by Kevin Craig
Bastien waves his arms about to encompass the air and the forest. I kick at the ground and I feel like a spoiled brat. I swipe at my eyes with the handkerchief. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“This is my last time on the Camino de Santiago. It has carried me, and I have carried it… for all of my life.
“When I finish this walk, when I go to Muxia, I will say goodbye to this beautiful land. To this beautiful life.”
“But you can do the Camino again. Someone else doesn’t have to die for you to walk it again, Bastien. You can walk it on your own. For yourself.”
“My friend. My boy.” But he stops talking. We sit, and I listen to the sounds of the forest. I wait for him to continue.
A lone pilgrim passes and mumbles, “Buen Camino.” He tips his hat as I look up and nod my hello. He turns back to the path and soon disappears.
“Mon petit criminel boueux,” Bastien says. He ruffles my hair and laughs. “I picked you up from the mud, my little criminal. Was that not a life ago? Look at all the steps. To this, my goodbye Camino.”
“But it doesn’t need to be. You’re not listening.”
“No, my friend,” he says with a newly stern voice. “It is you who does not listen.”
“We should have walked with the others today. Gil would know what to do.”
“There is nothing to do, Diego. I am fine. We will make it to A Calzada for lunch. To Santa Irene to sleep our last sleep. And to Santiago de Compostela tomorrow. We will make it.”
I stand and face him. “Can we just go? We’re close. Let’s just get there and wait for the others. Okay?” I don’t like the feeling in my chest, like something is chasing around in there, swarming… threatening to escape. If I can walk, I can get away from it.
Bastien sighs, defeated. “Yes, yes. We go.”
“Thank you.” I turn my back on him and walk to the path and take my first few footsteps. I don’t know if I’m angry, sad, lost, or drowning. I just need to move. Must keep walking.
The soft thunk of Bastien’s walking stick in the packed earth of the path tells me he’s begun to follow me.
“I cannot, my friend,” he says. He stays back, not matching my new pace.
“You cannot what?”
“I cannot walk this Camino again. I cannot do it.”
The lump in my throat is back, but I march forward. I try to escape the words I’m doing my best not to comprehend, not to let into my life.
“Diego.” The word comes with two firm stamps of his walking stick. “I have this thing that has also taken the life of my daughter. I have cancer.” I stop dead in my tracks but I do not turn around. I look at my feet as the panic rises within me.
“My last Camino,” Bastien says. It’s almost a whisper, but it’s loud enough to rip a hole through my heart.
My feet begin to move of their own volition, even before I can fully process his words. The trees begin to fly by as I pick up speed, running over rocks and branches and the dusty pulp of last autumn’s leaves ground into the earth.
I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Every time I hear my name called from behind me, louder with each utterance, I run faster. I refuse to stop running. And I won’t look back.
Chapter 38 — Shania Reynolds
Thursday, July 11th – Day 13 – I Can’t Fix This. And Tomorrow is the End of Our Camino
I thought I was doing this journaling thing right. Turns out I’m failing. I’m going to have to catch up on missed days. I bet Troy’s is perfect… annotated, diagrams, tricolored ink.
Diego is destroyed, and I can’t fix it. I hate when I can’t fix things. I feel so useless. Bastien has the big C word. It’s part of the reason he’s out here on the Camino. It’s like he’s saying goodbye to his life.
By the time we met up with the rest of the group in A Calzada for lunch, the damage was already done. Diego was inconsolable. This didn’t stop Gil and Kei’s sisters from trying. They fussed over him on the patio while Bastien laid low inside the café, looking guilty.
I know he feels terrible for coming into Diego’s life and causing him pain when he’s already destroyed over losing his grandmother.
I think Bastien is like a sick dog with his death. He just wants to go away somewhere by himself, quietly lie down, pull the covers of the world up over his head, and disappear.
I hate my life. Sometimes. Even on the Camino. It gives and it takes, I guess. And tomorrow is the end of the walk. How did that even happen!
