A Simple Story

A Simple Story
(for Margaret Faherty)

For three months, Molly never stayed at the office for a single minute
after half past five. She didn't have time. In fact she had time for
very little else these days except talking 'on line' from her living
room. She was on her keyboard every possible minute at all time of the
day and night. She always talked to the same person, Juan from
Capileira, high in the Alpujarra mountains of Andelucia in Southern
Spain. It did not matter that she had no real idea of where this was or
that she had never met him. In fact it did not seem to matter that she
know very little about Juan, except for the style of his daily 'on
line' banter and the emotions that he told her about. These days Molly
went around the place totally preoccupied and exhausted. Her house was
a mess, her meals, mere snacks, she hardly ever saw here friends
anymore, she had abandoned her weekly swims and visits to the
hairdresser. Her traditional eight hours in bed were reduced to six and
she went to work tired and preoccupied every day. Her only focus was
here computer and Juan.

It was three months to the day when she first 'clicked' on him. Why she
checked out the Spain channel in the MIRC chat programme, she will
never know. She hardly knew where Spain was. She supposed that his
nickname attracted her. Don Juan, it sounded so romantic. "Hiya" she
clicked and he had answered in Spanish. "Me &;#8230; no Espanol,
only English" she said and he replied "No problem, I speak English,
after all it's the lingo of cyber space." "M or F" he asked and when
she replied "F", he sent here a "J". It made here smile too. They
talked about life in Ireland and in Spain. They talked about the need
for compassion in the world and about the qualities they admired in
people. Molly built a romantic vision of Juan. She propagated a very
ideal version of herself. Well, maybe it was the real Molly, but she
avoided mentioning any of her self doubts and negative aspects. After
all they had confirmed to each other that it was only the inner core
goodness of a person that mattered.

Juan was the perfect person in Molly's mind. He fulfilled almost all of
her needs. She was unconscious of here censoring and believed that she
could tell him anything. She never felt more intimately connected in
her life. Everything paled and became drab in comparison with her 'on
line' time with Juan. However, they had shared little by way of
personal detail and had not exchanged photographs. She had no scanner
or indeed any photographs which she would wish to share with Juan. She
would not have wanted to topple what was being built between them.
Anyhow to ask for more personal detail would have been inconsistent
with the ideals which they had shared. Such personal detail had no
relevance or place in what was between them.

Her hands trembled as she clicked 'connect internet'. Frustration
surged as the first two connection attempts failed. However, at last
she was 'on line' and so was Juan. She typed "I cannot continue without
us meeting. No matter what it takes we must be together soon. I am
prepared to come to meet you and we must meet soon.." Juan said that he
felt the same and that "sure .. it would be mega for them to meet and
to be together for a while at last." After a further hour 'on line'
clicking messages back and forth, she fell into bed. She fell into a
warm and secure sleep. She felt a happy tiredness like one might feel
after a day in the mountains.

It had been a long time since she was on a plane. The flight to Malaga
passed quickly. She didn't haggle over the car rental price and drove
carefully on what she considered to be the wrong side of the road. It
was still early, as she had left Dublin at six am. She drove on towards
Nerja. It was beautifully warm and the sea views were thrilling and all
the more so because of the steep rise of the barren mountains from the
coast. One and a half hours later she stopped in Nerja, ordered coffee
and struggled to ask for directions to Capileira. Her Spanish was non
existent.

She continued her journey East along the coast towards Motril, taking
the Granada road, just before the town, afterwards turning off that
towards Orgiva, high into the mountains. She noticed little,
concentrating on her driving and her mission of getting to here
destination as soon as possible. It was only when she stopped in Orgiva
that the full impact of where she was and what she was doing began to
hit her. She felt here tense muscles relax like weights falling away
from her. As she sipped a glass of red wine delivered to her by a
tanned and handsome waiter, she looked at the mountain below and above
her. The place matched the romance and enchantment of her mission. The
ancient and still remaining Arabic touches to the architecture and
d?cor lent mystery and excitement to the place. This place and her
image of Juan and his life were totally consistent. She could not have
imagined him in any other place. The Alpujarres and Juan were one in
her mind.

Soon, she felt part of these wonderful mountains with their olive
groves, lemon trees, white villages and their bronzed, slow moving and
smiling people. She drove up through the pueblos of Pampaneira and
Bubion. She was near her destination. Around a perilous bend she came
on the white boxes of Capileira. She knew that Juan lived in the middle
of the village in Calla Martinez. She would find that street and ask
for the house of the family of 'de la Rosa'. The houses were not
numbered. She was sure that Juan would be waiting for her as she had
told him that she'd be there mid afternoon and it was now 2.30 pm. She
had no idea where she was going to stay, or for how long. She had taken
leave from her office for one week. Her one aim was to meet Juan and to
be with him and bring all of their cyber world intimacy into the real
realm of touching and looking. It would be both a grand culmination and
a beginning. What they had built together since first meeting 'on line'
had all the searing pain, joy and thrills of real love and soon it was
to be expressed in full.

