Lost and Found on the Camino de Santiago: Part 12

We were still far from Villamayor de Monjardin when we spotted the steeple of the town church. We made it our goal. It provided a visual object we could aim for. It became a talisman that kept us moving as invisible flames blew around and through us and pushed us toward the shade as they dried our throats and made our water as hot as soup. They stripped the water from our bodies. I have no idea how we made it.  And to my surprise, Michele was there when we arrived. 

“Ciao amico,” he said. 

“Ciao, come stai?”

“Bene, bene. Stanco?” 

“Si, e molto caldo,” I replied. 

We lumbered into the refuge—a trio of burros bearing far too much weight, smelling of old onions. Sweat had accumulated on my pack straps, giving off an acrid odor and staining them with salt crystals as it evaporated. I allowed the women to take care of their needs—they showered first. Thankfully, they were so hungry they worked quickly and left the bathroom to me. The water was cool enough, though not as chilly as I had hoped for. My feet ached and my calves stung. I had a sunburn. 

Anna called, “Miguel, hurry up. They’re going to be serving dinner soon.” 

I didn’t reply, but shut off the water and squeegeed the water off my legs, arms, chest and lower back with my hands. I had forgotten my towel in Puente La Reina. Anna’s belief that the Camino returned things proved untrue for that item. I air-dried, used my T-shirt to dry my torso, and stepped out of the shower in my shorts.

Anna came back in, looked at me, then stepped up to the mirror and applied lotion to her face. I dried my hair. She checked her teeth, opening her lips with her right index finger and thumb. She slowly applied toothpaste to her brush, and rechecked her teeth. 

“Doesn’t that follow a meal?” I asked. 

“Usually, but I just need to refresh my mouth,” she said, briefly glancing at my eyes then back at her face. 

I pulled on the humid T-shirt. She flossed. Slowly. I applied deodorant. She glanced at me through the mirror as she rinsed out her mouth. I walked up to the mirror and stood next to her, worked up lather with some of the hand soap, applied it to my face and shaved. Slowly. She checked her face, hair and teeth once and then again, looked into my eyes and looked away. She opened the door. “Hurry up! It’s time to eat.” With a soft whish, the door closed behind her. 

After dinner, I returned to my room to arrange my bag and make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything else. I had been so slow and groggy getting out bed and gathering up my clothes. After two thorough inspections, I found that everything was there except for my towel. I would have to wait until I got to Burgos to shop for another one. I replaced everything in my pack. Anna walked in and sat on the bottom bunk and it creaked. She took a small bottle of lotion from her pocket; it dropped and rolled across the floor and stopped at the wall next to the window. She walked over to it, picked it up and walked back to the bed. 

I turned and faced her as she tossed the lotion onto the bed. It bounced up, then landed on the floor again with a thud, but by then she was in front of me. “I’ll get that,” she whispered, looking into my eyes. The bottle rolled toward the window and dinged against the wall. We embraced. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek softly. I held her against me tightly. We kissed and kissed and kissed. I pulled her onto her bunk and on top of me. She kissed my cheek and bit my right earlobe. I rolled over and got on top of her and kissed her neck. 

“You’re crazy,” she sighed. 

The door creaked open. I pushed Anna off, toward the foot of the bed. Michele’s curly gray head peaked in, and we sat up. Anna reached for some papers that were lying on the bunk. We acted like we were going over them. “Scusi,” he said walking in with a backpack, and La Bailarina followed behind him—now fully dressed. Her face was bright red—flushed, not burnt—and shiny with sweat. She had to be the last pilgrim entering the refuge for the day. It was nearly 7:00. La Bailarina turned, recognized us, smiled, waved and chimed, “Bon day ahz,” in her version of Spanish. “Hola,” we responded. 

“Amico,” Michele said, apologetically shaking my hand. They walked out and down the old squeaky stairs. Just seconds later, we walked out into the small courtyard in front of the refuge where Sandra was sitting with other pilgrims trying to have a conversation. Anna joined them and pulled me along, but I only spoke as an occasional interpreter, opting instead to give myself a foot rub. My thoughts and unquenchable desire were back in the room. 

At night, that room was a warm, muggy oven with its own dismal soundtrack, a barking dog with a buzzing street lamp. Its yellow light came in sharply through the room’s only window. Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! I turned, sat up and jumped down quietly to shut it, closing off the noise, but also our only source of fresh air. I can take the heat, but not the damn dog. The old window muffled the sound and after a few minutes, I was finally dozing off. Alas, it was a futile attempt. Sandra could not take the heat. She got up, opened it and asked who had shut it while scanning the beds. No one made a sound. The window stayed open. I drifted in and out of the river of sleep for the rest of the night—at the mercy of the currents of noise, heat and questions. 

“Forget the past,” I whispered into the dark. “Don’t be dumb. She’s available. At least I think she is. She hasn’t mentioned a boyfriend. Go for it.” The final three words were hollow and meaningless, though I could not fully explain why a voice inside me said, “Wait…” I also knew that we had to separate. She was breathing softly on the bunk below mine. I wanted to lie next to her, on top of her, kiss her, and take her in my arms. “Wait,” echoed inside me. I lay on my back and closed my eyes. 

“Wait?” I asked. “Why?”