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Show not understand. If Paco is dead by his own hand, why? He was not a morose man, never admitted to despair, slept well, like myself. He was not the sort to believe all those easy words he spent on me. On the other hand, perhaps I am reading too much into the note. He told me he was leaving Malaga. On the surface the note said only that it was unlikely our paths would cross again. It is easy enough for me to picture him in Barcelona, buying shoes, having his nails done, taking his niece to the cinema. But the thing that is distasteful to me about it all is that Paco may very well have intended for me to wonder. He was shrewd, sentimental. He wished to be remembered. She is back. Alone. Alexis has stopped to talk with a friend. I see him pointing in our direction, laughing. He's very drunk, she says. I know. He said I must make love to a Greek before I marry-so that I will know the right way. His experience is with whores. And yours? The sailor returns to the table, picks up the bottle of ouzo, but it is empty. He lifts the Five Star and tries to pour himself a drink. As much spills to the table as into his glass. Hey, Paco, she is a good dancer, he says. Of course, I say. |
