my shop and we can head to my flat. You look like you could use a siesta anyway.”

  ****

  At Maggie’s insistence, Remy took a nap at the apartment. By handing over the books to Maggie and relinquishing responsibility, Remy was finally able to rest. When she woke up four hours later, both confused and very hungry, Maggie was finishing up the obscure little history book about the Kingdom of Galicia.

  “How do you feel?” Maggie asked, closing the worn cover.

  “I think I could have slept all the way through until tomorrow,” Remy confessed. “Are the books useful?”

  “It was difficult to find anything referencing your village. It was just too small to be of any real significance. I did, however, learn some interesting facts about the area. And there might be a small mention of your village in the part about the Martyrs of Carral, but it was hard to tell. I’m afraid I can’t help very much except to give you a general summary, though I don’t know if it will help with your restoration project.”

  “Well, I have to start somewhere. What I was doing wasn’t working, so you might as well tell me,” Remy decided. “Even a little bit might inspire me.”

  Maggie gathered her thoughts for a moment, deciding where to start. “You’ve seen how proud Galicians are of their heritage first-hand, haven’t you?” Remy nodded, and Maggie continued. “This is because up until eighteen thirty-three, Galicia was not part of Spain and was its own kingdom, dating all the way back to the Middle Ages.

  “In eighteen forty-six, a colonel by the name of Miguel Solís y Cuentos rebelled against the new Spanish rule. Though the uprising spread to surrounding cities, the rebels were squashed in only twenty-four days by a vastly superior force from the Spanish Royal Council. The colonel was executed by a firing squad, and the eleven other soldiers were put to death in the Forest of Rin, their bodies dumped into an unmarked tomb.

  “Miguel Solís y Cuentos had many sympathizers in Coruña, which is why the general feared executing the rebels within the town. That didn’t stop the people from turning Miguel and his eleven soldiers into the twelve Martyrs of Carral, though. They are remembered as the first wave of Galician nationalism and regionalism.”

  “Wow, I had no idea. I mean, I knew that Galicia used to be called the Kingdom of Galicia, but I never really thought about what that meant for all the people here to have their identity absorbed by Spanish rule. No wonder they like to be known as Galician rather than Spanish. What did you find out about the rebels?” Remy asked.

  “That’s the part that connects to your village. There’s a list of names of the soldiers that were executed, and one of them lists Ortigueira as his home. So, someone living in your village may have been a part of the Galician uprising!”

  Remy raised an eyebrow. “That seems like a pretty far stretch. It sounds like a lot of these details are fuzzy at best, and probably aren’t all that accurate. Was there anything else of historical significance I can incorporate with the renovation? No descriptions of what the village used to look like?”

  “I’m afraid not, dear. This was the best I could do. Like I said, your village is very small; it doesn’t even have a name other than its extension to Ortigueira.”

  Remy sighed. “Thanks for trying. The rebellion was kind of cool, I guess. Too bad it was only three weeks long and didn’t have much of an impact. No wonder I hadn’t heard about it before. Were you able to translate the architecture book at least?”

  “There were a few good chapters about historical homes. Here, come sit by me and we can go through them together.” Maggie scooted over and Remy sat down on the couch next to her. “Now, with these old buildings, you definitely need to start from the bottom and move up…”

  Remy and Maggie lost track of time as they came up with designs and floor plans for the buildings. With rough sketches, Remy added rooms and windows to the buildings she knew by heart now, having spent weeks living among them. When Remy confided that she wanted to turn the larger houses into dormitories for her school, Maggie was enthusiastic.

  Though she was nervous at first to pick up her pen, Maggie’s chattering kept Remy distracted enough for her to forget her mental blocks. The outlines came effortlessly, flowing onto the paper almost as easily as her paintings used to.

  It’s getting better, Remy thought, relieved. She pulled forth the distorted memory of her drunken run through the village, and of her night in the cottage with Bieito’s family. Authenticity. That’s what she needed to focus on to get into her flow state, and then the best ideas would come.

