by Luz Gabás
“You know you can tell me anything.”
Brianda thought for a few seconds, sighed, and finally told her friend about the recurring nightmares, about her anxiety and melancholy, about the devastating fear that was making it impossible to live a normal life.
“The doctor asked if anything’s been worrying me and all that. But as far as I know, my life is, well, was perfect.”
“Give yourself some time,” said Silvia. “I bet it’ll all sort itself out. Maybe this is just something you need to go through right now. I don’t think anything happens without a reason.”
“It’s kinda scary when you put it like that,” Brianda tried to joke.
She looked around the bar and again felt eyes on her. Then she spotted the woman. At a small table near the terrace, partially hidden by some fluttering, gauzy curtains, she was moving something between her hands while watching Brianda with an insolent smile. She was slightly stocky, her wavy hair streaked with gray. A tarot card reader.
As if reading her mind, Silvia said, “How weird that they’d have that kind of woman in a fancy place like this. Bars can’t figure out how to keep people amused anymore. Well? Want to see what she tells us?”
“It’s just nonsense to get money out of people,” Brianda said.
“Sure, but maybe it’ll be fun! You’re not scared, are you?”
“Not exactly. I just don’t want to do it.”
But Silvia kept pushing and, eventually, Brianda gave in. As they approached, she thought she saw a triumphant smile on the woman’s round face. Her heart beat faster.
“Separately.”
The woman’s voice was very deep.
“What do you mean?” Silvia asked.
“If you want me to tell your future, it has to be first one and then the other. Not together.”
“You go first,” Brianda suggested. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”
“Chicken!” whispered Silvia.
When Brianda returned ten minutes later, Silvia was beaming. She handed the woman some money and motioned her friend to take her seat while the woman delicately gathered the cards.
“Before we start,” Brianda said, “I want you to know I don’t believe in this stuff. It was my friend’s idea.”
The woman ignored her. She began to shuffle. Her long, slender fingers didn’t match the rest of her body. Brianda noticed that she wore no jewelry. She’d pictured a tarot card reader as a bejeweled witch, dressed in colorful clothes, and wearing a silk headscarf and a chain of coins over thick, wavy hair. A cliché.
“Do you have anything to ask me?” the woman inquired.
Brianda narrowed her eyes. “If I ask a question, you’ll be able to guess what I’m worried about and just riff on that.”
“So, something is troubling you.”
Brianda gave a victorious smile. “See what I mean?”
The woman held out the deck of cards.
“Here. You don’t have to say a word. I will be the only one to speak, and I will be brief and concise. We will use the Major Arcana cards. Choose ten cards and place them one by one, faceup, where I show you. OK?” The woman’s look softened. “You don’t even have to take your eyes off the cards. That way, I won’t be able to see your expression.”
This last condition finally convinced Brianda. It might be a waste of time, but she was curious. She thought of Silvia’s happy expression. The typical thing was for a fortune-teller to make reassuring promises: a shining future in love, family, work, and health.
“Fine.” She accepted the deck. “Ten cards.” She spread the cards facedown on the table and picked out ten. “There.”
“Very good. Place the first one here.”
Brianda did so.
“The Fool inverted. You find yourself in a state of abandonment, indecision, apathy. You are going through a difficult time. Emotional confusion.” She pointed to the second spot, indicating the second card should partially cover the first. “The Lovers inverted. You have made the wrong choice. Your family and social world are dragging you down. They are an obstacle for you.”
Brianda frowned. Her mother could be a bit of a pain, but her family wasn’t in her way. She’d been independent for a long time.
She uncovered the third card and followed the fortune-teller’s finger to place the card above the second one.
“The Chariot in the upright position. It reveals your possible future. You are going on a journey. You will encounter many impediments, but you must find the way.”
Brianda shifted nervously in her chair. She hadn’t decided yet whether or not to go to Tiles.
The fourth card, below the second.
“The Moon in the upright position. In your distant past, you were a sensitive, intuitive dreamer. You followed a difficult and dark path. You suffered. Terribly.”
The fifth card, left of the second.
“The Empress inverted. This is the reason you have lost control. You are suffering a crisis you cannot explain.”
The sixth card, laid to the right of the second, completed what, to Brianda, looked like a cross. As soon as she turned it over, she jumped. A skeleton with a scythe.
“Death in the upright position. It means a profound and radical change. End and beginning. You will die and be reborn.”
Brianda did not want to hear any more, but she felt trapped in a dreamlike state by the dance of words, finger, card, words.
The finger pointed to the spot for the seventh card, to her lower right, close to her chest.
“Justice in the upright position. Underneath it all, you want this change. You want to awaken. You must.”
The eighth card, above the seventh.
“The Wheel of Fortune inverted. You will encounter difficulties all around you, but the transformation will occur regardless. Everything comes, sooner or later.”
The ninth card. A horrible figure, like a billy goat with enormous horns. Brianda felt her mouth go dry.
“The Devil in the upright position. I don’t understand this very well.”
Without meaning to, Brianda looked up and saw that the woman’s eyes were half-closed as if she were trying to make out distant voices.
