Their festive exuberance struck him as odd. He’d never seen university students so open, loving, and free. They embraced like brothers and kissed on the cheeks; they cavorted around the cul de sac, chasing one another. They had fiery, engaging conversations.
Lethe approached them without freezing up or running off. The hashish he smoked earlier removed his inhibitions and he walked right up to them and said, “Hello. I have some hashish here. Care for any?”
The Spaniards were surprised by his obvious American accent. Soon smiles appeared on their faces. One of the Spaniards answered cheerfully, “Let’s see what you got.” Another stepped forward to introduce himself. The glimmer in his eye persuaded Lethe that he was interested in making friends.
“Have a drink,” Ricardo said, while reaching for the whiskey and Coke.
Ricardo was a tall fellow with wire-rim glasses and a narrow face. “How are you enjoying Spain,” he asked.
“Spain? Oh, I love Spain. I have a Senora who I live with . . . and another roommate but I don’t talk to him very much.”
“What about school?” Ricardo asked.
“I’ve just quit school.” Lethe laughed.
“You what?” Another Spaniard entered the conversation.
Lethe chuckled. “I don’t like your International Institute here; that’s where they send us foreigners. The funny thing about the International Institute is that’s it’s filled with Americans. I can’t stand Americans now. They drive me crazy.”
Lethe spoke fluent Spanish. How it happened was a mystery. Suddenly the words, the expressions, the phrases, were released from some deep place inside of him and once he began talking he couldn’t stop. The Spaniards stood amazed at his energy for talking and his manic enthusiasm and the constant flow of ideas brewing inside of him. Soon they had gathered around him and were asking all sorts of questions.
A beam of confidence shot through Lethe. Speaking Spanish was really a cinch. All you had to do was open your mouth and let the words carry themselves. He didn’t know if he was making sense or not, but the Spaniards were laughing and showing signs that they understood him. All Lethe needed was the confidence to say the next word and everything was fine. Suddenly he’d become popular. Suddenly he’d become the center of attention.
And then, wanting to wield his newly discovered gift, Lethe posed some questions of his own. “What’s it like to go to school in Spain? Is it anything like the International Institute? Do you have a lot of homework?”
“We don’t have any homework,” Javier answered, the round-faced, handsome Spaniard in the middle. “In three weeks we will have our final exam. That’s why everyone is out tonight. This is one of our last weekends to party.”
“How many tests have you had this semester?” Lethe asked.
“Tests?” They chuckled. “There’s only one test at the end of the semester. Most of us haven’t even opened our textbooks yet.”
“What about papers? Surely you’ve had some papers to write?”
“No papers, either.”
“But attendance is required of course. You have to go to class don’t you?”
This last question really cracked them up. “No,” a short, bald guy answered. “I haven’t been to class in eight weeks.”
“Either have I,” another Spaniard shouted. “We study the night before. That’s the best, proven technique.”
“You study the night before your final exam and it’s your only grade the entire semester?”
They found Lethe’s skepticism amusing. He seemed to take life so seriously.
Javier explained, “College is free in Spain, but you have to pass your tests or you can’t move on.”
“And doesn’t that worry you? Not passing my tests scares me to death. I quit school because I was afraid I wouldn’t get straight A’s. My language was never this good, I assure you. Just tonight it seems to have dramatically improved.”
“If we don’t pass our tests, we’ll all become plumbers!” The Spaniards cheered.
Lethe was still perplexed by how they managed to enjoy themselves and keep from worrying about the demands in life. But after awhile he simply went along with the festive spirit and drank more whiskey and Coke. They taught him some national songs and toward the end of the night Lethe walked home thinking maybe there was another way to look at reality.
I know, I’m a broken record. But this would be a great place for real conversation.
No, but it helps. I’ll inject some conversation, but now I’m going to bed. Thanks Chris. Talk to you soon.
I revised this section thoroughly.
[...] was outside last Friday night taking one of my walks and lo and behold I met a group of Spaniards my age.” He reached for the wine glass again, but she held it away from him. Their bodies [...]
[...] Friday night Lethe met his Spanish friends at the end of the cul de sac. All the group was there, Carlos, Ricky, Javier, Damien and the [...]