Chapter IV

The library

Her music teacher used to say she had a really good ear. That is, when she had a music teacher, long time ago. La señorita Clara had taught her to tell apart Do from Re, Mi from Fa and Sol from Sol bemol. She still got it, she liked to think, or maybe it was a natural skill. Either way, the result was the same: what she heard several nights ago was way too familiar, even though he tried to disguise his voice, to make it a tad deeper. And if there was somebody in this world who could brag about knowing that voice, who had captured it to repeat it inside her imagination over and over again; who studied each word (and those three words, above all!) until they were pretty much worn out and out of meaning, and became an almost tangible evocation of his presence; who else could recognize the tone, the nuance, the accent, the inflections, the sharps and flats of any so long, señorita he'd pronounce.

Or she was starting to lose her mind and was seeing and hearing him everywhere.

I'm inclined to believe the second hypothesis.

Shut up. I need to clear my head.

"Padre Felipe says please come to the library, he'll be there in a minute."

"Thanks, Pepe."

Josefina walked across the Mission's patio, a rustic fountain in the center of it, with some orange fish and several turtles drying up in the sun. She hadn't visited in weeks, maybe even months, but everything was just as she'd left it, coated in a centuries old layer of dust.

The library wasn't very big and yet one of its walls displayed books from top to bottom and left to right. They had dull or peeled off spines, letters or numbers that had been gold at some point, brittle pages pouring out. Bigger books, smaller books, and Josefina would run her eyes over each of them, trying to find one that would suit her. No romance, please, she'd already plagued her own brain with that. Maybe a little bit of adventure or, why not?, tragicomic misfortune. She'd been meaning to read it for a while, ever since she saw it around here, among those Bibles in several languages or the tomes on Philosophy or Theology.

"There you are…"

The volume's cover was ochre or maybe crimson, you couldn't really tell at this point.

She dragged a footstool closer and jumped on it, then stretched out, stood on tiptoes, and stretched out a bit more…

Almost, but no. She'd need something to reach it with or…

Everything was quiet; the priest wasn't coming just yet. It was only a matter of stepping her right foot on the bookcase's wooden shelf, only for a second, then reach out as high as she could and-

"May I help?"

The unexpected question, plus the height, and getting caught climbing up there like a monkey, made her lose balance and she couldn't decide where to steady hands or feet anymore. The book, which she had just grasped, went flying, and she almost plummeted to the floor along with it. Almost, because someone held her just in time.

"Señorita! Taking such risks for El Quijote is justified, but I wouldn't want you to get hurt because of me."

Josefina could have sworn her heart was all of a sudden beating like a drum in the entirety of the Mission. Maybe it was such a rush of adrenaline what made her blurt out the first thing that came to mind:

"Where did you come from?!"

"Recently, that armchair."

Many times had she imagined herself holding on to him while riding a horse, true. But she never thought anything remotely similar could actually happen: to lean on him, to feel the fabric of his jacket, his hand still placed halfway down her back and her waist.

They better break it up, before the father shows up and thinks-

"Oh, yeah? So you were spying all this time instead of helping out?"

"I was sure you'd find the way to reach it." He picked up the book from the floor and handed it to her: "And see, I was right."

"And why were you so sure?"

"Just a hunch." From up close, his eyes were more in-between hazel and coffee: "And I'm sorry I startled you. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"Well you could scare away the annoying drunkos from the tavern… no, you already did that." He smiled at her with those white teeth: "No, it's alright, no worries."

"I insist. I couldn't help but notice that's El Quijote's second part. Have you read the first one already?"

"Not really, but this is the only one the father has, I think."

"Well then, I'd like to lend you the first part."

"Do you have it?" A stupid question with an obvious answer, but it was the only thing her brain put together.

"I do. Is it okay if I bring it to the tavern tomorrow?"

"Sure. And then, maybe I'll forgive you."

"I'll be on tenterhooks."

She'd had no time to rehearse what she'd say, and it wasn't necessary. Against her expectations and contrary to the panic attacks she'd experience any time she'd see him, back then at the shop and now at the tavern, for the first time there was no context defining them. She wasn't the sweeper or the waitress who had just to do her job, and he wasn't the don or señor who wasn't expected to have much to talk about with the help. There was nothing and no one around, or maybe there were only the important things: books, thoughts, ideas, stories. Right the second she realized it was him holding her, something like a lightning crossed her from skull to ankles, an euphoria that allowed her to simply be. To look at him in the eye, to smile whenever she felt like it, to joke around as equals.

Padre Felipe arrived, carrying some manuscripts he wanted to analyze with Diego (from now on, at least in her mind, she'd call him Diego and not don Diego), so she thanked the priest for lending her the book and excused herself.

"Good bye, padre. Don Diego."

All right, there was one thing that made her recently acquired confidence weaken; good thing she was about to leave already: Diego approached, took her hand (which was used to do the dishes) in his hand (which was used to the horses' reins) and placed a kiss on its back, always looking at her eyes.

"So long, señorita."

Josefina turned around and left, blushing and pale, her hands paralyzed and shaking.

(…)

If someone had entered her bedroom that night, they'd have found her with the back of her hand glued to her face.

This is where his lips were, on these knuckles.

It's just a courtesy thing out of politeness.

