Chapter 9 - Forever: Here and Now

Chapter 9 -   Forever: Here and Now


Let me not to the marriage of true minds
 Admit impediments. Love is not love

 Which alters when it alteration finds,
 Or bends with the remover to remove:

 O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
 That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

 It is the star to every wandering bark,
 Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

 Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
 Within his bending sickle's compass come:

 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
 But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

 If this be error and upon me proved,
 I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Shakespeare
(Sonnet 116) 
                              . . . .

..::She is not any common earth
     Water or wood or air,
   But Merlin's Isle of Gramarye
     Where you and I will fare::..

                               . . . .

..::The empire of love is open,
    The fable starts to unfold:..

Novalis
                                . . . .



The next morning when Emlyn awoke -- at last; she remembered the dream.
   It was THE Dream she recalled; not of the night previous, but of the night before they'd left for this mystery village in the hills.

The dream, yes...of Merlin telling her that she and Daryl had been
granted a boon, it seemed; a chance for them all to be together --
she and Daryl, Josephina and Diego, and Anara and Merlin. All their past and future selves, rolled into one, in this time and, in this place, as well? Perhaps so.

This place, then... Emlyn glanced about her small but neat room. The
walls must have surely been thick to have insulated her tolerably well from the joyful noise below. She had slept deeply.

And what of the 'chance' meeting with Mr. Orez here?

  That had to be the strangest occurrence yet. Although, she had to
admit...all here seemed to have the suspicious tang of Otherworldliness about it.

  Oh, finding a Portuguese settlement about was not so out of the
ordinary, true. However, was it not interesting how, after their
accidental meeting at the forge with the smith, he & company had later turned up at the inn? Perhaps.
  And, after finding the antique shop closed, they had also run into the shop's owner here at the inn as well? Peculiar. Maybe.
  Not to mention Mr. Orez, also at the inn. Decidedly odd.

Was Daryl awake as yet? Emlyn wondered. Oh, bugger this 'novia' business!
She was not about to skulk around a bunch of Catholics just so their
feathers wouldn't ruffle at a hint of impropriety.
    "'It's a bawdy planet!"' Em declared, quoting Shakespeare, as she threw off the bedclothes and stretched.
    She went to the window: more fog.

    Perfect for 'skulking'...



                               

 

                               . . . .

Emlyn, now dressed for action, rapped quietly upon Daryl's door.
   Softly now: 'Diego? Are you up?'
   She glanced about the hallway. Nada. She tried the doorknob, opened it and slipped inside.

Daryl lay sleeping with the bedclothes wrapped about his legs, barely covering his rump. Alas, Em thought; nice rump, that.
  Luckily, his torso was bare, still, and Em stood over him, observing closely.
  -- Those scars. She knew now, whence had come those particular scars. Odd, she had just dressed them with aloe, fresh then, only days ago and a World away.

Healed now, these scars remained as Daryl's constant reminders: light streaks and circles, (burns? Em wondered. Dam the bloody Buzzard!); his body was not much changed from his younger-Diego-self. Still sun-baked brown and hard enough. Daryl was no idler, and remained in good shape;
for all his feasting and drinking, he never overdid. -- Much...
    He never stayed still long, Diego. Like the whirlwind...

Em gently sat beside him upon the narrow bed. He truly did not look so different from the Diego she had known. His long, dark hair, now streaked with silver strands here and there, and along his temples...
   She reached over to softly brush the dark curls from his cheek.

  A hand grabbed her wrist and held tightly.
  Daryl opened his eyes.

'--CARA!...mia...' Daryl cried, with a heave upwards. Groaning, he
dropped her hand and fell back on the pillow, rubbing his eyes. 'Sooo bright...'
   Ah, yes. Last night. One of those times he had 'overdone it',
somewhat.
  'Buenos dias, Diego.' Josephina had him now.

Daryl/Diego merely groaned. He pulled the sheet about himself and rolled over, head in pillow. 'Make bad light go away...' he mumbled.
   'It is overcast, Diego. Fog. Won't be any darker until night time.'
   'Wake me then.' Daryl put the pillow over his head.

'Alright...' Emlyn/Josephina took a corner of the sheet and slipped
underneath, scootching up against Daryl/Diego. She sighed. 'This is
cosy.'

'Yee-ah!' Daryl moved up onto his elbows and surveyed the scene. 'You, you cannot do this, here, now! Em, Josephina!'


                            

' Ohh...' He put a hand to his head. 'Water...' He felt about the floor and found a cup, drank thirstily.
   'We could order in!' Em snuggled down. '-- Room-service! Oh, I recall now! The sopa is still in the carriage keeping cold! I would love some for an early lunch. I'm sure we could have it heated in the kitchen.'

What was the woman doing? Daryl could barely think after last night. His head felt like rocks rattled about inside. His stomach felt a bit lurchy.
   'Tea, I think, first...' He managed one useful thought. Then gave up and lay back down.
   'Daryl, all this sneaking about is ridiculous, really,' Emlyn ran a finger along his arm. 'It has been nothing but interruptions and crowds of folk, and no time to simply rest and, relax together...'


                             

Daryl took her hand, kissed it. 'Yes. I know.' He sighed. 'I had hoped for a nice drive, maybe stopping in a little grove for a picnic along the way...but fog...'
  
'I don't care, Diego.' Josephina asserted herself, weary of battling
Catholicism. A hold-over from their Cathar days, perhaps.

 'I don't care what others think!'
   (We battled sorcerers and madmen and banditos to cave in to the wishes of hidebound small town gossips, she wondered?)

   'I, I think we ought. Sometimes, cara. Manners, custom...it oils the gears of our civilization.' Daryl eased himself up beside her, put an arm about her shoulders.
   'Greases the wheels of business...' Emlyn groused.
   Daryl kissed her hair. 'Yes. That, too,' he admitted. 'We will be
home, soon enough, yes? Oh, blast it...what's the time?' He groped for his pocket watch upon the table, sighed. 'I suppose we must rouse. Just an hour until we meet Silva.'

'Fine.' Em got out of bed, smoothing her skirts. 'I will order tea, and meet you downstairs, then?'
   Daryl/Diego leaned over, catching her hand. 'Don't be cross,
querida... I shall make it up to you later. We will make time to be alone together, at last, sim?' He kissed her hand. 'I promise.'

As Emlyn shut the door and made her way down the steps, she made a
promise as well; she promised herself she would see Daryl make good on his promise.

                               . . . .

Daryl was still buttoning his vest as he slowly headed downstairs, trying to kick his mind into gear.
   It wasn't easy...gods, what with the Malmsey, Colheita, and what-all, it was a miracle he was ambulatory at this hour. But, he hoped it had been worth it...

   He knew it had all been rather a sort of initiation and 'hazing'...the locals testing the newcomers and city-folk, to see what stuff they were  made of, and if they rated their trust and business.
   By the aching in his head, he had certainly given his all.

He stopped a moment on the landing, surveying the dining hall below. He spotted Emlyn seated at a booth with Manuel. They both appeared to be enjoying her beloved sopa, with bread. And tea, thanks gods. A start.
  The two of them seemed awfully chipper. More than anyone had a right to be on such a fog-benighted day. 
 

   They did indeed seem bright of eye and bushy of brain this morning...
How did she do it? The little vixen had seemed to be imbibing right along with the rest. She had a way of sipping slow, though. Little Zorrita...

...And the way she had simply slipped into his bed beneath the sheet this morning!
   He caught himself thinking of Emlyn as his novia, in truth. And, why not? They wouldn't be sneaking about then, would they, as husband and wife? It wasn't such a mad idea, was it?

   Best wait until after breakfast for such discussions.
   He may order coffee as well. And perhaps a pair of tinted glasses
whilst he was at it...in rose?
          
                           . . . .

He eased downstairs, feeling that something else was on his mind,
niggling away at him, if only he could remember...
    As he gained the booth where Emlyn and Manuel sat, he suddenly
recalled:
  'That dream! I had a dream!'

Emlyn studied Daryl, hovering above them like an unstable, rather weighty balloon. She feared he was nearly sleepwalking.
   'Indeed, Diego? Do take a seat...'


