"Overrated," he said quickly, but glanced longingly at the gear on the couch.
"You didn’t have to stay, you know."
"I know, but, there is still time – if you want to…"
I smiled but shook my head no as gently as possible. "I’m sorry, but I’ll have to take a rain check."
"I suspected as much, so I arranged something else for us."
"What?" I asked, looking him over.
"It’s a surprise. Just get dressed, brush out that mop you call hair, and we’ll get going." He returned to the couch, packing a small bag with our passports, money, and water bottles.
I narrowed my eyes at his comment but obeyed. Within an hour we were in a taxi on our way to God knows where. "Are we going to do that…thing, today?"
"That thing?"
"Oh, you know what I mean."
"Yes, fortunately I speak Kaitlyn-ese," he said. "That, thing, is on hold until tomorrow. Susan couldn’t get all the equipment she needed."
I nodded, looking out the window of the cab. "So what is the big surprise? Where are we headed?"
"The surprise is being human for a day. I thought we could do the tourist thing." Micah teased. I slapped him playfully on the arm, and he caught my hand in his, intertwining his fingers with mine. "We are going to tour Alcazaba, the –"
"– Moorish castle built in the eighth century?!" I finished his sentence for him. I couldn't keep the excitement out of my voice. "I love castles!"
"I know."
"You know?"
"I…" Micah cleared his throat. "I saw all of your castle figurines when we were packing up your apartment."
"You were in my apartment!?"
He motioned for me to keep my voice down, glancing at the driver.
"What else did you discover about me whilst sifting through my apartment?" I hissed in a whisper.
He released my hand and attempted to put his arm around me and pull me closer. I elbowed him. He got the point.
"Well, let’s see here. I remember seeing an inordinately large amount of pillows on your bed..."
I interrupted, "Decorative pillows."
"…and of course your plants."
"Makes for cleaner air; I did live in a downtown area, you know."
"I know, I was there, remember?"
I tensed up. Violation of my personal space even before we met, coupled with lingering resentment from the ‘exercise’ in the greenhouse, made me want to smash a flower pot over his head all over again.
"We had to go through your home office as well, and I came across a shoebox in the back of your desk drawer with dozens of unopened bank statements from one account; an account in Switzerland, to be exact."
My lips closed tight at the thought of that cursed bank account.
"Care to elaborate?" Micah prodded.
"No."
He waited in silence as the taxi made its way along the winding road, weaving in and out to dodge pedestrians, hand carts, and donkeys carrying people or goods.
I waited until I was sure he had let it go, but when I glanced at him, he was staring me down.
"Oh fine," I conceded. "The account was left to me when my parents passed. I have never used the money and I don’t intend to."
"You’ve never thought of donating the money to a charity?"
"Why should anyone benefit from my parent's death?" I snapped.
"A conversation for another time, maybe." Micah rubbed at my shoulders in his attempt to ease the tension.
I turned my attention out the window, taking in the scenery in an effort to calm down. The taxi made its way up a hill, and the crowds seemed to thin out. The white-washed buildings that were so prevalent throughout Spain stood side by side on the hillside. They were a good contrast against the forest of oak trees and the deep blue sea. I began looking at the trees growing alongside the road, and was shocked at what I saw. They had been stripped of their bark, to about seven feet up, exposing a very bright red core underneath. I rubbed at my eyes and leaned toward the window for a closer look.
"What happened to them?" I asked, appalled. "They’ll die!"
Micah laughed. "Susan told me about them. The bark is used for cork, but it grows back again. They won’t die; it is a sustainable process. The bark can be stripped on this type of oak tree every nine years or so."
I shook my head slowly. "I would have never thought these trees had such a vibrant color underneath. It’s like they are bleeding."
"It does look harsh, but is a perfect example of a renewable commodity." Micah leaned toward the window to take a closer look himself.
Just then the taxi cab driver broke into what only could be described as a rant. A Spanish rant.
