And This Is Your Opinion Of Me? Chapter 2
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
mas solamente aquella
fuerza de tu beldad seria cantada
y alguna vez con ella
también seria notada
el aspereza de que estás armada.
but merely the
force of your beauty would be sung
and at times with it
would also be remarked
the harshness with which you are armed.
Garcilaso de la Vega, Ode ad florem Gnidi
"No kidding," Carla said, carefully sipping her herbal tea. "She said 'We don't have that size, didn't even know it existed.' As if no-one could have possibly thought about people like me when designing clothes."
"Skinny skank," I chorused. Only it was a sad, one-person chorus, because Xavi Jardiner, our other best friend, used to do the skinny skank chorus with me. Only he met this Irish Erasmus girl and he is now doing his own Erasmus in Dublin, with her. We were happy to see him happy, but it wasn't the same without him.
I'd like to note that, while Carla can't be said to be skinny (of which my mom loves to remind her), she is not actually overweight. I have in fact liked more curvy girls. She has liked them, too. It's only designers and shop clerks she has to fight against. And homophobes, but that's another story.
So we were there, bonding in the depths of despair thanks to Xavi not being there, when she went: "Is that Dreamboy talking to your sister?"
I turned around in my chair. The cafeteria is rather big and long, seeing as the student population spends more time in there than attending their lessons. It's usually full, noisy and smells strongly of cigarrettes. There is a non-smoking policy inside the campus buildings, but our cafeteria is full of 'rebels' who won't be ordered around because they have 'rights', or so they say, and people smokes in here anyway. Especially when it's cold outside.
By 'rebels' I mean spoiled kids who speak about anarchism, and by 'rights' I mean they think they can do whatever they wish, and that it makes them so cool.
Yeah, OK. Through the smoke I could clearly see Julia coming in with a tall guy and a long-haired girl.
"Yeah. That's Charlie. And the other girl is Bitter Bitch."
"No kidding?"
I turned to her and went back to stirring my coffee to a drinkable temperature. "No kidding."
"She's hotttt." She still hadn't taken her eyes off them, and actually raised an arm and waved at Julia.
"Yeah, and in Renaissance Poetry too."
"I should've taken that class," she said, now looking at me with her trademark catty smirk. "It's so rare seeing you uncomfortable."
I swear beneath it all she's a very caring girl. But she hadn't finished yet.
"Just look at her boots." She was staring again, her chin on her hand, smiling slightly in welcome. "Classical bitch attire."
I had noticed the boots on Monday, before class, and I don't normally think much of what a girl is wearing. Fine, I admit I'll remember a particularly revealing or fitting outfit, but the interest would lay in what was revealed, not the clothes themselves. Still, the boots were one item to remember. It wasn't about the boots themselves (black, knee high, stiletto heels), although I did wonder how could she walk on them.
I tried walking with heels once, for a theater rehearsal -details of which I can't reveal. I can say I ended up with a sprained ankle, and my heels weren't half as unstable-looking as the heels on those boots.
It was all about how she walked in them and the noise she made when walking. It was way hotttt, as Carla would put it. Matched the glare and all.
As we smiled knowingly to each other, I heard the tell-tale clicking sounds and turned around. Sure, they were close enough that Julia could smile secretly at me and she could glare at me.
"Hey man. Remember my friend Isabel from the pub?" Charlie greeted me with a clap on the back and a slight look of concern. I didn't want him to worry about me starting open warfare with Isabel, so I smiled at them.
"You could say we've met. Why don't you all sit down with us? This is my friend Carla." Julia was already sliding into the seat by my side, and Charlie sat opposite her. That left Isabel sitting next to him, as far from me as possible. I hadn't planned on excluding her from conversation, really. But soon after I asked Charlie how were they doing and did they come by train from the city, she just took a book out of her purse and ignored us all.
Yeah. Didn't even say hi. The relations between Madrid and Barcelona do need some improving, you know, and she wasn't helping. People here say they're proud in Madrid, and she seemed to have been through intense pride training for years. She was an open book, a book that begun in big bold letters and read: "I am better than this. I'll prove it by stoically ignoring all minor inconviniences, including you. Now stop reading." I know it would take me hours of mirror practice to get the hang of it.
I didn't even know if she was listening. I can usually tell, in public places and public transport especially, because I'll be talking to someone I know and the stranger sitting next to me will try to look as if he isn't eavesdropping. Until me or my buddy say something funny and they snigger, snort, bit their lips and/or cough. Carla and I play "entertain the audience" in the bus when we are bored. You should try it, too. Bring a smile to your neighbour's lips. It's for the public good!
We weren't playing "entertain Isabel", though. I just thought she was really intent in her book and after a while I stopped paying her any attention at all. Until Cristian and Dídac showed up, having skipped all their classes. After highfiving everyone -it's a weird thing they do, don't ask me - they sat down by Julia and started talking between them.
Their conversation, I don't mind admitting, even if Dídac is my cousin, is generally on very stupid things. Such as pot, girls, booze, hair gel, cars, girls, having sex with girls and how the world is going to be overruled by them/a bitch (this last one depends on their having hangovers/pot).
Only then did she show any signs of life. After only ten minutes, I saw her raise slightly her head to look at them archly over her pretty reading glasses. It was a glare of such force it could have silenced a horde of raving cockatoos. It did stop me mid-sentence, and she wasn't even looking at me. But Julia was there to take over, so it was alright.
