Duende Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Ignacio Ramirez Rivera quickly became Nayo thanks to his older sister who deliberately simplified his name in response to his arrival in her world. Although this diminutive form was unusual, soon Nayo’s parents were fondly referring to their baby in this way, pleased a bond had already developed between their two young children. Angelita, the little girl responsible for her brother’s title, herself had a name with a lot to live up to.

‘What did we do to produce you?’ her father laughed, ruffling her hair. His own impish streak had been tamed through several years of married life but Carlos had never fully shrugged off his Carlito. While he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, he sensed something in his daughter was keeping his mischievous spirit alive.

Nayo had no idea what he was letting himself in for when he decided to make an appearance within the living realm. Even with his parents to protect him, Angelita found ways and means to bypass their powers. Once, she insisted on the honour of feeding him as being the older sister gave her certain privileges. Manuela smiled proudly as she passed her daughter the warm bottle. Angelita received it solemnly, as if it were a chalice or some other sacred object, and walked piously towards the adjacent room. Flinging off her ceremonial garb, she unscrewed the top and forced herself to cry, watching in amazement as the tears splashed freely into the milk. She had no idea what tears tasted like but now she wanted to find out. Carefully twisting the top back on, she sat down and called her mother to bring the baby to her. She was scared of picking him up in case she dropped him.

Manuela wiped her hands free of dishwater and reassuringly lifted Nayo from his cot. His little head was too sweet not to kiss and she lowered him down lovingly on to Angelita’s lap.

Angelita received him in an equally adoring manner, making sure he was comfortably nestled in her arms before tempting him with the teat that pretended to be his mother’s nipple. She watched as his searching lips quickly found their place round the soft rubber imitation and stroked his forehead as he lapped hungrily at the milk. He ate happily for a while but then his face began to pucker and distort. A complete lack of understanding replaced his previous contentment. A frown appeared across his forehead as his lips still searched for nourishment. Angelita wondered why he kept returning to the source of his pain but again and again his mouth hunted for the teat, expecting foolishly that normality would return. As he writhed and winced beneath her gaze, Angelita realized she had a lot to teach him and came to the conclusion that it was her responsibility to wise Nayo up to the ways of the world.

At the sound of cries, Manuela came running through and saw Angelita trying her best to console her brother, rocking him gently back and forth.

‘It’s probably wind, sweetheart,’ she reassured her daughter. ‘Just a touch of wind, that’s all. Here. Let me take him.’

Wide-eyed, Angelita let her mother make things right, slipping away timidly to put her doll’s house in order. The bedroom needed rearranged and the kitchen hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. These porcelain people couldn’t be relied on to do anything properly. Turn your back on them for one minute and chaos ensues. While shifting miniature furniture, Angelita sighed, knowing her tears would never have harmed Nayo. They shared the self-same flesh and blood after all.

When he started trying to walk, Angelita provided enthusiastic encouragement. He used various objects to lever himself off the ground then Angelita would take one of his hands. She’d tell him how well he was doing as Nayo teetered unsteadily by her side. Convinced her little brother was capable of more, she’d release her grip and gasp, slightly unnerved, as he fell with a thud on his bottom.

It was Carlos who came hurrying through at the sound of his son’s howls. Manuela was relaxing in a much needed bath. He lifted the boy up and hugged him close.

‘Hush, Nayo,’ he whispered gently. ‘Your sister’s still too young to know what to do in a crisis.’

             As Nayo’s steps became surer, Angelita loved him even more. She clapped as he brought each foot forward with increasing confidence. Nayo’s face filled up with smiles and he gurgled excitedly. He was proud of himself but most of his courage came from this creature he’d known since his first day on earth, this thing that was like him but not, a mirror image enlarged and capable of feats which seemed unimaginable. Here she was, doting attention on him, really and truly believing in him.

           When she began to run at a speed that seemed impossible, he found the strength and trust to follow her. If she could do it, so could he.

           He hit the floor with such impact that blood began to seep immediately from his forehead, a strange, sticky liquid entirely new to him. All he could do was lie there, reddening the tiles as Manuela hurried through and screamed like she’d never screamed before.