                            

  Daryl signaled a waiter and ordered coffee, fruit and toast.
   'I'll be at the smith's,' Manuel informed them, as he slid from the booth. 'Galahad has a loose shoe, I found. Won't take long, they tell me,'
   They made plans to all meet later for luncheon at the restaurant.
   'More sopa, to take home,' Em smiled.


Daryl was quiet, strangely. He drank his tea in great gulps, then began on the coffee. Peeling a mandarin, he stared at it, frowning at seemingly nothing.
  'Are you thinking of the dream you had?' Em knew that had to be it.

He sighed, and regarded her. 'Yes.' He looked at his fruit, sectioned it.
'I met with Anara. On the strand...'
    Em bit her lip. 'I know. I, also, had the dream.  I met and spoke with Merlyn.'

They looked at one another quietly for a while.
   Then, Emlyn reached over and took Daryl's hand. 'Here and now, is what is most important. That was their message, I believe.'

Daryl sighed again. 'You're right. That was it, in a nutshell.' Was he ready for this? Was she?
   'Yes.' Emlyn whispered, squeezing his hand.
   'Yes, what, cara?' He was still unsure.

   'Yes, I believe that the Here and Now, IS indeed, the most important thing, for us both.' She regarded him, Daryl. He wasn't having doubts, was he?
   He smiled a little, and took her hand in both of his, kissed it.
'Good. I believe so as well.'

The waiter arrived with more bread and toast and tea. 'Is there a bakery in town?' Em inquired. 'I would love to take home some of this wonderful bread!'
   Taking down the address, Emlyn finished her tea. 'Is it time yet?'

'Nearly so,' Daryl studied his watch. 'I'm beginning to gather my
wandering wits somewhat.' He poured more coffee from the carafe. 'I have a feeling I shall have to be on the alert around Sebastiao.' He looked at Em. 'If only to keep him from stealing my novia...'
   
'There is NO chance of that, I assure you, Diego.' Emlyn was rather
warming to the 'novia' thing. As long as it didn't interfere with her cosying up to Diego whenever she wished. Or any of her other plans.

'We will talk later,' Daryl insisted, gray gaze narrowing. Eyes the color of fog outside.
  One could become lost in both.

Em had heard that mythical 'later' before, though. They bundled into
their coats and headed out into the color-drained world of swirling
mists.
   ...Somewhat like that of a waking Dream...


                            

                                 . . . .

Sebastiao opened the shop door as soon as they arrived. 'Welcome! Enter!I give you leave to come, and to go, from Luis Vaz de Camões...,' He bent in a sweeping bow, beckoning them within.
   An odd sort of greeting, Emlyn mused, yet could not help but be
entertained by Sebastiao's fulsome gestures.

Daryl and Em gazed about them, the shop serene in semi-darkness, still.
Only the gray fog-light from the cool morning sky shone within. 'A moment only! Pardonne...' 
  Sebastiao reached behind Emlyn's shoulder, and punched the electric light switch, hesitating just a moment too long, in order to brush her shoulders in a half-hug.

Instantly, scintillating radiance sprang to life about the shop, and a new world was born.
   'Oh, my!' Emlyn breathed, as she gazed about her. Rather than a jumble of shapes, the shop resolved itself into various scenarios designed to intrigue the customer; crystal prisms and chandeliers were placed to catch and reflect the light so even the darkest corners sparkled.

Emlyn and Daryl wandered, entranced. Daryl ran a light finger along the groupings of captain's, fanback, farthingale, rocking and wing chairs, cathedras, dos-a-dos, and fauteuils, muttering to himself.
   Em also noted some fine specimens even she could name, 'Carver, Dante, Savonarola...'
  'Methuselah...' Daryl teased her.
  'Surely not quite that ancient...' Em whispered, amused.

                                

 

Cunning small nooks had grouped within: themes of sorts. Here, nautical, there, musical... Em weaved her way slowly amongst the assorted oddities and effects. One could become lost in these archaic pocket-worlds...
   'So, what do you think of my little shop, Josephina...?'
 -- Sebastiao's voice a throaty purr at her ear.
   'It is enchanting, Sebastiao! Oh, I could spend hours here, just
gazing at it all!' Em feared she just might.


'Excellent!' Sebastiao went behind the richly carved counter of rosewood  which appeared to have been a jeweler's case. Emlyn began studying the glorious antique jewelry displayed...bibelot, aigrette, diadems, carcanet, brooches, rings and, Em's favorite, cameos...

The dealer reappeared with a silver tray bearing a coffee service with demitasse cups and a dish of almond biscuits.


                             

 

 

   'Coffee, perhaps?' He inquired, as he poured.
   'It smells divine...' Emlyn joined the pirate pilot's descendant and Daryl at the counter's end.
   'Most appreciated,' Daryl nodded, as he gratefully grasped two cups of the strong espresso, adding a touch of creme to their drinks. He handed one to Emlyn; their hands touched. They lingered.

'Salud!' -- from Sebastiao.
   All drank a toast, and he then rejoined them round the counter. 'My kingdom,' he waved a hand, 'is at your service! Do feel free to
browse...'

At that moment, a man appeared from a door in back of the shop. Emlyn was still bemused by jewelry, when glancing up, she beheld Alejandro Orez standing across from her, regarding her darkly. She had opened her mouth in surprise, when Sebastiao 'introduced' them:
   'Ah! Diego, Josephina -- I would like you to meet Raimundo. He is my sometimes-partner, and eternal enigma. A world traveler, he has contacts in all ports.'

Daryl/Diego shook 'Raimundo's' hand and introduced Emlyn/Josephina,
  '--Your novia,' Alejandro/Raimundo finished for him. 'Yes. I was at the inn last evening when we toasted your engagement.' He eyed Daryl narrowly, eyes like turbulent black pools.

   'Ah, excuse us one moment, por favor?' Sebastiao addressed the 'happy couple', 'Just a small bit of business to wrap up. Do explore my oasis!'
He and Raimundo then repaired to the small office in back, leaving the door open.

'-- To keep watch...' Daryl smiled his half-smile, as he took Em's arm and directed them out of earshot yet within sight of the two antiques dealers. 'We shall stay where Sebastiao may still see us. A courtesy.' He noted Em's sudden quiescence. 'Alright, cara?'
   She feared she may betray her unease. 'Ah, yes. Just, too much coffee, perhaps. I...'

At that moment, the shop door opened admitting a swirl of lace and
perfume surrounding a lady tasselated and festooned far beyond the
quotidian norm.
  'Ola!' She sang out in soprano, as she plunged down the aisle toward them, a lavender ship in full sail, trailing a wake of Worth.

  'Bon jour! Good morning! Como cava? And, where is that old pirate,
Sebastiao, now? Oh! Coffee! Tres' bien!' And off she scuttled to the
coffee pot, leaving Em and Daryl stunned as a port town hit by hurricane.
  'I see you, Sebastiao! No use hiding!' She bent her dark head bearing a lavender hat,( or chapeau, as she would say), with a wreath-size ring of silk flowers, so to address the hapless men huddled in the office.  
  'It is only I, do go on with your business...you are out of espresso, by the way...'

Humming to herself, cup in hand, she browsed her way back to the Happy Couple's side.
  'Ah, do forgive!' She held a hand out to Daryl, 'I am Angelique
Delancy, proprietress of Delancy Coffee and Teas. You must visit my
petite establishment soon, non?'

  Daryl obligingly took the women's gloved hand (lavender, of course), and bowed slightly. 'Very good to meet you, Madame Delancy. Diego Rivera, at your service, and this is my --'
  '--Your novia, of course!' Angelique smiled a Cheshire Cat smile at Em.
'Oh, word has gotten about town. Josephina, is it not?'

'Josephina Page, oui, Madame.' Em could hardly get a word in, but felt she must give it an attempt at least, or drown in a raging torrent.

  'Ah, Josephine...Napoleon's true nemesis!' Madame Delancy sounded as though she had known them both well.

