by Kevin Craig
The man takes a close look at Kei’s finger and reaches into the baggie. He pulls out a ring with a little sticky strip on it that reads “7 ½” and hands it to Kei. “Maybe this one?”
Kei tries it on, but it’s a little too snug for him. He frowns.
“No, no. Don’t be sad,” the man says. He jingles the bag. “Lots more.”
He pulls out an eight, hands it to Kei, and takes back the other one. The new ring is a perfect fit. Kei holds up his hand and smiles.
“Aha,” the man says. He drops the baggie into the container and puts that back under the table. “You match, no? Nice, nice.”
“We’ll take them,” I say. Neither of us removes the rings. “How much?”
“For you two,” the man says, smiling, “fifteen Euros each.”
I begin to get all aw, how sweet, until I see the little cardboard sign on the table that says Rings €15/ea. Not so sweet. Oh well.
Kei sees the interaction play out and laughs. “How about twenty-five Euros for two?” he says.
“Yes, yes,” the man says. He puts a hand to his heart. “You kill me, but yes. Okay.”
“Yay,” Kei says. I smile at him; we get our money out and pay for the rings. We thank the man. As we walk away, we hold our hands out to inspect the rings.
“Sweet,” Kei says. “Great idea, Troy. I’m going to remember this forever.”
“You always remember your first, right? That’s what they say.”
Oops. Too much information. I never told him he was my first. Kei just laughs. Nice.
“Don’t worry. Me too,” he says.
“Really?” I feel so relieved.
We head back to the plaza, admiring our new rings. Before we get there, though, Kei stops.
“Wait,” he says. He begins to wiggle the stud in his nose and eventually it comes out. He passes it to me. “I want you to have this.”
“Huh?” I ask, perplexed. “Why? I don’t have any piercings. I can’t use it.”
“You dingbat. I’m attempting some grand gesture and you’re killing it. Aren’t you guys all about the The Breakfast Club?”
“Yeah, so?” I say. Even as I ask the question, though, it comes to me. “Ah! Yes! I love it. Molly Ringwald’s character, at the end. She gives Judd Nelson her diamond earring. Yes!”
“I worry about you, Troy,” Kei says. “You’re pretty slow sometimes. You know that, don’t you?”
We laugh. Kei takes my hand, puts the stud in the middle of my palm, and closes my fingers over it. I can feel the diamond press into my skin. A part of me knows this is our goodbye, even though we’ll still have time together over the next day or so.
“This was amazing, Kei,” I say, suddenly serious. I can tell by the look on his face he knows I don’t just mean the pilgrimage or us or his nose-stud gesture. I mean everything. I pocket the stud and hold my ring finger up again. “I’ll never forget this.”
“Me too,” he says in a near whisper. We turn the corner and we’re back in the plaza.
I’m going to miss him forever.
Chapter 46 — Diego Nelson
After we climb the zigzagging stairs up to the front doors of the cathedral, Bastien turns to me. His eyes glisten with unfallen tears, and his smile is everything.
“Ready, my son? To see the beauty at the end of the yellow brick road?” He winks. “Manny’s wizard, he waits for us.”
“Ready,” I say. Yeah. There might be tears in my eyes too. I feel the weight of my grandmother inside me. And of my mother waiting at home. And of Bastien’s cancer, eating away at him as we move across the threshold.
I’m not ready for what I see when we finally enter the church. It’s incredibly big. Impossibly big. We stand at the back and look up the aisle toward the sanctuary where the altar is. It’s by far the biggest sanctuary I’ve ever seen. And it’s filled with gold.
“It is big, yes, Diego,” Bastien says. I’m almost too overwhelmed to speak.
“Incredible,” I whisper. My mouth hangs open. There’s too much to look at, and I don’t have words for any of it. I put my hand on the back of a pew.
We begin to walk toward the sanctuary. There are peregrinos everywhere, and the way to the altar looks impossible to navigate.
“Diego. Come, we sit. In the nave here. We wait. It’s too busy, no? We sit. We talk.”
I look toward the sanctuary with regret.
“No, no. We’ll go. In a bit. Let’s just wait. We’ll sit and watch.” I shrug and then nod my approval. Bastien smiles. “Good, good.”
Bastien turns, makes the sign of the cross, and kneels before entering the pew. He walks midway down and sits on the hard wooden bench. I follow his lead.
“We carry with us the important women in our lives, Diego. We are so very lucky. Lucky to have known them and lucky to have this task, yes. To bring the memory of them to this beautiful cathedral.”
Bastien pulls out a rosary. It’s the first time I’ve seen it. He fidgets with the beads, but not like he’s praying… just absently. I say nothing. I try to swallow the lump forming in my throat, but it doesn’t work.
“My wife, she said she saw me here alone after the end of her life. And Diego, she cried. She lay in the bed in that hôpital and she cried for me. ‘Alone, alone,’ she say. She knows I would walk. She know me.” He puts a hand over his heart and then pounds his chest for effect. “Here.”
