The Woman in Valencia by Annie Perreault (book recommendations website txt) 📗

She kisses him quickly—¡ Hasta pronto !—and starts running. After a few steps, she turns to wave at him, and his face lights up with a huge smile. He finds her beautiful—and fast.

She runs in a straight line, past marshlands and dense thickets swarming with insects and shadows; she can hear rustling in the grass, birds chirping in the underbrush. Nature has a soothing effect on her. She realizes she’s starting to get sick of this Manuel guy who’s clinging to her constantly like a desperate man. The odd car drives by; between each one, she has the road to herself. She lets the scenery wash over her: the smell of the flowers, the sounds of the insects, the suffocating heat of the fading day.

At one point, the bus overtakes her. She raises a hand to Manuel, even though she can’t make him out; she knows he’s inside, among the faces looking out the window. She pumps her arms harder, partly to speed up, partly to show off. He’ll wait for her next to the dock. She likes the thought of being alone on this quiet road.

The distance from the big city, the traffic, the crowds of people finally give her a sense of space, some momentum. The untamed landscape is a perfect reflection of her state of mind, of her heart, beating quicker in the late-afternoon humidity, temples pounding, scalp tingling, mind wandering, focused on the physical effort.

She pushes her earbuds back in, turns up the volume.

And I’m falling, and I’m falling, and I’m falling

I am free, I am free, I am free

And I’m falling, and I’m falling

I am free and I’m falling

By the time she meets up with Manuel on the dock, it’s too late. The sky is turning an ever-deepening shade of red. Men are busy stowing away the rowboats. They’ve missed the last departure. Manuel is disappointed; he sulks while Claire sits on the edge of the dock, chest heaving, heart pounding, legs dangling, face streaming with sweat, gazing at the distant point on the horizon where the sun will soon disappear from sight.

*

They take the bus back to the apartment, saying little. Manuel is still annoyed they missed out on the rowboat ride, and Claire tells him again that she really doesn’t care, that the sunset was just as spectacular from the dock. The tension eases slightly as they sit down to eat the chicken and rice. They tuck in on the balcony, in the glow of the candles Manuel has lit. Claire compliments him on the meal, on his choice of wine. For dessert, she settles herself in his lap. He lifts her skirt and slips off her panties.

Down below, the beach is cloaked in darkness. Off to the left, a giant screen is showing an animated movie. Families have come out in droves, setting up chairs and beach mats on the sand. Speakers emit a cacophony of explosions and ear-splitting car chases, followed by chirpy tunes. The background noise drowns out their moaning as Claire, straddling Manuel’s hips, rubs herself up against him, slides him slowly inside her with a tilt of her hips, hands gripping the metal chair for support.

They make their way to the bed. For their last night together, they have no intention of sleeping. They’ll spend it exploring each others’ bodies, again and again, allowing themselves a few moments’ rest, curled up together in a numb half-sleep.

*

Claire gets dressed, steps out onto the balcony. She gazes at the sky, almost as black as oil, the waves and the spume, the wet sand. After a while, Manuel joins her. An expanse of pale thigh slips between two balusters as Manuel buries his nose in her neck, inhales. Claire shivers. She looks down. Six floors. Ceramic tiles, illuminated by the fluorescent light in the lobby, like bright, shiny candies at her feet. She clings to the railing. Her upper body leans over it, tipped forward by Manuel, who wraps his arms around her. He’s rubbing himself between her legs, back and forth, like a knife on a whetting stone. Claire bends forward slightly at the hips, and her head starts to swim. She can’t feel her legs anymore, the attraction of the void is making her dizzy, and all the while Manuel keeps thrusting.

KILOMETRE 40

… I’m running, running, running, everything is starting to sound muffled, and my mouth is so dry, I’m dying for a drink, my thoughts are becoming tangled, like they’re stuck to fly paper, everything feels gelatinous, like I’m running through cotton, dazzling white, I keep moving forward, a blind gust of air, a moulted skin on the pavement, I’m shedding the thing that’s weighing me down, leaving behind everything that’s holding me back, running, running, running, I take a deep breath, surge forward, kneecaps on fire, with each step I drag myself forward, a warm space opens up before me…

LEAVING VALENCIA

The sea at dawn is calm. Like metal, smooth and gleaming, Claire thinks, casting one last look at the horizon in El Perelló. Manuel, his expression serious, loads Claire’s suitcase into his car. They drive in silence, then have a farewell coffee together on the patio at the train station restaurant.

At the last minute, he adjusts his glasses, presses his cheek against Claire’s and takes a photo of the two of them. Claire gives him a quick peck on the lips. Then she pushes through the turnstile and walks toward the platform without looking back. She boards the train. Her phone vibrates. It’s Manuel. He will have found the tote bag on the floor of the backseat of his Mercedes.

Claire stands on tiptoe to stow her rolling suitcase in the overhead rack, slips into the window seat, leans her head back on the headrest. She glances at the dozens of tracks lined up in rows on the other