           It wasn’t merely the sight of her only son wounded and immobile but the fact that no tears accompanied his pain. When she picked him up, his eyes looked quizzical with no indication of distress and this alarmed her more than anything else.

           ‘Carlos!’ she shouted. ‘Carlos! Get the doctor! Carlos, please!’

           Carlos was engrossed in Calderon’s La vida es sueno, a play he’d fallen in love with while still at school. No matter how many times he read it, he always found something different but came away never fully understanding the real nature of the work. More questions appeared and sometimes, but only sometimes, new solutions. Although the lines were famous and much analysed, he still grappled with their profundity, never satisfied with simple explanations:

¿Qué es la vida? Un frenesí.

¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión,

una sombra, una ficción,

y el mayor bien es pequeño:

que toda la vida es sueño,

y los sueños, sueños son.

           If life really is a dream and dreams are nothing but dreams then is illusion inescapably the basis of reality and if so, is that necessarily a bad thing? Are reality and illusion two sides of the same coin and precise labels become irrelevant? Is it about language or perception? About experience or our understanding of this? If reality ceases to exist then is our fictional existence any less true or tangible on account of this?

          ‘Carlos!’ his wife wailed from downstairs.

          ‘Qué es la vida?’ pondered Carlos when suddenly his wife’s cries shook him abruptly back into the world of the here and now. He ran downstairs, almost losing his balance as he did so.

          Blood on his son’s head, on his wife’s face and dress, initially made him panic but he disguised this by swiftly taking control. He collected everyone’s coats and steered his family carefully towards the doctor’s house.

          The doctor tended to the wound and Carlos held Manuela close, using his breath to calm and soothe her. It wasn’t long before the doctor placed Nayo in Manuela’s arms and told her not to worry. These things were a normal part of childhood, however hard they were to bear at the time.

‘Accidents happen,’ he said, ‘and we have to allow for them unfortunately. Your boy’s a strong little thing. He was experimenting, that’s all. Testing his own limits. Sometimes they have to learn lessons all by themselves.’

           Nayo slept between his parents that night. Manuela was still afraid of some aftermath and didn’t want her son to be anywhere but beside her.

           ‘Carlos,’ she whispered. ‘What about Angelita? Are we neglecting her?’

            Carlos went through and picked up the dreaming Angelita, placing her in bed to complete their family.

            When Angelita awoke, she felt a sense of true contentment for the first time in her tender fledgling life.

           Nayo’s first day at school was a proud occasion for everybody. Manuela was as nervous as any mother but Angelita strode proudly through the school gate with her brother in tow. She’d braved this initiation test four years ago and come out with flying colours. What did Nayo have to fear?

           ‘There’s nothing to be scared of,’ she said as she marched him purposefully towards the cloakroom and showed him where to hang his newly-purchased coat. Nayo placed his strange jacket on the peg and looked to his sister for further guidance, clinging on to her hand all the while. She’d never been inside this school before as it was strictly reserved for boys but this morning, she was Nayo’s guardian so entry permission had been granted.

           ‘Let’s find your classroom, Nayo,’ she said, and led him through a labyrinth of corridors with a myriad of different doors. Any one of these might find the answer but he knew his sister held the right key for the right door.

           Angelita found a classroom that seemed a distinct possibility. All the children were of a similar height and look to Nayo so she ushered him in, telling him everything would be fine and he’d make friends and his teacher was sure to be kind.

           Nayo didn’t want to let go of his sister’s hand but knew he had to. This was something he had to do all on his own so in he walked, hoping somebody would come forward to welcome him.

           Everyone was already sitting at little tables which he later came to name as desks. He found an empty space and tentatively occupied it. Nobody turned to look at him. Nobody seemed to notice him. Perhaps this was all part of the process, Nayo thought.

           Soon, the teacher began to read a list of names: Francisco Agosti Mieras; Rodrigo Batista Rosello; Federico Fernandez Cardona; Gabriel Gonzalez Laporta; Carlos…

           He heard his father’s name and instantly felt safe.

           But when the teacher got to the end with yet another boy called Jose, he felt himself wobble. He wasn’t included. He didn’t exist. He wanted to be back with his mother and father. He wanted to be home, not here, in this place where nobody knew who he was.

