“Who was she?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen her around here before.”
Javi turned around and faced Toño, thinking that that girl could well be the same person who had called his mother. At the end of the day, it was not a regular occurrence that a woman would be asking for him, and as such two in a few hours was something exceptional. Clearly this meant that the subject was not as cut and dried as it had seemed. At least, not as much as he had wanted to believe.
“Didn’t she tell you her name, or what she knew of me?” he asked.
“No. But I don’t think that you know her.”
Javi made a gesture of not understanding what he was telling him.
“She asked me about you, giving me your name and two surnames,” Toño clarified. “I already knew that it was you, but I told her that around here there are many people with that name, and I don’t know my clients’ surnames. Then she opened her bag and took out a photo. But one from a while ago, I’m sure of that, because your hair was shorter and...”
The waiter hesitated for a moment.
“And...?”
“...And you seemed rather slimmer,” Toño ended up saying, trying to avoid being discourteous.
Javi looked down, pensive. He then took a long drag from his cigarette and looked back up again to ask:
“A lot thinner?”
“Just enough to be noticeable.” A diplomatic confirmation.
Toño continued to look at him, afraid that his comment might have upset him. At the end of the day, Javi was a customer. A customer who was now, once more, staring distractedly at the pavement, although it was not the comment on his weight that was worrying him:
“I don’t know who it could be. It’s been almost four years since I last had short hair,” reasoned Javi, out loud.
“She also asked me at what time you usually come, and if you had already set off for Lugo. I answered, saying that I didn’t know that, because I really didn’t,” he wanted to explain. “And even if I had known, I wouldn’t have said.”
“How long ago was she here?”
“Well, just over an hour ago,” replied Toño, after consulting his watch.
“So it could be that as you didn’t tell her, that was when she decided to call my mother,” deduced Javi.
“She’s also called your mother?” asked the waiter, perplexed.
“She’s just told me that a woman called the house asking for me, but I don’t know if it’s the same person. What did she look like?”
“Very attractive, and very friendly. When she spoke, her voice didn’t grate. One of those people who it’s extremely pleasant to listen to,” he concluded.
Javi arched his eyebrows. It is possible that, up until that moment, he never imagined that that was a characteristic that could define a human being. For him, talking had simply been that: talking. And if somebody you were talking to wanted to listen to you, well, that could only be a good thing.
Toño continued with his story:
“And she was also very attractive,” he repeated, “but not the sort that would turn your head if you saw her in the street, no, but one of those who, when you sit in front of her, you look at her and say to yourself; ‘she’s a really attractive girl’.
“And was she blonde, dark-haired...?”
“Dark,” he answered avidly, raising his voice a little. “Straight hair, down to her shoulders, woollen jumper, jeans, your height, more or less. No exaggerated curves, but pretty ones. And flat boots, no heel.” A waiter’s capacity for observation is something that should never be underestimated. “I would also bet that she was a little older than you, but not much. Probably my age.”
“And you say that she asked for me?” commented Javi, nonplussed, as if he was unable to comprehend that a girl like that could have any interest in him.
“Yes.”
Toño felt the desire to say that he couldn’t understand why the woman with whom he had been speaking could have been looking for him. Although he then thought that perhaps this young man, with an uncared-for appearance and childish mentality had been an interesting adolescent. After all, in the photo not only was he slimmer, but also much more put-together.
The two men put out their cigarettes at the same time, and went back into the café. Javi still hadn’t sat down properly when a message tone came from his mobile. He did not know the number. He opened it: ‘Hello handsome. R u really going off 2 Lugo whilst I’m in the city?’
“She’s just sent me a message,” he told Toño, caught halfway between euphoria and surprise, and with a tremendous naivety.
“Do you know who she is now?”
Javi shook his head as he wrote: ‘Who r u?’ The response was immediate: ‘An old friend.’ He insisted: ‘But, who?’ She replied once more: ‘I was in La Factoría, but I didn’t c u. Have just arrived in the city. Do u fancy meeting 4 coffee 2nite? Besides, you’ll b able 2 find out who I am.’
He showed the last message to Toño with such an expression of surprise that, in seeing the young man’s effervescent hope, he decided to give him more details:
“She came alone, and ordered a Coca-Cola. She took no more than ten minutes to drink it, and then she asked me about you as she paid. Before leaving, she spent a while on the computers, on that one over in the corner,” explained Toño, as he pointed to one of the public computers he had in his café. “If you know how to find out the browsing history, perhaps that might be able to help you.”
Javi’s IT skills did indeed reach that level. He took a breath and put a five euro note down onto the bar counter.
“Charge me for the coffee and give me the change.”
He took his change and went up to the computer in the corner. He then dropped one of the coins into the little box and quickly searched through the most recently visited websites. As soon as he had them up in front of him, he saw that all of the web addresses were for small ads. He thought he must definitely be on the right track, but he wanted to be sure:
“Who sat here after her?” he called out from the corner.
