Queens of All the Earth (4 page)

“We thought we’d do Gaudí today,” Miranda was saying. She was talking about Barcelona’s most famous architect. “But we don’t want to go all the way out to the park. That kills practically half a day, and it’s just one thing.”

“I can do Gaudí in half a day, tops. Why don’t I show you later this week?” Lenny said. “No park, but we can hit up all the other major stuff.”

“What are you doing this morning?” Miranda asked.

“There’s a walking tour of the Gothic Quarter,” Lenny replied. The Gothic Quarter, or
Barri Gótic
, was the central and oldest part of Barcelona, where many of the original medieval buildings stood intact, framing narrow winding streets tangled like a heap of yarn. “If you’re ready in ten minutes, you can tag along. It’s a great way to get to know Barcelona—walk from the middle ages to the nineteenth century in a day. And it’s free, which is freakin’ awesome.”

“How about it, Olivia?” Miranda said.

Olivia was fine with it. She was fine with not waiting for the toast. She was fine with putting off writing her e-mail home. As Lenny left the table to get ready, Miranda probed each concern, checking them off a mental list, finally satisfying herself that if Olivia wasn’t thrilled about the trip yet, she was at least resigned.

Just then, without introduction or invitation, the elder Mr. Brown stepped up to the table and said, “Young ladies, we took the liberty of switching rooms with you. Hugo’s getting clean sheets, and Greg is moving our things now.”

Miranda’s mouth dropped open.

“That’s very—I couldn’t imagine—obviously we couldn’t make you move out of your room,” she said. She remembered Lenny’s warning about the Browns and wondered what the real price of the room was—morning prayer meeting? Spontaneous baptism? Or just a low simmer of kinder-than-thou guilting? Miranda and Olivia hadn’t grown up with any religion, and while she hadn’t been taught aggressive atheism either, Miranda felt slightly uncomfortable around anyone who professed faith. She wondered whether Mr. Brown was really nice, or just strange.

“You don’t have to make us. It’s already done,” said Mr. Brown.

“That’s very—thoughtful—but really... I’m sorry, we don’t even know you,” Miranda said.

“I’m Emery Brown,” he said with a gentle smile, as if it resolved the whole matter. It made Miranda boil. “And that’s my son, Greg,” he continued, indicating the young man who had just passed through, rolling a suitcase with one hand and clutching a mass of pajamas and towels in the other.

Olivia looked down, and Miranda assumed she was embarrassed, too. But then, the private room
would
be best for Olivia. She was still fragile, after all.

“Well, okay, I can pay you the difference,” Miranda said, more pertly this time. “Olivia can get our things. I’ll go to the ATM and get the cash. We don’t want to hold you up after you’ve been so... nice. Let me take care of it right now.”

“I thought you wanted to go on the walking tour,” Olivia said.

“We’ll have to miss it. Unless we can take care of everything fast,” Miranda replied. She threw the move onto her growing pile of grievances—the Browns’ “good deed” was costing her precious sightseeing time.

“It’s only our bags—”

“I’ll ask Hugo how much more the Browns’ room is, then I can withdraw the money at that bank down the road and bring it back for Mr. Brown,” Miranda continued without pausing.

“Well, do what you want, but I’m heading out now,” Lenny said, breezing by the confused Mr. Brown without a glance, dropping a small notebook into a nylon backpack as she made her way to the hostel door.

“Oh, could you wait a sec, Lenny? I do really want to go,” Miranda said, heaving a sigh.

“I can stay and sort it out,” Olivia said, taking them both aback. “I wanted some quiet time this morning anyway.”

“Really? Are you sure?” Miranda asked, immediately feeling guilty.
This discomfort, too, was the Browns’ fault. “I thought you really wanted to see the Gothic Quarter,” she said. “You should let me worry about this stuff.”

“It’s okay, I’ll take a walk by myself.”

“No! Mom would never let you!” Their mother would probably never find out, but Miranda still couldn’t drop the fear that Olivia could slip into another one of her episodes at any time.

“She can wander with us today if she wants,” Mr. Brown said. “Or she can just go with you. We really don’t need the money right now—”

“Of course we wouldn’t inconvenience you,” Miranda said. “And Olivia wouldn’t want to intrude on your plans.”

