Where life and freedom intertwine E-Book

Noelia Pérez

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 332

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Solea had actually planned to start studying straight after leaving school. When she doesn't get a place at university, it seems to be a twist of fate that leads her back to her roots in Spain. There she meets the attractive but very secretive Enrico and tries to uncover his dark secrets. In the process, she is also painfully confronted with her own past, from which she is trying to escape. In order to end this escape, however, she has to accept a change of direction in her life. "Where Life and Freedom Interweave" is a story about fears, self-doubt and setbacks, but also about love and the path to oneself. A path that everyone can only take themselves, but which is worthwhile like no other.

Leseprobe

Dedication

My grandparents on my father's side were from Spain. During Francisco Franco's dictatorship, they moved to Switzerland and built up their family there. However, my grandmother fell seriously ill with asthma. With a heavy heart, she and her husband decided to return to Spain, as the climate there in the mountains and by the sea was better for their health. Their children, now grown up, stayed in Switzerland with their own families. However, we visited them regularly during the vacations. Due to her illness, my grandmother was always dependent on oxygen. As there were no portable asthma devices back then, she was, in my eyes, trapped at home within the radius of her oxygen tube. As a child, I once asked her bluntly and honestly if she didn't get bored like that. She laughed and immediately answered in the negative. She had many things around her that fulfilled her and made her happy. She was a talented painter, enjoyed cooking and baking, and did a lot of handicrafts and sewing. And she wrote, mainly poetry. This was how she filled the times when she was in hospital. Although she had lived through unimaginably difficult years and an eventful life, she never lost the will to live. Her eyes always radiated pure joy and gratitude and she motivated everyone with her positive attitude to life. She always found the strength to live in her family and her strong faith. And in her poems.

She had her poems printed in two poetry books for her family and close friends. Her second book began with the sentence:

"Escribir es sentirme viva" - "To write is to feel alive."

What I never understood as a child crystallized for me in my youth. After the death of my grandmother, I found myself writing more and more in difficult situations. Diaries, poems, philosophical texts, sayings and stories. All linked to my experiences, adventures and insights. It helped me to process what had happened and to sort out my often very confused thoughts and put them in order. More and more I understood her statement that she felt alive while writing. And even though I am writing these lines with tears in my eyes, I feel embraced by my grandmother's love. And by the words in her poems, which even years after her death speak to the hearts of those who are willing to open themselves to them. In writing, she found a way to always be close to us and to live on in us with her love and kindness, her warmth and joy of life, which she gave us throughout her life.

Writing makes me feel not only alive, but also connected to a person with whom I share a philosophy of life and a passion.

I dedicate this book to her. With deepest gratitude and humility.

And in eternal love.

Noelia Pérez

The end of an era

It was stressful, yes.

While I was on the phone trying to get my school stuff out of my locker with just one hand and put it in my bag, my best friend was talking to me incessantly from the right. How great it was that we had finally passed our A-levels and could start our studies. At the same time, my mother was insistently talking to me on the cell phone in my left ear, telling me to pack this and that and to be at the airport on time. And that I should please send her my flight number. At that moment, the bells for the end of lessons rang through the corridors and the noisy students all ran to their lockers. I was bumped into from one side and my books slipped out of my hand. I cursed indignantly: "Bloody hell!"

While my mother reprimanded me on the phone, my best friend Ylenia laughed uproariously. Then she turned back to her locker, which she emptied in a relaxed and calm manner. She could afford to be calm, unlike me. She had passed her exams with top marks and had not only applied for a place at university, but had even had it confirmed. I suddenly felt totally cramped and had the feeling of being underwater and unable to breathe. There was only a dull roar in my head and everything in front of my eyes slowly began to blur.

"Stop!" I shouted at that moment, I just couldn't take it anymore. I felt like I had a balloon in my chest that was about to burst.