“But you’re not alone, Bastien. You have us.”
“This is why I say,” he says. We are ignoring the beautiful cathedral around us, now. We’re turned toward each other in our seats. “You say I saved you, I saved you, I saved you.”
Bastien stops to search in his pocket for his handkerchief. He dabs his eyes.
“It’s okay, Bastien. You did save me. Twice. You picked me up out of the mud.” I laugh, and he joins me, but we’re both emotional puddles. “Without you, I don’t know how I would have dealt with losing my abuelita. You made everything okay.”
“But no, no,” he says. “What I want to say is no, I did not save you. It is the other way. I want to say to you that my wife, Diego, she would be so happy you made my last Camino so…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to. I was there.
“Bastien,” I say. But I can’t finish either.
“I know. I know.” He puts a hand on mine, which is resting on the pew between us. “The crowd, it’s shifting. Maybe we go now?”
“Sure,” I say. Neither of us seems capable of speech. We make our way out of the pew and begin the long walk up the aisle toward the altar and the sanctuary. Bastien continues to fiddle with his rosary beads.
“Everything is the last,” Bastien says. When I look at him, I can see his pain. Along with his rosary, he’s carrying a photograph and he’s staring into it. “The last Camino. The last day in this cathedral. Later, the last swing of the Botafumeiro. I do it all for these beautiful ladies in my life, Diego. I do it all for them.”
It’s the first time I’ve seen their picture. His wife is behind his daughter, making a funny face and holding up a cake. His daughter is laughing so hard her eyes are almost closed. They’re both beautiful. And they’re carbon copies of each other. They each have long dark hair, high cheekbones, and a constellation of freckles across their faces. I think about who they were looking at when the picture was taken and I know how happy Bastien must have been in that moment.
“It is the last picture together. Cloe’s last birthday. Just before she knew. That happy day. I think of what was growing inside her during this picture. I could not save her, Diego. I could not do a thing. If only we knew. If only.”
“They’re beautiful, Bastien.” I feel so helpless. “I’m so sorry.”
“Merde,” he says. He stops walking and grabs on to a pew back. He holds his heart for a moment and then slips into
the pew. “Sorry, Diego. I must sit again. You go. Go see St. James in the sanctuary. I wait.”
“No. I won’t go without you. We can wait a minute.” He slides over, and I drop down beside him.
“What will I do without mes petits méchants? My little bad guys, my little criminals. What will I do? The Camino moves in magical ways, no?”
“It gave me you, Bastien,” I say. I begin to cry. Have I even stopped since I entered the city? “I’ll never forget you. What you did for me. For my abuelita.”
“The Camino gives us what we need, my son. When we need it.”
“Yes. It does.”
He holds his arms open, and I allow myself to fall into them. “You are the thing that saved me on this Camino, Diego. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for falling in the mud.”
We laugh but we both have tears in our eyes.
“Come, we go,” he says. “We should do this. The others, they wait for us, no?”
Once again we head toward the altar. The closer it gets, the bigger it appears to be. Then it is before us, and I’m staring up at the statue of the number one pilgrim.
“St. James,” Bastien says. “We give him our woes and pray to him.”
We stand in silence, and I pray for my abuelita because I know she would like that. When I’m done, I peek over at Bastien. His lips are moving, and his hands are working his rosary beads in prayer. He looks incredibly fragile.
He stops and looks at me. He breaks into a smile and I can see his entire life in it. He shines. He puts his photograph away and places a hand on my cheek. I can feel the beads wrapped around his fingers.
“Your life,” he says. “It begins today, Diego. Make it beautiful. Beautiful like the Camino de Santiago.”
“I will, Bastien. And I’ll always carry you with me.”
“You’re a good boy, my little criminal.” He opens his arms, and we stand in front of St. James and hug. I never want to leave him.
* * *
After our hug, I leave Bastien at the altar to finish his rosary. When I join the others, they are anxious to see inside the cathedral.
“You guys should go,” I say after Greg moans about having waited so long to see it. “Bastien’s at the altar. I saw it with him and I’ll go back for Mass later.”
“Sounds good,” Greg says. “Are you okay, though, bud?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “I’m good. Better than good. Thanks, dude. You guys go. I’m just gonna walk around the plaza for a bit and check things out.”
“Don’t go far,” Gil says. “We need to go to the Pilgrims’ Office to pick up our Compostelas. Our certificates that show we finished the pilgrimage.”
“Sure thing, Gil,” I say.
“Have your Camino passport handy,” Meagan says. “You’ll need to show them your stamps to prove you walked.”
“I know, Meagan. Thanks. And Bastien told me earlier I could dedicate my Compostela to my abuelita too.”
“That’s lovely,” she says. “Yes, that’s right. I hadn’t thought of that. Bastien! He thinks of everything, doesn’t he? What a godsend.”