“I’m really okay by myself. I’ll stick to La Rambla, and I won’t go far,” Olivia said.

Miranda eyed her, weighing her anxieties against each other. Yes, she could count on Olivia not to stray. It was one thing Olivia had proven she knew how to do very well. “Okay,” Miranda said, giving Olivia a quick peck on the cheek and dashing back to the dorm to throw on her jeans.

“You’re always welcome to join us,” Mr. Brown said to Olivia softly. Over his shoulder, Olivia saw Greg dragging a large, old-fashioned suitcase with no wheels across the hall. Mr. Brown followed her eyes. “Greg!” he called. “Don’t do that by yourself—let me help you...” Mr. Brown and his son soon disappeared into the dorm room.

Miranda returned with her jacket tied around her shoulders. She noted Mr. Brown’s absence with a hint of triumphant relief. “We don’t have to tell Mom. I know you like your alone time,” she said.

“Have fun,” said Olivia.

They were gone before Olivia realized Miranda, in her hurry to collect her jacket and keys and camera and all her little necessary items, hadn’t left the bank card behind.

Mr. Brown emerged, Greg following like a gangling shadow, to find
Olivia slumped in a kitchen chair, looking vaguely traumatized.

“Miranda forgot to give me the card,” she blurted, as if expecting to head off an accusation. “Um, I think I have a few euro in my purse. I’m so sorry. You’ve been so nice to us.”

“It’s nothing,” Mr. Brown said, a laugh rounding out his voice. “Don’t worry your pretty head. Come with us this morning if you want. We don’t have a tour, but I’ve always thought the best guide is never as good as getting lost.”

“Thank you,” Olivia said. “I’m still a bit jetlagged, though. I think I’ll just wait for Miranda to get back.”

Actually, getting lost sounded enormously appealing, but the only thing that frightened Olivia more than the strangers outside was the thought of being trapped in a morning of awkward socialization with a family she’d just met.

Mr. Brown seemed genuinely disappointed, but he didn’t press his offer, and he and Greg, who had hung just behind his father, silent and alternately contemplating the floor and the blank middle distance throughout the exchange, soon disappeared through the big green door.

Hugo smiled from the kitchen, mop leaning against the counter, a mug of coffee in his hand. Olivia wondered just how much English he did understand.

Olivia entered the dormitory room for the last time to collect their bags and saw the Browns’ things set neatly at the foot of her old bunk. The only other inhabitant of the room was a man sitting up in his bed, writing in a small black notebook.

“I see we’re losing you for the Browns,” he said good-naturedly. “I hope you enjoy your new room.”

“Thanks, I’m sure we will,” she said. Then, sitting down suddenly, despite the fact that it was no longer her bed, she asked, “Do you know much about them?”

“The Browns? Are they the Mormons?” He had a soft accent—Spanish? South American?—that made what he said sound interesting. “Either way, good people,” he said.

“Lenny doesn’t seem to be a fan.”

“Lenny is the sort of person who will decide whether she likes someone depending on how cleverly she can praise or abuse them.”

“
You
don’t like Lenny.”

“I don’t dislike Lenny.”

They both smiled, and the nervousness melted away.

“I’m Olivia. I’m here with my sister, Miranda,” said Olivia.

“Marc Castillo,” he said. “I’m taking holy orders in Lima next year, but I’m traveling first.”

“Nice to meet you,” Olivia said, and she meant it.

“You can still meet everyone while you’re here,” he said, “even though you don’t get to see them naked anymore.”

Olivia laughed.

“I think I’ve seen most of them by now,” she said. “But two of the beds I thought I saw girls in last night are empty.”

“People come and go pretty frequently,” Marc said. “But as far as I know, there are a number of us staying the whole week. The Browns, I think—they arrived the same day as me, the day before yesterday—and there are two Scottish men here for the football who made it a holiday.”

“Are they the ones in the blue jerseys?” Olivia asked.

“Yes indeed,” Marc replied.

“I thought I heard them talking in another language.”

“No, they’re just Scottish.”

Olivia smiled. “How long are you here?”

“I stay until Saturday.”

Olivia was relieved to hear that like her and her sister, at least one other guest was staying all week. She’d have a chance to get used to at
least one of their fellow travelers. There was even a slight possibility she’d stop feeling awkward around him by the end of the week.

