Lost and Found on the Camino de Santiago: Part 26
Miguel's chance encounter continues a healing that had begun months before.
Sunlight continued streaming in. I opened up and talked about what I had been afraid to fully face during the past year. I had ruined the relationship, and guilt had become a stone I dragged home, to class, to the bars. The sadness and guilt were the cold of a dark winter’s night. No matter how I tried to warm myself or forget, I could only cover the pain for a few hours at a time with lots of coffee, lots of alcohol and sleeping pills. Though my family and close friends saw some of my suffering, no one knew what was going on inside me. That was until that morning in October when Lupe called with the message. Maria Cristina took my right hand.
“I can make excuses, but I was afraid of moving to Italy, of completely changing my life. I began looking for someone back at home and I found someone, but it didn’t work. Another girl left me after ten days. I should have been in Italy, but I ignored her pleas and calls. I cut her off.”
“You didn’t tell her what you did?”
“I couldn’t, but I would eventually because I had to tell her the truth. I hoped that would help us heal. Damn, I was selfish. I just thought about myself. By that time, she had stopped talking to me and even blocked my emails. There was no way for me to get in touch with her except by going to see her.”
“And you did.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I saw her just for one afternoon, and that was it.”
“Mm.”
I could not believe I was sharing this story with a stranger, but by some miracle she was from Modena and she was here sitting with me in the middle of Spain.
“Please continue, I want to listen. I need to listen. It’s really beautiful. ”
I bit my lower lip.
“Yes, I understand what you’ve been through,” she continued. “But it’s beautiful to see and know that there is still love, and that it still moves people beyond their familiar world and comfort and even their mistakes to something new.” She touched my shoulder. “Please continue.”
“I wish I had never made that trip. I missed my flight, waited for a later one that flew me first to London and then to Rome after five hours. The airline lost my luggage.”
I stopped talking. The wound had begun healing when Lupe called me, but there had been no true closure. Maria and I were silent for some time. She got up to remove her blue jacket, fold it and then sat back down. She was thinking, and it seemed as if moving around would help her jog the wisdom of her experience.
“Please continue. You need to talk about this.”
“I, uh…it’s…it’s just that I thought we had a chance, that she would see me and change her mind, but she didn’t…. she didn’t.” My throat tightened. “She nearly passed out when she saw me and she complained about her hair and clothes saying I should have told her I was coming. That initial shock became anger. I kissed her on the cheek, but she pushed away before I could embrace her. She shook my hand and sent me away after an hour. I called her from the hostel that night asking her to see me for breakfast and she said, ‘No, no, no. It’s too late Miguel, it’s too late. It’s too late…’ She cried. Before the sun rose the next morning, I was waiting for a train to Florence, where a storm welcomed me and soaked my suitcase. I walked about in the rain before leaving to Siena. I was alone in a country of strangers. The night before returning home, I wandered through Rome, but never walked in or prayed at any of its churches. I had been a coward and a liar. There was no one to blame but myself. I couldn’t speak. Nothing came out. I sat at random cafes or stood by old doorways staring, just staring. I forced smiles to people at the hostel, the cafés and at the airport. When I got back home, I said nothing about her or Italy to anyone. I started drinking.”
“Madonna!”
“I gave up hope until a friend called me,” I said and then paused. “Until a friend called me to tell me an angel had given her a message for me.”
“Madonna!” she gasped, and stood up covering her mouth in disbelief. “What?”
“I said my friend…”
Maria Cristina cut me off. “No, I understand.”
She stayed quiet, still eyeing the floor. She got up and walked to the window. “I understand. I understand. Please, please continue.”
“One morning I woke up suddenly, just wide awake, like I had never been asleep. It was a little bit before 6:00, and that surprised me because I had stayed up until 2:00 finishing homework. You see, I had gone to a friend’s birthday party the night before, so I had to stay up to finish. Anyhow, I woke up before I had planned to and when I was in the bathroom, my cell phone beeped telling me someone had called. It was too early for anyone to be calling. I hadn’t heard it ring because it was in my jacket hanging in the closet. I didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was familiar. I thought it might be my mom or sister calling from a hospital. I expected bad news.”
“Who was it?”
“My friend Lupe.” I paused.
Maria Cristina continued looking at the window, her hands over her mouth in prayer or worry and I didn’t know if I should continue talking. She lowered her hands, and without looking at me said, “Continua Miguel… per favore.”