"Can you understand him?" I asked Micah.
He was staring intently at the driver. "A little. I think his brother is a harvester of cork – he has his own oak tree grove." Micah paused to listen a little longer. The driver talked faster and faster. "There are competing alternatives for cork, some that aren’t as environmentally sound, and it’s affecting his brother’s business."
I shrugged my shoulders as the driver paused to take a breath and compose himself. "Happens in a lot of industries, people need to learn to evolve along with the changes and demands of the industry."
"It’s not just that, Kaitlyn. As long as these forests hold some sort of economic value, people will take care of them. Lose that, and people will begin to chop them down to make way for other industries. It just goes to show the rippling effects decisions like that can have."
The driver nodded his head, in agreement.
"I guess you have a point. You want me to have a little talk with some of these wine companies about the way they seal their bottles? Maybe I could send a little wind their way."
"I don’t think so, but I’ll mention the plight to Cato. He can speak to our Shu," he addressed my look of confusion, "one of our guys who interacts with the air like Susan does with the water. His family owns a prominent vineyard and is pretty influential within the wine industry."
"Yeah, but one Shu can't change everyone's way of thinking and habits that have been ingrained," I said.
He shrugged, "We try anyway. Sometimes we take the political route. There are ways like certifying natural cork stoppers which will alert consumers to what they are buying. Many will choose products that support sustainable methods. Besides, cork is used in several other instances like insulation and flooring."
The cab driver rolled to a stop. Micah paid him and they exchanged business cards. I stepped out of the cab and was instantly mesmerized by the ruins before me. The castle and its surrounding walls dominated the hillside. The stonework, jagged and crumbling in places and recently restored in others, was offset by flowering bushes and Arabic-style water fountains.
We paid our entry fee and entered the large courtyard. As I was drinking in the site of one of the fountains, I accidentally bumped into another tourist taking pictures.
"Oh! Uh, sorry… I mean excusez-moi, or…what country is this?" I stammered apologies in the first languages that came to mind. The tourist rudely shook his head and walked away without even acknowledging me.
"Smooth." Micah came up beside me. "That reminds me; I picked something up for you." He reached into his small bag and produced a disposable camera.
"Oh, wow. Thanks so much!" I quickly realized the enthusiasm in my reaction to the camera far exceeded my enthusiasm to the necklace he gave me the previous night. I made an effort to tone it down a bit. "I mean, that was very thoughtful of you. Thanks."
I immediately began clicking away. There wasn’t exactly going to be the resolution and detail of my professional equipment, but it was nice to be doing something I was confident in. Inside the walls, we explored the vast gardens, walking underneath the various Moorish arches and marveling at several tiled mosaics throughout the property. I ached for my digital camera and the settings that could perfect each picture, but taking up an activity that was once a large part of my life, n
o matter what the resolution, was heaven.
Micah stayed close but let me walk the grounds on my own terms. I accepted the freedom gratefully. In photography mode I could spend hours on one feature, studying it and capturing pictures from several different angles. He didn’t complain once and was careful to jump out of the way on the occasions when I aimed my lens in his direction.
After several hours of touring the grounds, we came upon a small café overlooking the entire grounds of Alcazaba, the Roman amphitheatre ruins below, as well as the adjacent Castillo de Gibraltar, and the city of Malaga all set before the broad background of the deep blue ocean. Micah ordered tapas and sangria in his broken Spanish. The waiter seemed pleased Micah attempted the language, even if it wasn’t perfect. A far cry from the reaction I had with the security guard at the airport when I tried communicating in French.
Finishing up a lunch of crumbed, greasy deep-fried meats, and perhaps a little too much sangria, I looked at Micah. "Still disappointed that you didn’t go scuba diving?"
Micah held his chin in his hand, pretending to think. "Nope. I’d much rather follow you and your camera around than see Alex in his Speedo."
