On the road

She came from a far away land where the constant joy of the sun distracted from reality. Living is easier under the sun. Sometimes, even exploring is. But in the Fetish Land it rains a lot. And the sun is something pale.
Maybe it wasn't the distance. Maybe it wasn't the difference. Maybe it was nothing. But there is so much temptation lying somewhere, nude and seductive.
Lucy moved the sheets away and tried to smile when she noticed the rain drops shouting against the window. She took her breakfast in the kitchen, her hands playing with the pack of cards, shuffling. She cut the pack and turned the card. The 3 of hearts. She grinned.
.

On the road

Following an illusion they ended up in Port Royal, where each man was a ruthless enemy. A place with brave Amazons and little mice. Men who had disowned their family. Renounced God and country.
Port Royal, the liveliest, wickedest, intensest, city. Sodom of the New World.
The gambling den of the slums were blood-stained. All of Port Royal. But there nobody cleaned them. In one of these, The African Queen, the adventurer bumped into an old friend, from their time in the navy. He was now a member of the crew of the Red Witch, under the orders of the fearful Captain Wayne.
The adventurer played cards with his merry men in the jungle.

Lucy dreamed about a pink hare Krishna.
.

Prince Rupert's dog

Today was Tuesday. Lucy bought some tea biscuits and cleaned the living room. At two minutes past five the door bell rang. It was him. The man, who wasn't named Rupert, gave her a small box of chocolates.
They stayed with small talk until the second cup of tea. Then, the flavoured Earl Grey and the sweets encouraged their spirits.
At seven o'clock Rupert left the house with another meeting arranged.
In one month's time.
.

Single dummy

Many 2 of hearts later, even after some 9 of diamonds, Lucy stopped. There was no more hell to walk. Bored, she locked herself at home.
She worked in the garden. There was always something to do in the garden. She smoked. Just cigarrettes. She ate yoghurts and tried to be healthy. Winter was lasting so long!
Lucy was having a tea one morning, in the tearoom on the pier, while outside it was raining and raining and the sea roared furiously. Cosy stuff, tea. She went back home, too wet to admire the bright gardens.
The next day, she had a job interview. She got it. Lucy was now one of the bloody typists of The Rolling Joint CoLtd.
.

The curse of Scotland

Day after day, month after month, she bet on the 2 of hearts. Until the croupier didn't allow her to wager anymore. Then she walked around by the doors, sometimes speaking with the old woman there. But soon Lucy went to the dives close to the port. Den of iniquity. She still played the 2 of hearts. She still lost. Drinking lemonade. She waltzed down to poverty and ruin at a leisurely pace. Her path to hell was paved with the 2 of hearts.
One night, when she had already lost everything she once had had and a bit more, a redhaired man whispered to her "try the 9 of diamonds, sweetheart".
Lucy bet again on the 2 of hearts.
The 9th diamond won.
.

Yarborough

Las cortinas echadas. El ambiente cargado. Entrechocar de copas. El gin culebreando entre las piernas. Tahúres. Viciosos. Aburridos o desesperados. Snobs y diletantes. El croupier dice "no va más." La tensión es palpable. Los ojos fijos. En el alcohol. En el juego. En los cuerpos.
Lucy apostaba al dos de corazones. Perdía. Toda la noche apostando al dos de corazones. Todo el invierno apostando al dos de corazones. Una noche y otra y la siguiente. Perdió casa y cama jugando al dos de corazones.
"Cuídate, corazón" le dijo la mujer de guardarropía. Lucy sólo sonrió y se fue, hundiendo las manos en los bolsillos del abrigo. El croupier esperó hasta que desapareció de su vista para preguntarle a la mujer "¿Cómo la has visto esta noche?". "Pobre chica" se lamentó ella "¿cuándo se dará cuenta de que es una batalla perdida?"
Lucy siguió apostando. Siempre al dos de corazones. Hasta que llegó la primavera.
.

On the road

Lucy took the local Gazette. The matinee was at The Marine Theatre, at 3.00 pm. Strange timetable for a matinee. The Something Swing Band performed a nostalgic trip. With tea in the interval. Cool.
But the afternoon was so calm, so lazy, she couldn't find the will to stand up. The garden was too tempting. The flowers. The bright grass. Even the old couch hammock. Everything seemed better under the unbelievable sun. A gift.
.