The amazing thing is her Glare of Frozen Hell didn't even work on Dídac and Cristian. When Dídac noticed he kind of stared at her chest and said something to her I unfortunately couldn't hear. It had to be priceless. I think he flirted with her, since he is generally silly and more so in front of girls. He is possibly the biggest jerk I have ever encountered, but he has the kind of self-centered foolishness that sometimes makes people heroic. I have great fun at his expense, when he doesn't give me a headache.
She did this utterly disdainful toss of her head and went back to reading.
I swear, had any girl dismissed me like that -the daintiness of the gesture made it even stronger -I'd back off and go cry in a corner. Dídac? He stood his ground and tried to look unmoved. He went so far as to ignore her and keep talking to Cristian, which irritated her to no end… which made me secretly snicker at both of them.
***
From: Izzy Díaz
To: Jorge Díaz
Subject: re: doing okay
Hey J!
That's good news! I'm so so happy you are doing good. You do sound better. And you should definitely expect me in two weeks. Dad wanted to come. We made him see you and I are actually closer, without telling him you had specifically asked for me. I'm not doing it again.
You know you'll have to face him soon, right?
And, oh, Grandad IS smoking again. I can tell because his voice sounds rough, but he won’t admit it to me. Talk to him. Blackmail him emotionally. It’s for his own good.
By the way, I think it quite unfair that you insist I have to write these lenghty reports on my daily life in Barcelona. I never get more than a hundred words from you. Still, if it makes you happy, here we go.
The actual campus is not bad, although most of the buildings are incredibly gray, lots of concrete, strange-shaped, you know. Possibly won many architectural awards when built. The library is fine, though: square building in red brick. Classic. They should really have more antique books.
There are cats, too. The kind that run off to hide if they spot you watching. Someone must leave them food, because some of them are quite fat. You would like them. There are also at least five different species of birds. In Barcelona I have only seen lots gray pigeons and the occasional sparrow.
And Charlie says that Julia says the grass will be full of people when the weather improves. Apparently then they skip classes or stay after lunch to sit under the trees, maybe someone brings a soccer ball or a guitar. It sounds bucolic, doesn't it, very eclogues of Garcilaso- except I don't think they actually cry and complain about Fate. I want to see it, anyway. Maybe next week, since I heard David say today there will hopefully be a warm spell. So far it's been sunny and windy. Still quite cold, but not as much as Madrid or (Charlie says) Firenze.
You were right, though. I was too quick to judge David. I can't agree with Caroline, who came yesterday to the campus only to see him. I mean, she clearly needs a hobby. Or a boyfriend. What does she mean, by coming all this way only to flirt with him? She said she wanted to check the prices in the travel agency, since they are apparently quite low. I'm not buying it, are you?
Not that he is paying her much attention. He is, if not handsome, very sensible. I haven't gathered enough courage to speak to him yet, but I know. I listen in on his conversations.
It does sound creepy when written down. It's not, it's just silly. I don't have friends here except for C, and we don't go to class together in the morning. Each professor is always at least ten minutes late, I guess to give us time to rest and talk between classes. I don't feel like talking to anyone, so I just stand there and listen to people. Tuning David is at least interesting, if he isn't speaking Catalan.
He knows I'm listening, but hasn't said anything to me so far. On Wednesday he was entertaining (flirting with) this Polish girl and kept looking at me to see if I laughed at his jokes -and proved to be listening, I guess. He seemed playful, so I'll take my chance and talk to him this evening -C has invited him, his sister and their roomates to watch some Champions League game.
And, before you start thinking too much of this: No, I do not like him that way. I’m done with charmers. I just need someone intelligent to talk to.
I do like Julia, though. She has been to the cinema with us, and will take us to some museum this weekend. And she doesn’t laugh at Charlie. She really is kind, and C just falls more and more in love each day they talk. I now actually hope it can work out, although I can’t see how could she like him back. Not that I don’t think him worthy of love, you know. It’s only he is not himself with her. He is a stammering, foolish Charlie. Caro says it’s cute. It makes me embarrased.
I will now go and try to conquer the bathroom. Caro has been in there for hours.
One big hug, OOOOO
Isabel
***
Their flat was even more expensive-looking than I had expected. I had thought the foreign trio -Madrid is sometimes foreign enough for me -had money, probably lots. It wasn’t only because of their clothes. You know, casual expensive clothes. Shorts and shirts with names of Italian people on them, such as Giorgio Armani, Ermenegildo Zegna, Genaro Gattuso.
OK, that last one was a joke. Soccer joke.
Never mind, go ahead.
They had the air of people who don’t have a worry about their future, because they will have all they want no matter what they do. Charlie had dropped out of Marketing after three years (that is, one year short of finishing) and was now studying History of Art. Caroline was taking a year off everything, “to, you know, live new experiences”. I do not know, nor do I want to, what kind of experiences was she talking about. And Isabel was studying Spanish Literature and did not doubt she would be teaching at some prestigious university in ten years.
Yeah. And I want to be a highschool teacher.
Back to the story: Charlie greeted us all, looking excited. I was quite endeared to him already. I mean, the guy has three favourite soccer teams, because he acquires a new one everytime he changes countries. Liverpool because he went to a posh private British school, Real Madrid because the school happened to be in Madrid -his dad is a diplomat or something -and Milan because he has lived there, too, when studying Marketing. Now he says he’s thinking about also supporting Barça, although I have told him you can’t support both Madrid and Barcelona. It’s morally wrong.
His sister and Isabel were in the kitchen, filling bowls with chips and checking that the beer was cold enough. Imported beer, no less. As soon as she saw me, Caroline took my arm in a very confident fashion that didn’t annoy me but was quite perplexing.
