Spain or Shine (19 page)

Elena welcomed the party atmosphere. With so many family members crowded into one room, she was beginning to feel as if she hadn't really missed Thanksgiving after all.

“So, you are this American I've been hearing so much about,” a stoop-shouldered man with large ears and dark, sparkly eyes said as he gently pinched Elena's shoulder, perhaps to see if Americans were made of real flesh and blood. “Another beautiful Elena.”

Elena giggled nervously. “Well, you're right about my being the American,” Elena answered, wondering if this was another relative she hadn't met. “And you are?”

“Allow me to introduce myself; I am Enrique del Toro.” He presented himself with a flourish, as though he were announcing a bullfighter entering the ring.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, holding back a giggle. This guy was a trip. “How do you know my great-aunt Elena?”

“She is my cousin.” They both looked toward the elder Elena, who stood laughing under an arched doorway, the yellow light swimming at her back. “So, do you feel like a Spaniard yet?” he asked.

“I don't know if I will ever feel like a Spaniard.”

“But you are part Spanish.”

“Yes, but you wouldn't know by looking at me.”

“Oh,” he waved off her remark. “I have plenty of Spanish friends with light hair, light skin. Being Spanish comes from here.” He pointed to his chest.

Elena glanced down at her bare arms folded across her chest. She had expected somehow that coming to Spain might make her more Spanish, that the sun might stain her a shade of brown she'd never been before. But even after nearly three months in Spain, her skin had stubbornly remained the color of skim milk. She wondered why that mattered so much to her. Why did she have to look Spanish in order to feel Spanish? She felt connected to her great-aunt, but not because they looked anything alike. Rather, Elena had the same spirit, the same love of art, and the same romantic outlook. Gwen might have inherited their great-aunt's eyes, but Elena had inherited her belief that the world did not just consist of things she could see and touch.

Great-Aunt Elena clinked a fork against her glass.

“Dinner,” she called. “Everyone into the dining room,
por favor.”

The group piled into the cramped dining room around two tables. After some gentle cajoling, Elena took a seat at the head of the largest table on one side, and Great-Aunt Elena sat across the long wooden plane from her. They were Elena bookends.

Dinner was spread out in mismatched pots and platters like a potluck. There was a kettle of potato soup, several salads, cured ham, and a dish called
ajo
de
la
mano, which Enrique explained was made of potatoes and chilies and then dressed with garlic and spices, oil and vinegar.

Hours later, over fruit tarts, Elena's family members began to tell stories. Elena was glad to settle back in her chair, full and sleepy from the food and wine.

“Elena,” Great-Uncle Roberto, the elder Elena's brother, leaned back in his chair when he addressed her. “Did you know that your namesake is famous in Barcelona for more than just her art? Her parties were legendary.”

Great-Aunt Elena laughed and tossed a napkin that landed on Roberto's head, shading his eyes like one of her hats.

“Don't start inventing stories, Roberto.”

“It's the truth. You think this gathering is big. You should have seen the parties Elena used to throw here.”

Aunt Elena laughed and covered her face with her hands, but she didn't look at all embarrassed. She looked as though she wanted him to continue more than anything.

Roberto proceeded to tell a story about the time his sister had had a three-day-long bash after Barcelona's team won a particularly competitive
fútbol
match. It sounded like something out of
The Great Gatsby,
with people dressed in their finest, drinking and dancing for days on end.

“Your mother was here during that party,” Great-Aunt Elena recalled suddenly. “What a fun time.”

The fabled stories about the older woman's parties led to talk of past boyfriends.

“There was the one from Holland. He was a pilot,” Great-Aunt Elena recalled fondly. “But my favorite was Xavier from Paris,” she reminisced. “He was in Barcelona for only three months. We met one night on la Rambla, and we walked and talked until the sun came up. Three months later he was set to move back to Paris. I'd always wanted to go to Paris, perhaps even live there for a while....”

“What happened?” Elena leaned over the table ledge.

“He asked me to marry him.”

“What did you say?”

“Oh, what could I say? I said no, of course.” She laughed. Elena was aghast.

“What about Paris?”

“We went to Paris. I just wasn't ready to get married.”

“Elena, your great-aunt has always been good about making things happen the way she would like, and not waiting around for other people to make decisions for her,” Roberto added.

Great-Aunt Elena laughed. “You make me sound much too noble, Roberto. Who wants more wine?”

Elena lifted herself up out of her seat and grasped the wine bottle in the middle of the table.

