0.37 | when and how and where |

0.37 | when and how and where |

"And would you look at that." Carlotta pointed to the wall clock with a bright smile. "It is time."

"What?" Sabah asked, confused.

"It is nine-thirty. Look outside, it's dark. I should close up and you should go home."

"What?" Sabah repeated.

Carlotta spoke slowly, "I should close up and you should go home."

"You can't possibly mean that," she groaned. "Not now. It's happening isn't it? What happens next? She comes back, right? Carlotta, Auburn comes back, right?"

But the older woman was already closing off the lights and when she replied it was in an offhand, disinterested manner, "Of course, of course."

"So, then?"

Carlotta disappeared in the kitchen and Sabah stared after her. She picked up her slingbag and ran up. "Wait up!"

Carlotta was rummaging in some drawers but she looked up with a sigh when Sabah came in. "The story is nearly over. There's a not left to tell."

"Then tell it to me."

She looked at the younger woman whose face was flushed, whose fingers were clutching her beat-up tape recorder, whose lower lip was quivering, whose eyes betrayed shock and betrayal. "We can discuss it tomorrow."

"No, we can't," Sabah said. "You know we can't. You know I'm going back tomorrow."

"Well, it is a pity, then."

"We discussed this. I bought the ticket in front of you. My course got over two days ago and I have stayed back because you promised me. You-you promised. You can't just leave it off here. You can't. Please. You know how much it means to me."

"I have had a very long, tiring day, not to mention that I used up every little break to tell you a story that I had no intention of telling you. Don't get me wrong, I like you and I have enjoyed this but tonight, I am tired." She did look tired. Her face was lined with fatigue and the hooded eyes were unnaturally bright.

Sabah shrank back before all of this. "I am sorry. That was really thoughtless of me." She gave a small laugh as if to smooth things over. "Tell you what, my flight is at noon and I suppose I can make it to the airport if I leave here around ten-thirty. So, you catch some sleep, get some rest and I'll drop by with breakfast."

"Sounds good." She smiled. "See you tomorrow."

"I'll be here. I'll be here at the crack of dawn so better go sleep right away."

"Yes, yes, I know how enthusiastic you can be. Go now." She laughed, waving a dishcloth.

Outside the air seemed cool on Sabah's warm cheeks and she was surprised to find herself trembling, as if she had just realized that she survived something, something dangerous. She shook her head, wondering at her thoughts and pulling her jacket close, walked quickly.

She went back to the hostel she was staying at. Her roommate had already left and the room looked bare except for her already packed suitcase. When she finally lay down on the bed, she found she wasn't sleepy at all. She looked at the ceiling and it was as if she was looking back to the three weeks she had spent in Madrid. It felt like so much more than that already and yet it felt like it had gone too quickly.

Spanish literature. Mendoza. Rojas. Cervantes. Espronceda. De Castro. So so many and she had studied the tip of the iceberg and now she was going back, to study other tips of other icebergs. That was how it was with literature. It drew you in and showed you how shallow lakes were actually the gateways to molten seas.

And Lorca. Oh God, Lorca. How did he say it was? She almost whispered to herself in the dark,

"Green wind. Green branches.

The ship out on the sea

and the horse on the mountain.

With the shadow at the waist

she dreams on her balcony,

green flesh, green hair,

with eyes of cold silver."

Her eyes were closing and yet she couldn't sleep. So much was going on her mind. Coffee, dizzying smell of cups of steaming coffee, papers, old books, old libraries with new shelves, smiles, bright teeth, bright eyes, people she had built up and those who had built her up, tape recorders, bells-no, wind chimes, scraping chairs, coffee, breads, the smell of yeast, laughter, poetry, hard chairs with straight backs, lit up classrooms, green hair, silver eyes, brown eyes, blue eyes-no, not quite blue but something like it, blonde hair, brown hair, raven eyes, cold skin, warm breath, balconies, mermaids and ships out on the sea, lighthouses-no, balconies, low railings and looking down she felt dizzy and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Around seven next morning, Sabah was getting out of a taxi at the coffee shop, one hand clutching a paperbag which contained donuts and the other pulling her suitcase.

When the wind chimes tinkled at her arrival, she realized that this might be the last time in a long while that she would be hearing that exact tone in this exact setting. She was going to miss this.

"Buenos días, Carlotta," she announced excitedly.

"Ah, Sabah, my dear, I am sorry to say it is a busy morning!"

Sabah frowned but handed her the paperbag good-naturedly. "It is?" She looked around the empty shop.

