Page 8 of Andalusia Dogs
“You need rest. A few inches to the right and that cop would have stomped your head in.” Jago squeezed his shoulder, belying his stern expression. “I think that deserves a sick day.”
“Don’t be stupid. I’ll just…” A wave of nausea collapsed him against the wall once more. “I’ll just tell Victoria I’m sick.”
“Tell her the truth. She’ll understand. Hell,I’llcall her. You take it slow.”
“You have a phone?”
“In my apartment.”
Alex looked up at Jago with a mischievous grin. “Now who needs to take things slow?”
Jago raised an eyebrow. “Another joke?”
“You tell me.”
“Come on.” Jago took Alex on his shoulders again. “Your sense of humour sucks when you’re sick.”
***
Sleep eluded Alex for the better part of an hour before he at last settled for dozing. He sank his head into the admittedly comfy pillows of Jago’s single bed. On the fourth floor, the apartment caught a nice breeze from over the Retiro, and it was only now, caught in the sun’s early afternoon barrage that he’d felt stifled by the heat. The hands on the clock next to the bed hadn’t moved since his arrival, giving Alex the distinct sense his host and nurse wasn’t overly concerned with simple concepts like work and time. Not that he knew anything about his host.
Hell, coming back to Jago’s apartment had probably been a terrible idea. But his knapsack remained slung over the handle of the small wardrobe, right where he’d left it. Likewise, his keys and wallet, slim as it was, still sat in his left pocket. Only his belt was… no, there it was with his bag, right where Jago had left it before excusing himself to run the errands interrupted by Alex’s rescue.
These details returned to him while he was trying to sit up, as if the very act of lying down had surrendered them.He’d read once dreams were mere memories or fears of the future, masquerading as the present. But he hadn’t dozed off, at least not completely. On the way to the flat, he’d pointed out Yolande’s bakery, where he and Vicente had enjoyed cheap but filling churros for breakfast every morning until the Plaza Mayor’s growing popularity with tourists had priced them out. Jago’s only response had been a tender but silent smile.
Yet, he couldn’t remember Jago putting him to bed. He was about to call him, but instead looked around the room one last time. Odd. Most rooming houses or even apartments featured at least some sort of iconography. A crucifix, or an image of the Virgin… hell, anything, just for show. He’d hooked up with men whose depravities had played out—with him—under the watchful gaze of Christ himself. But in Jago’s room? Nothing.
He cried out as a loud bang came from the open window, followed by the syncopated flap of stunned wings as a pigeon staggered a moment on the roof outside, then tumbled over it. Alex got up to inspect the aftermath. The poor thing’s broken body was now no more than a grey lump on the red tiled roof of the neighbouring low-rise, something to be washed away by the next rain shower, whenever that would come. At least it wasn’t close enough to stink up the apartment in the heat.
“Alex?”
He started again, seeing Jago in the doorway holding a bottle of red wine and two glasses when he turned. “Jesus!”
“No Jesus here,” Jago answered with a satisfied smile.
“I noticed.”
Jago gently placed the wine down on the bedside table and shut the door behind him. “I’m sorry I startled you. You’re feeling better?”
“Better than someone, that’s for sure.” He nodded to the ill-fated bird.
Jago grimaced as he inspected the carnage. “Not the first time. I don’t really know why. I suppose I should paint something on the window. Or perhaps they are simply tired of life, so…boom! Into the window. Lemmings in bird form.”
“Lemmings?” Alex toyed with the idea of dispelling his perception of the animal’s suicidal ways but decided against it. “Does this happen often?”
“Just this summer. Perhaps the heat makes them crazy? I really don’t know. Come, sit.” Jago poured a glass of wine. “Have you tried Bobal? Valencia’s liquid treasure.”
“No, I don’t think I have. Is that where you’re from?”
Jago handed Alex the glass and poured another. “Just one for you. Nurse’s orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hah!” Jago set the bottle down with a thump. “Would that turn you on? A masochist, like Luci in the movie? Perhaps I should piss on you?”
“You’re kidding?”
“Of course I’m kidding.Salud.”
