The bell in the clock tower struck four. 8:50 a.m.
Another day in Jimena. A day like
any other. They’d come here 8 months
before, hoping to find meaning. They’d meant
to leave, but got stuck in this place of hills and valleys, of whitewashed
abodes.
The place they’d rented, just for a week they promised each
other, was rustic, not at all what they wanted.
She’d wanted something more modern.
She loved her creature comforts. He’d
wanted a place near the beach to windsurf.
Yet, here they were, eight months in and still waking each morning at
8:50 a.m. to the bell in the clock tower striking 4. Still in Jimena.
She can’t remember when he started drinking. Breakfast was a thing of the past. Wine started the day, beer ended it. The thin, muscled stomach of which he’d been so
proud, now hung over his belt; his shirts no longer buttoned. She too, had started enjoying her drink. She found herself waiting anxiously for the
bell in the clock tower to ring 7 times.
Almost noon. Not too early, she’d
tell herself as she poured the fermented liquid into a dirty wine glass she’d
pluck from the pile of unwashed glasses lining the counter.
When was the last time they’d washed the dishes or taken out
the garbage or bothered to remove the empties?
The smell didn’t bother them anymore. Nothing bothered them much
anymore. She looked at him…his empty,
rheumy eyes stared back at her…hopeless.
They were hopeless in Jimena.
No more contact with the outside world. They hadn’t checked their email for months. They knew people worried about them, but
somehow they just didn’t care. The last
time she’d heard from her sister and her son, they’d expressed concern."“Well, let them worry,” she sighed as she poured them both
another.
*******
Morning in Jimena. The bell in the clock tower struck
4. They woke up. He grimaced in her direction. His teeth were stained blue; hers were,
too.
A knock at the door.
“The door,” he slurred.
“You get it! Did you
break a leg?”
“MERDE,” he swore, as he dragged himself from the bed.
She heard the lock turn; heard the door open.
“Who is it?"
He didn’t answer.
“WHO IS IT,” she yelled.
A woman’s voice. “It’s your neighbours, Louise and Brent. We
haven’t seen you for so long! We decided
to visit.
”
Her husband entered the bedroom followed by the two. They both had one hand behind their backs. Their eyes opened wide with disbelief as they
took in the rows of empty bottles, the unwashed sheets, the dirty clothes piled
high on the floor.
She threw back the stained blanket and tried to stand up. Staggering,
she fell back. She managed with great difficulty
the second time.
“Why are you here,”
she asked belligerently.
As if of one mind, the two took their hands from behind
their backs. Grinning from ear to ear,
they held them out. Two bottles of wine.
They poured the alcohol into four filthy glasses. Her husband made the toast. “Here’s to another day in Jimena.”
********
It had been five months since the visit. The lives became more hopeless with each
bottle consumed. Loneliness was an
anchor that paralyzed them.
In one of their more lucid moments, they talked about
it. It was time for a change, they decided. Time to leave Jimena. Time to start hoping again. Their rent was paid until the end of the
month, but they didn’t want to wait. A
forgotten emotion....anticipation?
Bags packed, they piled into the car. He started driving down through the narrow
village streets passing people they hadn’t seen in months, waving happily at
each one as they passed by. They could almost taste the hope, it was that
palpable. They looked at each other and
smiled, excited for the future. They heard the bell in the clock tower strike
6. It was almost eleven a.m. They had lots of time to make their flight.
The countryside embraced them. They used to love this road; it had always
filled them with peace. The rolling
hills, the gentle curves, the cows and horses grazing in the fields. They could feel the stress of the past year
rolling away as they got closer to the highway that lead to Malaga and the
airplane.
The roundabout leading to the highway was just ahead. Their future was just ahead.
********
The car that hit them hadn’t been there half a second before. They were dazed, but not hurt from the
impact. Before they knew it, a police
car had arrived.
“Your driver’s license, please.”
He reached into his wallet and with trembling hands, pulled
it out and handed it to the officer.
“This has expired. I
smell alcohol. Have you been drinking,
sir?”
“We had quite a bit of wine last night, but nothing today.”
“Please get out of the car and blow very hard into this,
sir,” he said, brandishing a breathalyzer.
He did as told.
“Sir, I’m afraid we’ll have to impound your car. Your blood alcohol is much higher than the
accepted limit. If you’ll just step this
way.” The officer opened the back door
of the police car for them. They removed
their luggage from their trunk and placed it in the trunk of the police
car. They climbed into the back seat.
They used to love this road…it had always made them feel
peaceful, but now it just felt like hope dashed…hope no more.
The officer dropped them back at their apartment in
Jimena. Hungry, they opened the
refrigerator. All there was inside was a
single bottle of wine; a single bottle of wine.
The bell in the clock tower struck 8.
