In the summer, everything looks golden here. And when you touch it, it crinkles. I go to the country around the palace, past the swan ponds and the orange trees the monks keep. Where no one trims the bushes and the grass and the oak trees except the cows. There are granite mines, where they got the stone from to build the Monastery and the whole town. There's big granite mounds. I climb them in the evening and sit on the very top, I feel the lingering warmth of the sun seep through my clothes and I feel safe. So safe I could curl up there and spend the night. I know none of the farmers' dogs could get me here, nor the cows, and I'm warm and certain I'll stay dry because it never rains here anyway. What else would I need?
The sun sets and I know that the heavens will soon put on their evening gown. I make my way back, on the dirt paths, and feel the roots through my shoes until it becomes paved closer to the entrance. There's a big stone gate and next to it, some stables and the guardhouse. I start to walk towards the guard, because he has the key but he sees me and waves me to stay there. He comes out saying that I shouldn't go out so late, because don't I know there's wolves in the mountains. I tell him I do, but the gardens can get so boring; when you're out here you can do as you like and no cow is ever gonna pull your ears for it. He says he wouldn't be so sure heh heh and his crows' feet crinkle when he smiles.
The palace isn't far and I stop above the pond. Over it you can see all the cherry and apple and plum and orange trees the monks keep and way beyond them, in the valley, some fireflies huddle and I know that's Madrid. And I feel proud, because I like my capital, with its fountains with mermaids and gods and frogs, and the avenues and the arches and the madrileños1 and the markets and the nightlife. But I know they'll worry, so I hurry back to the Monastery and pray for the best. As soon as I come up the stairs, my mother comes out to the hall.
Ay, cariño2, I told you not to stay out so late.
Mamá, I didn't know you'd come over, I tell her because I'm in a boarding school and it's the monks that take care of everything.
She says it was a surprise for her too but aren't I glad, we could go for ice cream after dinner. I tell her I'd love to because it's been so hot all day and I'm hungry. We go to the dining room and sit at a table with a Greek salad and some pan tomaca3 because it's been so hot none of us want anything warm. She looks up from her food and talks to me and between our food and our conversation the meal takes almost an hour. We run into Hermano Francisco4 and Mamá tells him she's taking me out for ice cream and a chat. He has no problem with that and a twinkle in his eyes that looks like he knows something I don't. But I guess that's when the chat comes in.
We walk into town and I'm almost taller than her when she makes me stand straight, push your shoulders back or you'll look like your poor Abuela5. My Abuela has a horrible hump on her back from leaning over like that. She didn't have a job, my Abuelo6 did, and he was an accountant who spent all day at a typewriter, and his back was straighter than a ruler. At the ice cream parlour, we have a long chat because Azucena and Joan have known us all our lives. We've always gone to Los Valencianos7 for our ice cream and Azu says she remembers me when I couldn't see over the counter and look at me know, so tall and handsome and sixteen. And I smile, which is something I love to do, even if my teeth are a bit crooked because I can't help it. I ask for a chocolate ice cream because it's my absolute favourite and she has After Eight. She hands me napkins and colourful plastic spoons while my Mamá hands Joan the pesetas8.
We sit outside, on the chairs made of mimbre that crinkle under our weight. I throw my head back and look at the clear sky, where the stars are coming out. There's a lovely breeze and it's just the right temperature; like that magic temperature you get when you're filling the bath and you can't feel the water. I can't feel the air; I could probably float right off my chair.
1 People from Madrid
2 Ah/Gosh, dear
3 Tomato paste (shredded with the cheese shredder thing) with olive oil, herbs and a pinch of salt spread on bread; one of life's simple pleasures!
4 Brother Francis
5 Grandma
6 Grandpa
7 A valenciano is someone from Valencia, who happen to make the best ice cream. (Gijona, too.)
8 The currency used in Spain before the Euro.