           The teacher began the lesson and Nayo felt nothing but abandonment. He wasn’t on the list. His name hadn’t been called. Had someone stolen his coat already? Why had his sister disappeared?

           He wanted to cry but knew somehow that tears wouldn’t go down well here, wherever this was. He didn’t know what to do. He felt lonely and very frightened. He was mainly used to comfort and this was the opposite. Everything had become completely unknown and he was petrified.

           The lesson assumed he knew how to count but his fingers were his only source of knowledge. As he frantically searched for the answer, nothing provided him with help. Divide? How do you break your thumb from the rest of your hand? How do you take away when each and every finger stubbornly remains?

           As the other children responded with answers, he wondered how they knew so much more than him. They seemed to have a head start on a journey that he’d only just begun. He began to shake but knew he had to hide his fear. His sister had taught him well.

When the ordeal eventually came to an end, he was released along with the others to yet another unfamiliar place which he later learned to call the playground. Here were children of his shape and size but who seemed happy. He stood on the sidelines, gazing at a world he didn’t know and maybe never would. He wasn’t even sure that the coat he’d found belonged to him. They all looked the same but how desperately he wanted to wear the one that fitted him. The one his mother had fastened tight for him that morning.

When he returned to the classroom, the history lesson felt equally bizarre. Why was it everybody but him knew the name of Queen Isabella? Was Christopher Columbus her friend, her father, her husband and where was this strange land they called America? Had he missed out on something here?

By the end of his first day, Nayo felt completely and utterly out of his depth. But Angelita was there to meet him when he reached the school gates and never had the feeling of relief been so immense.

She hugged him close and praised him for surviving what was one of the most formidable trials he would ever have to endure. Her embrace was exactly what Nayo needed to make him feel alive again.

Carlos and Manuela assumed Nayo’s ongoing confusion was simply a necessary period of adjustment but when tears began to trickle down his face on Sunday evening, Carlos decided to investigate.

‘I’ll go to the school, Manuela,’ he said. ‘Even if it’s just to settle him a little.’

But his visit brought illumination. Records were checked until it was discovered that Nayo had been placed in a class two years above him. The headmaster was extremely apologetic and remedied the situation immediately. Although Carlos could only express his gratitude, when he returned home to Manuela his anger couldn’t be concealed.

‘I sent my son to school last Monday,’ he said. ‘Nayo’s very first day at school. I expected him to be looked after but, for whatever reason, he was thrown into the deep end and who was to know if he could swim or not? Lucky for us that our son’s able to keep afloat when he could’ve drowned. They left him stranded, Manuela, when all he needed was a reassuring hand.’

By the time Nayo was eight, he was accustomed to his sister’s form of leadership. Even though her guidance sometimes bewildered him, he assumed there was some reason behind this that he couldn’t yet understand. While other children might turn to their parents for clarification, this didn’t enter Nayo’s head. To him, there was no whiff of trickery. Siblings can have radically different ways of seeing the world and Nayo perceived life through his own particular eyes.

When he was nine, the world he thought he lived in was abruptly overturned by a spirit far more incomprehensible than Angelita’s. For a whole week that summer, the city where he’d felt safe was suddenly filled with fire and gun shots. Although Carlos and Manuela tried to protect their children, it was impossible to shelter them completely.

When the strike was announced on Monday the twenty sixth of July, Carlos supported the protest in defiance of the Prime Minister’s decision to enlist Catalonian reservists for the war in Morocco. Ever since that spring when eight hundred jobs had been lost with the closure of the Rusinol Factory, tension had been in the air and this was the last straw. Like thousands of others, Carlos couldn’t see why the blood of Catalan workers should be shed to safeguard some colonial outpost belonging to a few wealthy men. But when Carlos joined the strike, in solidarity for those who worked for him, he hadn’t been prepared for the speed at which his city was transformed into a vicious mass of wailing fury. By the second day, the protesters had completely taken over Barcelona and everything descended into fighting, riots and destruction.

‘It’s like being in hell,’ said Carlos, relieved he’d managed to get home at last. ‘Anger’s one thing but this is out and out rage. I mean, the tactics began well – everyone cheering the soldiers because who wants a bullet in their chest? – but it’s just gone from bad to worse. It’s like they’re dancing with the devil in the streets.’

