by Kevin Craig
On the bright side, though—and I do want to try finishing these journal entries on the bright side from now on—there’s an awesome seating area outside the albergue. Stone-walled, with little bistro tables under umbrellas. Pretty. Troy said we should all sit out there later.
Troy says, with tonight’s clear sky, we’ll be able to see the Milky Way perfectly. From his vast Camino knowledge bank, he told me about the Milky Way pointing the way to Santiago de Compostela in the olden days, and how the route was once called Voie Lactée. It just means Milky Way. Anyway, I thought that was so pretty… that a galaxy would be interested enough in a pilgrim’s journey to light the night for them to find The Way. That’s bright side, right?!
I won’t even think about farting.
“Are you gonna write in that thing all night?” Claire asks me. I finish my sentence and close my journal with a little slam.
“I wondered when you’d get around to speaking to me again,” I say. Harsh words, but I try to say them nicely.
“Sorry.” She sips from her coffee cup and sits in the abandoned chair beside me. Diego left the room to have some face time with his mother. “I’ve been kind of hiding from everyone. I’m antisocial back home, not gonna lie. Coping mechanism for survival, actually.”
“Deep.” I smile to let her know I’m willing to give her a second chance. It’s obvious she’s trying. Which is also kind of pathetic.
“I thought I may have broken Troy today, but after seeing Diego tonight maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. You were harder on your guy.”
“Ha. Right?”
“Let me guess. That crazy steep mountainside with all the rocks and trees?” She takes out a bag of Skittles and pops a few. She offers the bag to me, but I pass.
“That’s the one,” I say, raising a finger in victory. “Two stitches. He went down that mountain hard.”
Just as I’m about to ask her if she heard us telling the story to Gil and Meagan, a voice rises from across the table.
“No, no, ladies,” Bastien says. He breaks his own conversation with the lady beside him to interject into ours. “That was no mountain. Tomorrow, we begin the uphill climb. Today, an incline perhaps.”
“What?” I almost screech. That cannot be possible. Claire looks at me like she may cry, and I’m pretty sure I return the expression.
“It is true. The way to O Cebreiro is long and it is up, up, up. It will be a big day. Maybe not as long as today, even, but much much longer.”
“Gil did say it’s a hard day,” Claire says. “Uphill.”
“We’re dead,” I say.
“I said to your Gilbert, it’s the next day, the day after O Cebreiro,” Bastien begins. He says this louder, in a little bit of a mocking and scolding tone. Loud enough for Gilbert to hear. “Is the day that brings the tears.” He traces his fingers down his face to show Gilbert where his tears will fall. Gilbert laughs.
Gilbert and Meagan leave their table and join us. It’s a night of musical chairs at this albergue.
“I know, I know,” Gil says. “You told me. We should have split up the walk differently and taken on more tomorrow so we would have less the next day. I know.”
“Our little villains, they will be, what is the Galician? Esgotado?”
“Hey,” Troy says from a couch behind us. “I know that word. I just used it in a text to my dad.”
I give him a what-the-hell look.
“Everything is a teaching-slash-learning opportunity with my father, Shania. Everything. He’s grilling me on my Spanish. And, yeah…” He scowls at Claire. “…I’m exhausted right now. Right, Claire? That’s what esgotado means.”
Claire gives him an evil smile and winks at him. “Shhhh. Our little secret.”
“Yeah, right.”
“That’s very good, Troy. You’re right,” Gil says.
“Yes,” Bastien agrees. “You all will be exhausted tomorrow once you start up to O Cebreiro. But the real mountain, it’s after O Cebreiro. The tears will not come tomorrow. They will be saved for another day.”
“Now you’re just scaring them, Bastien,” Meagan says. “That’s just cruel.”
“Ha ha, yes,” Bastien says as he picks up his wineglass and swigs down what is left. He rises and bows toward Claire and me. “Well, mes petits méchants. This old man must go to his nighty night place.”
Claire and I both say goodnight to Bastien.
