Only in Spain

by Nellie Bennett

  A big green sign up ahead told us we were about to cross over into Andalucía. “Ay! Estamos llegando!” We’re almost there! Alejandro yelped in excitement.

  Wait for it, wait for it…

  The sign grew bigger and bigger, and as we sped past it Alejandro threw back his head and sang, “Olé, olé, Olé!” Gone was the smooth professional I used to visit once a week in his Madrid office. Alejandro was home now, and he could forget about primary catchment areas and the summer marketing campaign. He was thinking about his sofa, his remote control, and his mother’s cooking.

  But I still had another sixty miles to go. Alejandro pulled up outside the train station and we went in to see if there was any way I could travel that night. He scanned the board. “There is a train that leaves in five minutes.” We raced to the ticket window, and I handed over my ID and credit card, signed without even looking at what I was signing, and, ticket in hand, raced to the platform.

  The train was waiting, and the staff were greeting passengers and helping them find their seats. Alejandro took my bags from my hands and tossed them through the security X-ray. As someone scanned my ticket, I shouted good-bye.

  My carriage was at the far end of the platform and I ran to it, swinging myself onboard just before the doors closed. I found my place and fell into the plush chair with relief.

  All around me people were dressed up for the feria. Men walked up and down the aisle in their best suits, and women were peering into compact mirrors as they painted on red lips. In front of me a group of teenage girls were applying eyeliner, swapping earrings and high heels, and going over the plans for the festivities.

  The train pulled away from the station, and I leaned back in my seat for the smooth forty-minute ride. I was going back to where my story began. I had one weekend to make some sense of my life. Four years ago I stood by the river in the moonlight and made a wish. It was time to wish again.

  • • •

  There’s nowhere more beautiful than Seville. Well, not for me. It’s not just about the palm trees that line the river or the low whitewashed buildings; Seville is beautiful to me because I remember the nights that I wandered through its streets with the moon in my eyes.

  It all came back to me as I walked those streets again, past the old marketplace, under the orange trees, and to the little café where I used to go for my morning café con leche. I walked in and once again breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing had changed. Seville had remained in a time capsule for me. The same gruff waiter was serving the same strong coffee for the same price; the same crowd were lining up for their heart starters and lighting up their morning cigarettes.

  The only thing that had changed was me. Or so I thought. The waiter set down in front of me a glass with a shot of espresso coffee, then filled it to the brim with hot milk. He flicked his eyes up at me, raised one shaggy eyebrow, and said, “Cuánto tiempo.” It’s been awhile.

  So it had. It had been four years almost to the day since I’d last stood in that café, and I couldn’t believe that the waiter remembered me. “So what, you been busy?” he asked casually.

  My phone beeped. A new message: Chica, I’m at the airport. How’s the weather?

  • • •

  I didn’t expect my old friend to be wearing a white gold Rolex studded with rubies. I should have expected it, but I didn’t. After all, wasn’t it only yesterday that we were counting out our few euro to pay for tapas in El Rinconcillo? But many things had changed in Zahra’s life since those days. She’d gotten married, of course—a fact that was demonstrated by the heavy diamond rings that shone like flashlights on her finger. And she had become second in charge of a Swiss bank. But as we walked again down our favorite streets, it was as if nothing had changed.

  “Remember how we used to walk?” She linked her arm through mine and sang with each step, “Toma que toma que toma que toma.”

  I laughed and sang with her, “Que toma que toma que toma que toma!”

  We went back to El Rinconcillo for vegetarian meat and vino. “Chica, listen!” One of our favorite songs was playing on the radio, and before I knew it I was crying. “You know,” Zahra said, “sometimes what you want most in the world does not make you happy.” She was right, and I knew it.

  “I just don’t know what I want anymore.”

  Zahra searched my face with her beautiful eyes and said, “You are changing. You are growing up. But you know…be patient. Because when you change, the world will change with you.”

