Galicia, Northern Spain, February 26, 2010 -- Like a bad dream, it’s all gone away: Elvira’s husband changed his mind, and I’m moving into their 175 euro apartment – for good or bad, on March 1, Monday. It’s still small, still has only one window -- a skylight in the roof, is still in the attic; but it’s still cheap. I can easily live on my pension, and – with a couple of students -- can actually save some money.
I called my landlord, Francisco, when Drushka told me that Elvira’s husband had decided not to rent the apartment, and he agreed that I could stay. Then Drushka had the idea of checking the bulletin boards in stores. We went to the Gadis supermarket near his apartment in the center of the city. There we found several apartments and rooms. We called an apartment. No answer. Then we called a room. It turned out to be right across from the Gadis. We went there. Bad news: It was a very small room. Good news: It was only 210 euros; one of my housemates would be a 22 yr. old Venezuelan boy; I would have full access to the kitchen and the bath; and the landlady had an attic where maybe I could store some of my extra stuff. And she worked all day.
I need some time to think about it, I told her.
Drushka and I talked about it, and I decided to take it, But when I called her the next morning, she said something about a young boy being interested, and she would let me know Friday. I told her Drushka would call her later. When he called her, she told him that she didn’t want to rent a room to such an old guy, maybe I would need extra care, etc. Oh, shit, age discrimination. The first I’ve experienced. In fairness, I wouldn’t want to rent a room to the likes of me, either. So I can’t be too hard on her. Still, age discrimination is hard to take, especially when I feel 19, even if I am 76.
The next day was the first day of lent. Drushka and I were wandering back to his apartment from our school when we were interrupted by another parade. But Carnival is over! It turned out to be “the sardine’s funeral,” the funeral parade of the end of the good pre-lenten carnival life. Let’s join it, Drushka said. So we got into the parade with the other “mourners” weeping copiously over the death of Carnival. While we were marching and laughing and ogling the cute boys, Drushka got a phone call.
It was Elvira. Her husband had changed his mind again, and she would rent the apartment to me. I felt like the star of a yay-boo movie. Now it was yay. I’m back on. She is painting and re-decorating the apartment this week. I’ll see it on Tuesday.
Who and what is Elvira, you may ask, and with good reason. Elvira is a 40-something housewife and teacher of English, although she speaks terrible English – so bad that what communication we have is in Spanish. She is about 5 ft. 5 in., not very pretty, and the mother of a 7-year-old daughter. Her husband, Drushka told me, isn’t really her husband. They’ve never been married. And now they’re having problems.
I didn’t know all this when we ran into her Saturday night at a café. So to be sociable and to practice my Spanish, I started telling about my and Drushka’s plans to go to Lisbon April 1-4 – Thursday through Sunday of Holy Week.
I didn’t follow what she said in response, but Drushka told me later that she wants to go with us. It never occurred to me that a 40-something-year-old woman with a husband and child would even consider going on a 4-day excursion with two unmarried males – one 32 and one 76. That’s when he told me about her not being officially married and about the marital – or maybe living-together -- troubles they were having.
Oh, shit. What I’m hoping is that that was the enthusiasm of the moment, and that as time goes by, she’ll realize what a dumb idea it is. Neither Drushka nor I want her to go. We hope to go looking for boys, and he doesn’t want her to know he’s gay.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive. That was a poem attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh that my mother used to quote to me when I was a child and sometimes caught in a little fib.
Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens, of course) once said, to be a good liar, you also have to have a good memory. That’s why I’m not a good liar today. I can never keep my stories straight.
Anyway, while I was on a roll on Wednesday night, Jorge sent me a message. We would meet on Saturday at 6 at the Café Antigua, where we had first met on German evening. Then Friday Modesto also sent a message: He will be leaving for China on Wednesday. Could we meet at 6:00 on Saturday? Exact same time as Jorge. And they don’t know each other! Oh shit! Now what?
So Drushka and I met after his class on Friday night. What to do? We would push Modesto up an hour to 5 p.m., and Jorge back an hour to 7. That should do it.
In the meantime, Drushka, unbeknownst to me, had to go to Anuncia and Julio’s to call the parents of their 12-year-old Russian ward, Vicky. We went to their apartment, which is very close to mine. After a hasty conference, he would stay at their apartment with Julio and call while Anuncia and I went to a nearby café for some chocolate and churrerias. Anuncia speaks no English, and I don’t speak Spanish well enough to carry on a conversation with her.
“I’m very tired,” I announced. “I want to go home. Drushka, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And I left, a little angry that Drushka hadn’t told me what was going on, and we still had to do something about Modesto and Jorge.
When I realized that Drushka was not going to call me Friday night after he left Anuncia and Julio’s, I sent Modesto a message suggesting we meet a little earlier and Jorge a message suggesting we meet a little later. On Saturday morning, I got an SMS from Modesto saying he couldn’t meet later. So I sent Jorge an SMS suggesting we meet at 4. He SMS’d back saying that would be perfect, because he had a later engagement. So then I sent Modesto a message saying we would meet as originally scheduled at 6. Whew! That’s settled.
When Jorge, Drushka, and I met at 4 p.m. Saturday, Drushka and Jorge got along really well, as I anticipated they would. Jorge even asked Drushka to coach him with Russian.
As 6 p.m. approached, Drushka and I agreed we needed to go. Jorge accompanied us, and it turns out that he and Modesto are somehow related but had never met!
With Modesto was Margarita, the girl that I had met last week. But no beautiful David 
. Modesto gave me and Drushka going away presents, though he is the one going away: CDs with the photos on it that he had taken in Spain.
When we parted, I hugged Modesto, and Jorge took me and Drushka to the hotel which his father runs in the city center. I had never noticed it before, though it’s only a block from the hotel I had stayed in.
Question of the hour: Are Modesto and Jorge gay? Modesto, very probably. He’s always with young guys; he doesn’t have a girlfriend; he has all the mannerisms, although he’s not limp-wristed. Jorge? Less sure. He has never talked about a girl. He’s a very serious student. Poor Drushka is dying to know.
And thereby hangs another tail: He is obviously gay. Yet he wants a child and is giving his girl Lena a lot of bullshit about getting married. She is sending him a lot of lovey-dovey messages. She is coming with his parents to visit him in March. It’s difficult to keep my tongue in its proper place. “Take what you want and pay for it,” is the best advice I could give him. If he becomes a husband and father, he will pay and pay dearly. Maybe it will be a part of growing up for him. I would like to spare him what I’ve been through, but maybe I can’t. Maybe he has to go through it for himself.
I bought a camera when I found out I was moving into Elvira’s apartment and wouldn’t have to spend a lot of extra money. I probably had a dozen stolen in Russia. Zhorik “borrowed” the last one, which I also bought here last year, and never gave it back. Now I have one that I think I’m going to keep. I also need to buy a scale and a CD player. I also need to bring all my household items to the new apartment. That will be a drag, but I’ll manage somehow. At least I will have the money.
See also related pages:
Chapt. #298 - I move – in a “hurricane”
Chapt. #296 - Hercules’ Tower
This day years ago:
2006-2-26: Chapt. #189 - Lots of orgasms, but no sex; what’s in a name?