                                   

'He loved her above all else, you know! Well, enough of that old despot!' She exchanged Daryl's hand for Emlyn's.   'And when is the happy day to be, cherie? You have set a date, oui?' Her eyebrows arched accusingly toward Daryl.
  'Eh, not as such...' Daryl squirmed.

Madame Delany tossed a lavender hanky about, dismissively. She took Em's arm and strolled the aisle with her, leaving Daryl to stew and his mind to flutter.
  'You WILL come visit my shop, cherie...the absolute best chocolates! Fresh truffles daily!'
  'I adore truffles.' True enough, Em thought. Perhaps she would stop by.
'Madame, are you familiar with the bakery? I have the address...I must take some of the wonderful breads here back home to the City with me.'

'Ah! Naturalement! But it is just kitten-corner to my shop!' Angelique patted Em's arm. 'To which, I must soon return...' she sighed. 'If you are not busy, I could show you the way now, perhaps?' Her eyes went to
Diego, in question.
   Emlyn made it clear she was indeed a free agent: 'No, I have some free time. Just let me give Diego the address, and we'll be off...'
  'I will meet you outside then! Don't be lo-oong!' Away breezed
Hurricane Angelique.

'Diego, I believe I shall go with Madame Delancy now, if you don't mind. Her shop is near the bakery...' Emlyn handed him the address.
   'Yes, that's fine,' Daryl silently praised Em's mind-reading powers. 'I think that, ah, business might proceed apace sans that good lady's presence. Like Jupiter, her gravity engulfs all near and unwary...'

 He took her hand and pressed a light kiss farewell. 'We will meet up soon. Unfinished business.' His eyes bespoke assurance.
   Emlyn was not yet so assured. 'I hope so. I shall be in need of
rescue, Diego. Do not fail me!' She smiled as she turned away, and
proceeded down the sidewalks, arm-in-arm with the maundering, voluble, garrulous, loquacious and lavender lady.

                              . . . .

Emlyn sat at the dark mahogany counter, sipping a fine cup of Russian Caravan, whilst Angelique shared 'tastes' of her varied and sumptuous sweets.


                                              

 

 

   'A chilie truffle. Fresh this morning! Do try...it is a firm favorite in these parts amongst the Latin populace. I have developed rather a craving for it myself, I must admit...' Madame popped one between her rather lavender lips.

Emlyn joined her, letting the mouthful of rich dark chocolate melt upon her warm tongue...it was soon warmed further by fiery hints of chilie powder lightly dusted within the truffle. Em's eyes lit up.
  'It is bon, non?' Angelique nodded. 'And this...with violet and
lavender...magnifique!' She pushed a new truffle with her long nail
across the plate, taking one for herself.




Em complied without complaint. Being stuffed with truffles, gratis, was never a hardship for her.



                             

 

At least when eating, she noticed, Madame's mouth was busy and the air was given a chance to clear.
   Perhaps she might be persuaded to put her incessant chatter to
practical use...
  'You seem well acquainted with Mr. Silva,' she began.

'Oh, mais oui, cher...his shop was here even before mine. We have become very close friends over the years, indeed.' Her gimlet gaze locked onto Em's. It seemed to say, 'So back off, sister!'; quite unnecessarily.   
Emlyn had absolutely no interest in the handsome, brash and arrogant
pirate dealer.
  '...And, his partner, Raimundo...do you know him well, also?' Emlyn's kept her tone flat and casual.

'Umm, non.' Madame seemed uninterested. No doubt due to that gentleman's disinterest. 'He is an odd one. Brazilian, I believe. He comes and goes.'
   Ah-hah, thought Em. 'But he does visit the shop often, then?'
  'I suppose...he has had dealings with Sebastiao for the past few years now. But, enough of them!' She leaned a dimpled chin upon her hand. 'I wish to hear all about your wedding plans!'

Oh, dear. What, now? Emlyn was thinking it would be a propitious time for Daryl to show up. Cavalry, to the rescue!
   Her hesitation showed, alas.

'Do not tell me, you have none? But how soon is the wedding, cherie?'
Madame was suitably aghast.
   'I, we, ah...have not yet, decided,' Emlyn faltered.

Madame surveyed the singular lack of adornment about Emlyn's naked left hand. 'I see.' She did.
   'It isn't what you are thinking...' Em rushed to defend Daryl. 'It, ah, well, it is rather sudden. Although we have known one another for years now...(Em shocked herself to admit that this was now so), we just spoke of our, engagement, only days ago...' she finished lamely.

Angelique eyed Emlyn with a sympathetic yet steely gaze. 'You MUST have a ring, cherie! Non, non -- you will insist! I will insist!
  'Oh, there are some beauteous old antique rings in Sebastiao's shop!'
Madame fluttered bejeweled fingers in illustration. 'I have first
selection, naturalement, but what is there now, can hardly be called tailings! Ah, non, non...you must pin your Diego down to a date, ma petite!' She patted Em's naked and wanting left hand.
   Suddenly, Madame's gaze went to the shop door, which tinkled.
'Ah, speak of el diablo...'

Oh, diosa be thanked! Saved by the bell, Emlyn relaxed...it was Daryl, not a moment too soon!
   'Are we ready? We are meeting Manuel for lunch, remember.' Daryl
sketched a bow to the prattling proprietress, 'Madame.'

 'Yes! Diego, I am quite stuffed with truffles and could use a short
walk.' She turned to Angelique. 'Do wrap up some to take with us, please? Perhaps one of each, Madame?'

Promising to stop by before they left town; at last, Daryl and Emlyn
burst out of her shop door like a pair of proverbial bats loosed from Hades.

   'I've a feeling you've earned your truffles...' Daryl grinned, happy to have escaped so readily.
   'Madonna...' Em inhaled. 'It is good to breathe fresh air! Still
rather foggy about, though. I was hoping it would have cleared by now.'
She fell into step with her supposed partner.
   'Well? How did the wheeling and dealing go at Camoes'?'

Daryl was smiling, so she had an idea he was somehow pleased. 'Well
enough! I am having Manuel pick up some pieces later, to bring home with us, for sale. Should make a handsome profit, I believe. Nothing too big, of course...Galahad has enough to pull, just packing us along. The coach is primarily balsa wood wherever it can be used, so it is more lightweight than most its size. Naturally, the floor and roof are well-oiled and insulated...' Daryl was rambling.

   Em found she was beginning to crave a space of solitude.
  'But, his partner, Raimundo...' Daryl seemed pensive.
  'Yes?' He had Em's attention now.

   'Yes. He is an odd sort. Rather reserved. He is the one I wished to find here. St. John mentioned the man has contacts in Brazil, Iberia, and beyond.' Daryl paused. 'However, he has been less than forthcoming. Perhaps once we are better acquainted... Ah, well. I am starving, how about you?'

   Daryl obviously hadn't been truffle-stuffed like a Sunday pig. She thought she detected a whiff of liqueur and coffee mix about him, however.
   Emlyn wondered about his meeting with 'Raimundo'. She was not so sure how chummy she wished Daryl to become with her ex's best friend...
   Perhaps it was time for a bit of disclosure on her part.

                         . . . .


Manuel had left to fetch the items from Camoes' whilst Daryl and Emlyn lingered over a late lunch. Only two other tables were occupied some distance from them, and the couple naturally fell into talking rather candidly now they had some relative privacy.

                        

'I...just think, Josephina, that since our, travels, south of the
border...' Daryl tore bits of bread as he talked, nervously, 'where we, became, you know, very well acquainted. Quite close. And, ah,
intimate...'
   His eyes glanced up at hers, then quickly down. He sighed, frustrated.
'Cara mia, we really cannot pretend otherwise...'

   'I don't intend to,' Emlyn answered, calmly.
   'Ah, well, no -- I don't intend to, either!' His brow furrowed, his gaze pleaded for her to help him make this easier. (She wasn't about to.)

   'Well.' He knew he had to say something, and not just dither so. 'I think that, it would be, the next step, don't you think?'
   'What would, Diego?'
   'Well, that we should...make it official, of course.' There. It was said.
   'Ah. For propriety's sake?' Em wanted rather something more from a proposal than begging the approval of strangers.
  

