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"How are you?"
"What is the name of this village?"
"San Martin de Unx."
"Unx?" I said. "It sounds like the name of a gnome."
The old man didn't understand the joke. Disappointed, I walked toward the entrance to the chapel.
"You can't go in," warned the old man. "It closed at noon. If you like, you can come back at four this afternoon."
The door was open and I could look inside, although it was so bright out that I couldn't see clearly.
"Just for a minute?" I asked. "I'd like to say a prayer."
"I'm very sorry. It's already closed."
He was listening to my conversation with the old man but didn't say anything.
"All right, then, let's leave," I said. "There's no point in arguing."
He continued to look at me, his gaze empty, distant. "Don't you want to see the chapel?" he asked.
I could see he didn't approve of my decision. He thinks I'm weak, cowardly, unable to fight for what I want. Even without a kiss, the princess is transformed into a frog.
"Remember yesterday?" I said. "You ended our conversation in the bar because you didn't want to argue with me. Now when I do the same thing, you criticize me."
The old man watched our discussion impassively. He was probably happy that something was actually happening, there in a place where all the mornings, all the afternoons, and all the nights were the same.
"The door to the church is open," he said, speaking to the old man. "If you want some money, we can give you some. But she wants to see the church."
"It's too late."
"Fine. We'll go in anyway." He took my arm and we went in.
My heart was pounding. The old man could get nasty, call the police, ruin the trip.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because you wanted to see the chapel."
I was so nervous I couldn't even focus on what was inside. The argument--and my attitude--had ruined our perfect morning.
I listened carefully for any sounds from outside. The old man might call the village police, I thought. Trespassers in the chapel! Thieves! They're breaking the law! The old man had said the chapel was closed, that visiting hours were over. He's a poor old man, unable to keep us from going in. And the police will be tough on us because we offended a feeble old man.
I stayed inside the chapel just long enough to show that I'd really wanted to see it. As soon as enough time had passed for an imaginary Ave Maria, I said, "Let's go."
"Don't be frightened, Pilar. Don't just fall into playing a role."
I didn't want my problem with the old man to become a problem with him, so I tried to stay calm. "I don't know what you mean by 'playing a role.'"
"Some people always have to be doing battle with someone, sometimes even with themselves, battling with their own lives. So they begin to create a kind of play in their head, and they write the script based on their frustrations."
"I know a lot of people like that. I know just what you mean."
"But the worst part is that they cannot present the play by themselves," he continued. "So they begin to invite other actors to join in.
"That's what that fellow outside was doing. He wanted revenge for something, and he chose us to play a part. If we had accepted his restrictions, we'd be regretting it now. We would have been defeated. We would have agreed to participate in his miserable life and in his frustrations.