I feel the tears coming but I’m exhausted. “Yeah. He’s the best. I’ll miss him my whole life.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Diego,” Meagan says when she sees the look on my face. She gives me a quick hug. “Okay. We’ll go now and leave you be. I can tell you need some time alone.”
“Hey, bro?” Manny says. “You cool?”
“Yeah, Man,” I say. “I’m good. Gimme some.”
He comes in for a high five and then we bump shoulders. The others smile and wave as they walk away in the direction of the cathedral. I hope they give Bastien the space he needs.
I walk into the center of the square. There are people everywhere. Backpacks everywhere. Shoes everywhere. Walking sticks everywhere. People are dancing. People are crying inconsolably, either alone or in groups.
I see a marker on the ground and make my way toward it. There are large stones set into the ground with words etched into them. And a scallop shell is carved into one of the stones. As I wait for my turn to see them, I think that I will never see a scallop shell anywhere in the world for the rest of my life without thinking of this Camino and everything that has happened here.
I look up at the cathedral again—this church that would blot out the sun and the moon—and I know we will all enter it together later. Either tonight or tomorrow afternoon we will see the Botafumeiro swing the length of the cathedral, pouring the smoke of incense over all of us, filling the church with its fragrant aroma. And I’ll remember that scent from those times my grandmother brought me to her church. And I’ll remember my abuelita, who I have carried all the way here. With the help of my friends. And my Bastien.
When I turn back to the stones, it’s my turn. I take a couple photos before putting my phone away. I know it’s not really a time for phones.
Not sure what else to do, I drop my backpack to the cobbles. It feels so good to be free of its weight. Like I can breathe again. As I lie down on the ground between the words and the shell, I close my eyes. I hold my breath and listen to the sounds of the plaza. A violin, the bagpipes in the distance, the clop of a horse’s hooves on the cobbles. A woman nearby, softly singing “Ave Maria.” People talking in every language. Every single language. Talking and laughing and crying.
I spread my arms and legs out as far as they will reach. I begin to make snow angels without the snow. I’ve kept the promise I made to Bastien back at Monte do Gozo, back at the Hill of Joy. I have come to the cathedral a child. Even the burden of losing my abuelita is not enough to stop my arms and legs from swinging against the cobbles as I imagine the snow angel appearing beneath me, in this square where angels are real, where angels exist all about me.
This program? This thing that Gilbert and Meagan have done? It has made warriors out of criminals. It has changed me. It has changed all of us.
Gil and Meagan will do this again. And again. Because there are others who need saving. And they will save them. No, they won’t have Bastien. I am sad for them that they will not have Bastien. But I think we’ll all go home with him in our hearts. As long as we live, Bastien will live. They can bring his spirit with them on their next Camino, for the next batch of criminals they hope to save.
When I finally open my eyes, Shania is standing over me, looking down on me.
“Where’d you go?” she asks as the world comes back into focus.
“Everywhere,” I whisper as tears slip from my eyes and trail down the sides of my face. “Everywhere,” I repeat. And I believe this to be true. It all started with fire. And it ends with fire. It’s inside me and it’ll burn forever.
The End
Acknowledgments
Huge thanks to Annie Harper, CB Messer, and Candysse Miller, the incredible team at Duet Books/Interlude Press. Thanks to Annie for doing that important and magical thing that all great editors do: make the words of their writers shine. Thanks to CB for creating a beautiful cover that far surpassed all of my wildest dreams. It perfectly captures the Camino in every way! Thanks to Candysse for being such a great hand-holder throughout the process, for finding innovative ways for authors to connect with readers, and for always being there for every little thing. Thank you all for giving The Camino Club a home and for being so kind to both of us.
Thanks to ALL of my first readers. I’m constantly blown away by the generosity of my corral of writing friends. Tobin Elliott, Naomi Mesbur, and Dale Long... you’re all superstars! Thank you for being there for me every single time I hit you up. Thanks to Kate, Karen, Deb, Jennifer, and all the rest. You’ve all helped me immensely and I’m forever in your debt.
Everyone should have a stalker. Mine is Mel Cober. I adore you and the way you always have enough pins on hand to add another to the map! You’re my orange.
Thanks to Michael Su
e-Chuck, for being you and for constantly allowing me to be me. And thank you for your editing wisdom along the way. You’re the best non-reading reader I know. I can’t wait to walk more Camino paths with you!
About the Author
Kevin Craig is a playwright, poet, and short story writer who lives in Toronto with their husband, Michael. Kevin’s six published novels include Pride Must Be a Place (MuseItUp Publishing, 2018) and Burn Baby Burn Baby (independently published, 2014). Kevin was a founding member of the Ontario Writers’ Conference Board of Directors, and sat on the Writers’ Community of Durham Region’s (WCDR) Board of Directors as Membership Coordinator.
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