Rosa de los Vientos
Scirocco
He tried not to frown, to prevent unaesthetic wrinkles. Nevertheless, the annoying gabbing of the minstrel was pushing him on the verge of a nervous breakdown: his silky forehead would be wizened if that storyteller didn't shut his noisy mouth.
His romantic French soul liked sentimental ballads and the whispers of the cither, but that bard stabbing the magic of loving poetry: lackluster heroines, colorless characters, incoherent plot and forced rhymes.
He attempted to focus on the delicious wine in his goblet, but as soon as he had touched the fruity liquid the stuttering minstrel miserably fell: a trivial, ridiculous happy-ending, that tore down the remaining fragment of pathos.
«Ladies and gentlemen, if you allow me…» he exclaimed. «I'll tell you a romantic tale that's worth telling.»
The audience was immediately caught by the words of the garish French: those who'd formed a ring around the minstrel turned their chairs halfway to face the new storyteller, someone glanced at him over their dishes, and even the buxom innkeeper listened to him.
«How many people here have ever seen Spain?» Francis lingered over counting the raising hand to increase suspense. «A wonderful land, isn't it? Latin hospitality is invaluable. Although French is always the best» he proudly underlined, running his fingers through his blond and wavy hair. «Imagine sundrenched shores, Mediterranean Sea perfume and pleasantly animated houses. That is the land where our story takes place.»
Obviously, Spanish landscape was not as idyllic as the French painted it. But a good storyteller had to be able to make unique the daily routine and to sweeten the bitter parts. And Francis Bonnefoy was an excellent storyteller.
«You know, my dear friends, great river grow from little brook,» he continued. «Antonio Fernandez Carriedo knew that truth, better than all of us. He was a son of the greatest river all over the world: the ocean. He was a corsair.»
«Who's that man?» asked a child, leaning forwards from the kneel of his mother.
«One of the main characters.» The woman put her baby back on his lap while Francis answered the question. «Antonio has spent his adventurous life sailing all around the world: in his youth he was a captain of the Spanish Crown. Not even the Flying Dutchman could compete with the fame of his galleon, La Reina.»
«But you said he was a corsair, not a pirate» protested an old buccaneer from the first row.
«He was a demon, when it comes to fight, and his talent scared his enemies and his allies in the same way,» Francis rebutted. He stroked his golden beard before he resumed: «As I said, great river grow from the little brook. Antonio felt it on his own skin. The Black Lady had attempted to scythe his life for a long time, but She was never able to abduct him. Until…» he amused himself with the anxious expressions of his audience, then he carried on: «Until that day, when She tried to smite the captain with a deadly gunshot.»
«He died?» breathed a child, sitting on the floor, aghast at the story.
«No, my pretty girl, he didn't die» Francis reassure her with a bright smile. «He was shot in the leg, and he would probably bleed to death if his subordinates were less than loyal to him. His crew rescued him: they wore out their arms rowing to the seaport, and they searched for a doctor with the same fire. The doctor dribbled a bunch of medical terms, and Antonio translated them into a simple reality: he would be invalid for the rest of his life.»
Sympathy flowed over the bystanders' faces, and Francis took advantage of it to add a pinch of melodrama:
«The bullet fatally compromised the muscle of his thigh, so he could no longer walk without a stick. His days on the sea were over: another captain took his crew, and his vessel broke free from its moorings leaving him on the beach.»
«How sad…» whined a little girl of thirteen.
«But Antonio was a tough man and, not least, he was well compensated for committing all his energy to the Spanish Crown. He decided to invest that money in an inn near the shore, in sight of his beloved billows. His sociable behavior conquered his dependents affection as it used to be with his crew, and his business prospered thanks to the craftiness that built his fame on La Reina.»
«Didn't you say that you're going to tell us a romantic ballade?» noted a woman with thick chestnut hair combed in a chignon. «It sounds more like an adventure tale to me…»
«Wait just a second, sweet lady, and your wish will be fulfilled.» A sprinkle of red powdered her face. Francis smiled: French blood tells. «One bullet was more than enough to crush the world of the captain. A thing no bigger than this» he mimed the height of the shotgun pellet nearing the forefinger to the thumb. «And the second object which completely changed his life had the same size.»
«What was that object?» chirped a kid.
«A peseta. Which brought him…» Francis hesitated. He could not describe that person realistically: his mawkish soul would be torn apart by such a thing. «Of all creatures in this world, the peseta brought him the most exquisite one. Ah, gentlemen, if only you could see the warm, splendid chestnut dye of her hair! The sweet color of her beautiful eyes! And her lineaments… crowd of knights would fight to death for that pleasing checks' sake! And Aphrodite herself would turn pale at the sight of her perfect body!»
Francis made sure that his dreamy expression would not fail describing such a beauty, even if his sense of reality was tearing his hair out.