Also, my hand was in his hand…

He's a gentleman. That was just a… gentleman's way to say goodbye.

I know, right? He's such a gentleman, I love that.

So do I. I shouldn't but… so do I.

The possibility of him being Zorro was secondary now. Most likely, her mind had just played a trick on her, making her hear Diego's voice in the least expected person. What really mattered is that she existed for him, that he held her when she fell, that he wanted to lend her a book.

All of this excitement kept spinning inside her head, as she started her shift at the tavern the following day. Every time she'd hear the door open, her stomach jolted (he won't come, he'll come, he won't come, he'll come, he's got better things to do, he promised, technically he didn't promise, he'll come), but it wasn't until it was almost time to close, when there were only a couple of customers left and Josefina was clearing their table, when she heard that voice behind her back:

"Good evening, señorita."

He did come. Jesus Christ.

"Good evening, don Diego." He'd taken a seat at his usual spot: "Would you like some wine or tea?"

"Tea would be good, but that's not what I'm here for."

"Then why are you here?" As she cleaned the table with a cloth, she tried hard not to look at him in the eye: she knew that if she did, she'd start smiling way too much.

"Well I like to keep my word and yesterday I promised (he promised!) I'd bring a book to a certain señorita."

Padre Felipe's beat up volumes would have been jealous of this one, bound in black leather and with shiny letters carved on the cover that looked like actual gold.

The table was cleaner than clean already.

"Oh, what señorita would that be?"

"It's a señorita I've known for a while: brown hair, beautiful brown eyes, she has a tendency to climb bookshelves, too. Maybe you've seen her around here?"

Her face probably got even redder. It didn't matter.

"Climb bookshelves? No, it doesn't ring a bell. But if I ever come across her, I'll give it to her from you."

"Thank you very much."

"Thank you."

The last clients left (Josefina didn't hear them talk about two bandits Zorro had delivered to the authorities that very afternoon). Now, it was only the two of them.

He stood up:

"Josefina, I'd like to beg you to take a seat, please. It doesn't seem right that you're standing there while I'm sitting here, don't you think?"

"But you're a customer here and I'm-"

"Isn't it closing time?"

"Well yes but-"

"All right, the both of us can just stay standing here" he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Fine, just for a little while".

And also so my knees don't wobble at having you right here in front of me as I die.

"So. Am I forgiven?"

So… this is what it felt like. Even if she'd been dazzled by him all this time, in spite of a several years break; even if she liked him, his voice, the way he talked, how confident he was without being arrogant or egocentric, his face, his posture, the way he moved, every darn thing… she'd never put a name to that feeling. But it was just this. Sitting at the table with him, who looked at her with interest and expectation… that's when the word fell from the ceiling and hit her right on the head: she was in love with him and there was no turning back.

"That depends."

"On?"

"On Cervantes."

"In that case-"

"Josefina!" She jumped right on her feet to see a not very amused don Theo who'd just entered the room: "You know tables are only for customers, don't you?"

"Yes, don Theo, I'm sorry, it's-"

"Don Theo, it's my fault." As… uncommon as the situation could be, she felt herself floating a bit up in the air, at seeing him come to her rescue. Again. "I was asking Josefina about the house wines and I begged her to take a seat, I apologize if that was badly timed."

"The house wines, eh?"

Diego then proceeded to explain in all detail how he would soon throw out a reception for a second cousin who was coming to town and was an authority in wine and rum. For such an event, what better place than the tavern, but first, he wanted to do his research about the cellars' availability and the harvests' quality. Behind the bar, Josefina followed the conversation, rinsing and drying dishes, almost convinced that the party was real, given don Diego's… given Diego's eloquence, she corrected herself, smiling on the inside. Then, as don Theo presented bottle of wine after bottle of wine, so his client could take a look at them against the light, she went to swipe and wash up the floor. She felt a bit ashamed of herself when remembering that before, five years ago, she'd precisely been embarrassed of being nothing for him but a girl who cleaned around, a servant, someone who'd never have the remote chance of being a señorita who could even seat at the same table with him. Not anymore. He'd talked to her, he'd lent her a book, damn it, he'd kissed her hand! Paying no mind to all of that. Why would she, then?

"Was all of that true?" she asked in a low voice already knowing the answer, after don Theo went out to receive some merchandise that'd just arrived.

"No. And this wine isn't from 1789 either." It was so easy to laugh with him. "I'm sorry if I put you in an uneasy situation. Again."

"Don't be. I sat by my own free will."

"I'd better leave." He was about to, but then made up his mind: "I wouldn't want to give you trouble at work. Are you going to the Mission again next Wednesday?"

"Yes." The syllable came out of her lips without her being too aware of what she was saying.

"Would it be alright if we continue talking about Cervantes that day? Same time than yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Good." He took her hand once again, this time it was damp with soapy water; a kiss, looking at her in the eye. (He'd be the death of her if he kept doing that.) "Good night, señorita."

"Good night."

She saw him head to the door and walk out. Funny, she was still hanging on to the broom with her other hand.

(…)

Note: hi guys! The fountain at the mission, with the fish and turtles, I took it from a museum in my city, that used to be a monastery. Thanks for reading and please drop me a review! Thanks again :-)