“Sorry about the state of the flat, Day-vid,” she said, pursing her lips. She insisted on pronouncing my name in English. All of her spoken Spanish sounded patronizing, as if she was speaking English but using Spanish words all the time so we mortals could understand her. “Charlie and Izzy said they wanted the real Erasmus experience and refused to hire help. Can you imagine?”
Yeah, right, I could imagine they were rich enough to think having to clean the toilet makes things more real, instead of simply more messy. Your typical Erasmus experience does NOT take place in a nice appartment -with a terrace, by the way -but in a crammed one without enough sunlight and an amazingly small and dirty kitchen… and too many excentric roomates.
“Dah-veed, it’s Dah-veed,” I told her. It must have been the fifth time since we had met. “The flat’s good, don’t worry.”
It was. I mean, she hadn’t seen our bathroom. It’s been a long time since I gave up and started using the girls’ until it was Mario’s turn to clean again.
Their flat was fashionable. It was also centric, off-white, with fake Picassos on the walls and a terrace full of potted plants. Not only did they have all satellite channels, they had a huge TV set to match and a rug so comfortable I ended up sitting there instead of on the designer couch. Even the bathroom was large. And clean.
Anyway, we were there to watch Liverpool vs Porto, so we sat in front of said huge TV. Liverpool was my second favorite team, since I could see the English Premier League for free every weekend but watching Barça’s games on public television was becoming harder. So Charlie and I were actually excited about the outcome. He even took out a Liverpool flag to pin on the back of the couch. To the rest, I guess it was an excuse to socialize.
He had invited Julia and me, and all of our roomates. Mario was going to arrive a bit late, since he came from his guitar practice, but Dídac and Cristian were already sprawled on the comfortable rug. Julia sat with Charlie on the couch.
I’m guessing you don’t care much for the game. It was good, with the proper amout of anguish and anticipation, but in case you don't like soccer I'll only say that Torres and Mascherano were awesome. And...
Yes, fine, I'll refrain from commenting further. Won't even say who scored or anything.
The girls didn’t care much. In fact, they looked quite bored with the game. The only reaction we got from them was when Porto failed a penalty and we all jumped up all “YEAH!”. Charlie accidentally kicked Mario’s beer bottle -which was empty -and won a scathing Isabel look.
Carla had engaged Caroline in conversation and was secretly laughing at her, I could see. Isabel was on the couch, just behind me, so I have no idea what was she doing. I think she had a book. And Julia looked happy to let Charlie tell her about everything he could think of, game-related or not.
Now, there are two main ways of getting laid in Spain. It probably works the same in more european countries, but I’ve never tried to hit on anyone when traveling.
OK, so this is interesting and soccer is not, huh? Caught you.
Way one is the universal one-night stand, and you’ll have to ask Dídac to know more about that. He’s quite the expert. I have woken up lots of times to find a half-dressed girl standing in the corridor, gawking in horror at the incredibly dirty bathroom.
The other way is to get a girlfriend. You first meet a girl you like, or like a girl you know. But you don’t ask her on a date straight away. No, because dates are serious. You first try to know her better in the safety of numbers. That is, when your friends meet hers, or stopping by her desk to ask about her day, or ‘casually’ going to the same parties.
You can flirt shamelessly or not flirt at all, you can try to be her friend or play hard-to-get, don’t ask me because I haven’t worked out yet which one works best. But if you ever think she might like you back, then you make your move. If you have the guts, that is. If you are lucky, she will be your girl and no-one else’s -and you’ll be similarly expected not to chase after anyone else, no matter how serious or how mild the relationship might be.
I once knew an American girl who went around saying she had four boyfriends. I told her people looked oddly at her because they thought she was seriously dating all four of them. Anyway, seeing four people doesn’t reflect well on your character in Spain. Especially if you are a girl.
Of course this is slowly changing, with girls making bold moves to get their guy, people agreeing to be friends with benefits and people dating through the internet. But you get my point: Straight-forward equals one-night stand. Taking your time and doing it the hard way equals serious dating.
And Charlie was definitely taking his time. He wasn’t even flirting -he didn’t need to, because it was pretty obvious to everyone that he was into her. Julia insisted he was only being nice and tried not to give away how ecstatic she was about his attentions. But I know her well, and that was simply her way to face deep feelings.
We didn’t move after the game ended. Caroline switched channels and we kind of stood there hanging around. Mario was too shy to do anything, Cristian and Dídac were very comfortable on the rug, having stolen the chip bowl, and the rest of us didn’t want to disturb the lovebirds.
I was talking to Carla when I noticed Isabel was listening in. Don’t know why, though, because I don’t think she actually understood Catalan.
OK, in case you don’t know, Catalan is a Romance language. It is official in, let’s say, the north-east of Spain, including places you might now such as Barcelona, Lloret de Mar, Majorca, Valencia or Andorra. There’s an incredibly detailed article in Wikipedia, if you are interested. I’ll just say Barcelona is the capital of Catalonia, one of the territories in which Catalan is official. That means school is mostly in Catalan, and there’s TV channels, music, radio, literature, free courses, and millions of Catalan-speakers. We can all speak Spanish, too, and it is in fact the most used of the two languages. In Barcelona people just speaks whatever they like. It’s not uncommon to have a conversation in both languages, in fact-
I do get side-tracked, don’t I?
Anyway, I was peeved at how she kept eaves-dropping on my conversations with others but not saying anything at all. I mean, she just stood there, looking interested. So, to Carla’s delight, I switched to Spanish and went:
“So, Isabel, what did you think of the explanation of Catalan and Catalonia I gave to the Polish girl before Renaissance Poetry?”
