It was spring time, and all was new to her in Madrid. Between the crowd, after the play she went to see, on her program, he signed “the wicked destiny”. Had he noticed her before? That night she wondered. But on the next day, he was photographing her... And to thank her, they walked to Aravaca. In front of the church he wanted her to see, kids were screaming their joy while playing. He was into journalism, he started to tell. Soon gone to his “first war”, she then thought. Then, he said he enjoyed travelling and told her how much he loved kids. He even had name preferences for them. They kept on walking silently for awhile. So many stories he knew and wanted to tell. And, with a sublime accent, in French, he then would... He talked about his father, his brother, and sisters. Born near the millenary shore, he loved the sea. Also scuba diving and jumps in parachutes. She tasted piñacolada, thinking he should be a writer... He kept on talking exquisitely while telling her more stories. And, this, without almost noticing her distraction. Something marvelous and unexpected was happening. Something nice and new... Something magic. Something with his voice was taking her afar. Something with his look, his unique way of being. Something... was there, inside of her like never before. Suddenly, he stopped talking and asked about her thoughts. Whispering a few words ending with his name, she smiled. So precious and unique was then that moment. And when their eyes met, by his smile she knew. She knew he had maybe found in her something. That something she had been waiting for awhile. Later on, for her, he picked the longer red rose stem. And on her lips, relishable was the Mediterranean sea breeze. But very soon, with a destiny toward opposite horizons, their encounter had been “a very, very beautiful story”. And so, would he then write to her some times later. Meanwhile for him and for awhile, there would be more. More and more bloody territories to run to... Then, on an unexpected summer day, the inevitable destiny. Twenty three years had passed... Until another brief shining moment. Physically he had barely changed...Now with innermost traces of horror. Traces of wars. That unique manner of walking, slightly accentuated with time... He told her about Pepe..., Ricardo..., and of Corso. But mentioning nothing about war nor of his fame, he just smiled. Telling her only about gratifications in writing and sailing. Also about places in Sevilla..., about the paintings on the walls... And that voice..., that smile..., so many memories... That... that... and that familiar cedar wood smell around... The huge old golden moon was there, still, over Plaza Mayor. Taking them back... Back in another time... another time... Another time, they both knew, that could never be again. And while Bocelli’s “romanza” played afar, vino tinto and tapas supressed the storm inside. She then looked at him... his hands... his eyes. Between smiles and reminiscences, their eyes never met. And, at that very moment, she knew, she was walking once more and for a life time, on the edge of an everlasting romanza.
Copyright © | Geneviève Gaillard-Vanté, 1998 |
---|---|
By the same author | |
Date of publication | May 2003 |
Collection | The Fictile Word |
Permalink | https://badosa.com/n162 |
Magic... and so, so very beautiful. “Que viva España!” kind of movies I would love to see on a screen. An applause for this text.
It was a dream again. She twists the story like a snake looking for some prey; you also travel in Spain, the folks, the gastronomy, los vinos tintos, everything is there with the cedar aroma... What a beautiful writer.
Excellent book. It is so full of emotion and beautiful scenery. A breath-taking romance. I would give it a 10.
This work is not only Romantic but lets itself also be read with ease and enthousiasm.
Just loved it! Too bad I could not understand her first story written in French.
Few words, lots of images... Just loved it!
What is amazing with Everlasting romanza is the simple style used by this author to tell the story. And a story which invited me to slide into the images. To my opinion this author has a lot of talent
How strange to read my own words on the screen. And the more I read it, the more I seem to enjoy seing my creation on another computer, in other countries I visit, with the eyes of an outsider, just as another ordinary reader. Thanks to the apreciation of my readers and most of all a big THANK YOU to Badosa.com for making all this possible. The motivation is now more than ever present. With the inspiration, some others call it the muse, I will try my very best to please everyone awaiting yet for more stories... With love to you all,
The author,
J'ai eu le bonheur de lire Ombres du temps de Geneviève Gaillard-Vanté, ce fut des moments de pur délice. La finesse de l'écriture inaugure bien un nouveau grand talent. Aucun mot déplacé, aucune provocation, malgré la profusion des mots, c'est manifestement un sentiment esthétique de l'écrivaine pour ses lecteurs.
Sublime. Lots of images. Cinematographic. And the story in itself, brings tears like in the movies! LOVED IT.
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