Molly parked on the outskirts of the lower section of the village. She
tidied her hair and adjusted her clothes. She climbed through the
narrow, twisting and steep white streets. There were flowers in bloom
everywhere even though it was already Autumn. Colourful weavings hung
outside a few shops. Corn cobs, onions and strings of peppers were
lying and hanging on flat roofs, drying in the sun. She climbed into a
square with a church and a fountain. Some old men were sitting there
chatting. Two black clad elderly women shuffled laden with their bags
of groceries. A four wheel drive passed through the square. The street
beyond was a stairs. As she climbed the first step she say the blue and
white tile with the words "Calle Martinez". A shudder of nervous
excitement ran through her body. She continued to climb past the doors
and shutters closed against the sun. She saw one red door and knew that
this was it. She knew that he had painted the door red, just as she
knew lots and lots of other small details of his life.

Trembling, Molly knocked on the door. The door opened, there was Juan,
arms outstretched and smiling. "Molly" he said "at last, we meet."
"Come in, come in, please". He held her shoulders and looked into her
eyes and gave her a hug. Inside it was cool and dark. The walls were
white and decorated with colourful plates. Juan invited her to sit at
the end of a long dark table. He produced a jug of red wine and two
glasses. They sat and said little, absorbing the strangeness and wonder
of their meeting. "It's so wonderful for us to meet at last" he said.
She wanted to reach out and seal all of their shared intimacy with a
touch. Juan said "you will stay here of course. I have a room ready,
where is your luggage ?" He went with her to the car and carried her
luggage to the house. All the while they chatted lightly about her
journey and the village. Over and over they said how wonderful it was
to meet at last.

Juan took her to a simple room under the roof. He showed her where she
could shower and told her that he would leave her to wash and rest for
an hour as he had some things to attend to.

Molly showered and lay on the bed. The room was dark, cool and smelled
of lavender. As she thought, one minute it was like she was outside of
herself looking at a video and then the wonder of it all being real
would strike her. She thought "Where to next ? &;#8230; now that
they were face to face, what would Juan and she have to share together
?. Would there be the same fearless closeness and sharing as there had
been when they talked through computers ? What did she want to happen
?". As these thoughts whirled around in her head some bitter sweet
realizations surfaced. One minute she was a beautiful young girl, the
next the reality of all of her thirty eight years and her ordinary
suburban clerk'ish appearance loomed. She pictured Juan. He was
eighteen. Medium height and build with black tight curled hair. He body
was firm and his skin dark. He could have been Moroccan or Palestinian.
She remembered reading of the Moorish history of this part of Spain. He
was beautiful. Then she pictured both of them together. Desire thrilled
her to tears of joy and impossible reality salted them with pain. They
were close, she knew that. They had shared their innermost feelings
together. They loved each other. Yet it was unreal. " Could it be real
? What did she want ? Was it physical passion together ? Was it the
fearless intimacy of soul mates ? Was it a wish to share her life with
him ? It was all of this and yet it was nothing. It was real and yet it
was a dream." She found her thoughts embarrassing and they made her
blush.

Molly became alert. Had she been asleep ?. She did not know. Was she
dreaming ? She did not know. She arose and stretched. She felt that it
was not right for her to be in this place and yet that it was like
coming to a heart shared home.

"Are you awake" Juan shouted. "Let's go for a walk and I will show you
the village and some of the way to the Valeta peak." They strolled
through the village and on to the mountain path. It was indeed a
strange and beautiful place. Molly relaxed and was peaceful, whole and
together. She chatted away with Juan without any tension. She felt
close to him and could see that he too was relaxed and open with her.
She was glad that she had come and that they were walking and talking
here together.

They walked on the mountain for about an hour and then turned back for
the village. Juan told her that soon he would be starting a course in
Trevelez, a bigger town on the next and highest peak of the Alpujarres,
Mulhacen. The course would be for six months and in olive grove
management. After that he would find full time work with the farming
cooperative in Capileira. His grandfather, who had fought on the
republican side in the civil war, had been a founder of the
cooperative, which had initially operated on a clandestine basis during
the repressive Franco era. His father, Carlos, was now in charge of the
lemon production and trading for the cooperative.

