Lost and Found on the Camino de Santiago: Part 20
Miguel continues to wrestle with why he's on pilgrimage, and whether he should continue with Anna.
We walked back out of the park, across the bridge and to a supermarket. My flip-flops proved just as worthless as my sneakers. It didn’t matter if I walked on grass, earth, concrete or asphalt; my feet were raw, painfully so, like an open wound. But hunger called, and I didn’t want to eat Sandra’s usual favorites: rolls and butter, nuts, or some type of fiber cookies, and I didn’t want to eat at a restaurant. I grabbed some fruit—oranges, peaches and bananas, bread, some olives, sardines and three large bottles of mineral water. By the store’s entryway, I waited for Sandra as passersby waited for traffic to stop. Others rushed into the store. It all felt alien and familiar. Cars zoomed. People babbled on their cell phones. Business and busyness ruled here. Gray, wooly clouds came in from the east towing a soft, cool breeze with the yeasty scent of wet earth. If my feet had been able to continue moving, I would have run back to the countryside—in the direction of the thunder and wind. This was no strange world, but the Camino had transported me so far from it that I had no desire to be part of the beehive. “Vamos,” Sandra said.
After dinner, Sandra got up from the table to check on her clothes. Anna and I sat in silence, aware that these could be the final moments we would share. I took her hand and looked into her red, puffy eyes. She had been crying, and sighed, telling me about her call to her sister in Los Angeles.
“All she said was, ‘You’re being irresponsible and you could get sick or end up dead,’” Anna whispered.
“You can’t let that get to you. You have to trust that there is a reason for being here. You have to believe. You’ve made it this far.” I moved the food to the side and caressed her hand.
“It’s because of you.”
“Maybe, in part, but I didn’t carry you here or tell you to come.”
“You know what I mean. You helped me.”
“I don’t feel I did that much.”
“Thank you. Thank you. I could not have made it this far without you.”
I kissed her hand.
“But,” she continued. “I have to stay here. I know I’ve said that, and I hadn’t said it very seriously, but I know that my legs can’t take it anymore. Not like this. My knee is inflamed, inflamado.”
“Yes, you say it the same in Spanish.”
“And I also think it’s best if we continue separately. We have so many things we’re carrying. Things we haven’t spoken about,” she said.
I started to speak again, but paused and gripped her hand. She looked into my eyes, sighed, kissed my hands and put them to her cheek.
“Let’s leave it to destiny,” she whispered. “Let’s leave it to destiny. If we meet again, it was meant to be.”
We did have to walk separately. We had come to the Camino seeking our own answers to some very deep questions. I still hadn’t found what I was looking for, though I had no idea what it was, and now the Camino was calling me in a different direction. That, I knew. It began to rain, but we remained there. I didn’t know what to say or what to promise, if there was anything I should promise at all. Anna leaned over and kissed me on the lips.
“I’ll miss you, but let’s listen. This rain and the coming storm mean it’s time for change.”
I lifted her hands from the table and pressed them to my lips and held them there. A raindrop landed on our hands. She laughed.
“What?”
“You better go get your clothes.”
*
The sleeping quarters had a low roof and they held in our body heat. The lights went out at 10:00 pm despite the protests by some Australian pilgrims who kept the door open and spoke loudly, having arrived just an hour before. The caretaker came to the door and explained the policies as best he could in broken English, but they ignored him until a French pilgrim stepped in as everyone looked on.
“Please understand that they are following normal procedure,” he explained. “You can talk and prepare for tomorrow in the office, but not here.”
“Fine,” said one of them, sulking and throwing her bag down. That drew some gasps and calls from others in the room. “What a shame!”
“Some people are so inconsiderate. That man is so nice. He allowed me to stay an extra day with no doctor’s note,” Anna said as she climbed up onto the bunk.
“That’s good, but I thought you wanted a hotel.”
“I did, but more than that I just wanted to stay put for one whole day.”
She put her hand on mine and the lights went out again. We lay down facing each other in the dim, green light of the exit sign. After the room became quiet, I pulled her toward me.
“You’re crazy,” she whispered.
We kissed and kissed, quietly, our tongues playing again. I squeezed her butt and then reached under her shirt to touch her breasts.
“No,” she sighed, and pushed my hand away.
Desire consumed me. I felt it in every muscle. She pushed away.
“There are too many people.”
“You’re right,” I whispered, pulling her toward me again.
She didn’t fight. We continued kissing, sweat dripping from my forehead. We did not separate for some time, and then she gently pushed away.
“Miguel, we can’t. Not here. There are too many people. Not like this.”
“You’re right,” I breathed. “You’re right…”
She put my arm around her waist and pulled up right next to me. Again, we continued kissing. The door creaked open and we separated. It was the Australian pilgrims looking for something they had dropped. “It’s not in here.” Their flip-flops scraped against the floor as they did a quick search. The French pilgrim spoke again. “Please let us sleep.” It was then that they stopped and walked out. I lay on my back, looking at the ceiling reflecting the green light from the entryway. She gave me a peck on the cheek and then laid her head on my shoulder. Thunder rolled over us as individual raindrops dinged the metal roof; the drizzle became a river falling from the sky.
What are you doing? Am I only here because I want to be with her, and for the desire of sleeping with her? It felt as if I had been walking without talking to God or to myself. What have I been doing?