Manuela held him close but was scared by the fear in his eyes. Carlos was a brave man so whatever he’d witnessed must’ve been severe.

Angelita let Nayo sleep in her bed throughout. He was far too young to understand what was going on and even his big sister couldn’t explain. They just lay in her bed, her arms around him to comfort his screams when shots rang out or the window glowed with ominous shades of red and orange. Long after the terrifying sounds and colours faded, Nayo crept into Angelita’s room but whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the window, its symmetrical lines etched stark and black by the glass ablaze with fire. Although the image wouldn’t go away, life felt less disturbing with his sister by his side.

When Nayo was fourteen, his sister’s compassion was again revealed and in a way he could never have anticipated. There was a boy in Nayo’s class, a boy called Jose, like so many of the boys in the class he’d been misdirected to on his first day at school. Jose Caballero Nadal was just another boy amongst many. No distinguishing features. Dark hair like the majority of boys living in Barcelona. Dark eyes – again the norm. Nothing marked him out from the rest. In fact, perhaps he was slightly more withdrawn than others his age. He joined in when he needed to but his usual role was neither to instigate nor copy. He had friends and certainly couldn’t be described as anti-social but he was also more than happy in his own company. Immaculately self-contained, Jose had acquired his sense of place in the world.

Nayo had noticed Jose when they started secondary school together. He had a coolness about him that Nayo admired. He was neither the star athlete nor the buffoon who staggers last across the finishing line. He was intelligent but would never come top of the class. While he wouldn’t be friends with the most popular boy, he’d never be found loitering with the outcasts. Jose was pretty much everything to which Nayo aspired.

Aged fourteen and the subject was Chemistry. Uniformed boys lolled against the large wooden benches with some whose feet still didn’t reach the floor. The teacher was explaining some experiment in a monotone drawl. Nayo felt sleepy and wished the lesson would end. Science had never been his strength and he knew he’d have to struggle through the forthcoming exam with limited chances of success. He didn’t share his sister’s flair for calculations and problem solving.

The teacher’s drone only added to his apathy and his eyes eventually closed. A hand on his arm awoke him and at first he was afraid, imagining a stern punishment awaited. He glanced up and saw Jose looking down at him.

‘Come on,’ said Jose. ‘If the teacher catches you, you’ll be forced to spend the rest of the lesson on your knees with your arms outstretched.’

Nayo rubbed his eyes and smiled.

‘Thanks, Jose,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

That evening, Nayo wondered if what’d happened meant he and Jose were now friends of some sort. Or was it just a one-off incident that would drift away and be forgotten? And why did Jose care if Nayo got caught or not? Or was his concern a general one and he’d have done the same no matter who the sleeper? Should he make the first move tomorrow, perhaps with a meaningless yet significant nod of acknowledgement? Or should he continue as usual and accept that Jose’s act was a fleeting moment within the grander scheme of things?

He would’ve liked to ask Angelita for advice as she had more experience in such matters but he couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t suggest something that would leave him looking deeply foolish. So he kept his thoughts and puzzles to himself. Needless to say, he didn’t sleep smoothly that night and even his dreams kept returning to a hand upon his arm.

As it turned out, he lost sleep over nothing as Jose was absent the following day. Nayo looked at Jose’s friends, imagining what secrets they shared. He almost felt jealous they knew things about Jose that he might never know. Then he felt embarrassed and tried to brush his feelings to one side. There was no-one to protect him if he fell asleep so Nayo kept his eyes wide open until, at the end of the day, he walked safely through the school gates again.

‘Where do you keep disappearing to?’ asked Angelita as the family sat down for supper.

‘Sorry?’ said Nayo, regaining his focus after a lengthy pause.

‘We’re trying to have a family conversation if you hadn’t noticed,’ she laughed. ‘But our little Nayo doesn’t seem to be joining in.’

‘Leave him alone,’ said Manuela, realizing something was on Nayo’s mind but respecting his privacy. ‘If he has a contribution to make then you can be sure we’ll hear from him.’

Nayo stared down at his soup and, with a lot of effort, lifted the spoon to his mouth.

