"Just for a minute?" I asked. "I'd like to say a prayer."
"I'm very sorry. It's already closed."
He was listening to my conversation with the old man but didn't say anything.
"All right, then, let's leave," I said. "There's no point in arguing."
He continued to look at me, his gaze empty, distant. "Don't you want to see the chapel?" he asked.
I could see he didn't approve of my decision. He thinks I'm weak, cowardly, unable to fight for what I want. Even without a kiss, the princess is transformed into a frog.
"Remember yesterday?" I said. "You ended our conversation in the bar because you didn't want to argue with me. Now when I do the same thing, you criticize me."
The old man watched our discussion impassively. He was probably happy that something was actually happening, there in a place where all the mornings, all the afternoons, and all the nights were the same.
"The door to the church is open," he said, speaking to the old man. "If you want some money, we can give you some. But she wants to see the church."
"It's too late."
"Fine. We'll go in anyway." He took my arm and we went in.
My heart was pounding. The old man could get nasty, call the police, ruin the trip.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because you wanted to see the chapel."
I was so nervous I couldn't even focus on what was inside. The argument—and my attitude—had ruined our perfect morning.
I listened carefully for any sounds from outside. The old man might call the village police, I thought. Trespassers in the chapel! Thieves! They're breaking the law! The old man had said the chapel was closed, that visiting hours were over. He's a poor old man, unable to keep us from going in. And the police will he tough on us because we offended a feeble old man.
I stayed inside the chapel just long enough to show that I'd really wanted to see it. As soon as enough time had passed for an imaginary Ave Maria, I said, "Let's go."
"Don't be frightened, Pilar. Don't just fall into playing a role."
I didn't want my problem with the old man to become a problem with him, so I tried to stay calm. "I don't know what you mean by 'playing a role.'"
"Some people always have to be doing battle with someone, sometimes even with themselves, battling with their own lives. So they begin to create a kind of play in their head, and they write the script based on their frustrations."
"I know a lot of people like that. I know just what you mean."
"But the worst part is that they cannot present the play by themselves," he continued. "So they begin to invite other actors to join in.
"That's what that fellow outside was doing. He wanted revenge for something, and he chose us to play a part. If we had accepted his restrictions, we'd be regretting it. We would have been defeated. We would have agreed to participate in his miserable life and in his frustrations.
"The man's aggression was easy to see, so it was easy for us to refuse the role he wanted us to play. But other people also 'invite' us to behave like victims, when they complain about the unfairness of life, for example, and ask us to agree, to offer advice, to participate."
He looked into my eyes. "Be careful. When you join in that game, you always wind up losing."
He was right. But I still wasn't happy about being inside the chapel. "OK, but I've already said my prayer. I've done what I wanted to do. Let's go."
The contrast between the darkness inside the chapel and the strong sunlight blinded me for a few moments. When my eyes adjusted, I saw that the old man was no longer there.
"Let's have some lunch," he said, walking in the direction of the village.
I drank two glasses of wine at lunch. I'd never done that in my life.
He was speaking to the waiter, who told him that there were several Roman ruins in the area. I was trying to listen to their conversation, but I was having trouble stifling my bad mood.
The princess had turned into a frog. So what? Who do I have to prove anything to? I wasn't looking for anything—not for a man and certainly not for love.
I knew it, I said to myself. 1 knew he was going to turn my world upside down. My brain warned me, but my heart didn't want to take its advice.
I've paid a considerable price for the little I have gained. I've been forced to deny myself many things I've wanted, to abandon so many roads that were open to me. I've sacrificed my dreams in the name of a larger dream—a peaceful soul. I didn't want to give up that peace.
"You're tense," he said, breaking off his conversation with the waiter.
"Yes, I am. I think that old man went for the police. I think this is a small place, and they know where we are. I think this boldness of yours about having lunch here could wind up ruining our holiday."
He twirled his glass of water. Surely he knew that this was not the problem—that I was actually ashamed. Why do we always do this? Why do we notice the speck in our eye but not the mountains, the fields, the olive groves?
"Listen, that's not going to happen," he said. "The old man has gone home and has already forgotten the whole thing. Trust me."
That's not why I'm so tense, you idiot.
"Listen to your heart more," he went on.
"That's just it! I am listening to it," I said. "And I feel that we should leave. I'm not enjoying this place."
"You shouldn't drink during the day. It doesn't help anything."
Up to that point, I'd controlled myself. Now it was time to say what I thought.
"You think you know everything," I said, "that you know all about magic moments, the inner child… I don't know what you're doing here with me."
He laughed. "I admire you. And I admire the battle you're waging with your heart."
"What battle?"
"Never mind," he said.
But I knew what he was talking about.
"Don't kid yourself," I said. "We can talk about it if you like. You're mistaken about my feelings."
He stopped fooling with his glass and looked at me. "No, I'm not mistaken. I know you don't love me."
This confused me even more.
"But I'm going to fight for your love," he continued. "There are some things in life that are worth fighting for to the end."
I was speechless.
"You are worth it," he said.
I turned away, trying to pretend that I was interested in the restaurant's decor. I had been feeling like a frog, and suddenly I was a princess again.
I want to believe what you're saying, I thought to myself. It won't change anything, but at least I won't feel so weak, so incapable.
"I apologize for my outburst," I said.
He smiled, signaled to the waiter, and paid the check.
On the way back to the car, I became confused again. Maybe it was the sun—but no, it was autumn, and the sun was weak. Perhaps the old man—but he disappeared a while ago.
All this was so new to me. Life takes us by surprise and orders us to move toward the unknown—even when we don't want to and when we think we don't need to.
I tried to concentrate on the scenery, but I couldn't focus on the olive groves, the village atop the mountain, the chapel with the old man at the gate. All of it was so unfamiliar.
I remembered how much I'd drunk the day before and the song he had sung:
Las tardecitas de Buenos Aires tienen este no sé…
¿Qué sé yo?
Viste, salí de tu casa, por Arenales…
Why sing of the nights of Buenos Aires, when we were in Bilbao? I didn't live on a street called Arenales. What had gotten into him?