I laughed and then added on a more serious note, "Well, if we are going to be in the ocean tomorrow, it’s better I stay away from it today."
He raised his eyebrows.
I tried to explain further, "You remember what happened when you found me? The small avalanche? That happens quite a bit and moving around, even if it’s in the same city, seems to help."
"Didn’t Cato show you how to control that?"
"The best advice Cato gave on that subject was to seek Shawn’s advice."
"Ah." Micah nodded, partly understanding. "There’s something else that may help."
"Does it involve drugging me into unconsciousness?"
"No."
"Then I am all ears."
"Okay. You know of the four elements; earth, wind, fire, and water?"
I nodded my head yes.
"There is a fifth element called Akasha. It is pure spirit, and somewhat controversial amongst those in our field. Some believe it doesn’t exist; some believe it is absolutely necessary – the one truly essential element because it harmonizes the other elements. It is harnessed and rises mainly with emotions; desire, motivation, passion, or determination. If you can control those feelings, you are controlling your spirit, and thus your interaction with other natural elements around you."
"So I am supposed to keep myself void of any emotion?"
"I’m not saying to walk around like a zombie, but you can take steps to control your emotions."
"Such as?"
"Such as if you desire something – make sure you get it. If you feel passionate about something, follow it. Take the time to meditate, calm yourself frequently. Feed your cravings and fulfill your wishes."
I tapped my finger on the table, "This isn’t some clever attempt to get me in bed, is it?"
"If that is what you desire—"
"Micah!"
People sitting around us turned at my squeal. Micah lowered his head, partly to hide his smile. "I’m just trying to help…"
"Trying to help me or your libido?" Our voices were almost at a whisper now.
"I’m trying to help your libido, sweetheart." Micah’s breath was heavy with the bitter-sweet aroma of sangria. I inhaled the scent and followed it in with the urge to kiss him, hard. His words resonated in my mind. If you desire something – get it. We were close enough to kiss; it would just take an inch more by either one of us.
"Is this what you really want?" he asked.
I didn’t know, but my heart was beating loudly in my chest. I could feel it vibrating my entire body.
"My heart does," I whispered back.
"I know," he replied. "I can hear it beating."
"You can?" I furrowed my eyes and looked around. "That’s weird."
I leaned away from him, ending the intense moment. Looking around, I frowned, and finally followed everyone else’s gaze down the hill. The steady beating wasn’t coming from in my chest. There was some sort of procession in the town at the bottom of the hill. Large floats were making their way down the crowded streets, followed by the cadence of drums.
"What’s going on?" I asked no one in particular.
"Santa Semena," said an elderly man, sitting at the table next to us.
I looked at Micah for clarification.
"Ah. A celebration of their Holy Week," he explained.
I looked closer; the first float was a tall canopy with a statue underneath. It swayed from side to side as if it would topple over any minute. The float drew applause from the thick crowd.
"Shall we?" Micah asked.
"Yes!" I said, excited to see what all the hoopla was about.
Micah paid and we walked down the winding hill. We reached the parade just as a military formation was marching by.
"Don't you want to take pictures?" Micah asked, having to raise his voice over the noise.
I shook my head, "No. I just want to…enjoy it." I reached for his hand and he obliged, winking at me before turning back to the parade. Another float was making its way toward us and the crowd pressed forward to see it. The float was carried by men in long white robes, who walked as one, following the cadence of the drummers behind them. It was a statue of Christ bearing the cross. The carriers’ unity caused the statue to sway from side to side, creating the illusion that Christ was walking himself. It was all very reverent, but instead of an awed silence, there was a lot of applause, cheering, and spontaneous singing.
Once the float was almost directly in front of us, the robed men stopped in unison and set the statue down. The crowd pressed forward hoping to get a better look, a touch, or something. After a few seconds next to the float, people moved away to let others have the same experience. Everyone got the chance to see it up close. We were forced toward the float by the crowd and found ourselves in the front row. Next to us, a young mother with a small child on each of her hips had her eyes closed in prayer, and the elderly couple on the other side of us stared intently, crossing themselves. We followed their lead when they moved away. The drums started up again and the float bearers picked up their masterpiece to move on.
