pulled away, blowing blue smoke and clattering like a lawn-mower, and
turned into the traffic heading east.
David watched it go with a sense of loss that effectively washed away
the good feeling of the last few days, but he saw the old Citroen again
two days later, when he had abandoned all idea of the Pamplona Festival
and headed south. The Citroen looked even sicker than before, under a
layer of pale dust and with the canvas showing on a rear tyre. The
suspension seemed to have sagged on the one side, giving it a rakishly
drunken aspect.
It was parked at a filling station on the outskirts of Zaragoza on the
road to Barcelona, and David pulled off the road and parked beyond the
gasoline pumps. An attendant in greasy overalls was filling the tank of
the Citroen under the supervision of the muscular young man from the
bullring. David looked quickly for the girl - but she was not in the
car. Then he saw her.
She was in a cantina across the street, haggling with the elderly woman
behind the counter. Her back was turned towards him, but David
recognized the mass of dark hair now piled on top of her head. He
crossed the road quickly and went into the shop behind her. He was not
certain what he was going to do, acting only on impulse.
The girl wore a short floral dress which left her back and shoulders
bare, and her feet were thrust into open sandals. But in concession to
the ice in the air she wore a shawl over her shoulders. Close to, her
skin had a plastic smoothness and elasticity, as though it had been
lightly oiled and polished, and down the back of her naked neck the hair
was fine and soft, growing in a whorl in the nape.
David moved closer to her as she completed her purchase of dried figs
and counted her change. He smelt her, a light summery perfume that
seemed to come from her hair. He resisted the temptation to press his
face into the dense pile of it.
She turned smiling and saw him standing close behind her. She
recognized him instantly, his was not a face a girl would readily
forget. She was startled. The smile flickered out on her face and she
stood very still looking at him, her expression completely neutral, but
her lips slightly parted and her eyes soft and glowing golden.
This peculiar stillness of hers was a quality he would come to know so
well in the time ahead. I saw you in Madrid, he said, at the bulls.
Yes, she nodded, her voice neither welcoming nor forbidding.
You were crying So were you. I Her voice was low and clear, her
enunciation flawless, too perfect not to be foreign.
No, David denied it.
You were cryin& she insisted softly. You were crying inside. And he
inclined his head in agreement.
Suddenly she proffered the paper bag of figs.
Try one, she said and smiled. It was a warm friendly smile. He took
one of the fruits and bit into the sweet flesh as she moved towards the
door, somehow conveying an invitation for him to join her. He walked
with her and they looked across the street at the Citroen. The
attendant had finished filling the tank, and the girl's companion was
waiting for her, leaning against the bonnet of the weary old car. He