Dam the woman... Daryl didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Well, when words failed...
   Luckily, he knew what to do. He hoped...

Swallowing nervously, Daryl twitched his trouser legs about his knees and knelt before Emlyn.
   Reaching into a pocket, he produced a black velvet box. He opened it.

Inside nestled a jewel to stop traffic...


                             

                     
    A large emerald set in etched white gold, surrounded by small
diamonds.
   'I, I know it's not a proper engagement ring, being an emerald...but if you don't like it, we shall find another, more what you would --'
   '-- Oh, Diego...' Josephina was stunned. 'It is so beautiful! I would want no other! Oh, I hope it fits...'
   '-- Is that a 'yes', then?' Diego asked.

   'I'm sorry, Diego. What was the question?' Emlyn would not help any more than she absolutely had to. Unless a sharp kick might assist...

By now, they had the undivided attention of the other two tables, as well as the entire wait-staff and all the cooks.
  'The lady wishes a proposal...!' A matron seated with her husband
offered assistance at that point.
  'Me, I would have asked by now!' The man chuckled, waving a finger at Diego.

'Obrigato,' Diego nodded to them both, then turned back to Josephina.
'Josephina Page, I, Diego Rivera, offer myself as your life partner, if you will have me. Josephina, cara, will you marry me?'

Josephina was tempted to delay, but Emlyn, thankfully compassionate,  answered:
  'Yes, Diego, I will marry you.'

'Cara...' Diego took Josephina's hand, and gently slid the ring upon her left hand, no longer naked and bereft.
   'It is a perfect fit,' she vowed.

Diego heaved a sigh of relief, and kissed her hand. Then he whispered, '...help me up...?'
   Emlyn clasped her hands about his, and stood, discretely hauling Daryl to his feet and they embraced and kissed -- a real kiss; as the host of onlookers applauded and cheered their congratulations.

'Only here and now, Josephina...always.' Diego promised.
'Here and now, Diego,' she agreed.


                           

                                 . . . .
Van Morrison: These Are the Days
These Are the Days - Van Morrison

Chapter 8 - Cidade de Mistério

Chapter 8  -  Cidade de Mistério


..::San Francisco Bay then was filled with abandoned ships of
all kinds. Their crews and officers were in the gold fields
seeking instant wealth.
   Ship shortages were talked about even as far away as Horta,
Faial which had sons already in the gold fields.
   The letter is dated October 11, 1849 and is information
coming from a trade merchant:

 'California emigration mania.' The question is beginning
to pass from mouth to mouth, 'what is to become of all the
vessels sent to San Francisco?'
      Of course the old ones will lay their bones there, or on
the way thither, but so many new ones have gone that there must
be a time when they will all return or at least a large
proportion; what then will become of ship-owners and ship-
builders, who are now reaping a golden harvest?'::..

                             . . . .

This jingle was popular on the docks of New Bedford,
Massachusetts:
 Who jumps ship may go to prison
 But all the gold he gits is hisn

                             . . . .   

..::Hephaestus (Latin: Vulcan) was the blacksmith of the gods in
Greek and Roman mythology. A supremely skilled artisan whose
forge was a volcano, he constructed most of the weapons of the
gods, as well as beautiful assistants for his smithy and a metal
fishing-net of astonishing intricacy. He was the god of
metalworking, fire, and craftsmen::..

                             . . . .

"Love is a fire that burns unseen..."
Canto
Luís Vaz de Camões
(Portugal, 1524/5–1580)


                         

                          
                            . . . .


A soft bell chimed the hour.
  Midnight had just sounded, the last note fading into silence.
A beginning befitting a story by Poe. Late enough to be early; and the Solstice was passing...long days of dark had ended. Light would soon return. Less time for dreaming.

What had awoken Daryl, he wasn't quite sure, although twelve
chimes could have been a factor.
  Amazed, he found himself on the sofa still; Emlyn lay beside
him, dreaming. It seemed all so very cosy and familiar, and yet
rather a shock all the same...

Too tired to fret about any of it, Daryl was merely happy he'd
invested in customizing an antique sofa into a wide, soft and comfortable enough couch. 

   Although antiques, like music of classical composers, were
one of Daryl's passions, he cared not for the hard, uncomfortable,  rather prissy furniture so often paraded as fashionable throughout ages past. In furniture, if it wasn't comfortable and practical, it was all just so much dross to him. Art was for hanging on the walls.


'"Sleep, silent angel..."' he whispered to Em's drowsing ear, as
he gently retrieved a plaid woolen blanket from in back of the
sofa, and, carefully situating himself at the other end, covered
them both, and went back to sleep.
    Let the morning take care of itself then. It was still
midwinter, and the soft night remained for dreaming...

                   . . . . .

They dreamed of fog...
    Or mist, or so it seemed.

Emlyn was not in the City, though. Although by the water's edge,
this place carried not the tang of salt air and sea creatures.
It seemed somehow more, and also less.
  Less tangible, less real, and more nebulous and shifting.

Walking down the strand, she could hear waves breaking out to sea. She could vaguely discern a pale sun shining behind the fog cover, casting a flat grey sort of light along the beach. Unreal. Somehow shimmering...
     Soon enough, a figure came to view, as the mists parted.
The tall, dark form of a man. Unreal; yet not unknown.

Emlyn stopped in her tracks. It was Merlin.  Merlin, her
beloved, her other half.
   But, what else was he?

                            

 Was he also young Diego, and therefore Daryl,  as Deigo now grown?
   She gazed in wonder, watching as he strode to her. He smiled,
a gentle quirk of the lips, as he came to stand before her.
    'Emlyn,' he took her hands. 'How fare you?'

Em hardly knew anymore.
   She looked up at Merlin and seemed to see his features shift;
now seeming a young Diego,  then morphing into an older Daryl,
hair slightly greying at temples, bearing a still youthful, but
careworn countenance.
   This odd sight soon resolved into one man; Merlin, her knight, who seemed somewhere betwixt and between; perhaps not much beyond her own age, he seemed thirty-ish perhaps.

'Why?' Emlyn asked. 'Why could I never see You before, in him?'

'You know me now. Or one of me,' Merlin answered. A wizard's
answer, full of riddles.


    'We all are manifestations of the Universe, split into
different forms, to explore itself. Our Oversouls are thus also
split into many people, or lifetimes, as you would see it,
although Time holds no tyranny in my world. All happens
simultaneously, although from your perspective, you can but
perceive one lifetime, at a time.'

Emlyn could somewhat gather this enigma into a semblance of
reason, but the particulars eluded her. She would ponder all
this another Time.
  'Yes? And, what of Daryl? Is he also part of You, then?'
  'He is.' Merlin's soft gaze bore into her soul.

                            

'And I,' Em endeavored to comprehend, 'I am also part of you?'
   Merlin gathered her into his arms. 'You are. As we all are
part of one another, and the whole of creation.'

Emlyn gratefully sank into his close embrace which was like
melting into a warm pool of silk. 
    Nothing mattered, all was as it should be, there was nothing to figure out, nothing to beat one's head against, trying to fit it perfectly into the box labeled 'Reason'.
   All that: belonged to the world of tyranny where Time ruled
supreme.
   Emlyn did not wish to rejoin that world...


'Listen to me, my heart,' Merlin held her a little apart, earnestly viewing her features. 'I have come to reassure you. Do not fear what you feel within, what the heart knows as truth.
   'We decided, your sister, Anara, and myself, that it would be
granted unto you and Daryl both, a place together beyond Time's
iron grasp, where Chronos would be banished, and age, as you know it, would not factor in.
   'You both so longed for true love; to find what you knew
Elsewhere.  We could not deny what your hearts so earnestly
craved.  What you need to go on... '

'You, and Anara, brought us together then, as Diego and
Josephina?' Emlyn asked, although she knew then that this was,
in fact, what had transpired.
     
'Yes. We felt culpable, as we had also felt the same toward you, and he. And, although our spirits are engaged in the Great Work here,
and this is our reason for being, we are still very close to you in your world.  We also think of you, and, beloved, we longed for you, as well.'