A loud crack caused us to spin around, looking back at the float we had just left. Christ was now leaning dangerously to one side as float bearers and onlookers alike clamored below him like ants trying to fix the statue. Without hesitating, I released Micah's hand and ran to help. Another crack, followed by panicked shouts, and the Great Lord was in a free fall straight toward the crowd. They scattered as I continued to run forward, closing the last few yards. Now the only thing to stop the statue was the pavement, and me. I had no time to consider if the thing was made of plastic, glass, or ceramic. Damned if these people were going to watch Christ shatter before their very eyes. I skidded to a halt underneath it, held up my arms, closed my eyes, and hoped for the best.
Its weight caused my knees to buckle, but it didn't crush me. I slowly opened my eyes. I wasn't using any powers. There hadn't been time to even consider the possibility. I looked to my side to see Micah, straining under the statue, same as me. In fact, he was bearing the majority of the weight.
"Olé!" I said.
He started to laugh, but his back began to give out. Not two seconds later, the crowd surged in, lifting Christ from our shoulders. Relieved of our burden, we backed away as extra two by fours were brought in for repairs. Strange hands patted our backs and gratitude was given in many different languages. We bowed out, as quickly and graciously as we could, keeping a tight hold on each other.
We finally made it to the back of the crowd and were able to resume anonymity. After watching Christ turn the corner without any further complications, I turned to him. "I am tired; take me home."
After a long taxi ride back, we walked into our suite, still hand in hand. As I turned toward my room he swung me into his arms. "Stay with me tonight."
I looked at him. "Is that Micah talking or the sangria?"
"A little bit of both," he admitted.
I considered. "I’m not ready." I tried pulling away but Micah held tight. I looked at him; very aware he had a physical advantage and probably still wasn’t thinking very clearly. He looked at me, unblinking, for a very long time. Then he took a deep breath in and released me.
"I’ll wait for you." Micah took a few steps back, turned, walked into his room and shut the door softly behind him. I must have stood in the middle of the suite for minutes before I snapped out of it. I was still lost in his gaze and he wasn’t even there.
Quite the dangerous man, I thought. I walked into my own room, shut the door, and deliberately locked it. I leaned up against the door, sighed heavily, and said in a hushed voice, "Olé."
Chapter 26
Boats and Fruit
The shades on my window were wide open and I watched as dawn flitted across the ocean. I was at peace, until it hit me. I didn’t know anything about what was supposed to happen today. Panic replaced calm and I whipped into action. Within five minutes I had dressed and brushed my teeth and hair. I looked only slightly better than having just rolled out of bed.
I opened the large double doors to my suite and surveyed the living room, half expecting to see the crew there, waiting for me anxiously. It was desolate. I burst into Micah’s room without knocking. He had the heavy curtains drawn shut and they were doing their job. It was pitch black. I tried making my way toward him using his labored breathing as a guide. My eyes, not quite adjusted to the lack of light, failed me as I tripped over a large suitcase. That, combined with my loud, "Umph" and the jolt of my clumsy body crashing onto the floor sent Micah flying up. Without hesitation, Micah ran into my room, "Kaitlyn!?"
I didn’t stop him. I didn’t have time to. Still on the floor, I had barely turned my head to look out of his opened door and he was already in my room. I had a direct view. Micah’s eyes, still heavy with sleep, couldn’t adjust to the sudden brightness of the room. Blind and a little stupefied, he tripped over clothes I left in a pile on the floor in my own haste. His journey to the floor didn’t look much better than mine, I imagine. Once there, he didn’t make an effort to get up. Instead, he turned his head and looked directly at me. "Kaitlyn?"
Water Page 16
