Tremor Cordis

Music spills from the radio as she snorts to a welcome wakening from her dream before. Dreams that split her head. Rising, she pours a glass of iced water from the fridge and steps, leather on tile, to the bathroom. The sun here is warm and cool as the breeze lifts the curtain lace and blows her nightdress about. The mirror is cracked from the night before and she stares in numb grief at eyes she had always thought would speak her soul. Today there’s no communication, only incomprehension.

A scalding shower, a brief tug through with an antique silver brush and a slip of make-up and she’s ready to hit the town. Catching a cab into the centre of the ville she grasps things on pegs and whistles behind her sunglasses as if there is nothing that could catch her mood. There is nothing that could catch her mood; not in these shops. She needs to find Miguel.

On a side street is a café that sells ron and coffees. No food, no beer even. He is always there, at least before nightfall. Miguel. Saint Michael of the free-house. Battling his petty thief friends with words, commands, jokes and shots.

‘Miguel…’ One word and he’s hers. He pulls her into the back of the shop, behind the curtain that separates the clients form the work-room. Though rough he has that look of concern in his eye that tells her he is protecting her – this time. ‘Miguel, they found me. They took Lucia from me and they told me to wait till tonight but I cannot.’

He knows something already. He had been sitting at the table outside not to enjoy the warming sun but rather to be there like a panic button for when she pulled-up. ‘Taranta, mi pasión, I have heard and I have a plan. Tonight, when they are calling you, Bob and I will be on Buenaventura, following these muthafuckas till we catch a sight of her. Hear me!’

And she heard him, it was more than she had been praying for and it calmed her mind more than ron, more than shopping more, even, than her prayers to Sant’Antonio. Tonight, Miguel would be her patron, he would give her what she needed. Bob would be back with her soon and Lucia had a chance, it was more than she had hoped for this morning and she took a cab home and slept till four. The hombres would call at six. She made coffee for the wait and wore satin.