  During the hours spent immersed in future plans for her art school, Remy forgot about all the complications surrounding the village. What she saw on paper were her dreams turning into reality, and she was determined not to let anything stand in her way. Anita could try to freak out Remy with skepticism about logistics, funds, and permits, but she would not succeed in forcing Remy to move backward in life.

  She realized she had been obsessing over the wrong things all along—the mystery of Bieito, the drama of Jack, the accident, and, most of all, paralyzing indecision about which direction to go with the village. It was time to get serious about it all, put her plans into motion, and get back to the real reason she bought the village in the first place.

  As she made up a very grown-up plan for her future and the people it would affect, Remy decided to be an adult and call Anita first, before Anita inevitably tracked her down and reamed her out. She already felt more self-assured than she had during these last few confusing and chaotic days. “Thanks for helping me get my head on straight,” Remy told Maggie while turning on her phone. “I need to have an important conversation right now.”

  “I’ll step out and bring us back some carryout for dinner. Best of luck with Anita.” Maggie was halfway out the door when she turned around. “Remember, Remy, you came here to start over. Your past has not only followed you here, but made a mess of your present as well. Don’t let it define your future.”

  While Maggie’s words burned a new confidence within Remy’s chest, she dialed Anita. To her surprise, the phone rang and rang and eventually went to voice mail. She had fully expected her best friend to jump all over her at the first ring. Prepared for an interrogation interspersed with outrage and demands, Remy didn’t know how to leave a message at the polite request of Anita Lopez, artist agent and specialized publicist who promised to call back as soon as she was available. Remy took a deep breath, and then hung up.

  Staring at her phone screen, Remy debated whether or not to call back right away and try to explain over voicemail, or if she should wait for Anita to see she had a missed call. Remy wondered which was worse, sucking it up now or waiting in agony over the next few hours for Anita to call back.

  The result, however, was neither. The blow came in the form of a text, cold and impersonal, about as far from emotionally removed from the situation as Anita could be.

  —Whatever your explanation is, Remy, save it. I can no longer listen to your excuses. Return the rental car when you’re done with it. Jack and
I don’t want to see you again while we’re here. You can also consider this the end of our professional relationship as well. I cannot associate with clients whose moral character I question. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for, and you realize that it wasn’t worth all of this.—

  Remy read the message three times until the words finally sank in. So that’s it then. Almost two decades of friendship and this was the final straw? She had been expecting Anita to be pissed, of course, but she had never expected that Anita would fire her as a client. Like most close friends, they had weathered their share of fights over the years, but one thing was always certain—they were better as a team.

  Remy was Anita’s number one client, the one who had propelled both of them out of obscurity. To have one woman without the other was unthinkable. Anita lived and breathed her job, just as Remy lived and breathed to paint. Their careers were so intertwined that their “divorce” would be more complicated than Remy’s split from Jack.

  But here they were, actually splitting up because of Jack, just not in the way one would expect a husband to come between two best friends. My constant avoidance and running away caused all of this. If she hadn’t called Anita out of desperation, they would probably still be working together and Remy would have some way to make an income. What am I going to do now?

  As the blunt words stared up at her from a blindingly bright screen, Maggie’s advice overrode the searing image. Don’t let your past define your future. Remy could either fight Anita’s words and refuse to accept the end of their friendship and partnership, of which Remy was sure Anita would eventually cave in, or she could just let it go. The end.

  This time, she could have an actual fresh start, without having to worry about reporting back to Anita and hearing her overblown opinions all the time. No more cajoling to return to New York, no more avoiding Jack’s mopey gaze, no more hospital obligations…Did it make her a terrible person to be relieved?

  An enormous weight felt like it had been removed from Remy’s shoulders. She was no longer beholden to Anita and didn’t have to answer to her any longer. Any painting she decided to do would be on her own schedule. Remy’s personal business would be her own. Nobody would be nosing around looking for the next big story and leaking it “for her own good” to boost her career. Granted, Remy wasn’t even sure she would be able to have a career anymore, but that was beside the point.