‘The soup’s cold, Mama,’ he said.

‘Soup does get cold,’ smiled Manuela, ‘if you neglect it for too long.’

Later that evening, Angelita knocked on the door of Nayo’s room rather than just entering with her god-given right to invade his space. She sat on his bed and asked if things were going well at school. She promised that if he needed to confide in her then really, and she meant it, he could trust her. She’d been fourteen before and knew what it was like.

Nayo thanked her but wasn’t yet ready to divulge his inner thoughts. He wasn’t clear as to what his feelings were or what this problem was so he couldn’t articulate such confusion to anyone. Not even to himself.

That night, his sleep was still disrupted but less so. The hand upon his arm was much more reassuring as consistently he felt its touch again.

Jose was already in class when Nayo walked in. And it was Jose who gave him that much needed nod as their eyes came into contact while Nayo was making his way towards his desk. When Nayo responded to the call of his name from the register, he felt an unusual sense of affirmation run through his body. Yes, he thought. I am Nayo Ramirez Rivera. Yes, he thought. I exist.

Thursday afternoons were always a blessing. Art was what he loved. The stillness of the classroom, the tranquility of trying to capture live objects on to paper, the beauty of being given permission for that which you are born to do. Even though the still life the teacher had constructed was hardly inspirational, Nayo found a way to glean shapes, textures and colours. Even if it’s not right in front of your eyes, you can still find a way to trace the undiscovered correspondences, the true lines and natural curves, the light and the shade, and the moments of contact, the rise and inevitable fall. That afternoon, he became totally absorbed in his task. The rest of the world blurred into the background.

This time, it wasn’t a hand but a breath that interrupted his reverie. A soft, sweet sharp breath followed by a gasp.

‘How can you turn that into this?’ asked Jose. The fact he was impressed was undisguised.

Nayo felt a shyness overwhelm him but knew that in this moment, appearances were all.

He smiled at Jose as a modest means of accepting praise. He turned his body round a little further. Their eyes locked and Nayo felt himself swim.

‘If you look hard enough, you always find what you need,’ he said and realized that unknowingly, he’d said something profound.

Jose grasped the significance as Nayo knew he would. The eye contact never faltered and Nayo wondered if he was looking into his own reflection, one which Angelita had impishly twisted and altered each playful passing year.

The two boys kept their gaze for at least a second more than they knew they should but neither was prepared to pull away. It wasn’t conflict but recognition of a purity neither had encountered before.

Jose made sure he got his timing right and found himself leaving the school exactly as Nayo did.

‘Hey!’ he said as if this was random chance.

Nayo glanced down, ashamed by his nervousness.

As a sign of reassurance, Jose put his arm round his newfound friend and soon their steps fell into a rhythm as they walked in silence for a while. But Nayo’s body kept quivering no matter how hard he tried to prevent this. His thoughts began to spiral out of his control and sensing this, Jose wondered if words would be enough to placate anxiety.

‘Do you like football?’ Jose asked, edging a semblance of everyday life through this abnormal door.

‘Not really,’ Nayo shrugged.

            ‘Nor me,’ said Jose. ‘I don’t like football at all.’

            That was when the two of them laughed, both at the absurdity of the situation and the fact that they concurred. Jose’s question had come out of the blue but they’d found their meeting ground.

            It was when they tried to say goodbye that everything came to a crux. They lingered clumsily, rolling their heads in one direction then the next. They made excuses, fumbled in their pockets. Then Jose took Nayo’s face and turned it towards his own. He was young. He didn’t grasp the full consequences. And he was reckless so, at heart, he didn’t really care.

He brought Nayo’s lips full and hard upon his own, something he’d wanted to do when he’d awoken him from dreaming. Something he’d dreamed of doing when he’d admired Nayo’s art work. Something he’d been willing he could do since the day he was born.

            The kiss was more than either had expected. Fulfillment can happen in an instant and it did. Nayo’s lips were softer than he’d imagined and Jose’s mouth held mysteries that Nayo needed to resolve. The kiss wasn’t planned but it was necessary and vital. The kiss was confirmation of the shared air they breathed. The kiss was about life and a life beyond life. The kiss was a revival of deep-rooted beliefs and untapped yearnings. The kiss, pure and simple, was relief.

