Howe Gelb

Book of Lies

day 21 :::: 5^15^11 spain

i stagger to the airport in the morning like i know what i’m doing. the body is feeble from the city and the endless night. the mind is still juggling roof top molecules, now scattered. the heart has taken a powder.

then the family emerges from the treacherous confines of time travel and look so stunning after such ordeal. an endless collection of embrace, then whisk them away to the train like it was a pipeline to paradise. fernando joins up in his long tailed coat and cheshire grin just like a relief. we make the high noon train by a few spare moments and the train knows what to do with all of us.

the jet lag begins to pound the kids for the last 15 minutes of the ride as if we made it just in time. soon the roof is clustered like a dream with the family all gathered. i watch carefully, hoping they fall in love with it as i have long done. the littlest one turns to me and simply offers up her take: “awesome !”.

fernando’s house is now like a giant boat, maybe something from a wes andersen film, holding 2 whole families as well as the permeation of studio and fer’s living space. the bells ring for us as our building appears to glide through the ages. the streets slowly returning to normal having survived their own clatter festival of the patios this long weekend. the swallows take to the air and sweetly nose dive our heads while we gather for sunset on the top deck. cold red wine is poured.

then we take back the streets like locals and wait for dinner time to finally happen about 10:00 at night. the wives are perplexed by the crazy late hour to commence eating, but the men find it about right.

we head down to the river, pass the last outposts of las touristas and slink into the streets of a favorite local place hidden away.

dinner unfolds endlessly out on their sidewalk where we are perched. afterwards, the walk home cannot be long enough through the enchanted alleys polished by so many ancient footsteps. these children play and giggle, running barefoot after midnight without fear of repercussion. the streets embrace their laughter with reverb.

last stop is at fernando’s bar. we are almost the only ones in there on a sunday night. perfect. everyone gets a gin tonic, but i have had enough. i just sit there and take it all in like something older then i am. the kids get a shirly temple each and are stunned by the offer.

the time to nest back on the roof top makes itself known. i gather the kids and bring them up to settle in. they are slap happy from lag and doze time will be awkward and rewarding when it crashes us all down.

the winds rock the beds. andalucian particles sprinkle the spread.

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