By The River Piedra I Sat Down & Wept

That's not why I'm so tense, you idiot.

'Listen to your heart more,' he went on.

'That's just it! I am listening to it,' I said. 'And I feel that we should leave. I'm not enjoying this place.'

'You shouldn't drink during the day. It doesn't help anything.'

Up to that point, I'd controlled myself. Now it was time to say what I thought.

'You think you know everything,' I said, 'that you know all about magic moments, the inner child… I don't know what you're doing here with me.'

He laughed. 'I admire you. And I admire the battle you're waging with your heart.'

'What battle?'

'Never mind,' he said.

But I knew what he was talking about.

'Don't kid yourself,' I said. 'We can talk about it if you like. You're mistaken about my feelings.'

He stopped fooling with his glass and looked at me. 'No, I'm not mistaken. I know you don't love me.'

This confused me even more.

'But I'm going to fight for your love,' he continued. 'There are some things in life that are worth fighting for to the end.'

I was speechless.

'You are worth it,' he said.

I turned away, trying to pretend that I was interested in the restaurant's decor. I had been feeling like a frog, and suddenly I was a princess again.

I want to believe what you're saying, I thought to myself. It won't change anything, but at least I won't feel so weak, so incapable.

'I apologize for my outburst,' I said.

He smiled, signaled to the waiter, and paid the check.

On the way back to the car, I became confused again. Maybe it was the sun—but no, it was autumn, and the sun was weak. Perhaps the old man—but he disappeared a while ago.

All this was so new to me. Life takes us by surprise and orders us to move toward the unknown—even when we don't want to and when we think we don't need to.

I tried to concentrate on the scenery, but I couldn't focus on the olive groves, the village atop the mountain, the chapel with the old man at the gate. All of it was so unfamiliar.

I remembered how much I'd drunk the day before and the song he had sung:

Las tardecitas de Buenos Aires tienen este no se…

?Que se yo?

Viste, sali de tu casa, por Arenales…

Why sing of the nights of Buenos Aires, when we were in Bilbao? I didn't live on a street called Arenales. What had gotten into him?

'What was that song you were singing yesterday?' I asked.

'Balada para un loco' he said. 'Why do you ask about it now?'

'I don't know.'

But I had a reason: I knew he'd sung the song as a kind of snare. He'd made me memorize the words, just as I would memorize course work for an examination. He could have sung a song I was familiar with—but he'd chosen one I'd never heard before.

It was a trap. Later, if I heard the song played on the radio or at a club, I'd think of him, of Bilbao, and of a time in my life when autumn turned to spring. I'd recall the excitement, the adventure, and the child who was reborn out of God knows where.

That's what he was thinking. He was wise, experienced; he knew how to woo the woman he wanted.

I'm going crazy, I told myself. I must be an alcoholic, drinking so much two days in a row. He knows all the tricks. He's controlling me. leading me along with his sweetness.

'I admire the battle you are waging with your heart,' he had said at the restaurant.

But he was wrong. Because I had fought with my heart and defeated it long ago. I was certainly not going to become passionate about something that was impossible. I knew my limits; I knew how much suffering I could bear.

'Say something,' I demanded, as we walked back to the car.

'What?'

'Anything. Talk to me.'

So he began to tell me about the visions of the Virgin Mary at Fatima. I don't know why he came up with that, but the story of the three shepherds who had spoken to the Virgin distracted me.

My heart relaxed. Yes, I know my limits, and I know how to stay in control.

We arrived at night in a fog so dense we could hardly see where we were. I could make out only a small plaza, a lamppost, some medieval houses barely illuminated by the yellow light, and a well.

'The fog!' he exclaimed.

I couldn't understand why he was so excited.

'We're in Saint-Savin,' he explained.

The name meant nothing to me. But we were in France, and that in itself thrilled me.

'Why this place?' I asked.

'Because the house I want you to see is here,' he answered, laughing. 'Also, I promised that I would come back here on the day of the Immaculate Conception.'

'Here?'

'Well, near here.'

He stopped the car. When we stepped out, he took my hand, and we began to walk through the fog.

'This place became a part of my life quite unexpectedly,' he said.

You too? I thought.

'When I first came here, I thought I was lost. But I wasn't—actually, I was just rediscovering it.'

'You talk in riddles sometimes,' I said.

'This is where I realized how much I needed you in my life.'

I looked away; I couldn't understand him. 'But what does that have to do with losing your way?'

'Let's find someone who'll rent us a room, because the two hotels in this village are only open during the summer. Then we'll have dinner at a good restaurant—no tension, no fear of the police, no need to think about running back to the car! And when the wine loosens our tongues, we'll talk about many things.'

We both laughed. I already felt more relaxed. During the drive here, I had looked back over the wild things I'd been thinking. And as we crossed over the top of the mountains that separate France from Spain, I'd asked God to cleanse my soul of tension and fear.

I was tired of playing the child and acting the way many of my friends did—the ones who are afraid that love is impossible without even knowing what love is. If I stayed like that, I would miss out on everything good that these few days with him might offer.

Careful, I thought. Watch out for the break in the dam. If that break occurs, nothing in the world will be able to stop it.

'May the Virgin protect us from here on,' he said.

I remained silent.

'Why didn't you say 'amen'?' he asked.

'Because I don't think that's important anymore. There was a time when religion was a part of my life, but that time has passed.'