a meeting at the cantina

The ocean seemed so distant from the dance floor and the sound of tapping of rubber soles on the wood trampled the heeding and receeding waves on the shore. The summer moon had elevated over the pavillion with half a dozen clouds and a few stars. The moon illuminated the beach and guided flirtatious youthful meetings. Women felt safer in the light, and the men felt romantic.

     Rose crossed her legs and felt for the Virginia Slim lying next to a small box in her skirt pocket. She very delicately placeed one on her lips as the man in the grey suit sitting at the bar stood up and began to walk towards her. She paused lighting her cigarette, and the man noticed it. She did not hesitate more than a moment so as to give. She watched his purposeful and driven stride out of the corner of her eye and tried with difficulty to remain focused on the light at the end of her Virginia Slim.

     "Senora," the man said. With this proper address, Rose took the opportunity to fully examine the speaker. He had dark hair neatly combed to one side. His eyes had a distinct saturated grey color. They were cloudy and empty, but strong and resolute like the moon overhead. His lips did not smile but sort of were burried under  from any expression. His face was shaded by a few days passed unshaven. So noticiable was the density of his facial hair, Rose was a little surprised at misjudging his age. He was not an elder or a gentleman, but he was no youth either. "Señora, if you please, I would rather speak to you in English as I understand it is your native tongue." He had fluency and diction in his use of English and a light, flavored accent. Rose placed her thumb and index finger on her chin, "ANd how do you know this?" Rose had not heard English spoken in several weeks. "I am a very observant individual" he replied. His lips were still flat and his eyes expressionless. He spoke as if he were reading to himself. "I haven't spoken a word of English nor have I given any indication that I am a foreigner." "Only a native can make that judgment." he interupted. She used the pause to take a drag from her cigarette. She placed her hand back in her pocket and felt the box. She released her grip on it and said, "What can I do for you?" To her surprise, the man smiled and sat down on the chair across from her. "What brought you here tonight?" he asked. "I'm meeting someone." "Are you? How do you know that someone is not me?" "What makes you think I haven't meet this person already?" "This is a man, correct?" "...Yes" The dance floor emptied half of its participants after the song. The one that followed was slow and melodic, and the youths made their way towards the ocean. "Karina! Dos cervesas!" said the man as he waved an arm. "Do you come here often?" "Yes, but only out of obligation." The waitress arrived with two chilled and dressed bottles of beer. As he answered he rested an elbow on the table and leaned back in his chair. "You see, I own this place. This and a few others. I make it a point to visit my cattle to ensure they are well fed and grazing in the right pastures. Which is how I know you have not met this man. A foreigner would not arrive here alone to meet a man she already knows. This is not that sort of place. I assume he was the one who planned the meeting." He leaned forward and lowered his voice just a fraction to infer his meaning, "You are not the first he has met here, I promise you." "You harbor quite a number of assumptions, Señor..." "Miguel, just Miguel." "Miguel," she strained her voice to control a deep subtle quiver at the bottom of her throat, "is there something you would like to ask me?" Expression again depleted from his face. "Miss...?" "Rose" "Miss Rose," his voice turned jovial and light, "what do you know about decency?" "I suppose as much as anyone." she said after a brief moment. "There is no need to be anything but honest now, Rose. The question I asked was, what do you know about decency?" She studied his face, his direct gaze into her eyes. Without a flinch, she answered, "I don't believe it exists. His eyes emptied out and became transparent. He didn't leave a moment untouched, "Well of course it exists! After all, the most moral men swear by it." "It is real, but it is man made. It was made to avert our eyes from the..." "The what?" The music had built a great deal of tension like to struggle of a panting of a lamenting widow, but Rose could hear none of it. "The filth it is." "...filth to you?" "like a plague of lies." Miguel finished his beer. "You have given me no reason to extend it to you." "Live behind it." A few moments passed. Then Miguel reached into his pocket and drew a jade stone. "Do you recognize this? The slow song began again to swell in volume and harmony with compound melodies with additional stringed instruments and thundering drums, yet an unphased steady shake of a tambourine still remained. Rose felt the ocean breeze grip her neck and thigh. Again she felt for the small cardboard box in her skirt pocket. She ashed her cigarette in the tray and covered her mouth with her hand and whispered something to herself. From behind him, Miguel could hear the escalation of spirits being poured and the hopes of youth rising. At the end of the song, to the cheers of his clinets, Miguel heard a steady strong rhythm revive the cantina. The pulse was steady and real. He felt his chest swell and the soft linen stretch across it. He was searching in her eyes, searching for a hidden room. Rose finally spoke, "Yes. That belongs to Quinn." "Yes it did. Do you understand what this means?" Their eyes from the stone to the eyes of her new owner, "Yes." "Now, I believe you have something to give me."