"Mom, I'll call you back!" I shouted into the cell phone, hung up without waiting for her answer and threw it all the way to the back of the locker. I leaned against the locker with both arms and gave Ylenia a long, stern look with a raised eyebrow. She immediately understood that my inner volcano would blow up if she didn't shut up right now. Everything was too much for me at the moment anyway. I had been studying for the exams for almost three months without interruption, then immediately looked for a place to study and finally found one last university in Switzerland that put me on their waiting list. All the other universities had already filled their places and didn't put me on their waiting lists. Unfortunately, it was the university in Bern. If I get a place there, I will either have to commute or find a shared flat or student accommodation nearby. My first choice had actually been the university in Zurich, but it was in high demand and one of the first to fill all the places. However, after the official registration and deregistration deadline, I was supposed to call the university to find out whether I would get a place or whether I was one of those who had been removed from the list. I had already decided to study law some time ago. I had always been fascinated by its content and the questions of law and justice. And yet I wasn't 100% convinced of my decision. And I don't mean the choice of degree course, but the choice of this academic career in itself. To put it more crudely: I wasn't sure whether I had chosen the right path for me both academically and professionally. Especially after the events of the last few months. And I was also questioning more and more whether I was generally the right type of person for university. But now I had no other choice, I had decided of my own accord to go to grammar school. And now that I had passed, I simply had to pick up where I left off. That's what was expected of me. But what would it be like if you had passed your Matura and then decided not to go to university? What would the alternatives be? What did I actually want? And if I were to banish all outside expectations from my thoughts, what would my life path look like?

Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I whirled around with a startled cry. It was Ylenia, who was now looking at me with concern.

"You've just totally digressed again, haven't you?"

I closed my eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Then I nodded and looked at my best friend. We were still in the middle of the mass of students who were using their short break to go to the lockers to get their school supplies for the next lessons. They all seemed so motivated and ambitious in what they were doing. If only they knew ...

'Stop', Ylenia ordered me gently. Once again, I was amazed at her fine antennae and compassionate way of bringing me out of my thoughts. I sighed deeply, took my eyes off Ylenia and pushed myself away from my cupboard. Then I picked up the books that were still lying on the floor and stuffed them into my bag.

Annoyed, I took the history book and the last three German books from my drawer. My eyes fell on the top book. It was "Andorra" by the writer Max Frisch. A drama that dealt with the question of identity, among other things. Identity, that was a good keyword ...

"Solea," Ylenia shouted over the noise of the students.

"What's wrong?" I hissed at her and at the same time felt guilty for snapping at her like that. She only meant well. But I was charged, irritable, restless and felt totally uncomfortable here in the school corridors. I wanted to leave this school as soon as possible. A slight nausea spread through my stomach and I swallowed. "I'm sorry," I said, addressing Ylenia. "Did you say something?"

"Yes ... I asked you if you had finally called the University of Bern? Yesterday was the registration deadline, the fixed student lists should be available today."

I opened my eyes. Everything that was still bubbling inside me gave way to an ice-cold rigidity, a shiver ran down my spine. The balloon in my chest immediately shrank, all air and tension escaped. And again the books hit the floor. With trembling hands and a pounding heart, I retrieved my cell phone from the depths of the locker and looked at the date on the display, which jumped out at me with a sneer. I turned around, let my head bang heavily against the white surface, closed my eyes and let myself slide to the floor.

"What's going on?" I heard from the right. The corridors were gradually emptying. And in Ylenia's tone was that warm empathy and impartiality that I liked so much about her. She sat down on the floor in front of me, put a hand on my knee and looked at me calmly and questioningly. I looked into her beautiful fawn eyes, which belonged to the person who had become like a sister to me over the last few years. We had cried and laughed together, argued and made up again and told and confided everything to each other. The shrill bell announcing the next lesson made me jump. I shook my head as if in slow motion. After the echo of the school bell had stopped, I answered quietly:

"I haven't called yet. I'm afraid of the answer. And I'm afraid of both possible answers." Ylenia looked at me with a furrowed brow. "Why?"

"On the one hand, I don't know if I'm ready for university. On the other hand ... what should I do without studying and only with a school-leaving certificate?"

It was suddenly so quiet in this hallway, where just two minutes ago the students, hungry to learn, were running around like a bunch of hyenas gone wild. Ylenia expelled the air she had been holding. At least she still had some, I didn't feel like I had any left.

"Why don't you call now? I'll be with you. You have to do it sometime."

