by Uceda, Mayte
Berta found Rebecca a mess and on the verge of tears. “What happened? What did she say to you?”
“I’m sure you can imagine.” Her voice wavering, Rebecca told her what had happened. What hurt the most was finding out everyone thought she was such an awful person.
“Don’t listen to her. I’m sure she’s lying and said it just to hurt you.”
“No, Berta, it makes sense. Someone must have seen us at the river.”
“To hell with what they think!”
“But deep down, it’s true.”
“That doesn’t make you a horrible person, just human. Don’t be so hard on yourself; you don’t deserve it.”
“I don’t know what to do . . .”
“What does your heart say?”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Oh, boy,” Berta said, raising her hand to her forehead. She took a deep breath. “Just let things happen naturally; don’t force anything. We don’t even know if he feels the same way. Of course he’s attracted to you, but that’s not enough of a reason to go throwing yourself into an affair when you have no guarantee how it will end. You could destroy your life and the lives of those around you, Rebecca. You have to be wise and use your head. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but that’s the way it is.”
I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU
The performance completed, the band returned to the campsite. They’d been a hit with the tourists and had made a fair amount of money.
Mary was cheerful, Rebecca dispirited. Now it was Berta who shot daggers at Mary, but Mary didn’t seem to care.
The group started another fire and lit the lavender candles. The heat of the day plus the high humidity next to the lake meant the voracious midges had congregated in epic numbers, creating a floating infestation around their heads. Everyone also applied mosquito repellent, except for Kenzie and Scott, whom the midges didn’t seem to bother. All of them, however, were tormented by the little bloodsuckers’ constant buzzing.
They ate supper around the fire and then decided to organize a competition of Scottish games, to honor their guests. As they searched for objects that would work for the contests, Sophie explained the history: “The Highland games originated in the clan system of old Scotland. The clan chiefs encouraged the men to participate as a demonstration of their fighting prowess.”
They found a thick, heavy log for the throwing contest. It would be held vertically as they carefully ran a few steps and then heaved it as far as they could, trying to flip it over.
The throwing contests began. If it wasn’t logs, it was rocks, and if not rocks, then anything else they were able to move, throw, pull, or drag.
Liam chose not to participate and played his bagpipe instead. With his music as a backdrop, they held a whole competition that lacked little compared to the authentic games, except perhaps appropriate behavior. When James lost—which, for lack of experience or skill, was a lot more frequently than his ego could endure—he turned his back and mooned them.
“You’d better cover that pale baby butt of yours, lad, before you feel my boot on it,” Scott threatened between raucous hoots. Liam’s bagpipe deflated due to his fits of laughter. They decided to forgo adding up the final tally, not wanting to risk provoking another display of what was under James’s kilt.
“Anything not to have to see that bum again,” laughed Kenzie.
After the competition, they changed clothes and rested near the fire. Sophie sang in Gaelic, and her voice again created that special ambiance. The calming melodies and cadence of the ancient language of Scotland soothed them. Sophie and Kenzie took turns translating before each song began. Most of the lyrics spoke of loves lost, from lovers lost in battle or at sea to unrequited love that was never to be.
As night fell, they switched to storytelling. They told legends of monsters that inhabited the lochs and of mythological Highland creatures. The lavender candles and crackling colors of the fire provided the perfect setting for the stories, as the group passed around and savored good whisky. Except for Rebecca, who still refused to try any despite their assurance that it was the best Scottish whisky available.
“The selkies,” Scott was saying, “are seals that come out of the water and shed their skin, turning into women. They seduce men with their beauty and have their children, who are born with webbed hands. There are male selkies too, who seduce women unhappy in their marriages. And the legend says that if the wife of a fisherman wants a selkie to make love to her, all she has to do is shed seven tears into the sea.”
“Fascinating,” said Lola. She was sitting in Rory’s lap, her glass at the ready for more whisky.
“I’m your selkie,” he said, making seal noises.
There was laughter and joking about how Rory might resemble the marine mammal.
Then it was Kenzie’s turn. He told them about will-o’-the-wisps—in his estimation, one of the most important legends in Gaelic mythology. “Will-o’-the-wisps are little floating lights that appear at night near swamps and bogs. The little balls of fire lure travelers away from the path until they get lost.”
As he talked, Rebecca stared at the ground to avoid looking at him. Still, this didn’t save her. The tone of his voice alone produced emotions she couldn’t ignore.
“Have you ever seen them?” Berta asked.
“No,” he answered with a smile. “And I hope I never do. Will-o’-the-wisps were considered a bad omen.”
Next, James told the tale of the wulver, a kind of wolf-man with the hairy body of a man and a wolf’s head. “The wulver wasn’t aggressive as long as he was left alone. He liked to fish and sometimes would leave his catch on the windowsills of poor families.”
“A good wolf,” Mary declared, good-naturedly. Just then, without meaning to, Rebecca met Kenzie’s gaze. Mary noticed and her good mood evaporated.