    '...And so, perhaps loving not wisely but too well,' he
smiled, 'we would meet, you and I, like this, in your Dreamtime.
 We should have realised that, being as we are so alike,
you would find yourselves caught in Dreamtime, from which you
could never fully awaken.'  Merlin sighed.


     'As much as your world spins wildly and noisily, and as
full as it is, of people, deeds and distractions; neither of you
could fully extricate yourselves from our hold upon you, once
you had come to us, Here. You both are much too aware of the
Otherworld to be entirely snared by the pull of the mundane, to
the exclusion of the Space Between.'

                           

 

 

 

Merlin took her hands in his.

'And this is how the both of you have been living: neither fully here nor there.'

'"Between,"' Em repeated. 'As in, the changing of seasons, the
Solstices.'
     Merlin nodded.  'The Veil is thin, at such Times, and others.'  He raised her hand, kissed it gently. What was he feeling? She wondered...did he not thrill with longing at her touch, as she did  now? ...She knew Someone who did.


  'Enjoy one another,' Merlin told her. Had he read her mind? Nothing in his too-familiar features betrayed anything but compassion.
  'Now is not the Time for seeking ghosts of the past, and castles in the air, let them go. All that you have, whilst on the Earth, is the Eternal Now. Live it. Be it. Embrace the Time you have. It is all too short, your day in the sun....which is as it should be.'



    'This old planet you occupy is a full schoolhouse, and cannot bear for long the wanton and wayward trample of too many heavy feet. But, while there, occupying a physical existence, you have both been given a boon not offered to many. The comfort of one another.'

     Merlin took a long finger and lifted her chin, planting a
soft kiss upon her lips. Gods, how it stung.
    'Seek us no longer, Here. You are There, now, and in one
another you will find us also. Remember, I, in thee, and thee in
me. Remember, All are One.'

Emlyn saw the mists come from the sea, and fold about them
thickly now, enveloping them in its opaque mystery. This meeting in the mists was as satisfying as fairy food to a dreamer.
   Soon Merlin faded from view and she herself seemed to exist only as mist upon the waters...



'...But if I don't build castles in the air, I don't build castles anywhere...' Was Emlyn's last thought before Morpheus overcame her.


                       

                                                                
         
                   . . . . . . .

Emlyn awoke, groggily...opening a hesitant eye, (one never knew
where, when or whom one would be upon waking); she discerned
what would appear to be a sunny day beyond the dark curtains.
   Dark as well, here in the parlor. She blinked awake, yawning,
as she sat up.
   And beheld Daryl; lying at the sofa's other end, asleep, the
plaid blanket covering them both.

She smiled a little, gazing at his recumbent form; sleep snatched years of care from him as he relaxed into Dreamtime.
   She recalled then, something she'd dreamt the night
before...she'd been walking along a beach somewhere...
   But no, it faded from her recall. She looked back at Daryl,
wondering.

He must have covered them up before falling out. She warmed to
the rare notion that he could be, given a chance, fairly
thoughtful. And he had braved lying on the sofa with her all
night, so not to awaken her, nor leave her by herself. Though a
large-ish couch, it was still rather a sacrifice of sorts for a
6-foot-something person with a comfortable bed just up the stairs.
Good on ya, Diego.


At that point, she saw Daryl open his eyes, and look upon her.
  'Buenos dias, Josephina,' he greeted her, voice hoarse, dry.
  'Buenos dias, Diego mia,' she answered, grinning.

Daryl sat up, stretching, and ran his hands through his tousled
dark curls. As he bent to and fro, she heard his bones crack.
   'Sleep well?' she asked wickedly.

Daryl looked pensive, staring at nothing. 'I did, actually.
Had a dream...' he frowned, '...rather odd. Don't recall,
now...' He yawned, slumped over the blanket.
   He blinked at the parlor windows. 'Looks to be a fair day
here in the City by the Bay.' He smiled gently, sleepily at Em.
   'How about taking a ride somewhere?'

             

               


                         . . . .


'It's a grand day out, yes?' Daryl was full of joie de vivre this
bright winter morning, as they climbed into the carriage.
   Manuel accompanied, sitting outside in the drivers seat. Rosa had begged off, planning to visit friends elsewhere. 
  Just the two of them, then, cosied together here in the coach.
All to the good...


'Didn't want to risk taking the landau, as the weather can turn
in an instant,' Daryl commented. 'Where we're heading is not far, and there are several nice inns and rest stops along the way if we're caught in inclement weather.'


Emlyn felt like a kid out on a Sunday drive. How different
things seemed now, with so much out in the open between them.
They seemed less at odds now; more simpatico.
  Like two old soldiers, who had seen action in the same war,
perhaps.
  She began to relax, hoping for bad weather...a cosy old inn overnight could be a favorable neutral zone. Time for a parlay.
At the least...


'You've a destination in mind, then?' She knew he always had
something simmering on his back brain.
  'I do.' He raised an eyebrow, and managed that crooked grin at the same time. 'It is a small town just inland and south of here. Many
Portuguese settled there. They even host bullfights.'

'Truly, Diego?' Em was mildly surprised. She knew there were
many Portuguese, as well as Italiano, and Spanish of course,
in California.  Add: Irish, Russian, German, Aussie, French, Welsh, Scot, Chilean, Chinese and all the rest.

'Truly. And I thought it might be nice, to, you know, revisit
that...particular ambience.'
   He nearly seemed to blush, Em noticed.
  'Indeed, it would.'

Daryl rallied. 'I have a travel-basket of coffee, cake and fruit
here, to snack upon...' He indicated the picnic basket secured
on the carriage floor. 'But we shall lunch in the town.
Wonderful Sopa de Peixe!'

'Now I am anxious to see this place!' Em agreed. She had longed
for that delicious-sounding hot pot meal ever since she had so
looked forward to it back in the gypsy camp, before Diego had
been kidnapped. (-- How long ago? A decade for her, it had
been.)

Daryl regarded Emlyn. 'I thought you might be.' He gazed out the
window at the rolling hills, green with blessed mists and cool
winter temperatures.  Stands of oak trees dotted the Hobbit-
humped hills. Tuscany, Umbria, Provence, Cataluyna...Portugal
here too.



'I also may check out one or two antique shops whilst there...got wind of a lead through an old contact of mine, St. John, back in the City.'

A slight chill of wariness crept into Emlyn's mood at the
mention of 'antiques'. Where antiques and Daryl were concerned,
there was always the attendant whiff of the nefarious, dubious and
diabolical.

She bit her lip. She would keep still on this, she would.


   It was something she would have to get used to, somehow; it
was Daryl's business, after all. It was how he made his way in
this brave new world he'd chosen. It was how they had come by
this coach and the handsome dapple-gray Galahad drawing it, Nob
Hill House, etcetera... 
   There was, for him, rather a golden side to Time Travel.

   Still, it took a bit of getting used to, some of these 'antiques'.
  ...To put it mildly.

                          

 

                           . . . .

High Noon and hungry, later:
  'Diosa...!' Emlyn breathed quietly, reverently, as she set her
spoon aside, savoring her Sopa de Peixe. 'It is truly everything
I'd hoped for, and more. I must know how this was made! What is
that under-spice? Just a hint... Oh...' Em spooned up another taste of heaven;
  '...Oh, ooh, Diego...' She seemed in the throes of a true passion now, her eyes closed in culinary ecstasy.

Daryl smiled as he noticed the few other diners noticing them, especially Emlyn.


How he longed to hear that "Oh, Diego!" from Em...only sans the soup bowl.
   'I thought you would enjoy this.'

'I love it, Diego!' Em fell to, heartily. 'May we take some
home, somehow? Where can I find a Portuguese cookbook?'
Em worked her spoon with efficiency now.

Daryl was grinning, able to forget himself for a moment. 'We will find something, I'm sure...'
  He returned to his own bowl, a fresh loaf of sweet bread, massa sovada, accompanying.


                                   

 

 

  '...Did you know, Em, that the first European in California
was from Portugal?'

'Umm...do tell, Diego,' Em was quite happy to listen, her mouth
rather busy at the moment.