Bright side? It’s kind of a riddle today. I can’t describe what’s happening, but it seriously feels more like the beginning of something than an ending… to be continued.
“You almost ready? We’re gonna get going,” Diego says, as his finger swoops in and flips my journal closed. He smirks, but there’s no humor in his eyes.
I put my journal away and look up, expecting to see the others sitting on the barstools along the counter beside me. But Greg and Manny are standing at the front door pretending to look impatient. The other two must have already stepped outside.
“Oops,” I say. “Sorry.” I grab my backpack, and we make our way outside. Then, in a panic, I pull out my passport and run back inside for my stamp.
We’re in A Brea. Almost at Santa Irene, our final albergue stop ever. And it’s probably the first time it’s just the six of us. The Banditos. The Camino Club. I think it was Manny who came up with that one.
When Diego and I got up to leave the café back in A Calzada, we planned to walk alone for the rest of the day. But Greg got up and said he was coming with us. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Then Manny said he wasn’t about to be left behind. His exact words were, “Yo, not without me, D. I got your back, bro.”
Gil’s face practically cracked, he smiled so big. Proof his diversion program was working or something. He loves when bonding shit happens between us.
Claire got up, threw on her backpack, and said, “Wait for me.” Then she turned to Troy and said, “Well, are you coming or what? Let’s go.”
Nobody thought he would. He and Kei have been an inseparable unit. But Troy looked to Kei as if to ask for permission, and Kei just said, “Yeah, yeah. Go. I’ll be fine. I’ll walk with these guys to the albergue. I’ve hardly spent any time with my sisters anyway.”
“Cool, thanks,” Troy said. He kissed Kei goodbye and that was it. Gil and Meagan beamed like proud parents as we abandoned them on the café patio and set out. We walked nonstop from A Calzada to A Brea, almost two hours. It probably should have been less, but the guys goofed off the whole way here. Operation Cheer Up Diego. It may even be working.
Troy gives me this look when I rejoin them at the side of the highway just beyond the café parking lot. I hold up my passport. “Sorry. Forgot to get my stamp.”
“Only about three kilometers away,” he says, as he glances back to his guidebook. “Why did we even stop here?”
“Because Claire was going to piss herself and you required coffee,” Manny says, groaning over his last words.
“Oh, Right. I was wilting and needed refueling. So sue me,” Troy says as he returns his guidebook to his pack. “Straight ahead along the highway, people. We shall arrive at our destination in about half an hour.”
“Shall, loser?” Claire says. “Really?”
“Watch it. I’m still undecided about you. Those who worship Creepy Jesus should not ridicule others.”
Manny laughs. “You two are weird. Let’s go already.” And with that announcement, we’re off.
We break up into twos to walk alongside the highway. I walk with Diego. Maybe sensing he doesn’t have a lot of time to talk before we get there, Diego starts right away.
“Do you think I’m being too hard on Bastien?” he says. The look on his face suggests my answer could make or break him.
“Diego, you met him,
what?” I try to do the math, but everything bleeds together here. “Three or four days ago. I know how you feel, like you’ve known him forever. Shit, I’m not even as close to him, and he feels like family. But when you think about it, he’s just a guy who’s along for a walk with a bunch of other people. Yes, I love him. And it’s obvious you do. But I don’t think he owes us anything.”
“Whoa,” Diego says. “So is that what we are, too? Just two people taking a long walk together?”
And I break him. Way to go, Shania. Your major fail streak continues.
“That’s not what I meant.” But I don’t really know what I meant. Feelings are too intense out here. “I just mean, it’s terrible he has cancer. He’s a good person. We’ve fallen in love with this amazing man. He’s given us so much. But we’re going to get on a plane in Santiago and then another one in Madrid, get off in Toronto, and never see him again.”
“Damn, Shania. I was hoping for a pep talk. You’re not very good at this.”
We kind of smirk at each other. We sort of chuckle.
“I’ve never done something like this. That man, Diego…”
“I know.”