"Yes, I've had five customers already. I can feel it's going to be a busy day."

"I hope you can fit me in. After all, I do leave at ten-thirty."

"There's a lot of traffic today. I heard it from one of the regulars. Better leave at ten or even earlier just to be sure," Carlotta said, handing her a mug of coffee.

"Okay, sure. Thanks," Sabah replied. "Soo, are you going to tell me?"

"What? Oh about them? I told you there is not much to tell and I have to try this new orange recipe I have been meaning to. Could you peel the oranges while I heat up these donuts? They are already cold."

"Uh-okay," Sabah said, picking up the batch of oranges.

An hour later, they were finishing the recipe and she was no closer to the ending she had been waiting for. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had built up a connection between her visit and the story Carlotta was telling her so that she had been nearly sure than the end of her stay here would coincide with the hopefully happy ending of Auburn and Anthony's story. Yes, she every well knew it wasn't just a story. These were actual people out there with certain lives and jobs but after all, people are stories. And so, believing in a kind of literary magic she had naively thought that today was going to be the day.

The day she would find out everything and so much had been banking on this. Every problem of her life had been given a backseat for this story and she had thought that when this trip would end and she would go back to her problems, this story of two people she had never even met would be her solution to everything. And here, she was standing within inches of the conclusion and being denied it, so cruelly.

"How bad is it?" she finally asked in a low voice.

Carlotta raised her eyebrows, "It is delicious. Try some."

She didn't take the bowl but instead looked at Carlotta pointedly. "I'm not talking about the recipe. You know that. What is up? What can be so bad that you're not telling me?"

Of course, some annoying customer had to come just then and Carlotta had to leave with a hurried, "Just a second."

For once, Sabah could not be patient. She had reached her limit. She could find something interesting in the kitchen with its polished counters and wooden nooks and crannies, not with her blood thundering in her ears. She waited, foot tapping incessantly. She had forgotten the tape recorder in her bag. She had forgotten her suitcase in the dining area. Today, she was forgetting everything.

She finally sat down on a stool and told herself to calm down. Taking out her notebook she wrote with trembling hands, She has not told me anything. Something terrible has happened and I can feel it. She doesn't want me here. She is pushing me away with a smile, letting me know it's time to go and let go. I am not sure I can. Can I? Should I? What do these questions mean in the face of a ticking clock and a ticket? What if I am leaving not at the end but in the middle of the story? What if-

Carlotta bustled into the kitchen. "Sorry, jumpy early morning crowd. Should we try another recipe?"

"Just tell me, please?"

The older woman took a sharp breath and nodded, stepping back towards the counters. "Why? Why do you want to know so much? Oh I know you're writing your novel but surely you can write your own ending? Surely you already know how to end it? Can't you just be satisfied with that?"

"This is not about my novel. I don't even know if I'll ever be able to finish it. I never finish things that I start. It-it's my folly and I am aware of it so don't you say I am only here for the novel-a novel which might never even exist. I'm here for-" How could she explain that? For you, for Auburn, for Anthony, for me, and all of my scattered ideas and hopes and dreams, for something meaningful, for something magical, for a chance at this, for the story-yes, always for the story, not for the novel, not for the writing, but ultimately for the story.

"Fine." Carlotta sounded irritated. "Fine, you want to know it? Nothing happened. Auburn came back. They stopped talking after a day in each other's presence and Anthony left and she waited for him for a few days. Then, they went to ignoring each other. We fought all of us and that's it. I could do nothing."

Sabah opened her mouth and then closed it. "You're lying."

"No, I am not and you know it too. I mean, seriously, if it was that rosy and happy, where are they? You've been coming here for more than a week and have you met them? These people who should be so close to me, who should be here right now, if we were so perfect, then where are they? You have just come here and made it worse."

"I-I-"

"Just leave. You're going, right? Go away."

"Carlotta, please, I am-"

"I'm sorry," she said, suddenly realizing how high her voice had become. "I'm sorry, Sabah. I-you're going and we're parting like this. I didn't want your last memory of me to be so awful. Come here."

Before Sabah could move, Carlotta rushed to her and hugged her. "You be good and write lots of poems and novels or whatever it is you want to do. Goodbye now, or you will be late."

"You're sad and-"

"Of course, I am sad, foolish girl. I'm going to miss you."

"No, not about me," Sabah corrected. "You're sad about them. Listen to me, you can-"

"For God's sake, leave. Please, go." Carlotta stepped back.

Sabah blinked and seeing the hard look behind the mismatched smile on the other's face, she nodded and mumbling a goodbye, ran out.

***

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