“Will we see you in the morning, Bastien?” Meagan asks. She has this pleading look on her face, and I feel exactly like that look. We all wait for him to answer her.
“Mais oui, Mademoiselle Meagan.” His smile lights the room, just like Troy keeps talking about the Milky Way lighting up The Way. “I will walk with the Canadians tomorrow. If you will have me.”
“We’d be honored, Bastien,” Gilbert says. I feel relief, and it’s ridiculous.
“Bonne nuit and buenas noches and boas noites, my friends,” he says to all. The room bursts into a round of goodnights in different languages. He hasn’t only endeared himself to us. “See you in the tomorrow and onward to O Cebreiro.”
As Bastien walks across the room to go to his bunk, Diego enters. I see him say goodnight to Bastien and I nod in their direction to get Claire to notice.
“What’s up? Is he okay?” Claire asks. But it’s such a large room, so many people are talking at once, I can’t hear what they’re saying. I only see that Diego is wiping away tears.
I get up to make my way over to them, but I’m only halfway there when Bastien takes Diego in his arms and holds him to his chest. The room slowly goes quiet as people become aware something is happening. Before I get to them, I can see Diego’s sides shaking. He’s crying uncontrollably into Bastien’s shoulder.
Chapter 18 — Troy Sinclair
By the time I reach them, Bastien has gently passed Diego to Shania. He went from crumbling against Bastien to falling into Shania’s arms. I still don’t know what’s wrong with him. I’m not sure anyone does.
“Diego, Diego,” Shania whispers into his ear as he continues to slump into her like a rag doll. “What is it? Diego?”
“Is he okay? What’s wrong?” I put a hand on Diego’s back and pat him. He’s inconsolable.
“I don’t know. Where’s Gilbert? Where’s Meagan? Diego. What’s wrong?”
Bastien pulls me gently aside as Diego, unable to speak, continues to cry into Shania’s shoulder.
“His abuelita is gone, son. He has lost her,” Bastien whispers to me, sorrow in his expression. I wrack my brain. Dad would be so pissed at me right now for not knowing the word.
“I don’t understand.” I also think Diego may have heard Bastien’s words, because he slumps farther down on Shania. Just as Bastien opens his mouth to speak, the word’s meaning comes seeping up from the fog. “Oh my God, his gramma? His gramma’s dead?”
Diego moans, and it’s a sound unlike anything a human being should ever be capable of making. He slips from Shania’s arms and makes a slow descent to the floor at her feet, and there is nothing she can do to stop him. I hate myself for thinking out loud. My words have sliced him open and made his nightmare more real than it already was.
“Yes,” Bastien says. It is the first time I’ve seen him look anything but beatific. He looks as though he could punch me, and I don’t blame him.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Bastien. Then I slip to the floor beside Diego and put a protective arm around him. “I’m sorry, Diego. I’m so sorry.”
He slinks into me and puts his head in my lap and continues to cry uncontrollably. Shania and Manny join us. I see feet all around us, but concentrate on Diego. I don’t know what to do, so I just pat his shoulder.
“Oh, Diego,” Gil says, leaning close to Diego’s ear. “I’m so sorry. You poor child. I’m so sorry. What happened?”
He brings his he
ad up out of my lap and attempts to speak, but it’s just an ugly struggle of hitches and tears and mucus and wails. He’s completely destroyed.
“She had an attack,” Bastien says. He waves his arms. He is a man capable of crowd control. “Please, please, s’il vous plait. Can everyone give space? Por favor, haz espacio.”
The crowd begins to disperse; everyone talks amongst themselves, saying how bad they feel for Diego. Some give their condolences as they leave to make room, but I’m sure he hears nothing.
“She had a heart attack, Troy,” Bastien says. Every time we speak, an animalian squeal of pain comes from somewhere deep inside Diego. It hurts just to be here, inside this thing that’s happening to him.
“Diego,” Gil says. He puts a firm hand on Diego’s shoulder. “Come. Up we get. Come sit down on the couch. We’ll talk there.”