She already knew that he was an only son, unusual in Spain and that his
mother, from Madrid, had long left her husband and son, having never
really taken to harsher village life in the Southern mountains. In fact
she had left when Juan was just seven years old and had little contact
since. Molly knew how much it all had pained Juan and how much he
missed no having his mother close. His chatting was effortless and full
of refreshing enthusiasm.

He told her of the special girl from Julives, further along the
mountain range, whom he met often at the village festivals. He had
invited her last week to see him help carry the Madonna from the church
of San Sabastian in his own village, though the crowded plaza, lit with
fireworks and enlivened with loud drums. She stayed with him and his
father that night, returning to her own village the next day.

It was strange, Molloy was not jealous, shocked or disappointed at this
mention of Greta for whom Juan obviously had particular feelings.
Molly's own feelings for Juan were special, feelings which denied easy
definition. They were not just maternal and not just those of a girl in
love in the normal sense. Yet, they were not confusing either. She knew
that herself and Juan shared a special intimacy. She was confident that
what they had together was honest and good. She was relaxed in her
feelings and sharing and so too was he. She knew that.

They had returned to the house and were still talking and laughing over
another glass of wine, when the door opened. A tall, rugged, dark and
handsome man appeared in the spotlight of the sun beam which gleamed
through the doorway. He had a broad grinning smile, just like Juan.
Juan introduced her as his good friend from Ireland, to Carlos, his
father. He joined the light hearted conversation with ease. He touched
her gently on the arm often as he emphasized a point. She smelled the
sweet sweat of his day's labour. His presence thrilled her in the same
as the nearness of his son did. Molly was more totally relaxed in the
presence of these people than she had ever been in her entire life. She
felt radiant and wonderful and not at all foolish or awkward or out of
place. Carlos had expressed no surprise except the most pleasant at her
visit.

Juan got up and stretched and left the room. She heard the shower
running and shortly afterwards he returned in a black pants and
gleaming white shirt. He explained that he had to go to work at a local
restaurant, La Fonda, for a few hours and apologized that he could not
have been free on her first night in Capileira. Carlos assured both of
them that he would delight in being with Molly for the evening. After
Juan left she showered again, as did Carlos and when they were
refreshed, he asked her to come with him for a drink and then dinner.
It was already ten o'clock. She was indeed very hungry. Nowhere do
people eat dinner as late as in Spain. They drank and talked at La
Fonda. Juan did not serve them as he was working at the bar and it was
busy with a group of German tourists. Carlos was great company and he
positively glowed with warmth and joviality after a few glasses of
wine. His English was understandable and his pronunciations, cute.
Afterwards they walked home arm in arm. When they were inside the
house, Molly felt that was going to take her in his arms and kiss her.
She did not know if she wanted this or not. He didn't.

Before she drifted into a deep sleep, she basked in a sense of
completeness and calm that she had never realized was possible. A happy
woman fell asleep.

In the days that followed, Molly took long walks with Juan. One day he
took her to the beach near Motril and another day, high into the
mountains. Carlos took her with him to Granada. He made sure that there
was lots of time to show her La Hambra, the enchanting old Moorish
palace, high above the city. She cooked dinner one evening. They went
to a village festival, where she met with Greta and was touched at the
gentle sight of her and Juan together. All week the three of them
laughed, talked and shared feelings without inhibition. Molly was
happy.

In the middle of the week and at Orgiva, she bought some postcards. She
wrote them that evening and finding a spare one, she wondered to whom
she would send it. She wrote "Dear Peter, I am having a wonderful time
in Spain. I will fly home from Malaga on Saturday evening. I really do
wish that you were here to share what I have found. Thinking about you.
Molly."

The pilot said that it was raining in Dublin. "What else is new" Molly
thought. She was feeling a little lost and depressed. If only she could
be, just be, in Dublin as she had in Andelucia. Would she ever feel
again, as she never had before, like she felt in Capileira with Juan
and Carlos. She thought not. "Ah well" she sighed as she pushed her
luggage trolley through the exit, into the dark rain and towards the
taxi rank. She heard someone call her name. "Molly". "Molly". She
turned and there was Peter. "Hiya" he said. "Welcome home &;#8230;
got your card &;#8230; knew you were coming tonight &;#8230; was
at a loose end .. came to pick you up" he panted. On the way to the
city he said "Why not let the two of us round off your holiday with
dinner." He held the umbrella as they ran to 'The Cedar Tree' in Andrew
Street.
She found herself uncharacteristically reaching over the table and
touching his hand as she told him all about her trip. He talked about
himself. He had a lot to say. She had not seen him in months. As she
relaxed and delighted in the warmth of Peter's company, she knew she
had taken something precious home with her. She raised her glass in
silence, to Peter, to Juan, to Carlos, to the Alpujarres and to herself
too.

End

MWC
1.X.'99