Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

a moment of youthful lust, he took her in his arms and kissed her— right there in the crowd of revelers. After that night they became inseparable— wandering the neighborhoods together, watching people, generally getting to know each other. He carried a Spanish dictionary and tried to speak her language when he could. But neither of them thought far enough ahead to realize that if he didn’t declare himself, their time together in Pamplona could end right along with the celebration.”

Ben stopped talking for a moment and Ana said, “I’m hooked! This would make a good movie. But first you have to write the book.”

“You’re getting way ahead of yourself. It wasn’t all smooth sailing. My grandfather almost blew it. A couple of days later, when the friend had gained back his strength, the group of guys made their plan to join the bull run the next day, which was also the last day of the festival. When he met Julieta that evening he was wearing his ‘whites’ along with the traditional red waist tie. He had decided to get the ‘feel’ of the outfit and also get some of the attention he had seen other runners get from the crowd.”

“Uh Oh,” Ana said, “I can see trouble in paradise.”

“Yep, and it was a turning point in his life. Julieta issued him an ultimatum. I think you can guess what it was. She told him that if he ran with the bulls and managed not to get killed, she’d never speak to him again and he’d never see her again.”

“A strong-minded young woman. I like that. Kind of sets the boundaries for the burgeoning relationship in general.”

“He had to decide whether to look like a wimp in front of his friends and break the vow they had taken, or take the chance of losing her forever. He had no way of knowing whether she was bluffing.”

“Knowing how important bravado is to young men of that age, I could see him going ahead with the original plan to run. To give that up for a girl would have opened him up to a lot of put-downs and teasing, and maybe his buddies would have given him the complete brush-off.”

Of course Ana had pre-determined what the outcome had been, but Ben waited to continue, trying to build a little suspense. “I don’t think I have to tell you what happened. Here I am— one result of his choice.” He glanced aside and saw she was smiling.” He uttered two more words. “The end.”

“How lovely,” she said. “How many years were they married?”

“When my grandfather passed away they had been married sixty-six years. She followed shortly after, which isn’t unusual for people as close as they were.”

“You would definitely honor them by including something of their story in one of your books.”

“That was my plan, but right now the thoughts I have of Pamplona are anything but pleasant. I hope that changes. I had always planned to go to that plaza— find those bars, have a drink and toast them— but I never expected my return to Spain would be so negative. I was just a kid the only time I was here, and then it was just Madrid.”

“Did your grandmother ever try to teach you Spanish? Kids learn languages so easily. I’ve forgotten most of what I learned at my grandmother’s knee.”

“No, she didn’t. I think she was focused on me becoming a proper English gentleman. That’s something I never really understood, with her being Spanish. I would’ve thought she’d have had me in a little bullfighter’s suit.”

They both laughed and continued to find their way toward the bridge. A couple of blocks on they rounded a corner, coming upon a small cobblestone plaza dominated by a colorful tile fountain. Seated on the edge was a man, sixtyish perhaps, with his beret— boina— tipped just right. He was tuning his guitar, concentrating as he prepared. He began to play, and Ana recognized Francisco Tárrega’s Recuerdos de la Alhambra. The melody took her back to childhood and her grandmother’s love of Spanish music.

As if being conducted by magic, the water splashed and fell in a rhythm complementary to the music. At a nearby tienda a young girl stepped from behind an outdoor rack of brightly colored clothing. She seemed shy, but began to move to the music. The guitarist gestured an invitation for her to dance. The girl approached and they exchanged a few words before she began to sway gently to the music. Ben and Ana stayed to watch the scene unfold. The girl turned toward the tienda’s entrance, where an old woman had come out to watch her. The girl seemed excited to show the woman the Flamenco steps she had learned and began to dance. The old woman began to sing the old gypsy cantos and clapped the traditional rhythms to accompany the dance steps and the guitar. The sun was low, and at the taberna across the square, fairy lights began to sparkle in the flowering vines surrounding an outdoor seating area.

The musician finished his song with a flourishing run over the strings then tipped his boina to the young dancer. She giggled and waved goodbye as she was ushered back into the building. A brightly painted door closed behind them, and soon a sign saying cerrado appeared in the window. The man got up, put his guitar in its case, walked over to the taberna and disappeared inside. It was suddenly very still but for the sound of the fountain, its own melody carrying into the evening.

They just stood there a moment before Ana said, “I’ll have you know I had my own castanets.” She looked down, a bit embarrassed by her revelation.

Ben backed away and gave her a quizzical look. “What’s the story on that?”

“My grandmother wanted me to learn Flamenco, the traditional baile Gitano— flamenco Roma— the original gypsy form— to get in touch with my heritage. I did love the music though. She would quiz