“It refers to your fears, your subconscious. I see a confused mental state. An uncontrolled carnal passion. Please, place the last one.”
The tenth card. A human figure holding a lion.
“Strength in the upright position. Yes—” The fortune-teller’s voice broke. “In the end, the spirit will dominate matter.”
Brianda closed her eyes for a second, trying to process what she’d heard.
The spirit will dominate matter.
She felt around in her purse, took out some money, and placed it on the table. The seer’s hand brushed hers as she motioned her refusal.
“No, please. I was carrying out a mission.”
Brianda’s eyes widened in surprise. The woman’s face portrayed intense pain. The arrogance was gone.
“I can’t take money for this. I’m sorry, but I have to leave.”
Before Brianda could react, the woman gathered her things, got up, and began to walk away, but then she stopped, retraced her steps, and looked at the young woman in such a way that Brianda suddenly felt intensely close to her.
“Be strong,” she advised. “And don’t be afraid.”
Something touched her shoulder, and Brianda yelped.
Instinctively, she jumped up, spun around, and brought a hand to her chest. Esteban laughed.
“So, this is how you entertain yourselves when we leave you alone! What did the old witch say? You look like you had a real shock.”
“To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure.”
She didn’t dare tell him how deeply the predictions had upset her, or about her strange connection with the woman. She certainly couldn’t mention the part about uncontrolled carnal passion.
“Didn’t she foretell a wonderful future with a charming man and two or three children running around?”
&nb
sp; The gleam in Esteban’s lovely gray eyes made Brianda smile despite herself.
“Is that what she said to Silvia?”
“More or less.”
Brianda looked around, but there was no sign of the woman. She slid an arm around Esteban’s waist as they followed the others to the dance floor for a slow song. Esteban pulled her to him and began to sway. She threw her arms around his neck and held on with all her strength.
When they left the bar, Brianda couldn’t stop clinging to Esteban. She needed to feel him close to her on the street, in the hall, in the elevator, in the apartment. She only let go for a few seconds to take off her clothes and get in bed. Feeling him on top of her, beside her, under her, made it easier to convince herself that everything was fine. Esteban was not an obstacle. She did not need to get away from him. She loved him with all her might. She hadn’t suffered terribly. She didn’t need any change or great journey. Her life was everything she could hope for.
But each time Esteban entered her, she felt a stab of pain in her chest. He could not be any closer. And yet, in the middle of their pleasure, a voice inside her kept chanting that something was not right, that it was not his body that should be over her, but another’s, that she had to get out of here.
She had to stop.
Suddenly, she couldn’t stand his touch, his smell.
She felt her skin burning wherever Esteban’s fingers touched.
The man’s moans intensified. Brianda twisted under him and realized he would misinterpret her writhing for excitement. She wanted to tell him to stop, but his weight on her chest made it hard for her to breathe. She held on to the headboard and struggled to raise herself a bit. Esteban was just about to climax, and she had to stop him. Her head was about to explode. All her initial desire had turned to terror. The palpitations, the accelerated breathing, the cold sweat, the feeling of drowning, the need to escape …
Stop! she screamed inside, but the words wouldn’t come out.
Esteban was smiling. He thrust harder and came inside her. Sweat covered his face. He moaned one last time and collapsed on top of her.
Brianda concentrated all her efforts on holding back sobs.
What was happening to her?
Out of all her recent feelings, this was the worst: the incomprehensible sense of loss.
Without her knowing why, the person she loved most was turning into a stranger.
He was melting. Dissolving.
She had never before loathed Esteban’s touch. How could she look into his eyes and pretend this hadn’t happened? It was impossible to say the words, the ones that meant the relationship had come to an end.
Tears began to flow down her cheeks.
Now she had to leave.
At least for a while.
3.
Two days later, early in the morning, Brianda said good-bye to Esteban with her heart clenched. She picked up her suitcase full of cold-weather clothes, climbed behind the wheel of her car, and began her journey to the northeast. Since that night with Esteban, she’d burned with an urgent need to leave Madrid and everything familiar. Just the thought of what had happened in bed was so upsetting that she’d upped her dose of tranquilizers. Esteban didn’t deserve this drastic change in her feelings toward him. She needed distance so she could think. She wasn’t sure her destination was ideal, but she had no other options.
An exhausting five hours later, she stopped the car at an unmarked crossroads in the middle of nowhere, well past the last village. The GPS was no help.
She unfolded a paper map, but Tiles lay between two squiggly yellow lines.
Brianda opted for the road to the right. If she was wrong, she could always double back. She drank some water, ate a few nuts, and continued driving, scrutinizing the countryside for something she remembered from her childhood.
The narrow road began to climb through desperately barren terrain. To her left rose small gray hills with deep grooves of loam. The land looked haggard, mistreated by the inclement weather. To her right water trickled through a rocky riverbed running parallel to the road. As she climbed, the hills turned to pure rock on which the odd bush tried to survive, the river turned into a chasm, and the bends got sharper.
Coming around one very tight bend, she had to slam on the brakes.
