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I kiss her cheek.
“It’s OK, Simona,” I say as I go up the stairs. “Everything’s OK. But I’m going to go and freshen up, or this will all end worse thanEmerald Madness.”
We both smile. When I get up to the room and close the door, my neck is itching. God, what a rash! I look in the mirror, and I’m completely plagued. Damn it!
Determined to leave the house no matter what, I take off my pj’s, get dressed, and, once I have my coat on, go back to the living room where the two of them are playing Wii. I stride up to them. I pull the cord and disconnect them. The music stops. They both look up.
“I’m going for a stroll. I need it!” And before Eric can say a word, I add, “Don’t even think about telling me I can’t go. For your own good, don’t even think about it!”
I leave the house. No one follows me.
Poor Simona tries to convince me to stay, but I tell her I’m fine and not to worry. When I reach the gate and go out the side door, Susto comes to greet me. I walk around the neighborhood for a little while with the dog at my side. I tell him my problems, my frustrations, and the poor beast looks at me with his big eyes as if understanding. After a long walk, and when I’m back in front of the gate to the house, I realize I don’t really want to go in, so I call Marta. Twenty minutes later, when I can barely feel my feet, Marta picks me up in her car and we take off. I say goodbye to Susto. I need to talk to somebody who’ll respond, or I’ll go crazy.
20
With the tension level at about a zillion, I drink a beer and look up at Marta’s serious face. Given what I’m saying and my anger, she probably has a pretty good idea of what’s happened.
“Easy, Jude. You’ll see how everything will have calmed down when you get back.”
“Oh, of course ... Of course it’ll have calmed down! I don’t plan on saying a word to either of them. They’re made for each other. If one is stubborn, the other is even more so. For the love of God, how can your brother give a nine-year-old a check as a gift? And how can a nine-year-old become such a premature old man?”
“They’re like that,” Marta says, laughing.
Her cell phone rings. She takes the call.
“That was Mother,” she reports. “She said my cousin Jurgen called to let us know he has a motocross race not too far from here. Would you like to go?”
“Of course.”
Forty-five minutes later, in the middle of a snowy, vacant field, we’re surrounded by motocross bikes. I’m a bundle of nerves. I watch the race and applaud like a madwoman. When it’s over, we go say hello to Jurgen, who welcomes me warmly.
“I called Aunt Sonia because I didn’t have your number. I didn’t want to call over to Eric’s house. I know he doesn’t like this sport.”
I understand and give him my cell number. He gives me his. Then I look at the motorcycle.
“How does it drive with the wheels full of nails?”
Jurgen doesn’t hesitate. He hands me the helmet.
“See for yourself.”
Marta doesn’t want me to ride. She’s worried something could happen to me, but I insist. I put on Jurgen’s helmet and start the motorcycle.
Wow! What a shot of adrenaline.
I happily go out on the frozen track and take a lap; I’m pleased the wheels do a pretty good job in the snow with all those nails. But I don’t let myself get careless. I know I’m not wearing the necessary protection; if I fall, I’ll get hurt. Once I’m back by Marta’s side, she breathes easier.
“Thank you,” I say, handing Jurgen’s helmet back to him. “It was wonderful.”
Jurgen introduces me to several other racers, and I seem to surprise them all. When they find out I’m Spanish, they all say some version of “olé,” “toros,” and “sangria.” What notion do these foreigners have of Spanish people?
After the race, we say goodbye, and Marta and I go for another drink. When we sit down, I’m still elated from the lap I took on the bike. I know if Eric finds out, he’ll scream to high heaven, but I don’t care. I had fun. I suddenly realize how Marta is looking at the server. That blond fellow has already come by several times to bring us things, and he certainly is very courteous.
“Let’s see here, Marta. What’s going on between you and that handsome server?” I ask, laughing.
“Nothing,” she says, surprised. “Why would you ask that?”
Sure my intuition is right, I lean back in my chair.