“I…I…recognized her voice and asked, ‘Lupe is everything alright?’ She answered, ‘Yes, is everything alright with you?’ I told her, ‘Yes, why?’ She inhaled and said, ‘Miguel.’ ‘Yes?’ I answered. ‘Miguel, an angel came to me in a dream and told me to tell you to not give up. He said that your future is full of hope... don’t give up.’ I was stunned. I tried to speak, but I couldn’t. My voice cracked as I leaned against the closet door and shut it with my weight. ‘Miguel, were you looking for a sign? What’s wrong?’ She began crying too.”
“Oh my…”
“All the those tears I had held from the moment I left her in Italy came out. Lupe asked, ‘Why are you crying? Why was this message given to me Miguel? Please tell me!’ I told her everything about the lies, the drinking, the hopelessness. I was so surprised. I couldn’t stop crying. I don’t even know how she made out what I said.”
I couldn’t believe I was sharing this.
“The angel had given her two messages, one for me and one for a friend whose grandmother had recently died.”
“Oh my, Miguel…” her voice trailed off.
“I know. I know.”
“That’s… why you’re here?” Maria Cristina said. She hadn’t turned to face me. Her voice was quiet. She was crying.
“Yes, in part, yes. And then there were just so many other things that led me here. I had to come, but when I left Chicago this past winter… this pilgrimage had never entered my mind. I had simply gone to Prague to finish my studies.”
She wiped her eyes then closed them. “I can’t believe this. I mean it’s just so... Miguel, I’m here because the same happened to me.”
“What?”
“Senti, I loved my husband deeply and he loved me and when he died, I was angry with God and at myself for loving with all my heart, but that is how we must love. There is no other way, and it took me some years to recover. There were many lonely days and nights. One morning my friend Valentina called me and asked me to her home for lunch. It was not unusual, but it came after I had trouble sleeping for several days.” She paused, holding back tears and sighed. “It was… it was the most difficult moment. A year, yes a year after Gabriele passed away.”
“One year later?”
“The entire year was difficult, but because he died near Christmas, on the fifteenth, it was even more difficult. I avoided going to Mass. I avoided church and many friends, except Valentina.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t know, but I would find out that day. I got ready, had a coffee and went to her house. It smelled wonderful. I had not eaten well that year either, and had lost a lot of weight. It was hard to eat alone, staring out the kitchen window at our garden where we had shared so much love. I felt as if I were eating stones except when I went to her house. That day, I can’t believe this… I, she sat me down and said, ‘An angel came to me in my sleep and told me to tell you that God sees your pain. He saw you looking toward the garden a couple of nights ago as you whispered his name. He saw when you shattered the shell, the one he gave you the first time you went to the sea.’” Maria Cristina buried her face in her hands and sobbed, “Non lo posso credere. Non lo posso credere.”
I sat on the bed and wondered what to do or what to say next. She asked for a tissue from her bag.
“Miguel, please don’t be alarmed. I’m crying because you reminded me of how my life changed since that day. Valentina had several dreams like this throughout her life, but they were always unexpected. She and her husband listened to me and helped me escape the loneliness. They reminded me that my love for Gabriele would never die, but that I had to allow life to continue in me. She was the first to mention the Camino several years ago, and she took me to the airport a month ago.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Miguel, you have to forgive yourself. You can’t continue wishing and wanting another chance at the past or to work and remake it somehow. It will never return, and life will continue coming, bringing new people, new paths and opportunities to follow and you can’t make the past return no matter how bad you feel about it.”
I pulled her letters out of my pocket and handed them to Maria Cristina. She examined one envelope carefully, holding it up to the light while softly saying, “Emilia Est, that’s where she lives?”
“Yes. She is probably living far from there now.”
She folded the letters and replaced them in the frayed plastic bag.
“I will do you a favor if you promise to help me this afternoon. I will even buy you dinner.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been here two days and you’re the first person I have really spoken to.”
“Two days? What?”
“Yes, my knees became so inflamed I was unable to walk, but I’m better now, although I need my hiking poles to get around. I have not been out of the refuge because I have been afraid of falling. I’m tired of bread, ham and cheese. That is all I have received. I’m thankful, but I need to eat something different and I must go to the pharmacy.”
“You don’t have to explain anything or buy me dinner. I will be glad to help you.”
“I am asking for a simple favor. Listen, I will contact her and send a letter to tell you how she is.”
I wanted to believe she would, but deep inside I was afraid of what in all likelihood had taken place. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know anything anymore. Maybe her silence was the best she could give me to keep me from hurting more. I pursed my lips. Maria Cristina noticed my apprehension.
“Miguel, no matter what news I give you, you have to make peace with the past.”
Maria shuffled through her bag again, took out a pen and grabbed the bar of soap. She copied the information from the envelope into her notebook, asked for mine and gave me hers.
“Ecco, let’s meet at 6:00.