There is a certain danger in talking about this with people whose political ideas you don’t know, especially if they aren’t local. Let’s just say Catalonia and Spain are nowadays married, but they have the kind of past you don’t want to bring up in polite conversation. Opinons range widely, from “Let’s enjoy cultural diversity!” to “I HATE fucking Catalans/Spaniards!” It is quite common in Europe, I guess. We have quite a mild case -no terrorists, after all. Don’t want you to think this is North Ireland 2.
It wasn’t kind of me, but I was actually hoping for a confrontation. I was quite disappointed, then, when she said, fingering her off the shoulder sweater:
“I think you are very proud of your heritage.”
OK. Not fight material, since I am very moderate myself. I still wanted her NOT to listen to my conversations with the Polish girl again, since it made me edgy and unable to flirt. So I pressed on: “Rightfully so, you think?”
She smiled at me. I guess it was a kind smile, but I found it patronizing. “I can’t help but think you probably overstate the quality and importance of Catalan literature.”
Yeah, I got what I wanted. And I felt deeply offended. I mean, I was majoring in both Catalan and Spanish literature. I had read it and studied it and was not going to let some foreigner -from Madrid, admittedly -tell me in not so many words that she thought Spanish literature was better. Because she clearly had no idea.
With a cold head I’ll always say they are both excellent, you know. I just happen to take it very personally, never mind which one of the cultures is being attacked. I am told it’s quite natural.
So, still smiling, I opened my mouth to ask what she had read, exactly -only to be distracted by Carla shoving Mario’s guitar at me.
“David, why don’t you play for us?”
Now, that was not meant to save Isabel from my wrath. Carla simply dislikes any form of discussion on ideologies, most af all those involving national identities and political use of languages.
“What? Why?”
“Oh please, David, you do play very sweetly,” pleaded Julia.
So, it was a plot. I protested, but clearly they would not let me argue with Isabel. Dídac had sat up, and Cristian went, as I checked the guitar was tuned:
”Play Como Camarón!” Yes, well, it is an old song but he likes it a lot. Mostly because I try to sing as angrily as Estopa and always end up laughing. Or coughing, and gasping for air. Everybody knows the song, anyway, so I complied. Cristian himself yelled with me each “¡Como Camarón!”. Caroline pursed her lips, probably thinking it was low-class. It was, it’s part of the charm. But Caroline’s disapproval made it even more entertaining.
After that, I lanched into Portaavions by Antònia Font. I chose it because I really like playing it, although it is not very popular. I was quite taken my an amateur videclip you can find in youtube if you mistype the title as “portavions”. Also, I figured I would play one Spanish song and one in Catalan.
But when I reached “Li falta una capa de mel” I could not stop myself and I looked over at Isabel. It was just so fitting. I do that often, in fact. Relating the song to someone around me, as a joke or a compliment. But it was a naughty, since she could not really understand the Catalan lyrics, and I didn’t actually mean to please her. Rather the contrary.
Carla noticed and started sniggering. It quite ruined my melancholy interpretation, but I guess my laughing with her made it look unoffending. And I of course hadn’t meant to offend her. Much. To my relief, she only furrowed her brow slightly at me and made no comment.
After that, and since I didn’t want to play in the first place, I just handed over the guitar to Mario. I mean, I really enjoy playing. But having everyone’s attention on me makes me self-conscious, because I know I don’t actually play well.
Mario does, but instead of choosing what people likes to hear, he keeps trying to play the most difficult solos he knows. Giving him a guitar when there’s people around is not the wisest move, because he bores them, but he is always so happy to have an audience. He just doesn’t know how to please. It’s a shame, ‘cause he really is proficient.
Only ten minutes after giving him the guitar, Caroline yawned and Julia jumped up, all decided and ready to leave.
But I refuse to consider myself responsible of depriving Charlie and her of each other’s company, because he managed to invite her out with them on Sunday.
***
From: Izzy Díaz
To: Jorge Díaz
Subject: re: re: re: doth protest too much
Hey!
OK, this is a quick note because I really need to finish some book for tomorrow. But Caroline just came into my room to tell me she has found the lyrics of the song I told you about. Remember? Now, I don’t know how she did it, because we had never heard the song, but apparently there’s no-one as resourceful and cunning as our little Caro with a laptop. It is a scary thought.
The song, as far as I can tell by the Catalan lyrics, is about a breakup or something similar. And the ‘hilarious’ bit is:
Li falta una capa de mel,
li falta una banda sonora
en aquesta mirada d’oliva i de gel.
I take it you do not need translation. I have to say I am confused. It is not vexing at all, is it? I mean, it seems kind of… playful? He was fooling around, I know, and I really don’t feel offended. It is hard to be angry with David, I’ve found.
Ah, yes, how would you translate it to English? Caro so wants to know the *exact* meaning. I am thinking:
It lacks a honey glaze,
it lacks a soundtrack,
this olive and ice gaze.
Except maybe it would work better as “it’s lacking”, or “it needs”. What do you think? I am quite content I worked out a rhyme. Yes, I am very bored. Or rather, I am procrastinating. My book is boring me to death.
Also, Caro is midly piqued because she thinks I’m competing with her. I only said David’s eyes are fine (they are) and she jumped to the conclusion I want to date him or something.
And the song thing doesn’t help, I guess, although I’m sure it wasn’t meant as a compliment.
Whatever.
She now keeps joking about what will it be like when David and I are married.
…¿?
I’m back to my book.
Love you!
