Another Senora?

They sat at the table waiting for Lethe to arrive. The meal was Spanish rice and beans; a quick meal; the Senora was tired of cooking for absent people. Donte told a story about his classmates while the Senora drank from her glass of wine. Once she enjoyed listening to Donte speak his pretty fluent sentences but now they grated on her aged ears and the more embellishment he gave to the Spanish language the less she cared to listen to him. His head had an oily sheen that reminded her of a slippery eel. She dismissed these thoughts because they were irrelevant.

“Are we eating before Lethe arrives?” Donte asked innocently.

But the Senora was inwardly possessed and thinking of something far more important than when was the proper time to eat. Donte lifted his delicate shoulders and looked into the mirror to adjust his ball of hair.

Back at the International Institute, the Director pounded his hairy knuckles on the desk in front of him. He did this to make his point heard. He had several points and all of them he stated on the phone when he talked to Lethe earlier. His first point was that Lethe should return home immediately (pound).

His second point was that Lethe should see a psychiatrist (pound, pound).

These were issues that needed to be addressed by a professional (pound, pound, pound).

“I’m seeing a professional,” Lethe interjected. “I already have a psychiatrist. You can’t send me home for that.”

And the third? The stupid boy made him forget his third point.

Lethe angled for the Director’s sympathy by bellowing a defenseless cry. These were the emotional reactions he’d been practicing while walking to the International Institute. It was not beneath Lethe to prepare for a big moment.

“I can’t go back to living at home, my parents are getting a divorce and they’ll want to drag me into the whole sad affair. I beg you Director allow me to stay here in Spain. Let me live with the Senora. She’s my only hope.”

“I can’t let you live with her, it’s against the rules. I’ve told you that already. But I may be able to find you another senora.”

“Another senora?” Lethe asked naively.

“If you’re dead set on staying here in Spain,” the Director conceded, “then maybe we can arrange something with a woman I know.”

All the tortured sadness drained from Lethe’s face and he jumped out of his chair to embrace the Director.

“You don’t have to hug me. She’s an old acquaintance of mine and she owes me a favor.”

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Slow down, she’s not your Senora yet. We have to agree on a price.”

Linda tapped on the glass window to her husband’s office and pointed to her watch.

“Women can be so damn impatient sometimes,” the Director remarked. “I better get going.”

When Lethe returned to the Senora’s apartment, Donte had on his usual look of perplexed happiness. The balcony door was open and the curtains blew forward and back in the evening breeze. Lethe pushed his cigarettes down to the end of the table and took a seat.

“So how many more days will you be living with us?” Donte asked.

“You act like I’m some sort of a burden–”

“No, not at all. I just wanted to know when I can move my things into the room with the balcony.”

The Senora brought Lethe’s food to the table. The Spanish rice had been reheated and the pan was caked on the sides with burnt beans.

“It could be two days or ten days. I’m not sure. The Director is looking for another senora for me.”

“Another senora?” Donte said incredulously.

“In a rare change of heart, the Director has become sympathetic to my cause.”

The Senora held her cigarette in front of her face. Smoke poured out of her nostrils in small increments.

“So what’s your new Senora like?” Donte probed.

“All I know is that she’s a single mother with two kids. I may have to help out with the kids but I don’t mind.”

“You? Take care of children?” Donte laughed satirically.

“I wouldn’t be that bad, would I?”

The Senora kept silent and allowed her boarders to speak their inanities. Who knew whether Lethe would find a new senora or not; it was none of her business. She needed to focus on the apartment, the cleaning and the cooking. When he was gone, there would be more work to be done. She stood up from the table and carried the dishes to the sink. Donte and Lethe continued talking in a dreamy, hypothetical manner.

Lethe lie in bed that night, imagining his new senora. She was young and strong, but old enough to be his mother, with thick, black Spanish hair and muscular arms and shoulders. She had a buxom chest and strong hands. Her exact features dissolved and morphed into a number of different faces he had seen before in the streets of Madrid. She had some resemblance to the Senora’s maid, Catalin, but a more experienced, darkly erotic personality. These images of the mysterious senora tossed in his mind until the early hours of the morning when he work up confused and alarmed by his dreams.