“You just needed space to take it in. He’ll understand. With your grandmother and stuff.”
“I left him alone in the woods when he was feeling like a pile of shit. He pretty much passed out in that church. He saved me, and I couldn’t do shit for him so I ran.”
I know he’s wrong, but I can’t put my finger on why. Truth is, I think all of us have been saving Bastien this entire time. We just didn’t know it.
“And then when he finally dragged his ass into A Calzada, I wouldn’t even speak to him at lunch. Like it’s his fault he has cancer.”
“Yeah,” I say. “That was kind of shitty. I’m not gonna lie.”
“Pep Talk Shania. That’s what we should call you.” He kicks at the gravel like he’s pouting. “Damn, girl.”
“Come on, Diego. The guy adores you. Who doesn’t?” I laugh and grab his hand. “Not like you can’t talk to him when they catch up in Santa Irene.”
“Speaking of Santa Irene.” Troy pushes between us, forcing our hands apart. “We’re almost in Cerceda. We have to cross the highway just up there.”
Troy points a few hundred feet ahead to a big sign between the highway and our skinny walking trail. It shows a stick-figure pilgrim crossing the highway.
“Yikes,” I say as I look behind us for cars. None. But I do see Manny, Claire, and Greg attempting to do some of those eye-high, big-kick, Rockettes dance moves with their arms interlocked. While walking.
“Ten bucks somebody bleeds before this is over,” Diego says after turning to see what all the commotion is about.
When they catch us watching them, they crack up even harder than they already were. Everything starts to crumble, and they break apart and stumble exaggeratedly, howling.
“Losers,” I say, but I’m laughing just as hard. “We need to cross, guys.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Greg says. The three of them run to catch up. “We could have used a fourth, Troy. Thanks for keeping us off balance, dude. We know where your loyalties lie.”
“Um, yeah.” Troy assumes the role of a crossing guard and herds us as we near the pilgrim crossing. “My loyalties will always be with the ones not making fools of themselves.”
Troy’s arms spread wide to hold us back, even though there’s literally not a single car in sight in either direction. He walks backward to the edge of the highway and waits for all of us to stop walking.
“Look both ways,” he says.
“Get out my way, Troyboy,” Manny says. He kicks at the dirt like he’s a bull who’s going to plough through Troy. “Before I lose it on you for being too clueless to live.”
This gets a rise of laughter out of Greg and an awkward little snort out of Claire.
“Fair enough,” Troy says. He steps aside, and we all cross unscathed. “I was only trying to save your lives, you ungrateful beasts.”
The others keep walking. After Troy finally crosses, Diego asks, “Can I see that stupid guidebook of yours? Mine’s in the bottom of my backpack, and I don’t feel like digging for it.”
“We’re almost there,” Troy says. He attempts to brush Diego off. He doesn’t like sharing his book. “Just down the road a bit.”
Diego stares him down until Troy looks slightly shamed. He hands the book to Diego. Unlike Troy, Diego stops walking to read the guidebook. He doesn’t have a death wish.
“We’re stopping here,” Diego says, pointing to a line on the page that lists a bar just up ahead before Santa Irene.
“Why would we stop?” I say. “We literally just stopped.” We can practically see Santa Irene in the distance. I’m hot and sticky, and my feet are sore.
“Because we are.”
“O Ceadoiro?” Troy says.
“Yep. That one.” He closes the guide, passes it back to Troy, and starts walking. Troy looks at me like I should do something about Diego before it’s too late.
“He’s yours,” he says. We’re left standing by the side of the highway looking at each other. I shrug and start to walk. Troy follows.
“Why are we stopping?” I ask Diego again. He’s now far ahead of us. He’s on a mission to get to the bar. I can tell by the rigid way he’s walking, we’re going to be following his plan.
“Because.”
“That’s helpful.” At Diego’s new pace, we catch up to the others. I turn to Claire. “We’re stopping before Santa Irene.”
“Why?” she asks.