“Nobody.”
He couldn’t argue with nobody; this must have been her then. Javi looked back at the computer, copied one of the addresses, and pasted it into the search-bar in the section ‘Erotic/professional Services’. He checked the telephone contact number: it was identical to that of the person who had sent him the message. Then the text: ‘Submissive Spanish girl, petite, young, and very attractive. Will carry out any services and perversions you desire. This week only.’
Javi furrowed his brow, thoughtful. Does that mean that the person he was looking for was a prostitute? Now he really was confused. Why was a prostitute going to be looking for him if he had never been with one, he wondered. Could it be that his friends who today, coincidentally, were nowhere around, had hired one and not tipped off Toño? Because one thing was sure: Toño didn’t know anything about it, because if he had, he would not have mentioned the computer. That was certain.
He grabbed his bag, said goodbye, and went to the door. As he left, he dialled a number into his phone.
“Mum, I won’t be leaving until Wednesday. I’m going to be staying here another two nights to study, alright?”
Then he sent a message: ‘10pm @ Borea?’ He was determined to get to the bottom of this: of who this mysterious woman was, and what she was offering. More determined than he had ever been with a girl ever before.
Message received: ‘I’ll be there. Kisses.’
6
At ten o’clock that night, whilst he walked over the emblematic Puente Nuevo over the river Miño, Javi felt confident of having completed the basic preparations that every gentleman ought to carry out before presenting himself for a date. He had showered again, changed his clothes several times in front of the small mirror in his bathroom, and he had shaved for the first time in two weeks. He had even, for extra credit points, combed through the contents of his ancient rucksack to find, nestled at the back, a small bottl
e of cologne. It had been a gift from his mother just over a month ago, for his last birthday. Without a doubt, an occasion like this merited the honour of its grand debut, he had thought.
Only a few minutes later, he had arrived at Curros Enríquez, which meant that as soon as he crossed Sáenz Díez street, he would be arriving at the café. He looked at his watch for a moment to reassure himself that he was arriving a little late. A premeditated detail, as he thought that this way, he would not have time to entertain the possibility of returning back home before she arrived.
However, upon stepping up onto the little step at the entrance, he could not avoid feeling a strong sensation of butterflies in his stomach, but it was too late now to turn back. He opened the door, entered discreetly, and approached the bar as he cast a quick glance over all of the tables, without resting his gaze on a single one. As if to make it look by chance, but sufficient to get a list of all of the customers: on the first table, a lovey-dovey looking couple, a group of five friends on the third, and a dark-haired girl on the sixth. The rest of the tables were empty. At the bar, he saw another dark-haired girl sitting on a barstool, and a man of around fifty or so who was standing reading a newspaper some two metres away from the girl. He remembered Toño’s description, and examined her, this time no longer attempting to be crafty. No: her chest was too big.
Apart from the waiter, who was standing in front of Javi, nobody seemed to have noticed his arrival, but he deduced that, inevitably, his mysterious friend would have to be the girl sitting at the table at the back. There was no other option.
“What can I get for you?” said the waiter, faced with the apparent indifference of his customer.
Good question, thought Javi. He decided to turn slightly so as to spy what his future companion was drinking: from what he could see, it was a Coca-Cola. Neat, or mixed with something? Javi only took a moment to weigh up the situation, and then he turned back round to the waiter:
“Coca-Cola with rum. I’ll be sitting over there,” he said, pointing towards the back, “at the table where the dark-haired girl is sitting.”
“Any rum in particular?”
“No, just any,” he answered, already on his way to the table.
He was not even halfway there when the girl looked straight up at him, at the same time a wide smile appeared on her face, by means of a greeting. On Javi’s part, he had spent the entire afternoon rehearsing how to present himself at that moment, including many, and, for the most part, ridiculous opening remarks that a man can think of as ideal for situations like this. Although, in the end, he only managed to say:
“Who are you?”
“Hello,” the girl’s smile was now even more visible, “I’ve already told you. I’m an old friend.”
“But, I don’t remember you. Should I recognise you?”
“You’re not going to sit down...?” she asked, trying to ease the tension.
Javi sat down, as the waiter brought his drink. As soon as he had gone, the tension that was taking over the young man returned to guide the conversation:
“I know that you were in La Factoría, and I saw the computer that you were using,” he said, without any preamble. “The last person to use it had inserted a prostitution ad. And the waiter assured me that it was just you who had been sitting there that morning.”
The smile that had been constant up until that moment vanished suddenly from the girl’s face:
“It wasn’t mine.”
“I’m telling you because if this meeting is a trick to get clients, or rob me, I’m warning you now that I have no money, nor do I...”
“I am not a prostitute,” she interrupted. “I’m not, and never have been. Nor do I intend to be in the future,” she stressed, resolutely.
“Then why have you been looking for me? Why have you texted me?”
“I have already told you. I am an old friend.”