            It was dangerous territory and both of them knew this but, that afternoon, Jose managed to steer everything round to where it needed to be. They hadn’t kissed in public. The kiss didn’t take place in full view of people who’d condemn them and attack them. Somehow and for some reason, their final parting place was a secluded spot, difficult as this sometimes was to find in Barcelona, but when you need to find privacy, perhaps it finds you. No balconies overlooked their initial clutch. No prying eyes could reach them here. A darkened little corner where few people passed by. A quiet enclave where the word ‘fear’ had never been uttered except by strangers scuttling through late at night who didn’t know the city and so remained oblivious to its safety zones. Their kiss took place safely and passionately.

            When their mouths finally drew apart, lips moist with wonder and amazement, Nayo stared at Jose and Jose couldn’t stop looking into Nayo’s eyes. There were no words for this and neither wanted to break such beauty with speech. Both wanted to cling to the other and forever and the strength of this feeling engulfed the whole of their bodies like a surge of power infused by the earth.

            To separate was painful and how full they were of each other as they navigated their own paths home.

            Angelita was strangely quiet over dinner. She didn’t comment on Nayo’s silence. She didn’t even tease him when she saw he’d left his food untouched. Manuela cleared his plate politely and Carlos kept the evening going with the occasional joke.

            As he sat in his room, Nayo wondered if Angelita might knock and was glad when the interruption never came. He wanted to be alone with the knowledge that what he’d experienced that day was perfection and no-one could ever take that from him.

           School became a joy not a burden, a necessity not a chore. School became the place on which all his thoughts were centered and the idea of learning acquired a different form.

Jose made sure the two of them were together and at all times. He was subtle in his tactics and his every move. They sat beside each other as Nayo struggled with numbers and Jose offered help when needed. Science classes were no longer a temptation to sleep as Jose managed to keep Nayo alert while the world-weary teacher articulated formulaic principles. Art classes acquired new dimensions as Jose praised Nayo’s dexterity if only through a passing whisper in his ear.

            They assumed the mantle of best friends. Nayo introduced Jose to his family and Nayo got to know Jose’s parents along with his four unruly sisters. Angelita liked Jose immediately and welcomed him into their home like a long-lost relative. Nayo was surprised at her warmth, her refusal to ask questions, her unconditional acceptance of a boy who might inflict so many changes on their lives.

            Meanwhile, the two boys crept away when they could to feel that taste they’d first enjoyed. The lips, the mouth, that very basic need. Always, despite or because of the risk, they found ways to be alone. This was something that couldn’t be prevented, something so much bigger than the two of them. Something they couldn’t resist and would never refuse. Something so deep inside them that saying no seemed futile.

            Their kisses, which had begun in darkest corners, continued into Nayo’s room. Sometimes they caught themselves, afraid the door might suddenly open and leave them guilty and exposed. But there were many times when the impulse to hold each other meant they were oblivious to the possibility of intrusion. Their kisses managed to find security wherever they could. Even, once, after a family wedding.

            Six months before Jose and Nayo had cemented their friendship, Jose’s eldest sister, Nuria, got engaged to a man called Markos. Half Spanish and half Cuban on his mother’s side, Markos came from a devoutly religious family. Although Jose’s father hadn’t remained uncritical of the Church, his belief in God had never faltered. To him, Markos seemed a good and hardworking man who was sure to provide solid support both to his daughter and any children they would no doubt have.

            Nayo knew it was an immense honour to be invited to the wedding and took the matter extremely seriously. He even bought new clothes for the occasion despite Manuela’s complaints about the expense.

            ‘You don’t need a suit at your age, Nayo,’ she said. ‘I know you want to look your best but can’t you wear something you already have?’

            For Nayo, the issue was much more than a wedding, important as this was. The whole event signalled a token of acceptance and he had to live up to this. He couldn’t possibly wear anything other than a brand new suit.

            Manuela was more than aware of the family budget but also sensed something different about her son. She’d no idea why this mattered to him so much but gradually realized she’d have to bow to his demands.

