By The River Piedra I Sat Down & Wept

that's what adolescents do. Fighting is as much a part of being a teenager as the kisses, the secret embraces, the loud music, and the fast pace.

But instead he took my hand and moved toward the door. 'We should go,' he said. 'It's getting late.'

It was raining in Bilbao. Lovers need to know how to lose themselves and then how to find themselves again. He was able to do both well. Now he was happy, and as we returned to the hotel he sang:

Son los locos que inventaron el amor.

The song was right: it must have been the lunatics who invented love.

I was still feeling the effects of the wine, but I was struggling to think clearly. I had to stay in control of the situation if I wanted to make the trip with him.

But it will be easy to be in control because I'm not too emotional, I thought. Anyone who can conquer her heart can conquer the world.

Con un poema y un trombo

a develarte el corazon

To lose my heart to you with a poem and a trombone. I wish I didn't have to control my heart. If I could surrender, even if only for a weekend, this rain falling on my face would feel different. If love were easy, I would be embracing him now, and the words of his song would be our story. If Zaragoza weren't waiting for me after the holidays, I'd want to stay drunk and be free to kiss him, caress him, say the things and hear the things that lovers say and do to each other.

But no! I can't. I don't want to.

Salgamos a volar, querida mia, the song says.

Yes, let's fly away. But under my conditions.

He still didn't know that I was going to say yes to his invitation. Why did I want to take this risk?

Because I was drunk, because I was tired of days that were all the same.

But this weariness will pass. I'm going to want to get back to Zaragoza, where I have chosen to live. My studies are waiting for me. The husband I'm still looking for is waiting for me—a husband who won't be as difficult to find.

An easier life waits for me, with children and grandchildren, with a clear budget and a yearly vacation. I don't know what his fears are, but I know my own. I don't need new fears—my own are enowh.

I was sure I could never fall in love with someone like him. I knew him too well, all his weaknesses and fears. I just couldn't admire him as the others seemed to.

But love is much like a dam: if you allow a tiny crack to form through which only a trickle of water can pass, that trickle will quickly bring down the whole structure, and soon no one will be able to control the force of the current.

For when those walls come down, then love takes over, and it no longer matters what is possible or impossible; it doesn't even matter whether we can keep the loved one at our side. To love is to lose control.

No, no, I cannot allow such a crack to form. No matter how small.

'Hey, hold up a minute!'

He stopped singing immediately. Quick steps echoed on the damp pavement behind us.

'Let's get out of here,' he said, grabbing my arm.

'Wait!' a man shouted. 'I need to talk to you!'

But he moved ahead even more rapidly. 'This has nothing to do with us,' he said. 'Let's get to the hotel.'

Yet it did have to do with us—there was no one else on the street. My heart was beating fast, and the effects of the wine disappeared altogether. I remembered that Bilbao was in Basque country and that terrorist attacks were common. The man's footsteps came closer.

'Let's go,' he said, hurrying along.

But it was too late. A man's figure, soaked from head to foot, stepped in front of us.

'Stop, please!' the man said. 'For the love of God.'

I was frightened. I looked around frantically for a means of escape, hoping that by some miracle a police car would appear. Instinctively, I clutched at his arm—but he pulled away.

'Please!' said the man. 'I heard that you were in the city. I need your help. It's my son.' The man knelt on the pavement and began to weep. 'Please,' he said, 'please!'

My friend gasped for breath; I watched as he lowered his head and closed his eyes. For a few minutes the silence was broken only by the sound of the rain and the sobs of the man kneeling on the sidewalk.

'Go to the hotel, Pilar,' he said finally. 'Get some sleep. I won't be back until dawn.'

Monday, December 6, 1993

Love is a trap. When it appears, we see only its light, not its shadows.

'Look at the land around here!' he said. 'Let's lie down on the ground and feel the planet's heart beating!'

'But I'll get my coat dirty, and it's the only one I have with me.'

We were driving through hills of olive groves. After yesterday's rain in Bilbao, the morning sun made me sleepy. I hadn't brought sunglasses—I hadn't brought anything, since I'd expected to return to Zaragoza two days ago. I'd had to sleep in a shirt he loaned me, and I'd bought a T-shirt at a shop near the hotel in Bilbao so that at least I could wash the one I was wearing.

'You must be sick of seeing me in the same clothes every day,' I said, trying to make a joke about something trivial to see if that would make all this seem real.

'I'm glad you're here.'

He hadn't mentioned love again since he had given me the medal, but he had been in a good mood; he seemed to be eighteen again. Now he walked along beside me bathed in the clear morning light.

'What do you have to do over there?' I asked, pointing toward the peaks of the Pyrenees on the horizon.

'Beyond those mountains lies France,' he answered with a smile.

'I know—I studied geography, too, you know. I'm just curious about why we have to go there.'

He paused, smiling to himself. 'So you can take a look at a house you might be interested in.'

'If you're thinking about becoming a real estate agent, forget it. I don't have any money.'

It didn't matter to me whether we visited a village in Navarra or went all the way to France. I just didn't want to spend the holidays in Zaragoza.

You see? I heard my brain say to my heart. You're happy that you've accepted his invitation. You've changed—you just haven't recognized it yet.

No, I hadn't changed at all. I was just relaxing a little.

'Look at the stones on the ground.'

They were rounded, with no sharp edges. They looked like pebbles from the sea. But the sea had never been here in the fields of Navarra.

'The feet of laborers, pilgrims, and explorers smoothed these stones,' he said. 'The stones were changed— and the travelers were too.'

'Has traveling taught you all the things you know?'

'No. I learned from the miracles of revelation.'

I didn't understand, but I didn't pursue it. For now, I was content to bask in the beauty of the sun, the fields, and the mountains.

'Where are we going now?' I asked.

'Nowhere. Let's just enjoy the morning, the sun, and the countryside. We have a long trip ahead of us.' He hesitated for a moment and then asked, 'Do you still have the medal?'

'Sure, I've kept it,' I said, and began to walk faster. I didn't want to talk about the medal—I didn't want to talk about anything that might ruin the happiness and freedom of our morning together.