  Music was coming from the street outside. We looked out the window and saw a man walking down the road playing rumbas on an old guitar, and a dozen people following him, all singing and dancing.

  “Vamos, chica!” Zahra said. “Let’s go dance!”

  We ran out of the café and joined the crowd dancing in the street. I forgot my tears and allowed myself to be swallowed up once again in another spring night in Seville.

  The next morning I went back to the same café for my morning coffee. Rain fell lightly as I walked up to the Alameda. It was that beautiful spring rain, txirimiri, as they call it in Basque.

  I asked myself again as I stirred my coffee why I’d done what I’d done. It was the same question I asked myself a thousand times a day. And a response came to me through my sorrow: “You’re not ready to stop yet.”

  I knew that Madrid wasn’t my final destination. I didn’t know what was ahead of me, but I couldn’t help feeling that this was the beginning of my journey, not the end. Perhaps I’m just not the marrying kind, I thought with a sigh. Or at least, not the marrying and having twelve children kind.

  As I wandered back through the streets, the rain came down harder, and then suddenly the skies opened and I found myself beneath a Sevillian spring downpour. People dashed into doorways to escape it, only to be splashed by the cars that drove through the flooded streets.

  I didn’t care about getting wet, and the raindrops disguised the tears on my cheeks. I had no plans for my future beyond this weekend in Seville. I didn’t know what I was going to do or where I was going to go. But I knew that I would always love Iñaki. It was as if the love I felt for him had opened up a place in my heart that hadn’t existed before, and it would travel with me as I stepped into the darkness of my own uncertainty.

  The rain got stronger and stronger until I had to run to the nearest awning to take cover. As I wiped the water from my face, I saw that I was in front of a travel agency.

  Paris, Miami, Cairo…

  I felt something stir inside me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. A longing for a new adventure, a journey into the unknown. I could go south, where life is hotter and wilder. I could ride a camel across the Sahara and see the sun rise over the pyramids.

  Calcutta, Mumbai…

  Or drink chai on the streets of India and wrap myself in silks and whirl like a dervish.

  Lima, Santiago, Buenos Aires…

  Or dance in red shoes in an underground tango bar.

  And just think of all the trouble I could get into in Marrakesh! Marauding through the Medina, or rocking the Kasbahs.

  And an old familiar voice whispered softly, Why don’t you…?

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to thank all the people who made this book happen: the amazing Daniel Lazar and the Writers House team, and everyone at Sourcebooks, in particular my wonderful editorial manager, Shana Drehs, and my divine editor, Anna Klenke, for turning my manuscript into such a beautiful book. Thank you!

  I’d also like to thank my Australian publisher, Annette Barlow, and the team at Allen & Unwin, in particular my editors Vanessa Pellatt and Clara Finlay. And, of course, Catherine Milne, who first envisioned this book and dared to say, “Why don’t you?”

  I want to thank all the people who fill these pages. In writing this book it’s been important to me to respect the privacy of the extraordinary people who’ve shared my
journey. To that end, some names have been changed and some characters have been merged.

  And finally, I would like to thank my agent, Fran Moore, and everyone at Curtis Brown for your support, wisdom, and guidance. I can’t thank you enough, but I’m going to try: thank you, thank you, thank you!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo by Fernando López Coloma

  Nellie Bennett grew up in Sydney, Australia. After completing high school, she worked as a shopgirl in a department store, mastering the art of ironing silk and pleating tissue paper. In her early twenties Nellie discovered flamenco dance and traveled to Spain to further her studies in the birthplace of flamenco, Seville. She soon fell in love with all things Spanish and moved to Madrid, where she learned to dance from the neighborhood gypsies. Nellie has worked as a screenwriter in both Australia and Bollywood and contributed feature articles to the Australian and the Sydney Morning Herald. Her interests include eating, drinking, daydreaming, wandering aimlessly, and dancing till dawn.