Isabel
A/N: Thank you Vicky! That is, my beta for this. Thank you hlbr 's brother, too, for the football-watcher tip. ;)
Chapter 3
Chapter 2
mas solamente aquella
fuerza de tu beldad seria cantada
y alguna vez con ella
también seria notada
el aspereza de que estás armada.
but merely the
force of your beauty would be sung
and at times with it
would also be remarked
the harshness with which you are armed.
Garcilaso de la Vega, Ode ad florem Gnidi
"No kidding," Carla said, carefully sipping her herbal tea. "She said 'We don't have that size, didn't even know it existed.' As if no-one could have possibly thought about people like me when designing clothes."
"Skinny skank," I chorused. Only it was a sad, one-person chorus, because Xavi Jardiner, our other best friend, used to do the skinny skank chorus with me. Only he met this Irish Erasmus girl and he is now doing his own Erasmus in Dublin, with her. We were happy to see him happy, but it wasn't the same without him.
I'd like to note that, while Carla can't be said to be skinny (of which my mom loves to remind her), she is not actually overweight. I have in fact liked more curvy girls. She has liked them, too. It's only designers and shop clerks she has to fight against. And homophobes, but that's another story.
So we were there, bonding in the depths of despair thanks to Xavi not being there, when she went: "Is that Dreamboy talking to your sister?"
I turned around in my chair. The cafeteria is rather big and long, seeing as the student population spends more time in there than attending their lessons. It's usually full, noisy and smells strongly of cigarrettes. There is a non-smoking policy inside the campus buildings, but our cafeteria is full of 'rebels' who won't be ordered around because they have 'rights', or so they say, and people smokes in here anyway. Especially when it's cold outside.
By 'rebels' I mean spoiled kids who speak about anarchism, and by 'rights' I mean they think they can do whatever they wish, and that it makes them so cool.
Yeah, OK. Through the smoke I could clearly see Julia coming in with a tall guy and a long-haired girl.
"Yeah. That's Charlie. And the other girl is Bitter Bitch."
"No kidding?"
I turned to her and went back to stirring my coffee to a drinkable temperature. "No kidding."
"She's hotttt." She still hadn't taken her eyes off them, and actually raised an arm and waved at Julia.
"Yeah, and in Renaissance Poetry too."
"I should've taken that class," she said, now looking at me with her trademark catty smirk. "It's so rare seeing you uncomfortable."
I swear beneath it all she's a very caring girl. But she hadn't finished yet.
"Just look at her boots." She was staring again, her chin on her hand, smiling slightly in welcome. "Classical bitch attire."
I had noticed the boots on Monday, before class, and I don't normally think much of what a girl is wearing. Fine, I admit I'll remember a particularly revealing or fitting outfit, but the interest would lay in what was revealed, not the clothes themselves. Still, the boots were one item to remember. It wasn't about the boots themselves (black, knee high, stiletto heels), although I did wonder how could she walk on them.
I tried walking with heels once, for a theater rehearsal -details of which I can't reveal. I can say I ended up with a sprained ankle, and my heels weren't half as unstable-looking as the heels on those boots.
It was all about how she walked in them and the noise she made when walking. It was way hotttt, as Carla would put it. Matched the glare and all.
As we smiled knowingly to each other, I heard the tell-tale clicking sounds and turned around. Sure, they were close enough that Julia could smile secretly at me and she could glare at me.
"Hey man. Remember my friend Isabel from the pub?" Charlie greeted me with a clap on the back and a slight look of concern. I didn't want him to worry about me starting open warfare with Isabel, so I smiled at them.
"You could say we've met. Why don't you all sit down with us? This is my friend Carla." Julia was already sliding into the seat by my side, and Charlie sat opposite her. That left Isabel sitting next to him, as far from me as possible. I hadn't planned on excluding her from conversation, really. But soon after I asked Charlie how were they doing and did they come by train from the city, she just took a book out of her purse and ignored us all.
Yeah. Didn't even say hi. The relations between Madrid and Barcelona do need some improving, you know, and she wasn't helping. People here say they're proud in Madrid, and she seemed to have been through intense pride training for years. She was an open book, a book that begun in big bold letters and read: "I am better than this. I'll prove it by stoically ignoring all minor inconviniences, including you. Now stop reading." I know it would take me hours of mirror practice to get the hang of it.
I didn't even know if she was listening. I can usually tell, in public places and public transport especially, because I'll be talking to someone I know and the stranger sitting next to me will try to look as if he isn't eavesdropping. Until me or my buddy say something funny and they snigger, snort, bit their lips and/or cough. Carla and I play "entertain the audience" in the bus when we are bored. You should try it, too. Bring a smile to your neighbour's lips. It's for the public good!
We weren't playing "entertain Isabel", though. I just thought she was really intent in her book and after a while I stopped paying her any attention at all. Until Cristian and Dídac showed up, having skipped all their classes. After highfiving everyone -it's a weird thing they do, don't ask me - they sat down by Julia and started talking between them.
Their conversation, I don't mind admitting, even if Dídac is my cousin, is generally on very stupid things. Such as pot, girls, booze, hair gel, cars, girls, having sex with girls and how the world is going to be overruled by them/a bitch (this last one depends on their having hangovers/pot).
Only then did she show any signs of life. After only ten minutes, I saw her raise slightly her head to look at them archly over her pretty reading glasses. It was a glare of such force it could have silenced a horde of raving cockatoos. It did stop me mid-sentence, and she wasn't even looking at me. But Julia was there to take over, so it was alright.