'Sim. Joao Rodrigues Cabrilho.  He was employed by Spain, but
Portuguese by birth.  He sighted San Diego Bay around 1542, I
think.'

'The Portuguese were great sailors, I know,' Em broke off a
piece of the delicious bread. 'And world travelers.'


   'Indeed.' Daryl continued, '-- All upon most early voyages of
discovery. Who knows how early? They say that the Templars, and the Scots, and Vikings of course, all had navigated routes to the New World long before Columbus....'
  

Daryl warmed to soup and topic: 'The Templars, it is rumored, came to mine copper, and even titanium. Found about the Great Lakes region in abundance. Titanium, not so common. Only a few places in the world have a bit of it. They had to find a way to conquer the Damascus Steel blades of the Saracen. They found it in titanium, making Light Blue Steel blades.'


'Or so it was said...anyway, the Portuguese later traveled here on whaling ships, mostly.
   'Years before the gold rush in California, Yankee traders
plied the California coast purchasing hides and tallow for the
New England market. American whaling ships were in the Pacific in the 1700s.'


Daryl broke bread and waved a piece at Em, 'That is how Portuguese cuisine gets it's flavorful variety!' He bit. But continued:



  'The first New England whaler stopped at Hawaii in the 1800s.
Pineapple was brought back to the Azores from Hawaii and planted there.' He paused, as he finished his bowl, and asked the waiter for another.
  'More sopa, Josephina?'

Emlyn nodded, her mouth full.

'Sailors from the Azores, most of them, on these whalers and
trading vessels.' Daryl sat back, sipping his coffee.
  'Over the centuries, whalers and explorers not only recruited
the young Azorean men as crew, but brought plants and animals of
foreign lands to the islands.

                                   

 

   The waiter brought more sopa and bread. 'Obrigato!' Daryl and
Emlyn both said together.
  'Mesmo saboroso!' Emlyn told the waiter, who favored her with
a grin.

'Ah! Voca fala Portuguese?' He inquired, refilling coffee cups.

 
Caught well, now, Em looked at Daryl, who obligingly, regretfully told the man that they knew but a little...
  '...But we enjoy Portuguese culture and cuisine.'
 

Emlyn paused briefly in her earnest endeavor, 'Sim! Very much so!' She looked at Daryl, then back to the waiter.
  'If we...were to return with a covered pot or dish, may we
purchase some of this wonderful sopa to take with us?'

'You may. Of course. If there is any left!'

'See,' Daryl teased her, 'You have near cleaned them out!'

The waiter stifled a smile.
  'There is plenty now. And, oh, for another hour or so. There is a second batch cooking for dinner, later tonight.  The secret,' he leaned closer to Emlyn's ear, 'is in the cooking. It is not a quick recipe! It requires time to simmer, for the flavors to wed.'

'We will return in plenty of time,' Daryl assured him, nearly
finished with his seconds already. He looked at Em. 'We should
start back to the City before sundown.'

The waiter observed them from above, tray under an arm. 'I will
tell you what. Since you appreciate my homeland so, we will save
some of the sopa from lunch. Just for you two, eh?'

Daryl expressed his gratitude fulsomely, and Emlyn was ecstatic.
  The waiter took out paper and pencil from an apron pocket,
'May we have your names? To reserve your order for taking away?'


'Certainly, obrigato: I am Diego Rivera, and this is my novia,
Josephina Page.' He held out a hand to the man.
    After jotting down the information, the waiter smiled and
shook their hands. 'Joaquim. My family runs the restaurant.' He
tucked the pencil behind his ear, nodding. 'We will see you both
later.'

'Well!' Daryl smiled at Em. 'About ready? Darkness comes quickly now that it is no longer...spring.' His eyes bespoke a certain understanding betwixt them.
   An understanding which Emlyn was not so sure she altogether
understood...

                          . . . .


'Daryl...' Em began, as they poked about a village second hand
shop, seeking antiques as well as pots with lids, '...When,
exactly, did WE become engaged? "Novia" is Spanish for "fiancee",
is it not?'

'This should do, don't you think?' Daryl fished out an old iron
cauldron with a matching heavy lid from amongst a shop corner
full of old kitchen ware. 'A bit rusty, but we can clean that up
easily...'

Em sighed. 'Diego!'
  Daryl looked over his shoulder, 'Eh?'
  'Your "novia", Diego?' Em was not going to let him squirm out
of this one.                          

                              

'Ah. Well.' Daryl hefted the pot and lid, taking them to the
shop clerk. In his day and time, 'novia' could mean simply, 'girlfriend'...however, in Em's day, it carried more than a whiff of permanence.
   Nothing wrong with that. As far as Diego/Daryl was concerned.
For Josephina/Emlyn, however...
   Well, all in good time.


   'The, ah, Portuguese are Catholic you know. Presenting a more serious, united front would stand us in good stead here.
       'Besides,' he rifled though his wallet, paying for the pot, 'I, eh, rather thought that...well, now...'
  '-- Yes?' Em goaded.

Daryl tucked the pot under an arm, and put his other about Em's
waist, thanking the clerk, as they went outside. 'We will talk
about it later, sim?'

Em was decidedly not content. Daryl would have some explaining
to do.
  -- Later.
                            . . . .

"Later" was all business, though.
    'Is this the place? You're sure?'
Emlyn and Daryl stood before a blacksmith shop.

Daryl frowned at the slip of paper he held.
   'It IS the address...' He was fairly certain that the 'office' of the smithy had to be the residence perhaps, of his contact.
  He knocked at the door. Rang the bell.

'Over here! 'Ola!' Came a voice from the smithy.
   Daryl and Em rounded the building to the forge.

Rather warmer here...
  Two men at work; the elder, a big man, not tall but Olympic
none the less, swinging sledge whilst a younger man held the
metal piece with tongs. A rather younger lad tended bellows at
the hearth.

                                   

 
  The hammer fell once more and the smith then handed it over to
the younger, taking took hold of the tongs himself. The apprentice  striker slammed into the metal work, as the smith instructed, for a time. At last the blows halted and the elder gent nodded to Em and Daryl.

  Daryl turned and discretely motioned Emlyn to stay behind. 
Pulling a note from his pocket, he engaged the smith. They
exchanged few words...Em couldn't hear well over the bellows and
roar of the forge.
   Like wandering into Vulcan's domain...
   At last, Daryl nodded, shook hands with the smith, and replacing his note, returned to Em.

'Volunder Kane...' Daryl said.
  'What is that?' Emlyn asked, as they fell into step together,
heading back up the street.

  'Who,' corrected Daryl. 'The smith; his name is Volunder Kane.
Interesting, that. "Volundr" was the name of the smith-god of
Teutonic legend. And, of course, Tubal Cain was the biblical
metallurgist, the original smith.' Daryl looked up, pensive.
  'Vulcan's forge was a volcano, you know,' he told Emlyn, his
gaze locked into hers. 
  'Volcanoes again,' Em took his hand, concerned. Daryl
appreciated the gesture and kissed her hand softly. Josephina had not forgotten how close they had come to losing Diego, and certainly Daryl had not, either.
   A chill here, even in the forge.

                          

'We must get on...this little detour has cost us daylight.'
    Daryl took Em's arm, studying the sky which had darkened
quickly.
   'Fog coming in...' Emlyn noted.
    Daryl sighed. 'Sim. We may have to find an inn here.  Would
you mind so much? I'd prefer not to drive back in the dark and
fog, even with the lamps.'

   'No, I'd not mind at all!' Emlyn was delighted, rather. More
sopa... 
   'Perhaps we should find an inn first?'
    Daryl shook his head. 'No. The shop will shut soon...' He
quickened the pace.

At last, one street over, they located the shop's correct
address.
   "Luis Vaz de Camões", read the shingle hanging above the
door. "Antiques. Curiosities" was noted below the shop name.