She stood up, reached into my box, took out my cell phone and sat down next to me with it. She handed me mine while she fished her own cell phone out of her pocket and googled the number of the University of Bern for me. She dictated the number to me and I typed it into my cell phone, but before I started the call, I looked at Ylenia. She gave me a firm, encouraging nod. So I took a deep breath, pressed the green button, held the cell phone to my ear and waited for someone on the other end of the line to finally relieve me of my inner torment.

"University of Bern, what can I do for you?" trilled a cheerful, high-pitched female voice.

"This is Solea Moreno. I'm still on the waiting list for law school, which starts in August. Can you tell me what it looks like?" I rattled off as quickly as I could.

"Solea Moreno, just a moment please, I'll check."

Music could be heard on the line.

"I'd really like to hang up," I hissed to Ylenia. My nerves were on edge and my whole body was shaking. Then there was a click on the line and the lady was back on the line.

"Solea Moreno," she repeated, "unfortunately we couldn't accept you for this year, all the places were taken. Should we enrol you for next year?"

The beating of my heart stopped briefly before it continued to hammer wildly against my chest. As if remote-controlled, I answered:

"No, thank you. My first choice would have been the university in Zurich anyway. I would have had to commute to Bern or ..."

I interrupted myself. She wasn't interested in my problems, so there was no need to pour my heart out to this strange woman.

"I'll try again in Zurich," I said quickly. "Thanks for the information, goodbye."

I hung up without understanding what else the nice woman from administration said or asked. I leaned my head back against the lockers and closed my eyes. Ylenia's hand gently squeezed my shoulder. It felt good not to be alone right now. All the tension left me. All my fears and insecurities were slowly slipping away. Why had I felt a small surge of joy deep inside with this rejection? Had I also secretly been hoping for a "no"?

"What do you want to do now?" Ylenia asked cautiously.

I tussled my hair, then threw my hands in the air and replied resignedly: "Tell my parents, then finally go on vacation and start studying next year. There's nothing else for me to do at the moment, is there?"

I reached for my cell phone again and dialed the number of my mother, who had already flown to Spain with my brother and father for the summer vacations. I would fly out tomorrow and spend another two weeks' vacation with them.

"Solea, why did you just hang up?" my mother asked angrily and without greeting me, and I recognized the slightly offended undertone in her voice.

"I didn't get the place to study in September," I blurted out without greeting, dryly and matter-of-factly, without any emotion. There was silence for a moment. Then my mother asked:

"Why not?"

"I was on the waiting list in Bern. I simply couldn't manage to manage my exams and look for a place at the same time. In addition to everything else that was going on, it was just too much and too stressful for me. And when I wanted to enrol, all the places were already taken. The university in Bern was the only one to put me on the waiting list, I asked them today, but they had also filled all the places."

I fell silent before talking myself into a stupor. It was no use, there was no excuse for this situation. There was another moment of silence on the line. Suddenly my mother laughed.

"That's just like you! So that means you're going to take a year off before you start studying next year?"

"Do I have any other choice?" I asked cynically with a biting undertone.

"No," she said, "but think about what you're going to do this year. Maybe a student job, further education, courses or something, ah, and registering for university, yes! Better sooner than too late. Well, but Solea, about the departure times..." she continued, but I quickly interrupted her.

"I know, I'll send you the flight number via WhatsApp, see you then!" I said quickly and hung up, just like the first time. I snorted, got up and picked up my books from the floor a second time. What a picture. I identified with the books. You couldn't fall any lower or harder than onto the ugly linoleum floor in the basement of the school. Then I stuffed them into my bag, dragged my sports bag out of my locker, removed the lock and made my way to the exit, perplexed and exhausted. Ylenia quickly caught up with me, put an arm around my shoulder and whispered conspiratorially in my ear:

"I would make the most of the year."

I stopped abruptly. "What do you mean now, Ylenia?"

"Well, we both know that you've pushed yourself beyond your limits in the last year. And honestly, Solea. Have you ever lived your life? Have you ever lived without thinking about school? Have you ever lived without thinking about your future?"