In front of her, a woman stood next to a stopped car. Brianda was tempted to speed by, afraid it might be a trap, but she told herself it was broad daylight and, besides, the poor woman was jumping up and down trying to keep warm. She was tall and wore a green-and- brown dress down to her ankles, cowboy boots, and a crumpled scarf. Brianda rolled down the window.
“Can you give me a lift? I’m going to Tiles.” The woman had reddish hair and a cheerful voice.
“Of course,” said Brianda, although she was annoyed by the unexpected interruption. “What happened?”
“Give me just a sec, and I’ll explain.”
The woman quickly took out more than a dozen bags from the trunk of her dilapidated jeep and waited until Brianda reluctantly opened her own trunk.
“I’m Neli, and, as you can see, today was shopping day. But the car gave out on me. I’m lucky you came this way. I’ve been waiting for ages. A little longer and I would have frozen.”
“Nice to meet you, Neli. I’m Brianda.”
She liked Neli’s openness, her determined attitude. Everything about the woman inspired confidence. Her initial annoyance began to fade.
“Excuse me for asking, Brianda, but what brings you here? It’s not a place many people come.”
“Oh, I’ve got family up here in the mountains.”
“In Tiles?” Neli said in surprise. “I thought I knew everyone and their relatives, even if only by name.”
“Give me just a sec, and I’ll explain,” Brianda said, and they both laughed.
Brianda felt at ease. A stranger had made her laugh. This journey was supposed to be about hiding from the world, not meeting new people, but her curiosity was piqued. Her urban image of the lost valley of her childhood hadn’t included somebody like Neli.
“What about the jeep? Did you call a tow truck?”
“There’s no signal here. I’ll call from home. Or my husband will come out and fix it.”
She said it as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Brianda braked, took out her phone, and saw that Neli was right. There still were places in the world with no cell coverage.
“Good thing I didn’t notice before,” she said. “I would have been worried. Is there service in the village?”
“Depends on the day,” Neli said. Then, in case Brianda was one of those people addicted to their phones, she added, “I mean, it normally works. It’s just sometimes, if it’s really windy or right after a storm, the signal doesn’t reach so well.”
“Well, I sure hope the weather is clear.” As she said the words, Brianda realized it might not be so bad to be off the grid for a while. She concentrated on the next turn, even tighter than the last. The road was dreadful.
“Nearly there,” Neli announced encouragingly. “This place can seem like the end of the world, huh?”
“The truth is, I’m eager to see Tiles,” Brianda admitted.
“Wait, I thought you knew it?”
“Yes and no. My aunt and uncle live there, and when I was little I came for some summers, but I don’t remember it very well.”
“Who are your aunt and uncle?”
“Isolina and Colau. Do you know them?”
Neli hesitated for a moment before answering. From the corner of her eye, Brianda noticed her forced smile.
“Yes, of course, from Anels House. I know Isolina better.”
“She’s my mother’s older sister. Are you from Tiles?”
“No, but my husband’s family is. Jonas and I decided to move here about ten years ago. We wanted our children to grow up in the country.”
Brianda remembered an article she’d read. It talked about people who, faced with unemployment, pollution, stress, an
d bureaucracy, had gone in search of an idealized rural life, of the harmony and solidarity of small villages, of a physical and spiritual connection between man and nature. She also remembered thinking they were lunatics. She couldn’t understand how anyone could give up the comforts of city life for ramshackle, frigid houses, or who preferred to grow their own vegetables when modern grocery stores existed. She’d forwarded the article to her mother and, after reading it, Laura had declared that the only people who could really make it in the country were those who already knew how tough it was. She wondered if Neli regretted her decision.
“So you’re—what do the media call it? Neo-rurals?”
Neli laughed happily.
“Ah, labels! Neo-rural, hippie, beatnik, alternative, neo-artisan, neo-peasant, bohemian. I don’t identify with any labels.” Her voice took on a mysterious tone. “Well, at least not any of those.” She pointed ahead. “We’re nearly there!”
Brianda guided the car around three more tight turns, veering between the rock face on the right and the deep chasm on the left and, suddenly, a vast plain opened before her, rolling all the way to the base of Beles Peak, which rose like a mountain in a child’s drawing: gigantic, solitary, regal.
“Take the road to the right,” said Neli. “It goes to the lower part of Tiles, where I live. The other goes to the high part, where you’re going.”
They passed plowed fields and meadows dotted with cows, sheep, and brownish-gray stone buildings with slate or tile roofs. Bit by bit, the density increased until, past a small gas station with a sign for a hotel and restaurant, houses lined both sides of a narrow street. The street led to a square with a Romanesque church, its tower crowned by a four-sided, pointed roof.
Brianda parked and got out of the car. An unexpected gust of cold air hit her like a slap on the face. She quickly pulled on a jacket and rubbed her arms vigorously. She had a momentary sensation of regressing to an undefined past, but the idyllic images of her childhood clashed with the run-down buildings and the intense smell of livestock and mud. What she saw was pretty, but it was too solitary and oppressively dull.