The Balcony

One fine day, while exploring the ruins of an ancient house in Andalusia, I found a slim diary tucked between the broken railings of the old vine-covered balcony. The vine secured it in place, it's tendrils extending around it tenderly in a loving caress. The paper of the old journal resembled the color of the dry leaves, and I opened it cautiously, afraid the brittle pages would crumble. Many pages were missing, but the paper held fast, and the ink was still clear enough to read. The inside cover was plainly titled "Jose's diary" in the simple hand of a literate but poor man. But as I exposed the pages to the light of day, a curious thing happened - a faint, silvery writing appeared. The writing reminded me of Moroccan script embellished like an elaborate and elegant embroidery. My find was apparently a diary within a diary with two narratives unfolding simultaneously...

Jose's diary -
I approached my house on an old donkey, coming home after a long trip to the city of Jerez. Mi niña, la luz de mi vida, stood on the balcony waiting impatiently. Seeing her filled me with love, and I gently urged my mount to plod along a little faster, wishing but for a moment I still had my Palomino.

~~ Evelina clung to the railing of the upper balcony, the knuckles on her small fingers bulging, as she tightened and loosened her grip with joyful anticipation.

Releasing her grip, she clapped her hands, squealing and jumping with delight. ~~

"Papi, Papi, Papi!" Evelina jumped up and down with such vigor I thought the blue-black ringlets of her hair glinted with ribbons the color of a summer sky.

~~ Her thin legs, knees two prominent knobs of bone wrapped tightly in flesh the color well baked biscuits, bumped against each other and against the wood slats of the banister.

In her excitement Evelina failed to notice the balcony groaned and creaked beneath her.

Flickers of old, dingy paint chipped off as the ruffled edge of her short slip brushed again and again with every excited jump, the balcony feeling the strain.

A rain darkened cloud, hanging so low it seemed to drape like a cloak over the tops of the chestnut trees, obscured the sunlight, and for a moment the figure of her daddy disappeared while washed in shadow giving the impression that the homecoming had been but a figment of her imagination. Evelina paused.

The balcony exhaled with sudden relief, the movement - the ka-thunk, ka-thunk, ka-thunk, ceasing -only to resume within a few seconds.

The balcony sighed. ~~

I dismounted, got down on one knee, and threw my arms open wide in the familiar theatrical gesture Evelina so loved.

"Mi niña, mi amor. Que delirio me da verte!" I touched my hand to my lips and blew her a kiss. She mimicked me in response.

My beautiful girl loves the stage. She wants to be a Flamenco dancer when she grows up, but in truth, she already can out-dance some of the most accomplished local dancers. Her spindly legs are quick and strong, and soon enough, they will grow into the shapely legs of a young woman.

"Play for me, Papi! Sing me a new song!"

~~ The balcony braced for the onslaught of staccato steps that would soon smatter the expanse of splintering wooden slats as Evelina rushed to discard her boots and strap on her dancing shoes. ~~

I slid my guitar out of my threadbare bedroll and strummed a slow and melancholy tune. Evelina protested petulantly.

~~ The balcony momentarily blossomed with hope. ~~

 "Que pasa, mi amor?" I smiled with mock innocence and reaching into my well-worn saddle bag tossed a small muslim bag to my little girl. She startled but for a second, then swift as a raven caught the surprise.

~~ Evelina squealed louder and more excitedly than before. Her father had brought home a new pair of castanets. They were expertly made of ebony, instead of the traditional chestnut, shaped like seashells, and artfully engraved with Moroccan flourishes resembling delicate silver vines. The touch of her little hands on the castanets released a sound that could only be described as a flutter of wings descending. Those wings gently enfolded her soul, and then releasing it, placed a tiny fleck of that shimmering light in the hollow curve of each castanet. ~~

"Mi niña, como una estrella, you light my way with your joy. Te quiero, mi amor!"

~~ The balcony, mesmerized with genuine delight and admiration, forgot the pain of age and poverty.  The lightheartedness and devotion of the pair evoked something humble in the decrepit structure -  this father travels far seeking work, this little girl waits alone - and feeling humility, a sweet forbearance soon spread through the declining framework, mellowing and maturing the wood with renewed strength and endurance. ~~

Jose's last entry -
My dear Evelina, you father's faith in himself is nourished by the simple trust in your shining eyes. My little girl, your love brings me hope. I believe somehow we will make it through these fallow times. I believe because you believe.