I looked at the floor, embarrassed. Who had even come up with the idea of coloring it green? Green was actually the color that stood for calm, security and trust, something I remembered from my art classes when we studied the color wheel and the meaning of different colors. But this green was really dark and dirty, with brown and gray stripes everywhere. Was this supposed to be art? If so, I was definitely looking at it with a different eye than the artist himself. Ylenia cleared her throat vigorously, bringing me back into the moment. She knew me very well and knew that I often digressed from reality and escaped into illogical, useless, energy-wasting thoughts. I looked at her. She gripped my shoulders and looked at me firmly. She spoke in a firm, theatrical voice:

"Solea, I prophesy that an unforgettable year full of life and jam jar moments lies ahead of you. As soon as you step through the doors of this school, you will be born a new person and start a new life. Who knows, maybe you'll end up in a parallel world, just like the children in The Chronicles of Narnia by Clive Staples Lewis."

I couldn't help myself and burst out laughing.

"Don't exaggerate, okay?"

I started moving again, Ylenia immediately followed and bumped into me playfully.

"Solea, what I'm trying to say is: learn to enjoy life and develop your freedom."

I nudged her back and then put an arm around her shoulders.

"I'll try," I promised her, putting a grateful undertone in my voice. Then I straightened my shoulders and pushed open the heavy front door of this school building for the last time. It certainly wasn't going into a fantastic parallel world like Narnia, it was going out onto the street, into brutal reality. I wouldn't miss my school days, I was glad they were over. And as I heard the door close in the background, I felt that some of the stress had been left behind. That left room for a whole new, strange feeling. A feeling of relief, of joy. About the fact that I would miss my studies? I couldn't place it. But I decided to put an end to my thoughts quickly. I would now enjoy the vacations, plan my year off and register for next summer. It wasn't so bad, the world would continue to turn as usual. I had no idea that life would throw a spanner in the works and that Ylenia's prophecy could come true when I left a huge chapter of my life behind me together with her.

One year of life

The next morning, I travelled to San Javier, a municipality in the autonomous region of Murcia in south-eastern Spain, as agreed. At Alicante airport, I waited impatiently for my suitcase, which would of course be one of the last to appear on the baggage reclaim belt. This was probably the consequence of always checking my suitcase in on time and being one of the first to do so. During the wait, I let my gaze wander around. Bright, wild and vibrant colours dominated the duty-free area I had come through. Red and yellow, the colours of the Spanish flag, were omnipresent in the key rings and magnets, in the cookie tins and even the stuffed animals on sale. The women queued up in front of the toilets, while the men came and went with ease. Suitcases from Paris, Lisbon and Madrid were doing the rounds on the neighbouring baggage carousels. When I spotted my suitcase on the conveyor belt from Zurich, I rushed over and snatched it off the belt. But then I stopped myself.

"Don't be so hectic," I whispered to myself. Slowly and deliberately, putting one foot in front of the other, I walked towards the exit. Then I finally passed through customs, no, I had nothing to declare, so green. I crossed the small arrivals hall of the airport and headed straight for the exit. I paused outside. Several groups of people were waiting with me for their cabs or those who would pick them up and were chatting. The language they were speaking rushed straight through my veins, as warm as the weather that was welcoming me to south-east Spain at that moment. With this warmth, a feeling of belonging spread through me. It was nice to be here again. Every person whose gaze I crossed smiled at me with warmth and welcome. The corners of my mouth automatically pulled up and returned the gestures with complete sincerity. I gradually relaxed a little and looked up at the bright blue sky, in which only a few sweet little clouds could be seen. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the sun of my homeland on my face. Every time I landed in Spain, a piece of my soul returned home. In Spain, I could be much more the person I was. I was able to live out the Mediterranean traits I had inherited from my father's family to the full, without having to be a stickler or explain myself. When someone called my name out loud, I flinched and was startled out of my almost relaxed state. I looked around searchingly and my gaze lingered on the silver-coloured rental car parked in front of the airport building just a few meters away from me. My mother was standing in front of it in her bright yellow, flowered summer dress and waved me over excitedly. I started to move slowly, but she couldn't move fast enough. She ran towards me and wrapped her arms around me. She hugged me tightly and gave me kisses on my cheek. I squinted my eyes and wrinkled my nose, but I let her have her way. We hadn't seen each other for two weeks, just the occasional phone call or text. I knew how important this moment was for her; it was still difficult for her to detach herself from me and give me my freedom. After she had let go of me, she looked at me scrutinizingly and with a slight concern in her gaze.