The amazing thing is her Glare of Frozen Hell didn't even work on Dídac and Cristian. When Dídac noticed he kind of stared at her chest and said something to her I unfortunately couldn't hear. It had to be priceless. I think he flirted with her, since he is generally silly and more so in front of girls. He is possibly the biggest jerk I have ever encountered, but he has the kind of self-centered foolishness that sometimes makes people heroic. I have great fun at his expense, when he doesn't give me a headache.
She did this utterly disdainful toss of her head and went back to reading.
I swear, had any girl dismissed me like that -the daintiness of the gesture made it even stronger -I'd back off and go cry in a corner. Dídac? He stood his ground and tried to look unmoved. He went so far as to ignore her and keep talking to Cristian, which irritated her to no end… which made me secretly snicker at both of them.
***
From: Izzy Díaz
To: Jorge Díaz
Subject: re: doing okay
Hey J!
That's good news! I'm so so happy you are doing good. You do sound better. And you should definitely expect me in two weeks. Dad wanted to come. We made him see you and I are actually closer, without telling him you had specifically asked for me. I'm not doing it again.
You know you'll have to face him soon, right?
And, oh, Grandad IS smoking again. I can tell because his voice sounds rough, but he won’t admit it to me. Talk to him. Blackmail him emotionally. It’s for his own good.
By the way, I think it quite unfair that you insist I have to write these lenghty reports on my daily life in Barcelona. I never get more than a hundred words from you. Still, if it makes you happy, here we go.
The actual campus is not bad, although most of the buildings are incredibly gray, lots of concrete, strange-shaped, you know. Possibly won many architectural awards when built. The library is fine, though: square building in red brick. Classic. They should really have more antique books.
There are cats, too. The kind that run off to hide if they spot you watching. Someone must leave them food, because some of them are quite fat. You would like them. There are also at least five different species of birds. In Barcelona I have only seen lots gray pigeons and the occasional sparrow.
And Charlie says that Julia says the grass will be full of people when the weather improves. Apparently then they skip classes or stay after lunch to sit under the trees, maybe someone brings a soccer ball or a guitar. It sounds bucolic, doesn't it, very eclogues of Garcilaso- except I don't think they actually cry and complain about Fate. I want to see it, anyway. Maybe next week, since I heard David say today there will hopefully be a warm spell. So far it's been sunny and windy. Still quite cold, but not as much as Madrid or (Charlie says) Firenze.
You were right, though. I was too quick to judge David. I can't agree with Caroline, who came yesterday to the campus only to see him. I mean, she clearly needs a hobby. Or a boyfriend. What does she mean, by coming all this way only to flirt with him? She said she wanted to check the prices in the travel agency, since they are apparently quite low. I'm not buying it, are you?
Not that he is paying her much attention. He is, if not handsome, very sensible. I haven't gathered enough courage to speak to him yet, but I know. I listen in on his conversations.
It does sound creepy when written down. It's not, it's just silly. I don't have friends here except for C, and we don't go to class together in the morning. Each professor is always at least ten minutes late, I guess to give us time to rest and talk between classes. I don't feel like talking to anyone, so I just stand there and listen to people. Tuning David is at least interesting, if he isn't speaking Catalan.
He knows I'm listening, but hasn't said anything to me so far. On Wednesday he was entertaining (flirting with) this Polish girl and kept looking at me to see if I laughed at his jokes -and proved to be listening, I guess. He seemed playful, so I'll take my chance and talk to him this evening -C has invited him, his sister and their roomates to watch some Champions League game.
And, before you start thinking too much of this: No, I do not like him that way. I’m done with charmers. I just need someone intelligent to talk to.
I do like Julia, though. She has been to the cinema with us, and will take us to some museum this weekend. And she doesn’t laugh at Charlie. She really is kind, and C just falls more and more in love each day they talk. I now actually hope it can work out, although I can’t see how could she like him back. Not that I don’t think him worthy of love, you know. It’s only he is not himself with her. He is a stammering, foolish Charlie. Caro says it’s cute. It makes me embarrased.
I will now go and try to conquer the bathroom. Caro has been in there for hours.
One big hug, OOOOO
Isabel
***
Their flat was even more expensive-looking than I had expected. I had thought the foreign trio -Madrid is sometimes foreign enough for me -had money, probably lots. It wasn’t only because of their clothes. You know, casual expensive clothes. Shorts and shirts with names of Italian people on them, such as Giorgio Armani, Ermenegildo Zegna, Genaro Gattuso.
OK, that last one was a joke. Soccer joke.
Never mind, go ahead.
They had the air of people who don’t have a worry about their future, because they will have all they want no matter what they do. Charlie had dropped out of Marketing after three years (that is, one year short of finishing) and was now studying History of Art. Caroline was taking a year off everything, “to, you know, live new experiences”. I do not know, nor do I want to, what kind of experiences was she talking about. And Isabel was studying Spanish Literature and did not doubt she would be teaching at some prestigious university in ten years.
Yeah. And I want to be a highschool teacher.
Back to the story: Charlie greeted us all, looking excited. I was quite endeared to him already. I mean, the guy has three favourite soccer teams, because he acquires a new one everytime he changes countries. Liverpool because he went to a posh private British school, Real Madrid because the school happened to be in Madrid -his dad is a diplomat or something -and Milan because he has lived there, too, when studying Marketing. Now he says he’s thinking about also supporting Barça, although I have told him you can’t support both Madrid and Barcelona. It’s morally wrong.
His sister and Isabel were in the kitchen, filling bowls with chips and checking that the beer was cold enough. Imported beer, no less. As soon as she saw me, Caroline took my arm in a very confident fashion that didn’t annoy me but was quite perplexing.
