Day 19

Amina was a spectacle.  He could find no other word. Not for want of trying. The first night they were together, he awoke first and found her curled tightly against his back like a child seeking the warmth of a parent.  He could not stand to sit in the hotel room. He wanted to be out. He wanted to exercise or go to the gym.  She was of a similar nature but with an unexpected twist.   She didn’t do yoga or pilates like most of the women he knew. Her routine was ridiculously simple. She would do body weight exercises on the floor.  Push-ups, mountain climbers, various types of front and side planks until she was sweating profusely. Then she would jump up and head for the shower.  After her shower she would meet Brian for breakfast.  They walked everywhere.  When standing still, she wouldn’t stand still. She would do calf raises or semi-squats.  She found unobtrusive ways to exercise.  However, if they passed a bookstore she would go in, find a book and sit so still that she appeared asleep.

About the town, she looked like any other frumpy tourist. But that was because she wore baggy tops and loose pants or long skirt to hide what he called her “spanx bank”.  She no longer concerned herself with the fact that Brian knew about her cash and how she carried it.  Some went in the over sized purse and the rest in her spanx.  Brian wanted to know more about her. He liked her. He respected her. He trusted her to a point. She too trusted Brian to a point. An onlooker might think that she trusted him completely and that is why she no longer tried to hide her stash from him.  That really was not the case at all.  What was really happening is that she had a deep seated belief that she could take any hit and recover. And it’s the recovery that she actually enjoyed.  Some might say she was in love with the process.

This is not to say that she enjoyed the hard times.  No, not at all. She enjoyed hard work whether it was studying or doing 100 sit-ups.  She learned to acknowledge the tragedy for what it was. Mourn if necessary. Then get up and move on to the next phase of life.  She remembered the first time she was the sweetener.  As soon as the man left, she showered for an hour.  She cried. She swore. She prayed. As soon as she heard the fajr, the morning call to prayer, she went for a walk and had her favorite breakfast. Then she consulted with Hasan on financial results and impact of the deal. She went back to her room and made a plan for her life.  Emphasis on plan for “her” life.

How did she learn such a coping skill. One of her high school friends noticed her ability to come to terms with uncontrollable situations.  And kept asking her and asking her.  Her story is that one day, there was a problem with the plumbing in our house. The sewer backed up into the bath tub and filled it with the most obnoxious mixture of pee and shit and everything else that went down the sewer.  My mom paced back and forth in front of the bathroom for 2 minutes. Then she went in the bathroom with a bucket and started scooping it out with her gloved hands. I could hear her singing and making jokes.  She named the turds — island ferry, the QE2, the enterprise. Then she hauled the bucket outside.  She had made my brother dig a  hole. She dumped the bucket and went back in side.  “This one looks like you sweet husband who abandoned me to do this work.” or “How cute, this looks like the dog across the street that barks all night.” After an hour the tub was cleared, cleaned and washed with bleach. The muck in the hole was mixed with dirt. Dead center in the muck she planted a rose.   Visitors always marveled at the size of the rose bush and how prolifically it grew flowers.

At one of their stops for food, a Japanese place serving sushi, she asked the owner if he had a Japanese newspaper.  He did. Could she have one sheet?  He gave her a whole section.  As she ate and talked she traced every character on the page. Then she practiced words in the margins or drew. He began to pick up on her style.  She noticed that he was watching. He didn’t stare, but she could tell that he was aware of what she was doing.

Brian really wanted to know the mystery of the journals but he did not dare risk direct questions.  So, he asked other questions to see if he could piece together the meaning of her life.

You seem to be on a quest to strengthen your body and improve your mind. What’s the story?

I’m the best in the world!

What?

I am the best in the world. But the competition is fierce so I must keep sharpening my tools even though I’ve been thrust out of my workshop.

She made a motion with her two hands like someone pushing something our a door or window.

She could see his mind working. She hit him right where it hurts a man. No man wants to be shown as weak or ignorant.  The weaker a man’s character the more he resents being found wanting.

It’s true.  I am.

That’s amazing. What are you the best in the world at?

Being me, of course. But if I don’t improve today, tomorrow, I will be the same Amina but a day older. Who would want yesterday’s bread when they could have today’s fresh from the oven?

Hah! he chortled. That is great. I absolutely agree with you. You are the best.