"Mom, I'm fine, really!" I assured her, knowing exactly what question she was about to ask.

"Oh, Solea, are you sure?"

"Yes," I replied firmly and said: "I can also start my studies next year. Sure, it's annoying and it bugs me not to be able to start now, but it's not the end of the world, is it?"

I realized that I was slowly starting to enjoy this game. Outwardly, I was playing the contrite girl who was so disappointed that she couldn't start her studies. But inside, I was now triumphant that I had a year off. A year off meant a year of life. A year of freedom. A year of spontaneity. Until then, my entire life had been planned out, every day from kindergarten to A-levels meticulously planned. In the beginning, it was my mother who set the structure, but at some point I built my own. I was so used to it, it gave me the security I needed. Up to a point when the whole structure collapsed and any planning no longer worked. It was a time in my life when I started to falter, fell into stress and almost broke. And I felt a part of me that finally wanted to break out of this cage. But I didn't know whether my parents would accept this without any ifs or buts. I was actually of legal age and could do whatever I wanted. Nevertheless, I still obeyed my parents' unwritten rules and my own expectations of performance and education. To avoid having to explain why I was going to throw all my plans out the window in the near future, I continued my pattern, crossed my arms, looked down and pretended to be uncomfortable with the whole situation. I had to pull myself together so as not to pay any attention to the bird screaming for freedom in my chest and keep the cage nice and closed. At some point, my moment would come to break free. I felt that. I just had to be patient. She looked at me for a while, then nodded.

"I guess you're right," she sighed.

I shrugged my shoulders and smiled.

"Dad and Alejandro probably already know too, don't they?"

She nodded. It should have been clear to me that she would tell my father and brother everything. There were no secrets in our family. You had to justify or explain everything you did.

"I think it's time for the beach," I mumbled as I heaved my luggage into the trunk of the car and my mother started the engine. I sat next to her in the passenger seat and she steered the car out of the airport, straight onto the highway to San Javier.

We didn't talk much during the hour drive to my grandparents' small vacation home. As soon as we got off the highway and turned onto the road along the beach promenade, I opened the window on my side and let all the smells and sounds take effect on me. The scent of palm trees and sand, the smell of the highly concentrated salt water of the Mar Menor, the warm summer wind. The barking dogs by the water, the children playing, the squeaking brakes of the rattling old bicycles, the chattering and flapping wings of the seagulls. All of this took me back to a time when I was still little and splashed around in the water with water wings. Back then, my well-planned world didn't yet revolve around school and university. When the car came to a halt in front of our vacation home, I immediately jumped out and ran to the small, white gate of our vacation home. While my mother unloaded my luggage, I ran straight towards my father and brother, who were enjoying a siesta in the shade on their deckchairs on the terrace. After greeting my father and brother, I entered the small house. It belonged to my paternal grandparents. However, they had a second house in the Spanish province of Salamanca. This was their main residence, where they spent their summers, which were pleasantly cool thanks to the heights of the Sierra de Béjar. In winter, they settled in this small house on the beach to avoid the icy and cold winter in the Spanish mountains. As the house was empty during the summer, we were allowed to use it as a vacation residence. Everything here was familiar and homely. On the walls were pictures and poems that my grandmother had painted and written herself. On the furniture in the living room were countless photos of all the family members at different stages of their lives. I walked down the long, dark corridor to the last room on the left, where I threw my suitcase on the bed under the window, sat down on the opposite bed and took a deep breath. I just felt so empty. So helpless and searching for meaning. I wasn't used to starting a day without knowing what to expect tomorrow or the day after. I wasn't used to looking to the future without a goal. Right now I felt like I was floating, with no solid ground under my feet. What I was doing here was leaving my comfort zone, overcoming my limits. What do I actually want to do with my life now? I've actually achieved all the goals I wanted to achieve. To be honest, studying itself was never one of those life goals that was on my list out of my own deepest conviction. I only made it one because I had the impression that society expected me to go on to university after my A-levels. Why did I go to grammar school and do the Matura in the first place? Because at the time I was still firmly convinced that I wanted to study after the four years, after the Matura. But in four years, when you grow from a teenager to a young adult, so much can happen and certain visions change. Of course, this is also influenced by everything that happens around you. Before my thoughts could take off and expand in directions I could no longer control, I gave myself a jolt and got the most important things out of my suitcase. I put them in the cupboard, half of which was filled with my grandparents' belongings. I left the rest in the suitcase on the bed. I decided to forgo the beach and let off steam in a sports session instead. So I put on my sports clothes, shorts and a top, and strolled into the kitchen. I took the plate of juicy pieces of watermelon from the fridge and sat down at the small kitchen table. Just as I was shoving the first piece into my mouth, my brother, who was two years older than me, entered the room. His hair was all tousled from the siesta and his dark blond hair covered his grey-blue eyes. He grabbed a piece of watermelon from his plate and took a glass from the cupboard, which he filled with water. I mumbled with my mouth full:

"Hey Alejandro, what's up? Has much changed here?"

He turned around and then leaned casually against the counter. He shook his hair out of his eyes with a flourish.

"No, not really, you still know all our neighbours. But can you still remember the vacation home at the other end of the village, the one with the huge pool? It's currently rented out to a cool, mixed group of friends. Two of them are from the north of Spain and three from the south. We spend a lot of time together, at the beach or sometimes in the evening for a round on the go-kart track or bowling in the shopping center."

I smiled.

"If you like, you can come along, I'm sure you'd get on well with them too. We're going out for dinner tonight and then to the cinema opposite the shopping center."

"No, I'd rather not today, I've only just arrived and want to get some rest."

Alejandro nodded and put his empty glass in the sink. Then he went to the door, but turned around again.

"But another time, yeah? There'd be someone you'd like," he said and winked at me.

"Hey!" I shouted playfully indignant and threw the tea towel next to me at him. Alejandro was quicker, disappeared out of the door and the cloth got caught in the door handle.

"Are you going for a run?" my mother's voice held me back as I was about to pass the gate about an hour later. The afternoon heat gave way to a balmy coolness, accompanied by a pleasant, fresh breeze. I turned around and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. You couldn't do anything without someone in the family noticing.

"It's all right, but don't exaggerate!" she replied immediately and turned back to her reading, one of those magazines you could buy for little money at the newsstand. On the cover was Felipe VI, King of Spain, with his wife Letizia and their two daughters Leonor and Sofia of Spain. I wondered what the media was reporting about the royal family this time and whether it was true at all. I shook off my thoughts, opened the small white gate, stepped out onto the street, turned right towards the beach and put on my big, padded headphones. I jogged towards the sea air to the song "Vivir Mi Vida" by Marc Anthony.

About twenty minutes later, when I already had the sea behind me again and was on my way home, I wanted to take a shortcut across the old football pitch, which hadn't been played on for years. But the way was blocked. There was a stable with four stalls. Although it was small, it looked very inviting. There was only one horse in the pasture in the shade of a tree, its coat shining a beautiful sandy colour. His legs were black up to his knees, as were his mane and tail. I recognized its muscular and graceful neck, its athletic build and its elegant head. It was a beautiful specimen of the Pura Raza Española, the pure Spanish breed. One hind hoof was bent and its eyes were slightly closed, but as I walked through the dry grass towards the fence, it flinched, threw its head up and eyed me suspiciously. I stepped up to the fence and tried to lure it in. It didn't move, but continued to stare at me. Its muscles were tense, its nostrils flared and its ears moved restlessly. I had the feeling that a conflict was raging inside him. I whistled softly. After a brief hesitation, the sand-coloured animal started moving and came slowly and deliberately to me at the fence. But it kept a safe distance so that I couldn't touch it. Suddenly, a huge shadow fell next to me. I then slowly turned around. I looked straight into another elegant face of a horse. This time it was a beautiful grey mare with her head held high. She blew her warm breath in my face, she was standing so close to me. The horse's sweaty flanks rose and fell quickly. I took my headphones from my ears, hung them around my neck, stopped the music, took a step to the side and finally paid attention to her rider, searching for his gaze. I had to put my hand to my forehead as the sun was blinding. The man sitting loosely in the mare's saddle held the reins in one hand, the other he had raised to his vaquero hat in greeting and nodded to me. Stuttering, I greeted him in Spanish. He gave me a distant but friendly smile and said:

"I see you've made friends with my horse."