“Sorry about the state of the flat, Day-vid,” she said, pursing her lips. She insisted on pronouncing my name in English. All of her spoken Spanish sounded patronizing, as if she was speaking English but using Spanish words all the time so we mortals could understand her. “Charlie and Izzy said they wanted the real Erasmus experience and refused to hire help. Can you imagine?”
Yeah, right, I could imagine they were rich enough to think having to clean the toilet makes things more real, instead of simply more messy. Your typical Erasmus experience does NOT take place in a nice appartment -with a terrace, by the way -but in a crammed one without enough sunlight and an amazingly small and dirty kitchen… and too many excentric roomates.
“Dah-veed, it’s Dah-veed,” I told her. It must have been the fifth time since we had met. “The flat’s good, don’t worry.”
It was. I mean, she hadn’t seen our bathroom. It’s been a long time since I gave up and started using the girls’ until it was Mario’s turn to clean again.
Their flat was fashionable. It was also centric, off-white, with fake Picassos on the walls and a terrace full of potted plants. Not only did they have all satellite channels, they had a huge TV set to match and a rug so comfortable I ended up sitting there instead of on the designer couch. Even the bathroom was large. And clean.
Anyway, we were there to watch Liverpool vs Porto, so we sat in front of said huge TV. Liverpool was my second favorite team, since I could see the English Premier League for free every weekend but watching Barça’s games on public television was becoming harder. So Charlie and I were actually excited about the outcome. He even took out a Liverpool flag to pin on the back of the couch. To the rest, I guess it was an excuse to socialize.
He had invited Julia and me, and all of our roomates. Mario was going to arrive a bit late, since he came from his guitar practice, but Dídac and Cristian were already sprawled on the comfortable rug. Julia sat with Charlie on the couch.
I’m guessing you don’t care much for the game. It was good, with the proper amout of anguish and anticipation, but in case you don't like soccer I'll only say that Torres and Mascherano were awesome. And...
Yes, fine, I'll refrain from commenting further. Won't even say who scored or anything.
The girls didn’t care much. In fact, they looked quite bored with the game. The only reaction we got from them was when Porto failed a penalty and we all jumped up all “YEAH!”. Charlie accidentally kicked Mario’s beer bottle -which was empty -and won a scathing Isabel look.
Carla had engaged Caroline in conversation and was secretly laughing at her, I could see. Isabel was on the couch, just behind me, so I have no idea what was she doing. I think she had a book. And Julia looked happy to let Charlie tell her about everything he could think of, game-related or not.
Now, there are two main ways of getting laid in Spain. It probably works the same in more european countries, but I’ve never tried to hit on anyone when traveling.
OK, so this is interesting and soccer is not, huh? Caught you.
Way one is the universal one-night stand, and you’ll have to ask Dídac to know more about that. He’s quite the expert. I have woken up lots of times to find a half-dressed girl standing in the corridor, gawking in horror at the incredibly dirty bathroom.
The other way is to get a girlfriend. You first meet a girl you like, or like a girl you know. But you don’t ask her on a date straight away. No, because dates are serious. You first try to know her better in the safety of numbers. That is, when your friends meet hers, or stopping by her desk to ask about her day, or ‘casually’ going to the same parties.
You can flirt shamelessly or not flirt at all, you can try to be her friend or play hard-to-get, don’t ask me because I haven’t worked out yet which one works best. But if you ever think she might like you back, then you make your move. If you have the guts, that is. If you are lucky, she will be your girl and no-one else’s -and you’ll be similarly expected not to chase after anyone else, no matter how serious or how mild the relationship might be.
I once knew an American girl who went around saying she had four boyfriends. I told her people looked oddly at her because they thought she was seriously dating all four of them. Anyway, seeing four people doesn’t reflect well on your character in Spain. Especially if you are a girl.
Of course this is slowly changing, with girls making bold moves to get their guy, people agreeing to be friends with benefits and people dating through the internet. But you get my point: Straight-forward equals one-night stand. Taking your time and doing it the hard way equals serious dating.
And Charlie was definitely taking his time. He wasn’t even flirting -he didn’t need to, because it was pretty obvious to everyone that he was into her. Julia insisted he was only being nice and tried not to give away how ecstatic she was about his attentions. But I know her well, and that was simply her way to face deep feelings.
We didn’t move after the game ended. Caroline switched channels and we kind of stood there hanging around. Mario was too shy to do anything, Cristian and Dídac were very comfortable on the rug, having stolen the chip bowl, and the rest of us didn’t want to disturb the lovebirds.
I was talking to Carla when I noticed Isabel was listening in. Don’t know why, though, because I don’t think she actually understood Catalan.
OK, in case you don’t know, Catalan is a Romance language. It is official in, let’s say, the north-east of Spain, including places you might now such as Barcelona, Lloret de Mar, Majorca, Valencia or Andorra. There’s an incredibly detailed article in Wikipedia, if you are interested. I’ll just say Barcelona is the capital of Catalonia, one of the territories in which Catalan is official. That means school is mostly in Catalan, and there’s TV channels, music, radio, literature, free courses, and millions of Catalan-speakers. We can all speak Spanish, too, and it is in fact the most used of the two languages. In Barcelona people just speaks whatever they like. It’s not uncommon to have a conversation in both languages, in fact-
I do get side-tracked, don’t I?
Anyway, I was peeved at how she kept eaves-dropping on my conversations with others but not saying anything at all. I mean, she just stood there, looking interested. So, to Carla’s delight, I switched to Spanish and went:
“So, Isabel, what did you think of the explanation of Catalan and Catalonia I gave to the Polish girl before Renaissance Poetry?”