            She argued with Carlos but in the end, everyone got their way. Manuela persuaded her husband it was money worth spending by asking him to remember himself as a boy of fifteen. Carlos’ concession left him with a glow of selfless generosity and Nayo smiled when he tried on the right suit and felt it fit snugly. Angelita, meanwhile, simply let proceedings unfold.

            In the days leading up to the wedding, Nayo accompanied Jose home to offer whatever help might be needed. Jose’s mother could see Nayo’s influence was a positive one and always found some task to make them feel they were contributing, even though she knew that everything, by this time, had been done.

            Nayo grew more in awe of Nuria as the days went by. Tirelessly, she devoted all her time to embroidering a complex and delicate shirt for her husband-to-be. He would wear this for their marriage and Nayo could see by her patience and concentration that this was truly a labour of love.

            The day of the wedding arrived and Manuela checked Nayo had buttoned up his suit correctly which, of course, he had. Angelita set her book aside briefly to reassure him that he looked immaculate and Carlos gave him a firm hug when he said goodbye.

            Nayo set off into the late afternoon with a mixture of confidence and uncertainty. He hoped the suit was the right colour and cut. He hoped he’d chosen correctly and most of all, he hoped he’d blend in with the rest.

            Jose opened the door and although they both felt that irresistible pull, their greeting was one which could’ve been given to any other member of the family. From inside, Jose’s parents waved at Nayo excitedly.

            Nuria looked stunning in the black silk wedding dress that her mother and grandmother had spent many hours creating. She kissed Nayo on both cheeks and he flushed slightly, overcome by the presence of something quite so lovely.

            ‘I’m afraid you’ve lost out this time, son,’ laughed Horacio, Jose’s Dad. ‘She’s promised herself to someone else!’

            This had the whole family laughing and Nayo, for whom once this would have been a source of embarrassment, burst into laughter, too.

            ‘But she does look beautiful,’ said Nayo to Horacio. ‘Your daughter looks more beautiful than beautiful. She looks like an angel.’

            Horacio couldn’t help but hug the boy who always seemed to have the knack of saying the right thing at the right time. He was a little saint this one.

            Just before they left the house, Nuria suddenly remembered the bouquet. She rushed through to the kitchen and grabbed the orange blossom.

            ‘Imagine I’d forgotten this,’ she grinned. ‘So much for a lifetime of happiness.’

            On that note, everybody filed quickly and calmly through the door.

Horacio’s job was to ensure his daughter was hidden from the eyes of Markos but he wasn’t worried. He trusted his future son-in-law and knew he’d be safely inside the church by now.

            The ceremony was as magnificant as Nuria. Horacio walked proudly down the aisle with his daughter just as Maita did with her son. The church was alive with celebration but everybody fell hushed when the ornate box appeared, housing thirteen pristine coins. The priest placed the coins in Markos’ hands who then passed them gently to Nuria before she returned them to him once more. Through this act, a public commitment was being made. A commitment to remain together through thick and thin, for better or worse, in sickness and health, until the day when only death would give rise to separation.

The priest blessed the coins as he blessed their marriage and once the bride and groom had made their vows, he wrapped rosary beads around the two of them and began to pray, making sure he did everything in his power to ensure this couple would be protected from the inevitable evils of the world.

            ‘Come on, Nayo,’ smiled Horacio later. ‘You need to taste this sangria. It’s sweeter than the freshest oranges in Seville.’

He poured him a glass and held it to the young boy’s lips. For Nayo, the taste resembled heaven. If this was the nectar of the gods then he realized why it was so revered. He drank it all, enjoying every drop, dipping his fingers in when he’d finished to scoop up the fruit.

            Jose appeared beside him.

‘Delicious,’ he said, ‘but if you drink another glass, you’ll never find your way back home.’

            Nayo turned to his friend with total gratitude for his wisdom, for his being there, for the fact he simply existed in his life.

             At that same point, there was a ripple amongst the crowd. A girl had lost her pin, the one Nuria had placed on her but upside down, as you do all unmarried girls who attend your wedding.

‘I’ll be next to be married,’ she spluttered deriously. ‘Somewhere is a husband waiting out there for me!’