 

Roberto laughed. “I think you should skip the wine and go to bed.”

Elena shook her head, but she knew he was right. She was so tired her eyes could barely stay open. It had been a long day of traveling and meeting new people. Now it was almost three in the morning. She reluctantly said good night to the twenty or so guests who lingered around the table, still talking and picking at the food.

She trudged upstairs and closed the door to her borrowed room, although the hum of chatter seeped through the gap between the door and the carpet. When Elena settled into bed that night, she had a belly plump with food, a head swimming in wine, and a heart full of her namesake's passion for life and love.

The next morning Elena's great-aunt offered to drive her to the train station. But the older woman insisted that she take Elena on a quick sightseeing trip before she caught her train.

“There is one more thing you have to see before you leave Barcelona,” her great-aunt remarked as she turned the little car around the corner and several tall breathtaking spires came into view above the other buildings. “There it is. La Sagrada Família.”

The elder Elena parked the car and they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“Is it a church?” Elena asked. She looked up to take in the massive intricately carved and oddly shaped structure.

“It is a church and a work of art.”

It was like something out of a Tim Burton movie—strange, beautiful, and utterly compelling. Elena took her camera out and snapped a few pictures before her great-aunt hurried her back into the car.

“I want to make sure you have plenty of time at the train station,” she explained as they pulled away from the curb. Elena turned in her seat to steal one last glance at the towering marvel. It's obscenely high spires were visible even after the rest became obstructed. Elena thought it was the perfect last-glimpse of her time in Barcelona.

 

They arrived at the station a little early. Since she had some time to kill, Elena hunted down an Internet café and started writing an e-mail to her mom.

“This is a disaster,” Alex hollered, hurtling his hat through the air.
Nice touch,
Elena thought. They were working through one of Ms. B's improvisation workshops in the theater at school. She was still getting the hang of this improv thing, but Alex had taken to it immediately.

“Just calm down. Take a seat and relax,” Elena said in her most even tone.

“How can I calm down?” he bellowed, stomping in circles around the stage. His footsteps were so heavy she could practically see their impressions on the wood like footprints in sand. The last few playwriting classes had taken place in the theater where Ms. B led them through the basics of acting and set design. Elena resisted at first, but Ms. B insisted that in order to be an empathetic director, everyone had to try their hand at acting. The first few times Elena stepped out onto the stage her heart was thudding like a hammer and she couldn't forget all her classmates' eyes that were focused on her. But gradually she'd become less self-conscious. She wasn't exactly comfortable, but she could do it.

This particular day, Ms. B had given Elena and Alex a scene to improvise in which Alex was freaking out, while Elena calmed him down. Elena really felt herself acting. On the surface, she was cool as an iceberg, while inside she was a swirl of anxiety and nerves. Ms. B was set to announce the final plays at the end of class, and Elena could barely contain her restlessness. Finally, Ms. B signaled the end of their scene.

“Thank you, Alex and Elena. Great job.” Ms. B joined them in the middle of the stage and made them take a bow. “Always take a bow. You earned it.

“Next class we'll go over sense memory,” Ms. B continued as she took a seat on the stage, letting her silk-slippered feet dangle off the side.

Ms. B cleared her throat and pulled her clipboard onto her lap. This was it, Elena thought. She was going to announce the finalists. She could barely sit still. She glanced at Alex, who wasn't even disguising the fact that his eyes were closed and his head was resting on the back of the seat. Was he seriously going to sleep through this?

“I just want to say you all had particularly strong final plays this year,” Ms. B began. “It was difficult for me to choose only two plays because there was so much passion and creativity in all of your writing. You should all be proud.”

Elena believed her competition was stiff. But she also suspected some of this speech was meant as a consolation for the losers. She really hoped she wasn't one of them. Not only had she become excited about this for herself, she also didn't want to disappoint Alex, or Ms. B.

“I wish we could stage all your plays, but as you know, we don't have the time or resources to do that.”

Elena shifted in her seat again.
Just get to the names,
she thought.

“And I want to praise you for collectively being bold and brave enough to tackle some of the tough teen issues,” Ms. B continued. “Like drug abuse, date rape, eating disorders.”

Elena silently cursed herself for listening to Alex's idea to set themselves apart by not delving into those very issues. She knew Ms. B would love the drug-overdose idea. It was dark and edgy, but it also had a lesson. Elena was suddenly convinced that Dylan had chosen that topic for her play.