Drury House 1645

The adventurer and his merry men were drinking honey water in a remote and neglected hut. The man, a tired farmer, was used to strange visitors and unexpected companies. He had a full shop of honey water.
Some bottles later, the adventurer took one and went outside. He sat and drank. More. He, the man accused of being bloody heartless, was yearning for civilization and missing his friends. Society life was less risky than jungle, but more dangerous. A crooked world for crooked people.
Missing them didn't mean he wanted to come back.
Not yet.
Though he still had their beloved faces in his mind. Adventuring is a curse, a dark hex. A path impossible not to take. And, usually, those who never put a foot out of the way, disdain it.
Bloody heartless.
.

On the road

The bacon was in the frying pan. The eggs boiling. Toast. But she was still thinking about the cat. It was a wonderful morning. The last days of April were being absolute spring. Lucy took the salad and the sandwich and sat down in the back garden. She tried to imagine how it would be with a cat jumping somewhere. The sea wind pushed on the sheets, making them fly. Lucy thought that would be a simply irresistible temptation for a cat. Pretty animals, cats. Clean. Individualistic. Independent. With a human sense of laziness.
Lucy smoked a cigarette just feeling the breeze, her skin warmed by the sun. The same flowers that didn't wave for her were now drugging her with their first bloom scent.
Laziness in spring time. Sprouting green after a long and rainy winter.
.

On the road

The Spring season in all its splendorous fragrance. Effulgent. Lucy locked the front door, still wondering about having a cat. She had had one before, ginger and white. But it turned mad and died. Lucy wasn't sure if getting another scored as a clever decision. Often clever decisions were the most boring. Walking down, now thinking about the shopping list, suddenly she stopped at the window of the furniture shop. A big, and pretty, double bed. Simple lines. Wood in white.
On the way back, she looked at it again. She had a double bed, too.
Putting the shopping away, her mind was on the cat stuff again. Maybe a cute siamese. White. The bad thing about iguanas is they don't wag their tails when you come back home. The flowers of the back garden don't either.
Next morning Lucy had already decided the name of her possible cat. Even more, she took a different route.
.

Never ending dance

Sometimes, not often, the day was clear and the sun completely yellow. Sometimes, not always welcoming, the earth sighed and Lucy heard it. Somewhere someone danced. Somewhen life was like a song and dancing never ended.
So Lucy followed the rhythm and waltzed with the tide. Something pulsing in her when, as the night fell, she walked to the Dance Club. She stayed outside, looking through the windows. Just a few minutes. Then went to the pub and felt the music. She came from a pagan land. All her body shouted it. Swinging.
Sometimes, not often, Lucy ended those days with a ritual. Blood and flesh ritual. She didn't understand how far away she was from southern seas.
.

Melusine

Una tarde Lucy se detuvo a observar la partida en el ajedrez gigante del paseo. Ganaron las blancas. Aquella noche encontró una nota en su correo. "¿Martes a las 17h?"
El aventurero sabe que el trato con los indígenas puede resultar arriesgado. Peligroso. Es malo cuando te disparan flechas envenenadas y quieren matarte. Pero cuando amenazan con devorarte es mucho peor.
Lucy se ahoga. Desde la ventana del ático se ve el mar. La huida es el camino más largo para ir a cualquier parte. Lucy bebía su té mientras escribía la respuesta. "Martes a las 17h."
El explorador anota en el diario de la expedición cada particularidad del camino, cada senda, cada lago. Añade que no hay dragones. No los ha visto. Nunca los verá. El aventurero es capaz de perderse diez veces en el mismo cuadrante. Todas y cada una de ellas oye a Melusina cantar.
.

Here be dragons

Ese momento, antes de partir, cuando echa una última mirada a los mapas y notas esparcidos sobre la mesa, se encomienda a todos los santos en los que no cree y hace la señal contra el mal de ojo. Incluso toca madera. En ese momento en realidad ya no está allí. Ya se ha ido. La expedición ha comenzado. Cerrar la puerta es una mera formalidad. El trabajo de los cartógrafos se queda allí, encerrado entre cuatro paredes. El aventurero se fue hace mucho, exactamente en el momento que leyó, entre terra incognita y reino perdido de Surim, tres simples palabras. Hic sunt dracones.
.

On the road

Lucy was walking along Church Street, the umbrella fiercely in her hand. What she wanted most was a beer. She looked around, but couldn't find any pub. Just houses and gardens. Three streets beyond St.Michael's she saw one. At last! With a happy smile now, she entered the pub.
Better that than the bloody cup of tea with the bloody visitor.
Or not.
Maybe running away wasn't the smartest idea of the day.
She changed her mind with the second beer and with the third she smiled sillily.
Next morning she was a few pounds poorer, had a blinding hangover and a god-awful note from the visitor.
"Sorry, maybe I got the day wrong. We'll try another day."
When the adventurer returned to society, people seemed stranger than the aborigens he met on the way. But quickly the stupidity of that nonsense annoyed him. And he ran away. To the familiar unknown lands.
.

