It's a warm summer night. The old downtown streets were lit by the antique lamps, illuminating the ancient cobblestone road. A small plaza was decorated by hanging lights, glowing softly among the trees. But through the man made distractions, the clear night sky watched from above, and the crescent moon smiled down on the scene.
The chorus of chirping crickets danced among the cool breeze, accompanied by the sonata of early cicadas. From the center of the plaza came the lively melody of the bubbling fountain.
Then, a single guitar strum entered. The echo of a lone cord floating in the air. Silence. Another strum, followed by another. Slowly, a song started to form, and a few measures passed, till a voice started to hum, blending in with the guitar, and started to sing its bittersweet tale.
El amor cómo un cóndor volará
Mi corzón
Golperá
Despues séirá
Mmm-
La luna el desierto brillará
Tu vendrás
Solamente un beso
Me dejarás
Mmm-
The smooth lips of the singing eighteen year old stopped. He sighed, and ran a hand through his curly, brown hair. He gazed up at the starry sky, which reflected in his green eyes, and seemed to be searching for something. Something felt wrong. He felt wrong. His life felt wrong. He leaned back into the bed of carnations, breathing in the sweet fragrance of his favorite flowers.
Sharp clapping brought the teenager out of his trance, and he opened his peridot eyes and met a pair of fascinated hazel eyes. A young boy, about fourteen years old, was on the steps below, across from the guitarist. His dark brown hair flowed in the whispers of wind, especially one hair curl. He was sitting crossed legged on the plaza floor, looking up towards the man. He smiled at the boy.
"Buenas noches, chico. Can I know my audience's name?"
Hesitantly, the boy replied. "Lovino. Lovino Vargas."
"Nice to meet 'cha Lovino! I'm Antonio Fernández Carriedo. But you can call me boss!"
"Like hell I will." Retorted the boy, revealing his sharp tongue.
"Whoa, no need to start cursing Lovi! Didn't your parents teach you manners?"
The little boy scowled and blushed at the nickname bestowed upon him, and got up, dusting off his loose jeans. "My parents are six feet under." Antonio instantly regretted asking him.
Lovino continued his story. "I was raised by my grandfather, the legendary politician 'Roma Antiqua'. But he doted on my younger brother. So my brother inherited his skills in art and music. And I got fucking nothing. I was always so damn clumsy, and I couldn't do a single thing right. Then one day, he died. We don't know how."
Antonio continued to gaze at the small boy. "Where do you live then?"
Lovino pivoted to face him. "I live in the church. Gramps was always close to the church in the hills. My brother's studying music with 'His Royal Highness Edelstein'. He's taking care of us. Or just my brother."
The church bells started to chime. The boy cursed beneath his breath, moved toward Antonio, "Merda, I gotta go. Thanks for letting me hear your song. I wanna hear the rest of it the next time we meet." Then he broke out into a full out sprint away from the chimes.
"Where are you going now?"
Lovino stopped. "I'm running away. They don't want me there."
Antonio started to absentmindedly strum his guitar. "What about your brother? Wouldn't he miss you?"
He paused to hear the Italian's response. Silence. Lovino began running again.
Another strum rang through the empty area and a small smile spread across Antonio's lips. I'll check up on him tomorrow, he thought as the sound of footsteps slowly faded away.
A/N:
El Condor is actually a Peruvian folk song. This is a Spanish version of the song translated by Earlene Rentz. I plan to update monthly, if not weekly.