He didn't speak Castilian, I noticed that immediately. His Spanish sounded much softer and gentler, almost like a self-composed song. He strung the words together melodically by simply omitting certain endings. I was fascinated by the charm of this sound. But I was even more fascinated by his charisma. He seemed so aloof and distant, but that's exactly what grabbed me. Something about this man towards me triggered feelings that I didn't really want to know about at the moment. I tried to suppress the slight tingling in my stomach and swallowed. Then I realized from his expectant look that he was still waiting for a reaction from me, even though he hadn't asked a question. Flabbergasted, I nodded and he dismounted with ease. He was almost a head taller than me and had dark, almost black eyes. His thick hair was the same colour and reached the back of his neck. When he had pulled his hat off his head, a strand had fallen into his forehead, which he now brushed back with a smooth movement.

"This is Amira," he introduced the mare on the reins, then pointed to the sand-coloured stallion in the pasture.

"And that one, that's Fandango," he said curtly, quickly and almost dismissively. I was surprised that he had adopted a different attitude when introducing Amira than when introducing Fandango. I looked over at the horse, which was named after an Andalusian dance. Somehow the name suited the stallion, who radiated a tender fire, like a fist on the eye. My gaze returned to the man who was still looking at me. I held out my hand to him and introduced myself. He grasped it with a strong grip, yet there was so much gentleness and caution in it. How could it be that one person could reconcile so many opposites? How could it be that he radiated coldness and distance as well as warmth and familiarity in equal measure? I tried desperately to ignore the warmth of his touch.

"Solea," he pronounced my name. Then he introduced himself as Enrico.

Unvarnished truth

I sat on an upturned crate at the grooming area in the cool stable and sipped the cold Coke that Enrico had given me. I watched him unsaddle Amira, groom her and hose her legs down with cold water. I noticed how calmly and devotedly he looked after his mare. He was with her with all his senses and gave her his undivided attention. Meanwhile, he hummed to himself. The gentle, rhythmic melody sounded familiar to me, even though I had never heard it before. I cleared my throat and asked: "Where are you from?"

He stopped immediately, fell silent and looked at me over Amira's back out of his dark, almost black eyes.

"From Seville. Andalusia," he replied curtly, without taking his eyes off me. That made sense to me, so that's where his dialect came from. It was known for some letters not being articulated clearly or even being omitted completely. This mainly concerned the "S" or "D", which were simply swallowed at the end of a word or pronounced like an "H" or only breathed. This was the reason why it sounded much softer and more melodic than the well-known Castilian. Here in San Javier, I also noticed this slightly in the dialect of south-eastern Spain, but in Seville it was of course very pronounced.

"What brings you here to San Javier?"

"Vacation. Some friends have invited me to spend two weeks here with them."

"And Amira and Fandango, are they both yours?"

"In a way, yes," he replied with a nod and looked at me for a long time with a scrutinizing gaze. I returned it silently, but my unspoken questions lingered in the air. Enrico sighed, came around the mare and leaned lightly on her shoulder. He crossed his arms. Then he answered my questions as if he could read my mind.

"My family has a ranch near Seville. They have been breeding and training rejoneo horses, which are used for Spanish bullfighting, for generations. I also started offering guided riding tours through Andalusia a few years ago, and Amira is my main horse. According to the passport, the ranch is the primary owner of Amira. So she belongs to the business, the company."

Now he faltered briefly and clenched his jaw. Then he cleared his throat and said: "But I'm registered as the sole owner in Fandango's passport, he belongs to me as a private individual. The ranch has no claim to him."

I listened to him in amazement. But one small detail had not escaped me. He said that his family bred rejoneo horses. What about him? Did he only offer riding tours? Had he deliberately taken himself out of breeding? I tried to elicit this information from him by deliberately involving Enrico in my next question.

"When you say that you breed horses for bullfighting ... does that also mean that you also compete in bullfights?"