The Jolly Mermaid

Todo puede salir mal. Incluso peor. Es probable que, más veces de las que quieren recordar, hayan acabado al borde de un camino que poco merece ese nombre, o en un pequeño claro del bosque, o a la orilla de un río. Todos protestan. Algunos se encaran con él. Se alborotan. Se lamentan. Las botellas y petacas van pasando de mano en mano. Rezongan ante la última debacle y recuerdan en detalle todas las anteriores. Entre trago y trago lloran a los caídos y maldicen a los enemigos. Sobre todo a los que aún siguen vivos. Vivos y al acecho.
El aventurero bebe y clama al cielo, como todos ellos. Pero no les dice que en tierra desconocida no existen los caminos erróneos.
.

On the road

El aventurero tiene un corazón egoista, no sabe cuál será su próximo destino. El explorador tampoco lo sabe, pero quiere ir y volver para contarlo.

Lucy vacilaba. Visitas. Probablemente. Esa misma tarde. Arrugó la nariz. Indecisa. Mohína. Tenía que elegir, y no sólo la clase de té que iban a tomar. Apoyó la frente en el cristal de la ventana. Llovía. Siempre llovía. El glamour de los paraguas era sólo un punto de vista. Volvió a la cocina y se sentó a la mesa. Tenía zumo y galletas y tres clases de té. Era una buena tarde para tomar un té en compañía.

Cuando las fronteras se desdibujan el aventurero siente que sus instintos naufragan en un océano de indeterminación. Porque las decisiones que en lugares exóticos sorteaban peligros, en esta confortable realidad podían ponerle la soga al cuello.

Lucy parpadeó ante la realidad de las tres latas de té sobre la mesa, casi esperando que una de ellas se hubiera elegido sola. Pero no. Seguían allí. Alineadas. Suspiró. Con gesto distraído guardó las latas de té y las galletas en la alacena, el zumo en la nevera. La tensión entorpecía su cuerpo al ponerse la chaqueta. El paraguas le pesó en las manos. Instantes después abandonó la casa. Los hombros caídos. El paso elástico.
.

On the road

.
Días y días lloviendo. No torrencialmente. No apocalípticamente. Pero constantemente. Lucy despertó y se estiró con pereza. Después echó una mirada escéptica a la ventana. En efecto, seguía lloviendo. El cielo gris. La niebla espesa. Su humor también.

Está en la naturaleza humana. El ansia de conquistar; tierras, pensamientos. De poseer; cosas, seres. Galaxias lejanas y sueños cercanos. Sin embargo, los lugares conocidos pronto dejan de ser interesantes para el explorador. Presto para empacar y partir en una nueva expedición. Cuando le asalta la comezón , cuando bailes y salones se han convertido en un hábito, se siente confuso. Incapaz de guardar las distancias, vive la selva y la ciudad a la vez.
Las familiares calles de repente territorio ignoto. Lucy suspiró cansada. ¡Tanta lluvia!

On the road

Lucy subió por Spring Head Road y en el cruce con Rhode Lane torció a la
derecha. Los pasos sobre la acera, tanteando la hierba en el borde, dejándose seducir. El extraño sol de abril le hacía creer que realmente estaba allí. Las disonancias marcan la realidad. Un ukelele rompía el aire. Imposibles aires hawaianos en una tierra de resonancias normandas.
Un coche cruzó veloz. Lucy eligió mirar las ovejas. Acodarse en la verja. Encender un cigarrillo. Zapatillas rosas. Cuando todo es igual y distinto a la vez. Cuando tu propia vida se mueve al ritmo de una orquesta onírica. Bailando con fantasmas. Fragantes rosas en el cementerio. Mármoles desgastados. Lucy susurraba al oído de los muertos. Quiero jugar. Quiero entrar. Invítame.
.

Exploring a new land

No se llamaba Lucy. Ese nombre ni siquiera existía en su idioma. Los caminos desconocidos en los que adentrarse con un arma en una mano y en la otra un regalo. Un collar para aplacar a los aborígenes, un puñal para enfrentarlos. Una expedición sólo para audaces.
del fetiche son inescrutables. Continentes
Lucy despertó una mañana y supo que había llegado el momento.