Tom Foran Clark

Emery and Rita went north and west from there and reached Granada -- that sublime, enchanted place. Here it was that the benefits of which she spoke were reaped by him. For days now she'd been scolding him, saying things like, "Your conventions stand in the way of your nature" and "You behave too respectfully, advancing with much too much caution. You don't know what to do with your lips, your hands. I suppose no other girl had the temerity to tell you that to your face?" Now she became quiet. The silence was perfect -- the eternal stillness and persistent mystery -- perfect. Rita poured herself out -- saying nothing -- pouring out her elemental powers like the deepest elemental powers of nature.

That first afternoon, the two took a room in a hotel -- the Mahajar -- right in the city, and visited the Albaicín, the old town, with its many shops. They bought hats and a travel guide, Rambling in Spain by Juan Armando Cabrera, and visted cafes and restaurants. They toured the cathedral, the Moroccan bazaar, and the Arabic quarter. In the evening they sipped vino and ate tapas in three different bars, then went to their room. They stayed within the next day. It was only on the third day that they ventured forth to the Moorish palace and gardens of the Alhambra.

The walls enclosed the square. The towers stood above the masmoras, the subterranean granaries. Profuse wild flowers grew close along the banks of the Guadaira River. Higher up were the groves of pomegranates, citrons, and oranges. The bridge across the river... crossed the river. At this point Emery could only see Rita. All was related somehow to Rita. Had she drugged him with Lazarillo's master's potion? -- Abdul's potion? He was in dreamlike state. The Alhambra only seemed to echoe Rita's loveliness -- her warmly scented self, subtly suggested possibilities, and intimated eventualities.

Emery only wanted to tell Rita what he thought of her. Perfect stranger. Totally unexpected woman. Adventurous friend. Beautifully animated, she had extraordinary earnestness, too. Abdul must have seen: warm and radiant, she was made for tenderness and love. Emery was engulfed in feelings and sensations as old as the world, this side of total self-effacement, not quite yet erased in bliss. The memory went through him like a wave of heat -- perpetual, intense freshness.

It did occur to him that such enchantment could be broken off at any time. "You should resist," he heard myself say, feeling like Ulysses within hearing range of the sirens. "There are yawning precipices. Be prepared for a catastrophe." Around them were the high Sierras, chains of mountains, destitute of shrub or tree. There were the cultivated expanses -- grain as far as the eye could see, now green and fertile, now yellow, seemingly scorched -- and then, in its nakedness and immensity, suggesting eternity, came the ocean. Rita sat amid dandelions, cross-legged in a grassy meadow, leaning back on her arms. Rita laughed and he was moved by the purity of the sound of it. Emery couldn't help admiring her. Her gaze was fixed on him. "Emery, my friend,'' she said plainly, "What are you thinking? It isn't necessary that you make signs. You have only to approach me with feeling -- feeling arising out of fullness of heart.”

They drove on. In the car, Rita told Emery about the Spanish people. "The Spaniards love their songs and ballads -- full of their the roving, wayfaring, wild journeying. The smuggler and the robber are the heroes for the people of Spain."

“I wonder why that is?” Emery offered.

“You think too much," she snapped. "You need to use your eyes and intuitions more.”

This she said in Cordoba where, for its beauty -- and hers -- Emery may as well have been a pair of eyes. Under the Moors, Cordoba was the splendid capitol of the wondrous kingdom of El-Andalus. It was then that work had been begun on the "Mezquita" -- the Great Mosque which, according to Juan Armando Cabrera in Rambling in Spain, would become "one of the largest mosques in all of Islam. In the 11th century, people of the most different cultures and religions -- Jews, Muslims and Christians -- all lived peacefully together here. When in 1236 the city was reconquered by the Christians, they too were in awe of Cordoba's beauty. They built their cathedral in the midst of its arches and columns, creating the extraordinary mosque-cathedral there today. The Alcazar Fortress was built by the Christians in 1328. The Calahorra Fort, originally built by the Arabs, guarded the Roman Bridge, on the far side of the river from the Mezquita."

The two held hands, walking in the La Judería quarter, the medieval home of Cordoba's Jewish community, a marvellous labyrinth of winding, narrow streets and flower-filled courtyards. Back in the car, heading for Carmona and Seville, Rita told Emery more about the treasure hunter and George Borrow:

"In Oviedo, between the mountains Morcin and Naranco, as Borrow was about to sit down to write in his journal one morning, the man arrived again-- the schatzgraber -- the treasure digger of Saint James. He was ragged, nearly barefoot, his toes sticking out through his shoes. His old hat was dripping with rain. 'Ach, lieber herr! Am I glad to see you!' he said. 'Since I last saw you, the priest who'd agreed to help me took it on himself to help the Captain in the town who'd begun his own effort to disinter the schatz. I threatened to go to Madrid to lay the matter before the government! He sprang on me like a tiger, grasping my throat so hard I thought he'd strangle me. I flung him off and threatened him with my staff. He followed me to the gate with the most horrid curses, saying if I returned again, he'd have me thrown into prison. So I went in quest of you, lieber herr,' the treasure hunter told Borrow, 'but they told me you'd departed for Coruna, so I set out for Coruna to find you'."

The two now arrived not in Coruna, but in Carmona, northeast of Seville. They entered through Moorish arched gateways. The eastern part of the town offered a panoramic view to the empty plains of the despoblado which, according to our guide book, had once been a garden paradise. At the town center was a majestic fountain with fourteen spouts ("A popular local flamenco song snaps at fools insisting there are fifteen." -- Juan Armando Cabrera, Rambling in Spain) surrounded by stone lions.

They were exhausted when they reached Seville, on the banks of the Guadalquivir where, according to Juan Armando Cabrera, "the legendary Don Juan had begun his conquest for the hearts of women all across Europe." The two headed straight for the Barrio Santa Cruz., the ancient Jewish Quarter, taking a room at Casa Robles. They ventured out for food, drink, and music, crossing the river to the Triana district for tapas, Sangria, and flamenco. When Emery mentioned to Rita that he thought the gypsy dresses the dancers wore were beautiful, she said, "Think? Emery, you are a slave to thinking -- aesthetics -- the surface. You gaze on beauty. Forget the chivalrous response! What is in your guts? You have to bring it into you -- pour yourself into it -- take it by the flanges and climb into the middle of the world, the womb -- the rind and core. It's no disparagement to a woman. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Emery said, and laughed. There was no scorn in it.

In the morning they went in to the cathedral, where four statues held up a casket containing the remains of Christopher Columbus. Across from the cathedral was the Alcazar, showplace for the exquisite, intricate craft work of the islamic Mudejars who had worked for the Christian rulers who'd conquered Andalusia. There was nothing subtle in what Rita did next. “I have a request,'' she whispered, leading Emery toward a shadowy alcove. He was awed not so much by her beauty now as by her position -- a startling invitation, right there on the Andalusian stones.

Though exhausted when they reached Jerez de la Frontera, the two first went to the Centro Andaluz de Flamenco on the Plaza de San Juan, then to the Royal Andalucian Equestrian School on the Avenida de Abrantessee to see the dancing horses. After securing a room, getting some dinner, and sampling sherry wines at the Gonzalez Byass bodega -- fine and heady stuff -- they circled back to the hotel, to their room -- which was spinning. Emery focused, trying his damnedest not to think. What was the word -- inculcate? -- succubus? Forget the word! Deeper than the lustrous sheen and inky warmth of her were her eyes. Those eyes! Under the high royal summits of her eyebrows shone spangles on a lake, glinting like diamonds. Rita must have seen in Emery's eyes his -- what was the word? -- his incredulity.