The crowd cheered and raised their glasses before forming a circle in preparation to dance the Sardana. Once the dance got underway, Jose nodded at Nayo, taking control as he so often did and the pair of them slipped out of the door into the sharp dark night. At the end of a day of solemn oaths, necessity forced them together again.

            The night felt fresh as soon as they stepped outside. Occasionally, they took each other’s hands as they wove their way through Barcelona’s streets. At certain times and in certain places, they could kiss each other and everywhere. No-one followed them as they made their way towards the sea.

             Standing on the beach, the environment became an extension of themselves and they embraced the protection it gave them. Entwined, they swayed back and forth as waves lapped against the shore, lulled by the regularity of the tide’s unstoppable ebb and flow.

If a kiss really is just a kiss then there was nothing simple about this. When a tongue truly sings with another then the melody may be eternal. Right at the start, they’d tentatively walked towards each other, unaware of any future or what dangers it might bring. Nothing, now, seemed insurmountable. They were alone and out of reach of anything that might harm them. They’d finally found privacy, a haven of its own.

            Breathless and desperately needy, Jose took Nayo’s face in his hands. He devoured each kiss hungrily and, unbuttoning Nayo’s shirt, let his hands run free across Nayo’s chest where some hairs settled and some had yet to grow. Nayo didn’t move until the pleasure became unbearable and then his hands grabbed their way down Jose’s back in an urgent quest for skin.

            Jose’s fingers fluttered over Nayo’s body and when he knelt in honour and respect, Nayo cried out loud. To feel the person he loved kiss parts of his body he’d only recently discovered. To feel those lips around that part of him that needed, more than anything, to be touched. He nearly screamed but didn’t. He knew he had to wait.

            They were young. Neither of them knew what to expect. But when Nayo pulled away from Jose’s real and strong temptations, turning each other’s bodies round seemed the right thing to do. Jose stood behind Nayo and when Jose’s flesh tore hard against him, a sharp intense pain raced its way through the whole of his body as if someone was mercilessly ripping him apart. At the same time, this was the release he needed and he gasped to discover something he’d always craved but didn’t think existed. He knew the pain and beauty of that moment would remain with him forever, the memory being that it was physically impossible to kiss Jose throughout. The million kisses he gave him afterwards would have to compensate.

             Two days later and back at school, the lesson focused on the sinfulness of lust. The teacher seemed to look directly at each boy as he spoke.

             ‘Have you sinned against chastity?’ he demanded to know. ‘Have you? And how many times, tell me, how many times have you done so?’

             There was a silence as twenty pairs of eyes stared at the ground.

             Somebody must’ve been watching, thought Nayo. One of the priests had seen them when they thought they were alone. Or one of his classmates had been hiding in the darkness and used confession for his own or inadvertent means. Someone must know, he thought, maintaining his gaze fixedly on the floor.

             ‘Lust,’ said the teacher, spitting out the word. ‘A sin that exposes the weakness of the flesh. A sin that condemns you to a lifetime of purgatory. A heinous crime against God’s purity. A crime which savages and insults your pristine virginal soul.’

             As Jose looked down, he tried to hang on to his conviction that it was his own soul he saw reflected in Nayo’s eyes. It was purity he felt each time they kissed. Christ spoke of love and it was this he found through Nayo.

            The teacher was delivering a lecture he’d obviously given many times but still he relished every word and became increasingly animated as he spoke.

            ‘If you deny this lust you feel,’ he raged. ‘If you tell me you’ve never experienced such feelings, that you’ve never acted on the impulse they inspire in you, then that is to commit a crime twice over. Your denial is to sin and sin again. Your black and filthy souls will be darkened forever. Interminable torments await you as, for the whole of eternity, you’ll be confined to a hell of suffering like nothing else you can imagine. Your mortal sins will cast an immortal shadow as you endure the wrath of a God who will not save you. You’ll be cast into the putrid pit of immorality where your futile screams will resound forever with no hope of salvation.’

            I will not let you curse perfection, Jose promised, repeating the words as if performing an exorcism.

            Somebody saw us, thought Nayo. It didn’t feel wrong, he kept telling himself but remained unconvinced his beliefs weren’t merely those of a perpetual sinner. The next time Jose tried to kiss him, he turned his face away. He hated himself for this but was equally petrified by the consequences of capitulation.