«Who was that woman? How did they meet each other?» warbled a group of young ladies on his right, waiting in trepidation.
Francis toyed with his beard. Probably, omitting that she was a he would be the better choice. Anyway, he had already lied through his teeth to mellow that Italian's cantankerous temperament.
«It was the beginning of March» he started. «Antonio was working at his inn despite his injured leg, but there were a few duties he could not handle, like going to the open-air market. Knowing that, a few of traders granted a delivery service to him, so the inn was always well-stocked of meat, fruit, vegetables and so on. On that particular day, Antonio was waiting for a basket of tomatoes…»
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«Antonio, the fruit seller boy is here.»
The waiter awaited the owner as he limped up to the entrance.
The carpenter of the market place had been working for four days, but he realized a first-rate item: hardwood was smoothed down by sandpaper, burnished later and decorated with a fine golden grip, depicting sea-life scenes. Antonio's limping appeared elegant with that accessory, and when he walked his past was clenched in his hand: a ship riding the ocean waves, and marine fauna crowding around the vessel.
«He's already here?» Antonio asked. Diego pointed to the entrance where the boy was waiting.
«I've never seen him before. He looks like…» the waiter lowered his voice: «He seems to be on the verge of snapping at someone.»
Antonio raised his eyebrows, perplexed. If that skinny boy holding a basket full of tomatoes had tried to bite someone, he would have broken his teeth. He was as thin as a blade of grass, and sullen as a stray.
Some ginger bunches of hair, the same color as his grumpy eyes, slipped from his hat. He was wearing a jumble of clothes, probably handouts from charitable groups.
«Ten pesetas» communicated the boy, without any greeting, holding his basket tight as he was suspecting a theft.
«Ten, I see…» repeated Antonio, searching through his pockets. He quickly counted the money collected on his palm: nine pesetas.
«We're still one peseta short» he showed his hand so the boy could see it too. «Come here again at the end of the day and I'll give it to you.»
«Not on your life!» uttered the tiny one, stepping back. «Do you know how much I will be beaten if I come back with less than ten pesetas?»
«Beaten?» that word stunned Antonio.
«You can't fool me with that old excuse! If I go now, I'll never see that peseta! "I've already paid, go away, you brat!" is your favorite excuse. My back has had its fill of reduction!» he putt the basket on the floor and planted himself in front of it with his arms folded. «No credit. Either you pay right now or I'll bring the tomatoes back to the shop.»
Antonio looked the weedy boy up and down, dumbfounded. That scrawny being was really trying to threaten him? Even in his limping position, a single breath would be more than enough to defeat the slight guy. But he wasn't focused on the bony undernourished body of the boy.
«You said "beaten"» he persisted. «You're used to be clobbered?»
The delivery boy kept his chin up, insolent. «Ten pesetas» reiterated.
«I asked…»
«Ten.»
Antonio ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, sighing at the stubbornness of the kid.
«I'm afraid you have to follow me in the hall» he said, pointing to the counter.
The boy went after him, staring at his stick.
«I earned it during a shoot-out» Antonio explained with a hoarse voice, after circumnavigating the woody desk.
«I didn't ask you» muttered the delivery-boy, standing on the other side of the desk.
«You didn't, but talking too much is a bad habit of mine» downplayed the man with a smile. He leaned the stick against the wall then bent down searching for the key to the counter.
«You fought?»
Antonio rose his face up and his eyes crossed the bashful curiosity in the iris of the boy.
«I was a corsair» answered Antonio. He finally found the key and got up.
«How many seas did you see?»
The man stared at the youth: although his surly expression was masking it, a flame of interest was burning in his warm irises.
«All seven» he boasted, humbly. «I was the captain of La Reina.»
«I know that ship» the youth lowered the hat, shading his face: he could not control perfectly his curiosity. «It's a beautiful galleon»
«It was the sister of the ocean» asserted Antonio, stroking the etched ship on his grip. «No matter how human being force themselves, they will never build again a vessel like that.»
«You deserted?» the boy provoked the innkeeper, with a hint of bitterness in his voice.
Antonio smiled, disappointed, and shook his head in affliction.
«I'm not a traitor. I just was careless» he tapped the inefficient thigh and murmured: «A shotgun was sufficient to bring me here.»
The youth glanced at his thigh, at his stick, at his face. He didn't breath a word about his thoughts, but a brush of sympathy mitigated his annoyed expression.
«I have some delivery to do» he announced quickly.
«You didn't take your money» objected Antonio.
The youth went round the desk, grabbed his wrist and spilt on his own palm the nine pesetas.
«Tonight I'll come back for the last one» he concluded tersely. «Don't even try to fool me» the boy intimidated him and exited the inn.
Antonio was petrified, trying to make any sense of the boy's behavior: at the beginning, he was angry about credit, and in the end he left without taking the last peseta.
«World is beautiful because of his variety» he commented to the astonished waiter at the door. «By the way, we have to change our greengrocer.»