Manny moans. Like the rest of us, he probably wants to get to the albergue, kick off his hiking boots, and fall onto his bed.
“Because I say so,” Diego says. “We walk into Santa Irene together.”
“We don’t have to stop to do th—”
“All of us.”
“Ah. Bastien,” I say. He gives me a tight-lipped smile and pulls forward. Troy starts to say something, but Manny glares him down, and his mouth closes before the first word gets out.
The five of us allow Diego to lead the march the rest of the way to the bar.
Once inside, we ditch our backpacks and take a table for four in the corner. Greg drags two chairs over from an empty table, and we all plunk down. No one speaks.
Manny, who can’t sit still ever, drums his fingers on the table. When no one responds, he jumps up.
“Well,” he says. “I’m getting a Coke. Anyone else wants anything, you’ll have to get it yourself.”
He hauls his wallet out and heads for the counter.
“Guys, I’m fine. I just wanna wait for Bastien and the others. That’s all. Okay? I don’t want to kill the mood on the last full day or anything. Can we chill a bit? I didn’t mean to bring everyone down.”
“We could have just as easily done the waiting at the albergue,” Troy says. The look Greg gives him pretty much kills him. He slumps farther in his chair. Diego reaches across the table and pats Troy’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Troy,” Diego says. “It’s been a shitty day. I don’t know what I’m doing. I just got this feeling, like we should all walk into this town together. I want to do it with Bastien.”
“Nah, I’m sorry, Diego. I’m just being bitchy. We can wait. Doesn’t matter.”
“If you guys wanna go on ahead, feel free. Really. I’m being an ass. I’ll just wait here.”
“Nobody moves,” Greg orders. He slaps the table and stands up. “I got you, D. Diego’s right,” he continues. “This is our last albergue. We arrive together. I’m getting a Coke. Might as well get yourself one of those fancy coffee things, Troy, ‘cause you’re not going anywhere.”
“Get me one too,” Claire says.
“One Coke coming up,” Greg says as he turns to leave.
Troy joins him. “I could d
o a café con leche any time. You don’t have to twist my arm.”
As they head to the counter, Manny comes back to the table.
“So,” he says as he sits beside Diego and pulls his chair up close to him. “Isn’t this the part, D, where we have that conversation about what happens after? You know, like in Breakfast Club. We gonna be friends after detention, my man? What about Troy? Claire? What’s gonna happen when we see each other in the hall?”
This seems to immediately haul Diego out of his current slump. He’s laughing before Manny gets halfway through his diatribe.
“Ooh, which one am I?” Claire says. Clearly, she’s seen the movie too. Maybe I’m the only one who hasn’t? “I’m already a Claire, so I could be Claire. I can eat sushi and—”
“Ha, ha,” Manny says. “You kidding me, girl? I mean, are you kidding me?” He’s loud. Loud enough to have Troy and Greg look over to see what’s going on. They hurry back and sit down. Greg slides a Coke to Diego, even though he hadn’t asked for one. Diego nods his thanks.
“What?” Claire says. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Girl, you Allison. Ally Sheedy’s character. Allison with a bullet. You’d be the dark mystery girl with the backstory and attitude. That Allison girl, she’d be the one on the Camino searching out your Creepy Jesus guy. Am I right, Diego?”
“Welllllll,” Diego says. He’s full-on smiling now, and I feel my whole body sigh as the tension in my shoulders slips away. “He’s not wrong, Allison… um, I mean, Claire.”
“Funny,” she says. Greg hands her a Coke, and she thanks him, pops the tab, and takes a drink. Then he slides one over to me too. Sweet.
“Shania here would be Claire, of course,” Greg says as I open my pop. Another movie fan. I am the only one. “Pretty little rich girl. Steals cars for kicks, even though she probably drives a—what, Shania? BMW? Maybe a Porsche? Mercedes?”
“Not even close.” I wish I knew what they were talking about. “I share a car with my brother. If you want to call it that. He’s in it all the time. And it’s not a Porsche. It’s just a Honda Civic.”