There is a certain danger in talking about this with people whose political ideas you don’t know, especially if they aren’t local. Let’s just say Catalonia and Spain are nowadays married, but they have the kind of past you don’t want to bring up in polite conversation. Opinons range widely, from “Let’s enjoy cultural diversity!” to “I HATE fucking Catalans/Spaniards!” It is quite common in Europe, I guess. We have quite a mild case -no terrorists, after all. Don’t want you to think this is North Ireland 2.
It wasn’t kind of me, but I was actually hoping for a confrontation. I was quite disappointed, then, when she said, fingering her off the shoulder sweater:
“I think you are very proud of your heritage.”
OK. Not fight material, since I am very moderate myself. I still wanted her NOT to listen to my conversations with the Polish girl again, since it made me edgy and unable to flirt. So I pressed on: “Rightfully so, you think?”
She smiled at me. I guess it was a kind smile, but I found it patronizing. “I can’t help but think you probably overstate the quality and importance of Catalan literature.”
Yeah, I got what I wanted. And I felt deeply offended. I mean, I was majoring in both Catalan and Spanish literature. I had read it and studied it and was not going to let some foreigner -from Madrid, admittedly -tell me in not so many words that she thought Spanish literature was better. Because she clearly had no idea.
With a cold head I’ll always say they are both excellent, you know. I just happen to take it very personally, never mind which one of the cultures is being attacked. I am told it’s quite natural.
So, still smiling, I opened my mouth to ask what she had read, exactly -only to be distracted by Carla shoving Mario’s guitar at me.
“David, why don’t you play for us?”
Now, that was not meant to save Isabel from my wrath. Carla simply dislikes any form of discussion on ideologies, most af all those involving national identities and political use of languages.
“What? Why?”
“Oh please, David, you do play very sweetly,” pleaded Julia.
So, it was a plot. I protested, but clearly they would not let me argue with Isabel. Dídac had sat up, and Cristian went, as I checked the guitar was tuned:
”Play Como Camarón!” Yes, well, it is an old song but he likes it a lot. Mostly because I try to sing as angrily as Estopa and always end up laughing. Or coughing, and gasping for air. Everybody knows the song, anyway, so I complied. Cristian himself yelled with me each “¡Como Camarón!”. Caroline pursed her lips, probably thinking it was low-class. It was, it’s part of the charm. But Caroline’s disapproval made it even more entertaining.
After that, I lanched into Portaavions by Antònia Font. I chose it because I really like playing it, although it is not very popular. I was quite taken my an amateur videclip you can find in youtube if you mistype the title as “portavions”. Also, I figured I would play one Spanish song and one in Catalan.
But when I reached “Li falta una capa de mel” I could not stop myself and I looked over at Isabel. It was just so fitting. I do that often, in fact. Relating the song to someone around me, as a joke or a compliment. But it was a naughty, since she could not really understand the Catalan lyrics, and I didn’t actually mean to please her. Rather the contrary.
Carla noticed and started sniggering. It quite ruined my melancholy interpretation, but I guess my laughing with her made it look unoffending. And I of course hadn’t meant to offend her. Much. To my relief, she only furrowed her brow slightly at me and made no comment.
After that, and since I didn’t want to play in the first place, I just handed over the guitar to Mario. I mean, I really enjoy playing. But having everyone’s attention on me makes me self-conscious, because I know I don’t actually play well.
Mario does, but instead of choosing what people likes to hear, he keeps trying to play the most difficult solos he knows. Giving him a guitar when there’s people around is not the wisest move, because he bores them, but he is always so happy to have an audience. He just doesn’t know how to please. It’s a shame, ‘cause he really is proficient.
Only ten minutes after giving him the guitar, Caroline yawned and Julia jumped up, all decided and ready to leave.
But I refuse to consider myself responsible of depriving Charlie and her of each other’s company, because he managed to invite her out with them on Sunday.
***
From: Izzy Díaz
To: Jorge Díaz
Subject: re: re: re: doth protest too much
Hey!
OK, this is a quick note because I really need to finish some book for tomorrow. But Caroline just came into my room to tell me she has found the lyrics of the song I told you about. Remember? Now, I don’t know how she did it, because we had never heard the song, but apparently there’s no-one as resourceful and cunning as our little Caro with a laptop. It is a scary thought.
The song, as far as I can tell by the Catalan lyrics, is about a breakup or something similar. And the ‘hilarious’ bit is:
Li falta una capa de mel,
li falta una banda sonora
en aquesta mirada d’oliva i de gel.
I take it you do not need translation. I have to say I am confused. It is not vexing at all, is it? I mean, it seems kind of… playful? He was fooling around, I know, and I really don’t feel offended. It is hard to be angry with David, I’ve found.
Ah, yes, how would you translate it to English? Caro so wants to know the *exact* meaning. I am thinking:
It lacks a honey glaze,
it lacks a soundtrack,
this olive and ice gaze.
Except maybe it would work better as “it’s lacking”, or “it needs”. What do you think? I am quite content I worked out a rhyme. Yes, I am very bored. Or rather, I am procrastinating. My book is boring me to death.
Also, Caro is midly piqued because she thinks I’m competing with her. I only said David’s eyes are fine (they are) and she jumped to the conclusion I want to date him or something.
And the song thing doesn’t help, I guess, although I’m sure it wasn’t meant as a compliment.
Whatever.
She now keeps joking about what will it be like when David and I are married.
…¿?
I’m back to my book.
Love you!
Isabel
A/N: Thank you Vicky! That is, my beta for this. Thank you hlbr 's brother, too, for the football-watcher tip. ;)
Chapter 3