“But I don’t know who you are. I don’t even know your name.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, which seemed to last an eternity to Javi. Finally, the girl looked him in the eyes. It was one of those looks that seemed to penetrate into his very soul:
“Emma, my name is Emma.”
“Well I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you.”
“Perhaps not. We only saw each other once, a long time ago now, but that day you left an indelible impression on me. That is why I have been looking for you, and also why I am here today.”
“Where did we meet? And when?”
“It’s possible that you don’t recognise me because since then I have changed quite a bit. In fact, I have even been under the knife to have my face done. You know, female vanity.”
“Yes, I can imagine. But I still don’t remember how you looked before.”
“Worse on the day you met me, without a doubt.”
“Well then, you must have improved a lot in the time since then.”
Emma took this as a compliment, because basically it could not be anything else. But for her, in practice, it was also the perfect opportunity to steer the conversation away from a topic that she actually wouldn’t have minded continuing under other circumstances:
“And now, tell me: are you going to relax and show me around the city where we met, or are you going to continue interrogating me, just to find out something that you can be sure I will reveal to you before the night is over?”
She then lowered her head, along with her tone of voice:
“Perhaps I should not have called you,” she added, pretending to be offended.
“No, no. I’m glad that you texted me. Will you really tell me where we know each other from after?”
Emma nodded, at the same time that the smile on her face acquired a hint of the picaresque that was there to stay. Javi smiled too, for the first time that whole night.
Almost five hours later, Javi and Emma were walking along like two good friends through some of the narrow streets constituting the ancient zona de vinos area of Ourense. Five long hours, fuelled with alcohol served in half-empty local establishments, and of forced jokes and trivial conversations; of suggestive music at times, and less than mentionable male expectations throughout. Every affected smile that Emma let out produced a curious hypnotic effect in the young man. And the girl smiled a lot; there was no doubt about that. Javi was still none the wiser to what mysterious reason linked them together, but at this time of night, who cared, he wondered at that moment. Besides, he remembered that in the café she had told him that before the night was over he would find out how they knew each other, and he thought that a girl like Emma would never lie to him.
“Shall we go to the Corregidor?” suggested Javi, in his role as host.
“What’s that?” asked Emma.
“A pub,” he laughed. “I can tell you haven’t spent much time in Ourense.”
“No, it’s been a while since I was last here.”
Standing in front of the door to the small pub, Javi remembered that it was polite for a gentleman to stand aside for a lady, and so Emma walked in first. He also thought that it could be the appropriate moment to discreetly caress her back, and as such, he was not going to pass up the opportunity. The girl allowed him.
Once inside, Emma cast an attentive glance, examining the long and dark interior:
“Shall we go to the back? It’s very busy around here,” she said.
In spite of the fact that it was Monday, it was actually quite busy. A decent handful of young people were clustered within the first half of the room, where the waiter was serving drinks whilst they were loudly singing along to pop songs. Javi thought that Emma had the right idea.
“You carry on and I’ll order,” he managed to make himself heard over the music. “What would you like?”
“A water.” The third one of the night.
“You don’t drink much...”
Emma smiled again, and walked towards the back of the pub whilst he ordered at the bar. When Javi arrived with the drinks, Emma continued t
o inspect the area:
“Are these the toilets here?” she asked him, pointing to the two doors in front of them.
“Yes.”
Emma approached them, and seemed to hesitate over which one to go into. She opened the door to the men’s, glanced around, recoiled, and then went into the ladies’. She re-emerged only a few seconds later, much to the confusion and laughter of the young man:
“I only wanted to check something,” she explained, brushing Javi’s ear with her lips as she spoke.
“Check what? What the loos are like?”
Emma did not answer. She simply took a few steps forward and began to dance smoothly to the sound of the music. Javi watched her intently from behind; unafraid that she might consider his lecherous staring inappropriate. He then left his drink on the side next to him, and tied his hair up into a ponytail. When he turned his attention back to looking at the girl, she had already approached him, and was standing in front of him:
“I thought you would be more forward.”
He blanched; mainly due to how closely she was standing, rather than her particular words.
“It’s just that I don’t like to force things,” he said, trying to excuse himself.
“You don’t have to force anything, just allow it to happen.”
Javi understood. It was impossible not to, even for someone like him. The mysterious woman, from whom only a few minutes ago he had stolen a caress on her back, was now opening the doors of intimacy wide open. But this was a situation that he had not foreseen. The young man stuttered:
“I’m just going to the toilet for a moment. I would love to...”
“Would you like me to go with you?”
He didn’t know what to say. He simply focussed on not missing out on any details of what he was hearing.
“You boys never shake it off properly, and there’s always one last drop. It’s not pleasant.”
Javi was now even clearer on what it was he had understood before. He felt as if he was overwhelmed, yet he did not want to slow the momentum of the developing situation, he thought. Emma put her hand on his neck and whispered in his ear:
No Resurrection Page 3