«Why?» asked the attendant.
«I don't approve of such a method» replied Antonio. The waiter asked nothing more and went to pick up the basket of tomatoes.
Antonio laid his bulk down in the chair behind the desk. The old scar was itching.
When he was captain, he commanded crowds of men hardened by war and sea, and he never ever resorted to violence to keep them obedient. He disagreed with such an educational method, especially against a puny orphan boy.
Anyway, he extrapolated something from that thin youth. His dream couldn't be sold at the greengrocer's shop - his ambition burned in a land of sea foam, of saltiness inhaled at the helm.
Antonio had no doubt about that. The rumbling ocean in the veins of that boy was the same that roared in his.
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«Did they see each other again?» murmured a child, enchanted.
«Of course. That very evening, as promised by the gorgeous lady,» Francis guaranteed, feeling like a shameless liar – and continued.
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It was a pity that the old Dan had removed moorings that afternoon: his harsh laughing and his intrepid tales filled the dining room. The inn would be empty without that coarse seaman.
A bitter nostalgia crawled from his scar to his heart, where it sank its jaws. Antonio massaged his chest, sweeping that corrosive feeling aside. But he wouldn't get rid of that sadness simply caressing it.
He welcomed the tired seamen. He could sense the symphony of the sea underneath their stories. But when they left, he would feel abandoned again, as he did the first time he saw La Reina sailing without him. It was like someone had closed a gate, and he was blocked on the wrong side.
«Antonio, only old men are so melancholy…» he mocked himself, going upstairs.
The architects had suggested him to choose one of the chambers on the first floor, but Antonio was categorical: his room must be settled on the third floor, where he could enjoy the sight of the sea.
He didn't hear of the apprehension concerning his injured leg. The first floor was destined to his personnel, and his room was established on the third one, in spite of the remonstrations of his doctor.
He had just stepped his feet on the stair when someone knocked on the door.
Antonio opened the door, and the greengrocer's assistant frowned at him.
«I came for my peseta» he said monotonous. The inconstant vitality of the boy somehow had faded, and his shoulders were bent.
«I'll bring it to you. Please, have a seat» Antonio invited him, pointing at the armchairs in the hall. He had some questions about his shabby look, but that obstinate boy would never answer to a direct question. He had to figure it out by playing some tricks.
The youth distrustfully accepted, and he perched awkwardly on the edge of the armchair, his back far from the soft padding. It took Antonio just one second to dispel all doubts.
«You were hit?» asked, placing in front of him.
The boy glared at him.
«I'm waiting for my peseta» the youth impatiently reminded him.
Antonio forced him to stay sat and insisted, «I'm waiting for an answer.»
The apprentice grimaced and surrendered, indignant. «He didn't like it. Give me that damned peseta and call it a day.»
«You'd better leave that place, before your beaten vertebrae break,» the stick switched from hand to hand, as the captain spoke.
«Bread doesn't appear magically on the table» the boy showed scorn in his reply.
«I know. You should work here, instead.»
Stupor and doubt crashed and stirred in the youth's eyes.
«You'd be near the sea. And this is the very place where the all the captains spend their night at» Antonio continued. He knew the most effective topic to persuade that shop boy: the ocean.
Antonio kneeled, the stick leaning on his shoulder, so the apprentice could overlook him.
«I was a captain myself, and I'm an inn-keeper now, and no one of my men has ever suffer by my hand. I've never beaten them.»
The youth's eyes darted from side to side, as his brain examined the pros and cons of that offer.
For the first time, the boy removed his hat, revealing ruffled copped hair.
«How's the wage?» he inquired. «And, still, you owe me a peseta.»
Antonio got up, satisfied.
His persuasive skills weren't so rusty after all.
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«They've already fallen in love?» murmured a woman with a chignon, moved.
«Of course not» Francis denied elegantly. «They saw each other for a first time just a few hours before. It would have been impossible. Their story began like a common working relationship and nothing more.»
«Then, how did it happen?» persisted a child with braided hair.
«It didn't take a very long time» said the narrator with a flourish. «Two compatible souls would easily burn in love. They had in common their devotion to the sea, and they were different enough to complete each other. Sharing their daily life they collected a lot of little events: a smile, a gentle touch, a kind word… those were the plinth of their love.»
«When did they realize it?» asked the most impudent of a group of ladies on the left.
«Their story had begun in March. The first change occurred in May» Francis calculated. He had waited until someone begged for the sequel.
«Oh, please, tell us how things went!» a young mother implored him.
«Well…» Francis pinched his beard, meditative. «It was the first of the month…»
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Beta reading: Jordan Stewart
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Well, this is my first Spamano ever.
Actually, I've written it before Kaleidoscope.
It's a story about sea, love and... Inquisition. Yes, the Inquisition part stars from chapter six.
Hope you like it! See you in the next chapter!
Red