Then it was the foreigners’ turn. Only Kenzie and Rory knew much about them, and everyone was curious to learn about their lives in Barcelona. Rebecca wasn’t sure she wanted to speak. Berta opened her mouth to start, but Lola beat her to it. The whisky was starting to affect her. She slurred her words, and her eyes were bright like two glowing coals, but still they listened to her. Ignoring Rebecca’s evident embarrassment, Lola brought them up to date on Rebecca’s wedding plans. Rebecca thought trying to shut her up would only make things worse. The worst part was Mary’s phony smile as she congratulated Rebecca on her upcoming marriage.
Of the three, Rebecca was the one with the most definite plans. Berta’s depended on the outcome of Albert’s placement exams. And Lola . . . Well, everyone assumed she was in Scotland to stay.
“It’s true,” she said, sounding more than a little drunk. “I’m never leaving . . .” She hiccupped. “I found the love of . . . my life.” She turned to Rory and gave him a passionate kiss. “I’m staying . . . He’s already a . . . asked.”
Rory smiled, and Lola’s friends looked dumbfounded.
“Yes, but I think I’ll have to keep the whisky bottle under lock and key,” Rory said.
James stifled his laughter. “And throw the key in the lake,” he finished.
Lola wasn’t bothered by the comment and continued with her inebriated chatter.
“I’m only going back for . . . for your wedding,” she added, pointing to Rebecca. “That is . . . if you get married . . .” She let out a strange laugh that seemed totally inappropriate. “She’s sooooo dumb . . . She’s gone and fallen in love with . . . with your brother.” She turned to Sophie, who was seated next to her.
Rebecca gasped in bewilderment. People looked troubled by the confession—especially Mary.
“Lola, be quiet,” Rory told her in Spanish.
“Why? Am I lying?”
This time Berta intervened. “Lola! That’s enough!”
Rebecca’s face twisted with a look of pain at finding herself so betrayed b
y her friend in front of everyone. “You’re drunk, and you don’t know what you’re saying,” she choked out.
“I’m drunk, that’s true,” Lola acknowledged and laughed again. “But you can’t deny you’re in . . . love with him.” She pointed to Kenzie, who looked on, disconcerted himself.
Rebecca couldn’t contain her anger and stood up.
“Damn you!” she shouted and ran away. Tears ran down her face and clouded her vision. Deeply shaken, she didn’t know where she was going; she just wanted to disappear. She heard a voice behind her calling her name. It was Kenzie; he was following her. Rebecca ran as fast as she could. She didn’t want to see him. She hated him. She hated him and Lola and Mary and stupid Scotland, which was about to ruin her life. Rebecca heard her name again. It sounded urgent. She ran, slipped, fell, got up, and ran again. The starlight was enough for her to avoid running into a tree.
Then she arrived at the little dilapidated hut. She was exhausted and breathless. Collapsing against the broken-down wall, she cried silently, leaning against the cold stone, hoping Kenzie wouldn’t find her.
But she didn’t get her wish.
“Rebecca . . .” he said behind her.
“Please go away.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“I don’t want to talk to you. Please go!”
“Your friend had too much to drink. You shouldn’t take it to heart.”
“I hate her! I’ll never forgive her.”
“It’s not that big a deal.”
“It is! She humiliated me in front of everyone. And I deserve it. I’m a horrible person, and I never should have come here.”
“True, you are a horrible person . . .”
Rebecca caught his mocking tone, and it made her furious. She turned and took two steps toward him, enraged. “If you’ve come to make fun of me—”
“I’m not making fun of you, but at least I got you away from that wall before a rock landed on your head.”
“You’re still making fun of me.”
“I’m trying to make it not be such a big deal.”
“Well, it’s not working!”
“If it helps, I didn’t believe a word she said.” Through her tears, his image was blurry and wavering. “Girls like you don’t fall in love with blokes like me.”
Rebecca wiped her face. “Still, she shouldn’t have said that.”
“When people drink too much, they tend to lose control. You should know that.”
“Still . . .”
“Forget about it, OK?” he said. Then he looked up. “Just look at the sky full of stars. You may never get to see it like this again.”
She wiped the rest of her tears and, reluctantly, tilted her head back to admire the firmament. It was truly beautiful. Barcelona skies were less cloudy than Scotland’s, but the urban light pollution made it impossible to see the stars.
“It’s amazing.”
“Do you want to go back with the others?”
She shook her head emphatically. “I’m too embarrassed to face them.”
“Then let’s wait and watch the sun rise over the lake,” he said, and sat down.
“Really?”
“Sure. You can’t see it now”—he pointed out in front of them—“but it’s there, behind those trees.”
She sat next to him and they were quiet for a few minutes, each sensitive to the other’s nearness. She felt the heat radiating from his body; she was a little cold, and having him close was comforting.
Kenzie listened to her slowing breathing and thought about what her friend had said. He wished it were true. He wished for it so intensely, he felt possessed. He knew Rebecca enjoyed his company and seemed to be attracted to him. But he never imagined she could love him.
At some point Kenzie lay down, stretched out, crossed his legs, and rested his head in his hands. Rebecca noticed a tiny point of flashing light a few feet to her left.
“What’s that glowing on the ground?” she asked, indicating a little phosphorescent dot among the dead leaves.