As she packed and repacked a pair of socks, Olivia asked, “What are you doing this morning?”

“I’m attending a history lecture reserved for visiting clergy in the cultural institute,” said Marc. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t mind—”

“That’s okay. I hope your lecture is fun.”

Olivia had little trouble moving their bags into the new room, which, though not spacious, was surprisingly comfortable. She sat at the small window looking out, mesmerized by the clicking sound of the rotating fan in the corner that, oddly, constructed a conscious silence in the room. She thought of the Browns, their unfaltering kindness contrasted with Miranda’s pointless nastiness. But worse, she caught herself wondering which bed had been Greg’s, running her hand over the pillow.

Overcome by wilting embarrassment, she escaped to the common room with her novel.

Olivia had brought with her
A Wrinkle in Time
. She had always liked to reread her favorite books, and even after her delusions receded, she was still comforted by the fantasy novels she had read as a child:
The Hobbit, A Wrinkle in Time
,
Silver on the Tree
. Now each page carried the memory of another time she had read it, and the images of the fantastic worlds they described were intertwined with pictures of the maple tree at home, the smell of its fallen leaves piled so high she could make a little fort of them and crawl inside—or was she just that small? Sometimes she was shocked to come across the places in her house where she used to hide, only to realize how big she had become. When she read her childhood books, it was as if she shrank so small that no responsibilities and demands could ever find her—she became so small that she disappeared.

But today, the common room kept distracting her. The lotus stalks that held up the alcove’s arch seemed to turn real and fertile and green, part of
the living architecture of the world. The room wouldn’t stay a room.

I’ll go read outside
, she told herself. The goal of finding a place to alight and read would keep her from going too far, the book would be a shield against unwanted attention, and the open space would relieve her of the feeling that the room was watching her.

Determined that nothing, not even herself, would stop her, she left the Casa Joven with keys in her pocket and book clutched to her side, as if it is a talisman. Without a map, and probably not nearly enough extra layers of clothing to make her mother or Miranda happy, she looked for the ghostly question mark she’d thought she’d seen in the stairwell yesterday, but it had been rubbed out, if it had ever been there to begin with. The green door swung open for her, and the marble steps tipped her down gently to the street, where she set out into brilliant sunshine.

T
he beginning of Olivia’s adventure was not auspicious. The same week she and her sister were visiting Barcelona, a soccer match had drawn half the population of Scotland to the city, so that wherever she turned, she felt surrounded by inebriated men in blue kilts.

Other touches of the bizarre here in the Gothic Quarter more appealed to Olivia’s romantic imagination. Street stalls housed terrified gerbils, rabbits, and guinea pigs, crowded into the empty cages meant to carry them to their eventual homes. In the backs of stalls, canaries, parrots, and pigeons (whether domesticated or simply caught in the park, Olivia couldn’t guess) vied vociferously for attention. In another memorable stall, turkeys, chickens, and a rooster called out in their distinct languages. The street-wise pigeons that landed atop their cages seemed to deliver messages from the outside world, and they were all probably well informed about how many people were swimming that day and where the traffic was bad.

And over the whole scene, the November sun washed warm and
warming, and embodied a new color Olivia had never sampled before. It made the ancient buildings swell and breathe, and the carved waterspouts of goblins and saints stretch strenuously into the air, as if to tear themselves away and fly above the caged canaries and spilled beer of La Rambla. The side streets became narrower, taller, and darker, taking mysterious curves to unknown places, and Olivia, overcome with a brightness not quite happiness but close to the sensation of living, veered into one at random.

It was darker in the alley, though no less crowded, and while the arm of tourist commerce still stretched into the seedy storefronts there, the wares became more interesting and creative. Scarves and shoes that looked suspiciously second-hand piled up along the sides of store alcoves that opened directly onto the street. There was a mask shop, dark and inviting with a carved sign. Her book forgotten, Olivia descended into the store, brain full of phantom masquerades, hidden daggers, and stolen jewels.

Some masks had pointed beaks, and others were covered in scales and had bright feathers that formed ridges and spikes along the sleek lines of their silhouettes, like the mountains she had driven over yesterday. The little shop smelled of papier-mâché and old wood. Olivia ran her fingers over an eye mask covered in sheet music and wondered what it would sound like if played exactly as it appeared. She bought it.