   'A good sign, indeed!' Daryl smiled at his pun. 'This shop is
named for Portugal's great poet. Camões was an example of a life
of adventure and passion lived to the fullest.' He regarded
Emlyn. 'But, as was and is the case with many artistes, he was
not appreciated for his talent in his day; although now, of
course, he is compared to Shakespeare. Genius walks unknown upon his native land...
    'Much sorrow, strife, and exile. Not an unknown fate for artists. Ah, where are the Medicis now?' Daryl rapped upon the door.

                             

No answer.
   Daryl tried the door. Shut, and locked. 'Bloody --'
Daryl sighed and bent to the windows, shading his eyes.  Em joined him and they attempted to peer within.
   Nought to be seen, but hulking shapes and shadows in the
growing dark. Thankfully, nought did scurry, scuttle, loom or hover about and threaten. Yet.
  

'Well, nothing for it...' Daryl turned to Emlyn, and glanced at the skies.
   'Fog is thickening...' Em wrapped her shawl closer about her
and wished for the coat she'd left in the coach.
   'Chilled, cara?' Daryl put a sheltering arm about her shoulders. 'Let's have you settled at an inn, first; then I will find Manuel and we shall bring the coach round.'

                              . . . .

Later, at the Santa Catarina da Serra Inn...

    Emlyn and Daryl were just polishing off a late supper of
roast chicken with potatoes and carrots, a strong white cheese,
and the ubiquitous loaf of sweet bread. Simple fare done
wonderfully well seasoned with only wine, herbs and freshness. Food for the soul.


Manuel had left for bed, and the pair were leisurely engaged in
enjoying a satisfying bottle of Colheita.


  '...We really must invest in more tawny port before leaving.
And Madeira, naturally. A Malmsey, perhaps...' Daryl was
relaxing somewhat at last, having been frustrated by the dead-
ends he'd encountered; his contact seemingly gone to ground. He
freshened Em's glass and his own.
   '"Port", of course is named for Portugal...'


Emlyn's gaze traveled about the room. A stone and timber hall of
a place; it was long and L-shaped, rather than tall. They were
seated near a large stone fireplace of some age, which burned benignly at one end of the common dining and pub area.

   It seemed a favorite local gathering place. Several other tables were occupied by families, friends and couples like themselves. Near the crowded bar, sueca games were played at tables where occupants occupied themselves with wine and port, cracking walnuts and almonds...

                         

Emlyn was beginning to feel more at home now. She needed this;
an aura of the near-past to help her relax into herself. Hearing
the familiar Portuguese spoken about her acted as a soothing
balm to her uprooted mindscape.

   Slightly different from her Brazilian gypsy Portuguese, but
close enough for Em.

 'Thank you for bringing me here today,' she said to Daryl, regarding him anew. (Were they considering a partnership? She still wondered.)
   'Seja bem vindo, Josephina.' Daryl regarded her with sleepy
eyes.

That's right, he no doubt hadn't slept well on the sofa the evening
before. 'I appreciate it, Diego.' Em was feeling rather heavy of head herself now, thanks to the good port.


  She noticed Daryl's attention had been engaged by a table of men
situated in a corner booth for some while now.
  'Do you know those men?' She inquired softly. Emlyn wished her
slim knowledge of Portuguese was more fleshed-out.

'No-oo, but...' Daryl looked pensive, 'I wonder...' He smiled
and poured another dram. 'Did you know that the name "Portugal"
was once also spelled as "Portugraal". Telling, that. 'Port of
or to the Graal'...'


   'Hmm. A connection with the Magdalena, perhaps?' Emlyn
inquired, sipping discretely. Strong stuff this; it seemed more
fortified than she at present. 'Tales abound of her crossing the
Medi to France...or thereabouts.'

Daryl smiled a tired smile. 'That entire area has long held many
secrets of its own; Iberia, France...'
  'Celtic homelands,' Em added. 'and, the Grail. It fits. And,
it is much older than Xianity.'
  'Much.' Daryl was staring in earnest now. 'A moment, cara...'
He took her hand, pressed a light kiss as he took his leave.


Daryl sauntered over to the corner booth and spoke softly to the
men he'd been eyeing. An agreement of sorts seemed to be settled, the men nodded to Daryl; who then proceeded to the bar and ordered another bottle of Colheita.
   The others, she noticed, then left through a large carved
oaken door next to the fireplace, and disappeared within.


   Daryl returned, looking surprised as Emlyn felt, and held her
chair. 'Take the glasses. We are to join the others in the back
room, apparently.' The half-smile returned.
   Emlyn raised an eyebrow, but was met with Daryl's own high
brow and a slight shrug. He escorted Emlyn through the heavy
door.

                          . . . .

A mirror-image of the room here; back-to-back stone fireplace.
A long, shining polished wood oval table commanded the length of
the room, comfortable leather couches and chairs surrounded the
hearth. Inviting, it was...
   

And, to Em's delight, candlelight alone shone from sconces along the
walls and from a large hanging lamp above the table. As her eyes
adjusted to the dim light, she made out groups of men and a few
women, seated before the fire, smoking and talking in low
voices, while others were seated at table among bottles and
carafes of wine and liqueurs. Em inhaled deeply. Some folk were
carefully tending roasting skewers of meats upon the fire.


    Maps lined the walls, and armaments. A fine pair of crossed
swords were mounted above the mantle, on either side of a coat
of arms. What was left, apparently, of a fine black Spanish
Fighting Bull, the head and horns, dominated the room's other
end.
    

-- And music; Emlyn could now hear a soft flamenco-like sound, courses of multiple strings. Yet not a mandolin...
   Oh, could there be Fado? Em longed to hear the old plaintive, soulful songs, like arrows to the heart...


    She bent round the gathered groups and located the two mystery
musicians bearing rather interesting small guitars, rather requinto-sized. But these had 10 strings. Lovely...

                           

Daryl meanwhile, had recognised the smith, late of the forge.
Catching the man's eye, Daryl joined him at table, and motioned
to Em.
  'Volunder Kane,' the man told her upon introduction. He turned
to his apprentice beside him, 'This is our striker, Jorge.'
  'Josephina Page, nice to meet you,' Em shook hands and took a
seat next to Daryl, wondering if he had told them the same
'novia' story as he'd spouted at the restaurant.

The men with whom Daryl had spoken, from the main room, now
broke free from a corner which Em now saw was a sort of ante-
room betwixt kitchen and the bar out front. They brought bottles
of their own, as well as a cheese and dark bread, and some of
the fresh-roasted skewer meats to table.

'And this,' Daryl gestured toward a dark man with fine, copious
moustaches, gently curled upwards on the ends like the horns of
the bull on the wall, 'Is none other than the proprietor of
Camoe's Antiques, Sebastiao da Silva.'
   The man bowed, and took Emlyn's hand, murmuring 'Enchante';
then sat on her other side, as Em became acquainted with the
rest of the party, whose names she could hardly recall.
   Mr. da Silva, however, had made an impression.


 'Do try but a drop of our Malmsey...from the Malvasia Fina
grape.' He insisted, pouring a dram into a delicate glass
decorated in fine golden filigree detail.

                        

 He held it up to the candlelight a moment. 'Lovely, isn't it?' He sniffed, mustaches twitching, then smiled and handed the glass to Em.
   'Salud!' Emlyn sniffed and sipped. 'Delicioso!' She truly did
need to become acquainted with more Portuguese descriptives.
   Satisfied, with her old standby, seemingly, the company
smiled at her and leaned back in their seats.

'Mr. da Silva's ancestor sailed with Drake,' Volundur offered,
as Daryl opened the new bottle of Colheita.
   'Indeed,' Sebastiao nodded. 'That old eh, Queen's
'privateer', Drake, captured Nuno da Silva, who was well-known
as an experienced pilot, as were many other Portuguese sailing
men. "Sir" Francis the Pirate made Silva the pilot of the Golden
Hind, it is on record. They stopped north of San Francisco to
repair the ship in June of 1579.'


                         

'That is fascinating, Mr. da Silva,' Em commented, warming to
the Malmsey and the antiques dealer. 'The Portuguese have such a
history of stellar navigational feats and discoveries.'
   '"Sebastiao", por favor, my dear Miss Page...' Silva turned
the full power of his mustaches upon Emlyn.
   '"Josephina", please...Sebastiao,' Em smiled warmly.
Sebastiao freshened her Malmsey. Jorge, she noticed meanwhile,
had nudged Daryl, and appeared to be biting his cheek.