Kenzie turned to look, then smiled.
“Maybe it’s a fallen star.”
“Very funny.”
“It’s a firefly, city girl.”
“A firefly! I saw one once when I was little, in my mother’s village,” Rebecca said, getting up.
“Don’t bother it or it will turn off its light, and then you won’t find your lover tonight. Besides, no matter how beautiful it looks, it’s a pretty ordinary insect.”
Rebecca stood watching the little light. Then she looked back up at the stars.
“Lie down,” Kenzie suggested, “or you’ll get a crick in your neck.”
Rebecca did so and placed her hands on her stomach. But she couldn’t get comfortable and squirmed.
“What’s wrong?”
“There must be a twig. It’s poking me in the back.”
“Let me see.”
He had her move over a little and swept the ground with his hand. He moved a few small twigs and brushed the excess undergrowth out of the way.
“That should be good.” He took off his sweatshirt and spread it out on the ground. “Try that. I don’t need it; the night is warm.”
Rebecca lay down again and felt comfortable and comforted by the warmth of the sweatshirt. She concentrated on the view overhead to keep herself from thinking about their proximity. All she could see was leafy treetops and a bit of starry sky. She turned her head to look at him. He was still looking at the stars.
“Why do you think a girl like me can’t fall in love with you?” she asked without thinking.
He looked at her before answering. “Because you come from a very traditional family. I think your mother would rather see you dead than with someone like me, someone who thinks religion is an invention to pacify the souls of those who need to believe in life after death.”
“You sound like an—”
“Like an atheist, yes. I believe in nature”—he gestured to the forest—“in what the things around me provide. If there were a grain of sand for every death caused by religion over the years, the world would be a desert.”
“So you’re a naturalist.”
“I don’t know. You’re the teacher. I never bothered to put a name on what I believe.”
“Naturalists deny any divine intervention in nature and reduce rational thought to feelings and instinct. Very simple and primitive.”
“The truth hides in simple things.”
“Well, I think—”
Kenzie tensed. “Forget it, OK?” he interrupted her. “You’ve already labeled me, and you’re not far off. ‘Simple’ and ‘primitive’ are words that describe me pretty well.”
“Well, I’m sorry I did. It’s just that labels help make people more understandable sometimes.”
“Do you want to understand me, Rebecca? Do you want to know what I’m like?”
He moved closer. Her first instinct was to move away. But she didn’t. Kenzie’s face was inches from her nose. She tried to calm her accelerated breath and answered with a whisper. “Yes.”
He stared at her with a penetrating, passionate look. “I’m just a man.”
Rebecca felt her stomach move. “I know that,” she said, and tried to sit up.
But he grabbed her in one graceful movement and held her wrists, her arms extended, immobile, over her head. The unexpected force of his reaction caught her off guard. She felt the heat and weight of his body as he pressed her into the hard ground, and her breathing came in short, heavy gasps. Mario’s ring hurt her fingers.
“I’m a man who lives in the present, without letting the past affect him,” he whispered, his voice deep. “Who acts instinctively because no one taught him to live any other way. A man who doesn’t demand much from life because he never had much.”
&nb
sp; “Let go of me, please . . .”
Kenzie held her tighter instead. “I didn’t want to fall in love. I hated the possibility of loving you, because I knew you would never love me back, but when you came to the river . . . something in you said maybe . . .”
Rebecca’s eyes were moist. She felt a mixture of thankfulness and fear when she heard his declaration. She wanted to go; she wanted to stay. But mostly she wanted him to stop talking, because her will to fight the fierce wave of desire that dominated her was too fragile. She knew she was on the verge of surrendering, and her rational side, about to succumb, begged her to gather enough courage to push him away and leave. But underneath her dress, her body trembled, crying out for his touch.
Kenzie released her wrists and held his weight above her on one arm. He pulled back enough to look at her. In her eyes he saw her confused jumble of emotions. He moved away.
“No, please,” she said, almost crying out, holding on to his arm.
He looked at her again; he had misread the look in her eyes. It wasn’t confusion they were reflecting; he saw that now. It was desire, the same desire that was consuming him.
He lay on top of her again, this time fitting his hips between her legs. She could feel his hard virility. She wanted him to kiss her, to fulfill her longing to have him. But he only looked at her, as if he wanted to hold back the inevitable, as if he had just realized he was on the edge of a cliff, one step away from leaping into the void. He hesitated; she saw it in his eyes. They were breathing heavily with excitement, feeding on the sweet passion that overwhelms lovers, that intoxication that is the prelude to love.
Kenzie licked his dry, burning lips. Watching him, Rebecca fervently desired his kiss. As if reading her mind, he slowly moved his lips to her mouth.
And leaped into the void.
Their lips brushed each other and they kissed gently, knowing there was no turning back. His mouth was sensual, and she buried her fingers in his wavy hair. Their kisses became deeper, and with each one their desire grew. Rebecca pulled him closer, trembling at the contact of his hand touching her bare thigh. His caress continued along the length of her leg until she felt his fingers on the lace at her hip. Kenzie brought his lips to her ear. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