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” Diego says. He is breathless from the effort. “My abuelita is gone.” He looks up into Gil’s face with those big dripping brown eyes, and it’s the end of me. I can’t help myself. I start to cry. I know we only just met, but he’s so nice and he loves his mama and his gramma. It’s the sweetest thing about him.
“Oh, Diego,” Meagan says. I hadn’t seen her. She’s been hovering behind me, just as lost as the rest of us. Big unfallen tears shimmer in her eyes.
“I know it hurts, Diego,” Gil says. He takes on this authoritarian voice I haven’t yet heard, not even during his few attempts to be stern with us. “But we have to get you up off the floor. We’re blocking the doorway. The peregrinos will need to get by to get to their rooms. Come on now, son. Up.”
The voice is what finally spurs Diego into action. He struggles to his feet with Shania, Gil, and me helping him regain his legs. Bastien shadows us all the way as we walk Diego slowly to one of the couches along the sides of the room.
Our hostess comes over with a glass of water. She looks sick with worry. “For your friend,” she says to me in a whisper before she hands me the glass and disappears into the kitchen, almost as though she’s afraid of catching the sadness.
By now, the eight of us surround Diego in a cocoon of protection. The others slowly go back to what they were doing before everything fell apart. I catch Greg staring at me and I give him a what the hell look in return. He just looks away.
“What happened, Diego,” Meagan finally says. We all lean in as Diego tries to get his crying under control and catch his breath.
He sits up with his back straight and his hands on his knees and takes a big breath. I feel so bad for him.
“I was talking to Moms onscreen and I could see there was something she wasn’t telling me. Something wrong. Like she was trying to be strong. At first, I thought she just missed me.”
“I’m sorry, Dude,” Manny says. He looks so uncomfortable, like he doesn’t know how to deal with situations like this one at all. Who does?
Diego’s face crumples, but he regains composure almost instantly. Gil sits beside him and puts an arm around him and pulls him back down into the couch beside him. Diego just melts, giving up the rigid position. With his back against the cushions, he kind of nestles into Gil and continues.
“She tried to keep it together. To not tell me. But I knew. I know Moms. It’s just the three of us. I know how to read her. The two of us. When I asked her what was wrong, she tried to hold off. But she fell apart and I knew it was something… something bad.”
“Aw, hun,” Meagan says. She sits on his other side and takes his hand in hers. But I don’t think he even notices. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Your grandmother. You poor boy.”
He breaks down again, but only for a few seconds before he fights to regain hold of his emotions.
“I can’t go home,” he says. Claire opens her mouth in a look of surprise. “I need to finish the pilgrimage. Don’t make me leave.” He stares rigidly into Gil’s eyes. “I need to finish. For my abuelita. I told Moms I would finish for her mother.”
He just barely gets this out before he buries his face in Gil’s shoulder. Gil pats Diego on one side, while Meagan holds his hand and strokes his arm on the other. They look at each other, and, I swear, it looks like they’re trying to keep it together. And it scares me that the two adults looking out for us look so fragile.
“It’s okay, Diego. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want—”
“No. I want to. I want to walk. I told my mother I would.”
“And you will,” Meagan says.
I look at Shania and realize she’s practically crying her eyes out. I step past Greg to offer her a hug, and she falls into my arms. As we embrace, she says, “No, no. I’m okay. I just feel so bad for him. I’m okay. Just emotional.”
“I know,” I say. “I just really needed a hug.” She pulls back and smiles at me.
“Thank you, Troy,” she says. I return her smile and squeeze tighter.
“You’re okay, Troyboy,” Manny says. He pats me on the back.
“Diego, of course you can continue. It’s completely up to you. I meant you don’t have to stop walking.”
“Okay.” He gasps for a steady breath he can’t seem to find. “Okay, Gil.”
We all go silent while Diego tries to adjust to his new world, one without his grandmother.
* * *
After most of the other peregrinos have gone to their rooms for the night, Shania stirs in her seat, like she wants to say something. We’ve been sitting in utter silence for quite some time, and it’s making me edgy. All I feel is defeat.
