Page 59 of Andalusia Dogs
“Like the show?”
“Hah.” Jago pushed a lock of Alex’s hair off his forehead. “It is where fate has led us.”
For much of their walk, Alex could not have asked for a better night. A breeze from the north swept away much of the heat that had stifled the streets. When they passed by San Ginés again, the queue of oddly dressed tourists staring into glowing devices was gone, replaced by the plump owner shutting up shop. They crossed Gran Via into Chueca, rounding two or three more corners before Alex saw Jago pause. A disdainful look crossed his face as he took measure of a poster for an upcoming exhibition at the Reina Sofia, showcasing Dali’s early works.Before Alex could comment, Jago screwed up his mouth and spat hard at it, hitting Dali’s image square in the moustache, bringing an almost comical sense to the artist’s familiar, wide-eyed affect. Jago showed little satisfaction as he took Alex’s hand again, and led them on.
Alex knew better than to ask. He waited until they were at his door before inviting Jago up one last time, knowing he would refuse. With one final kiss, Jago was gone, leaving Alex to climb the stairs to his apartment alone, contemplating where fate had led him. He tried to sleep, heating up some milk an hour later when he couldn’t.
He flipped through the well-thumbed book of Lorca’s poetry that sat on his coffee table. When it fell open to a photo of the poet on its inside sleeve, he almost dropped it, for there was Jago’s face, smiling at him. He turned away, closed his eyes, tried to shake whatever sleepy fog his brain had accumulated and looked again. The face was almost the same. It was thicker and fuller, plumper in the cheeks. The teeth were less perfect, more that of a provincial man who put art before any vanity—the same Lorca he’d seen in a hundred photos.
He flipped on the television, only to see the grey bars that signalled the end of another day’s programming on TVE. Beyond a couple of short naps on the couch, sleep eluded him. He tried to masturbate three or four times, only to have his mind replace the image of Jago’s body with that of Vicente trying to drown Joanna, or Si-Man face down in the Debod pools. Each was a boner killer that, coupled with his exhaustion, made him nauseous.
His friends were fine, and Jago genuinely cared for him. He understood both those truths, and yet…
He returned to the kitchen, fixing himself coffee as the sun’s first rays broke over Retiro Park. By eight o’clock, he felt human enough to pick up the phone.
Vicente answered, still groggy, but far from annoyed. “Hey.”
“There’s something I need to tell you, in person, as soon as you can,” Alex blurted quietly. “And you’re not going to believe it.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“You’re a witch?”
“No. At least… I don’t know.”
“But Jago’s a witch?”
“You don’t have to repeat it aloud.” Alex adjusted his sunglasses as a jogger went by on the Paseo del Prado. “Look, where’s Joanna? I told you to bring her.”
“And I told you, she’s not feeling great.”
Alex scratched at the edge of the fountain where they were sitting, cursing himself for not thinking of this before. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. When you guys didn’t come back to the theatre—thanks for letting us know, by the way—we went up to Miguel’s. Someone had scored hash and there might have been some angel dust there. I stuck to weed, but… anyway, Joanna’s sleeping it off so she’s in top shape for opening night. And will you stop being so uptight? You’re the one half-dressed incognito. What are you? The Pink Panther?”
“Sorry. I barely slept last night.”
“Mmmhmm?”
“No, Vis, we did not, and I thought you didn’t like him.”
“Right. I am also not that guy.”
“What guy?”
“Who treats his ex like property and hates on every person they date, forever and ever amen until death do us both in. Besides, I like what he’s done for Joanna and for you. What’s he’sstilldoing for you. Let’s just leave it there. I’m not dating him.”
Alex gave a series of sharp, sarcastic nods. “Oh, okay. And the witch thing doesn’t bother—”
“Oh, come on, Alex. If I had ten pesetas for every weirdo I met into some freaky religion…” Vicente turned a fresh, unlit cigarette over in his fingers before snapping it in half and grinding it beneath his tapping foot. “You know this country missed the sixties, right? People are sinking their claws into all kinds of weird shit.”
“I’m telling you Jago’s not just some weirdo.” Alex nodded to the foot. “You’re doing well.”
“Tell that to my nerves.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah, actually, like the dead. We both did. Of course, we skipped the coke, which probably helped.”