She was not prepared for that response. It completely caught her off guard.  She expected a sarcastic, maybe playful, “ho ho ho, of course you’re the best you. Who else could you be?”  He agreed with her perspective. She searched his face and his smile. He really meant what he said. It gave her that feeling you get when you watch the ice cream man put the cherry on top of the mountain of whipped cream of your hot fudge sundae.

He raised his plastic bottle of water and offered a toast to the best Amina in the world. She raised her tea, they clinked and she added, “And to the best Brian in the world. It’s been an honor.”  He smiled a little and said, “Actually you inspire me.”  There was a period of silence. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was pregnant with peace.  It was broken three minutes later by a group of noisy German tourist that burst from a shop causing the door to slam.

After that, Amina opened up even more. She talked about the business deals her and her husband, Hasan, had done. The early ones, like the hovel, made her face light up.  The later ones were told more solemnly and with a serious face.  She hinted at the problems with some deals. He would inject questions such as “How did you overcome their objections?” or “Why did they choose your company instead of one closer to them?”  She answered each variation with “Negotiation tactics” but it soured her face.

They passed another street vendor. He bought some nuts and a Coke. She bought another pair of sun glasses and a several more large scarves.

You really like scarves.

I do it’s true. It gives me the thrill of the purchase at a much lower cost than a mink or a diamond. They’re practical and they can be used to hide things.

Oh yeah? Like what?

My face, the color or length of my hair, the size of my waist.

I hadn’t thought about that. Any other uses?

Sure, lots. Like signaling. Or making a temporary suitcase. Or blocking the sun in the car when you’re trying to sleep. The thin ones can be used to keep the sun and bugs off your face.

Let’s eat a little earlier tonight. We want to make sure we catch the train to Madrid.

They found a small place, there was no choice but to sit at a table outside. Brian had an anojo steak with roasted veggies and Amina had pollo a la canilla with a glass of manzanilla.  The food was good and cheap. They went dutch treat.  The walk home was calming with only the occasional one or two word comment to break the silence. They walked arm in arm, not like lovers but as two old and dear friends or adult siblings.  The manzanilla was working its spell on Amina. She brushed her teeth, sat down on the bed to unload and fell asleep sitting up.  Brian was calm but awake as he did not have any alcohol with his meal.  He laughed at Amina’s Rodin-like like sleeping position. He did nothing, knowing, or expecting that she would soon wake up and choose a better position.  He used the toilet. Brushed his teeth.  And reviewed, for the fiftieth time, the pics on his phone. Twenty five minutes later he came out and she was still hunched on the side of the bed. Her head was just a little closer to her knees then when he went in. He was just about to turn out the lights when he thought he should take care of her.  He stood in front of her for a solid minute debating whether to undress her or not. Part of him really wanted to see her naked. Another part of him wanted to be honorable.  Another part of him, well never mind about that other part. He leaned her back against her pillow and gently lifted her legs on to the bed.  He turned out the lights and went to sleep.

In the morning, she woke up moaning. Sleeping on all that cash and jewelry left deep dimples in her skin that ached.  She hobbled to the bathroom like an old woman with arthritis but without the cane. The moaning continued as she removed each bundle of cash, they weren’t big bundles, but thick enough to make sleeping uncomfortable. As she groaned and complained Brian couldn’t help but think about the princess and the pea.

As they left the room to catch the train she asked him.

Why did you leave me in that torture suit?

Well, I have to admit, I really wanted to see you naked but I didn’t want to be thrown off the balcony.

I would never throw you off a balcony, Brian.  I would kick you down the stairs!  And she slapped his shoulder like girls do in high school.

Seriously, thank you for being a gentleman.  The last I remember was sitting down. So you must have laid me on my side and put my feet up and taken off my shoes.

Oh yeah, you looked like The Thinker.  I was just about to turn out the lights when I thought to myself. She’ll wake up in the morning stiff and cranky. She’ll be a real pain in the ass to travel with.

Don’t be mean! And she goosed him in the ribs.

They were fairly sure they were safe from Hasan’s men. Never the less they entered the station separately and looked for what Brian called “members of the blue man group.” or anyone that looked to be planted for the purpose of watching.  They boarded the train. Brian let the silence do the work and just listened as Amina talked.  A good actress will convince you that she grew up in the mean streets of the Bronx in one movie and in another you may not recognize the noble woman who does not know how to tie her own shoes, much less find them.  Watching Amina was like watching a YouTuber splice vignettes from two films of completely different genres.  A true spectacle.