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“This is my brother’s family in Kashmir. My great uncle drew them,” the stall holder said.
There was a woman, always in a brown dress, and children in dirty white cloth robes, gathering crops, playing and laughing, cooking and eating, and around them in one picture were partly destroyed buildings and men carrying machine guns. They evoked both sadness and hope. “They’re beautiful. Are they for sale?”
“No. They are just memories.”
They were exquisite, and they gave Gabi a sense of what his family had endured, and maybe of what her great grandpa had gone through too. She had nothing like it to remember her family by, and that absence ripped through her like a bolt of lightning. She held her hand over her heart and closed her eyes and wondered what her life would have been like if her mum had survived. Gabi had always felt different, at school and growing up, and not having a mum was just something that had made that difference more noticeable. She’d had Nana though. And if her mum had lived, Nana wouldn’t have been the Nana she knew, that same Nana who had brought her up and was still here now. She had no memories of her mum, nothing to hold onto, nothing to miss except perhaps the absence of something that should have been there, the illusion of what might have been. She didn’t think it mattered but right now, she couldn’t be sure because she felt turned upside down and inside out by the events of the day and needed things to settle inside her so she could know what she really felt.
“Would you like tea?” he asked.
She smiled weakly. “Thank you.”
The herbal tea that tasted like sweet tepid water, seemed precious in that moment, and she chatted a while with him and discovered that he lived with his wife and three daughters in the hills in Sacromonte. Gabi thought about her mum. No, she had no memories of her to treasure, either.
The hand-woven rugs sold here were bright, and the patterns reminded her of the rug that Nana had in her dining room. One was particularly eye-catching. It had an elephant at its centre which seemed odd for Spain but presumably reflected his Indian roots. The reds were vibrant, the blues were pale and soft, and the gold regalia that hung around the elephant’s neck and across its back jumped out at her. It wasn’t Gabi’s thing, but its detail was striking, and she admired the skill. There was a slight chemical smell to the wool, and its texture was coarse. The length of the pile was short and tight. It must have taken hours to weave, and yet it cost peanuts in comparison with a commercially produced rug of the same size in the UK. She hoped the people making the rugs here had enough food to eat. Gabi bought a silk fuchsia scarf from him that would match Nana’s coat and handbag. She paid him double the asking price, and it still didn’t feel like she’d given him enough.
She felt lifted by more vibrant colours as she walked past the clothing and textiles stands. Rugs seemed popular, but that wasn’t what she was looking for. She moved beyond the fabrics and past the souvenirs without a second glance. She stood in front of the type of stall that always tugged at her heartstrings. Jewellery. Her initial excitement faded as she cast her eyes across the display. The pieces were for tourists. There were multiples of the same design, and it lacked the authenticity she’d hoped for. She wanted to be inspired by something that had been hand-crafted, something delicate, intricate, and unique.
“A wedding ring for a pretty lady, perhaps,” the man behind the stall said.
Gabi looked up and saw him gazing beyond her. He had a broad smile and a cheery manner and judging by his flushed cheeks, a fondness for the person he was talking to. Gabi turned and held her breath.
“I will send Conchita to you, Matías. Right away.”
The woman started laughing. It washer. Gabi’s heart couldn’t escape her chest quickly enough. She thought she was going to pass out.
“Promise me, Aisha, when your time comes you will bless me with the honour of designing your ring. I will create perfection for you.”
Aisha.
“Matías, you will be waiting an eternity.”
“I will wait. Your time will come,” he said.
Gabi got the impression he was having a different conversation to Aisha. Hers was a pretty name. Gabi enjoyed the sensualness of it on her tongue. She swallowed hard and became acutely aware that she was feeling more flushed than Matías looked, and more embarrassingly, she was powerless to look away from Aisha.
Aisha smiled at her, and Gabi’s heart raced. She wasn’t wrong. It was the flamenco dancer. It became harder to speak, and her last thought before her mind went completely blank was that Aisha’s hazel eyes were beautiful. Gabi couldn’t stop staring into them.
“Hello,” Aisha said.
Gabi forced herself to look away, to look around, to look anywhere except at her. She scrabbled for something intelligent or witty to say but was too bewildered by the vacant space between her ears and the desert that her mouth had become to be able to speak.
Aisha smiled at Gabi again and narrowed her eyes.
“Hi,” Gabi said, or rather, she squeaked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You’re the flamenco dancer.”
“Yes.”
“You were incredible. I mean, are. I mean…” She didn’t know what the hell she meant and was sure she looked like a babbling idiot. But there was nowhere to hide unless she ran off to never be seen again. What would be the point in that? An uncomfortable silence filled the space.
Aisha dipped her head a little. “Thank you. I’m pleased you enjoyed the dance.”
“I did. It was awesome. I’ve never seen anything like it. How do you move your feet that quickly?” Seriously, she just said that. She closed her eyes so Aisha couldn’t see her rolling them at herself, and when she opened them, Aisha’s smile was wider.
“With a lot of practice.”
Aisha swept her hair back. Where the dark brown caught the light, it unravelled golden and reddish strands. She was more beautiful up close. Gabi cleared her throat. “How old were you when you started?”
“As soon as we walk, we dance,” Aisha said.