We all brought chairs from one of the tables before the hostess stored them away for the night. We have surrounded the couch Diego shares with Gil and Meagan. We sit in a semicircle in front of them, first row seating for the still life of a boy destroyed.
“I have an idea,” Shania says. Greg jerks in his chair. I’m pretty sure he nodded off. I’m trying to like him, I swear.
Shania has everyone’s attention. Even Diego’s. He’s holding wads of Kleenex in his fists, and seems angry with himself for needing them. Other than that, he’s pretty calm. He’s at least breathing properly.
“Actually,” Shania says, looking at me. “It’s Troy’s idea. It was just postponed a bit.”
“Huh,” I say. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “You’ll have to remind me.”
“Voie Lactée,” she says, with this ta da look on her face. Oh yeah. I forgot all about that. “The sky is perfectly clear tonight. And the patio out front looked so pretty.”
I’m pretty sure Bastien is the only one who knows what she’s talking about. But all the others want to know. I can tell by the looks on their faces.
“The Milky Way,” I say, and Bastien offers me one of his golden smiles that make you feel as though you’ve won something priceless.
“Ah, yes. Tonight is a night of magic stars. They shine maybe for Diego’s abuelita alone, no?”
Diego looks questioningly to Bastien and then to me.
“Earlier I told Shania we should go out and look for the Milky Way tonight. When I read about the pilgrimage back home, I discovered they used to call it Voie Lactée. Because when the sky is clear, the Milky Way points the way to Compostela for the peregrinos who walk through the night. They followed the Voie Lactée—the Milky Way—and named the path after the galaxy.”
“How do you know so much, you little freak?” Diego says. At first I don’t know what to make of his words, but then his broken face cracks such a tiny smile it breaks my heart. I go over to him and reach down and hug him. I don’t care.
We all have this collective moment, and I can hear held breath releasing and little sighs escaping. There’s a lot more to come, but for now we can all exhale just knowing that Diego has.
“I say we do it, my man,” Diego says to me as I release him. He puts his hand up for a high five, and I give it to him. “I think my g
randmother would like that very much.”
“Yes,” Bastien says. “To have the stars shine for you is a great honor. She would like, Diego. Come, we go.”
And with Bastien’s announcement we all move. In a flurry of scraping chair legs and activity, we are on our feet and heading for the front door of the albergue.
Chapter 19 — Diego Nelson
My legs feel weighted down with cement, but as soon as I heard Shania’s idea I knew we had to do it. Especially after what Bastien and Troy said about it.
The more I feel like being alone, the more I know I shouldn’t be. Moms was so worried for me. That’s probably what finally made her break. I can’t believe she wasn’t going to tell me. She’s always trying to protect me from the hard stuff, but this is different. This is my abuelita, my life.
As we step outside, I can already see the light given off by the night sky. We’re on the main drag of this little town, and a bunch of tables are set out with umbrellas over some of them. The air is filled with the smell of freshly cut wood, and I remember the massive pile of logs by the side of the road just up from the albergue. It towered over our heads. Our last selfie stop of the day before reaching the albergue. It now fills the night air with fragrance.
There are not many lights on in the street, but the sky is bright. We step past the cobbled patio and stand in the center of the road beyond.
No one speaks.
We all turn our faces to the heavens at the same time. Even Claire.
I see Manny’s mouth form a silent wow as he takes it in. I agree. It’s almost too vast to believe. We don’t get this kind of sky in Toronto. The city lights kill the stars.
It’s beautiful. My breath catches in my throat as I stare up into the bowl of stars. I swear I can see her. My sweet abuelita with her crooked little smile and her wild hair. She approved of what I’m doing here, even though she was furious about the reason I had to do it. She was the only one of the three of us who had ever heard of the Camino. As I stare into the bowl of stars, I remember how her face lit up when she learned I would soon walk the pilgrim’s path. Her anger vanished, and she exploded with Catholic pride.