'Indeed!' Sebastiao of the Mustachios continued undaunted,
'"Stellar" is the word, dear Josephina; for it was by the stars
that the old ships and pilots made their way, back in those days
of daring discovery, to parts known and unknown...'
   Emlyn leaned her elbow on table and chin upon hand. 'I would
have loved to have sailed the seas, I believe. I often dream of
the sea...'
   'Do you, lass?' Sebastiao's mustaches twitched. 'I do have a
small boat in harbor...nothing like the pilot Nuno's Golden
Hind, I am afraid. But she gives fine sail in a fair wind.'

Volunder fetched the Malmsey from Sebastiao and freshened
Jorge's and his own glass. He regarded Daryl a moment, 'Watch
out for this one,' he nodded to Sebastiao, 'there are few lips
of the ladies here, that have not tarried neath the shelter of
those mustaches for a time; for either a day or a year and a
day...'
  'Your novia is indeed sailing near perilous waters,' Jorge
smirked as he downed his glass.

Emlyn drew a deep breath as she regarded Daryl, eyebrows raised
to great height. 'Your "novia", Diego, has apparently been
warned!' She turned back to Sebastiao. 'So, your conquering
spirit is equally adventuresome on land, I hear.
   Sebastiao simply smiled like the cat seated beside the canary.


'How could he not be utterly enchanted with your charms,
Josephina querida,' Daryl put a proprietary arm about Em's chair
back. 'But the weather, I fear, is not conducive to sailing.'
    'True,' Sebastiao admitted, 'but, the weather, like a woman,
is changeable, no?' He chuckled to himself. 'But, you are here
for browsing of antiques, Diego?'


    Daryl proffered the bottle of Colheita, which was accepted
gratefully, and Sebastiao poured himself a healthy tot.


                         

 

   'Warre's...' He read the label aloud, then regarded Daryl.
'Not bad. I'll tell you what...come by before opening, oh, around
9 o'clock, tomorrow. I offer, for you, a private showing just
for yourself and your lovely novia...perhaps I may have an old
bottle of Garrafeira hidden away somewhere, I might dig up.'

They agreed his offer sounded be most generous.
  'Obrigato, Sebastiao! We would be delighted.' Daryl smiled, 'Another bottle of Colheita, perhaps?' His offer was roundly accepted by all, and off he betook himself.



   'Do try the espetadas...' The dealer forked some meat from
the skewers onto Em's plate. 'And the cheese, with a bit of this
bread...wonderful.' He cut slices of the round, brown loaf. 'It
is dark from the molasses. One cooks the bread upon the stove
top...an old New England recipe.'

'Oh, yes! Obrigato...' Em gratefully accepted, biting into the
delicious full-flavored sweet dark bread, topped with a slice of
ewe's milk cheese. 'I have made this coffee-can bread before!
Boston Brown, one of my favorites...'


                            

Daryl returned with the new bottle of port and opened, pouring a
tot for all.
   'Ah, what shall we drink to?' Sebastiao's query was a soft
growl. 'How long has the lucky couple been engaged, then?' He
addressed Diego and Josephina.

Josephina regarded Diego, wondering just that herself.
   Daryl rallied, somewhat, under pressure. 'Ah, well, only very
recently, really...'
   'Yes, very.' Josephina growled a bit as well.


'Of course!' Sebastiao raised his voice and his glass, 'To the
happy couple! To Diego and Josephina! Long may they love!'
   The company all raised glasses in toast, even folk from
neighboring groups gathered about the table and hearth; 'To
Diego and Josephina!' All the world loves a lover...
   The company wished them well and clinked glasses; some patted
Diego's back or offered words of congratulation.

'-- To your engagement, "Josephina"...' spoke a soft low voice
behind Emlyn's seat, amidst the hub-bub. His accent on the
'Josephina' rather seemed to waft a hint of sarcasm.

   Em turned about to find a man, dark of hair and eye, whose
face was somehow familiar to her. In the wake of all the
toasting, no one noticed their exchange; loud talk and laughter
and much refreshing of drinks surrounded the table now.


   'Do you not recall an old friend, then?' He persisted, one
eyebrow raised.


   ...Something about the man tugged at Em's memory line. The
face she recognised...but the hair was somewhat grayer round the
temples, the salt-and-pepper Van Dyke was new.

In the flash of an instant,  Emlyn suddenly knew him.
    'Alejandro Orez!' Em gasped softly, putting a hand upon his
arm.
   'Shhh...I never go by that name, anymore...' He put his hand
over hers. 'I must go now. We will be in touch.' He squeezed her
hand, melted into the throng and was gone.

'Someone you know...?' Daryl, Diego, appeared on her other side.
   Emlyn, Josephina, turned to him, her face unable to contain
the shock and awe. 'I, I...do...I, did...'


   She frowned, wondering what was going on here. Just what sort
of place was this? She stared hard at Daryl.
   He knew this wasn't just any small village where good sopa
was served...


   She had not seen Mr. Orez since the Captain had spirited Lev
Kopalski from jail and away. With Alice and Frank. To South
America.
   Em gazed, dazed, at Daryl. 'We must talk. Soon.'


Daryl was beginning to think the very same thing. 'Yes.'
  Their gaze locked: Emlyn's accusing; Daryl's tired, and
silently pleading. He turned to the gathering:
    'My novia and I thank everyone here! This has truly been a
most wonderful meeting with you all.' He took Emlyn's hand, 'But
we have had a long, eventful journey, and we must rest now, for
the early day tomorrow. Obrigato! And good evening, boa noite...'


    And so, with much pressing of hands and assurances that they
will be, if not staying on, then returning soon, at last the two
escaped the well-wishers.


   'You will take good care of her now, won't you, Diego?'
Sebastiao escorted them to the door, one arm about each of them.
'If he does not, mademoiselle, I, and my trusty vessel --'


   '--Rusty vessel!' Yelled Jorge, who was hanging on every
come-hither uttered by Silva, laughing.


   Sebastiao glared at the young pup, '-- Shall be awaiting your
command...' He bowed low enough to satisfy his swashbuckling
ancestor. '9 o'clock! Don't be late!' He winked at Daryl and
slapped his back once more.


As Daryl and Emlyn exited the back room and crossed to the
stairway, they were each wrapped in their own worlds. Their worlds
were meant to be shared, but neither of them had as yet become accustomed to this.
  Daryl put an arm about Em as he escorted her up the stairs to their rooms.


'I suppose, as your 'novia', it would seem inappropriate for me
not to have my own room and bed...' Emlyn sighed.
   'I'm afraid, it would.' Daryl was insistent.
   'When can we talk? What, exactly, is going on here, Daryl?'


Daryl looked hard at Em. 'Who was that man you were talking to?'
    Emlyn just stared beyond him, at nothing, slowly shaking her
head. 'I cannot believe he is here...!' She looked at Daryl.
'What sort of place is this, Diego?'


    Daryl sighed, gazing out the window of the landing into the
surrounding fog and night. Darkness and mystery. 'It is certainly
more than I'd bargained for...'
    As usual.



   He took Em's arm, escorting her to the top and hallway leading to the rooms.
   'Your novia is much confused.' Em turned to him as they
reached her room.


   'As am I,' Daryl confessed. He glanced about them and then
raised her chin. 'It pains me to leave you like this.' His eyes
burned into hers. 'I know we must talk, querida...please bear
with me. One day longer, yes?'


    Emlyn's tired, confused eyes answered his. 'I suppose. I am
too weary to argue...'
    Summoning all of his Diego-self, Daryl bent to softly press
a kiss to a corner of her lips.

                            

'Gracias. Please, cara...' Daryl sighed. 'Take care. Get some rest. Tomorrow, all will be well.'
    Emlyn was not satisfied with that answer. Nor with the too-
brief kiss. She entered her lonely room and shut the door on
Daryl.

                            . . . .


Julio Caldas on Viola de Arame:
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