Martes en Vigo

On Tuesday Moises and I drove around Vigo to all his old haunts, through battering rain and blasting AC. It seemed like pretty much every secluded place of natural beauty (and their are few in Vigo) was a hotspot for cottaging, and so this made up the majority of Moises' running commentary. The participants were fair weather folk apparently though as we didn't manage to encounter any on the rocky beach or in the woods.

We returned to the house for lunch and found a great commotion in the kitchen. Nolly's mother had arrived and was sat looking like dejected Mr Toad. Sara was in the foreground and, from what I could make out, she had elected herself as the provider of all the logic necessary to handle the situation. The atmosphere swung from breathless frustration to playful teasing, with Nolly and Sara prodding the granny until she cursed them both. Jorge sat, brown as a hazelnut and matte as bark, his eyes falling lightly on his women. 'The worlds revolve like ancient women, Gathering fuel in vacant lots.' ~ T.S. Eliot

Nolly had to be transferred from her wheelchair onto a plastic chair with a pole running along either side in order to get down from the first floor flat to the car. She squeeled and cupped her face as Moises and Jorge lifted her, like a Roman official fallen on hard times, and descended down the stairs. Moises had offered to take my clothes to the laundrette so I had to borrow Sara's track suit, which was splendidly red and white euro trash, and made me look like I worked a travelling fair. Sara's friend came round to practice her English on me but I was feeling so tired I wasn't particularly responsive. Moises and I were going to sleep in Ourense that night and the next day drive to Puebla de Sanabria, so that I could avoid walking 60 km through snow. It was time to leave. I said good bye to Sara at the bar and Nolly in the kitchen. Jorge was in the garage again, with the three dogs and long haired cat, hanging icy wet washing. Everyone shoulders their grief differently; some smoke, some shout, some hang washing. I wanted to put my head on Jorge's shoulder, but I couldn't.