DAY 5
Last night as I tried to sleep — the house is a two bedroom — I could hear Arianne. She was mumbling to herself while pacing. At least that's what it sounded like. I heard her rifle through the kitchen drawer and imagined her choosing a butter knife with which to finish me. I fall back asleep.
I'm an early riser but she even took that away from me by being an earlier riser. I wait until I hear her leave and then get up and head out myself.
I walk the beach and surrounding neighbourhoods and wonder how lunch with the landlord-cop is going to go.
I stop at La Botigueta and get some terrific veg, including the best carrots I've ever had. But when I return home, I find that Arianne has already done all the shopping and seems slightly perturbed about my purchase.
She's making rice and fish. As she stirs, she stares out the window. "He's the one that's doing it," she says. I look over her shoulder. In the distance, maybe 400 feet, I see another house. No people. Does she maybe mean the dog?
I change the subject, ask how often she gets to the beach. Does she like the area? She confesses she rarely leaves the house. "Not one more minute in this town," she says.
Mateo arrives and we quickly hit it off. When I tell him I sell records, he immediately starts talking music. I hate talking music but humour him. I also help him with some phone stuff — he's having issues and maybe I know how to fix them. He's no longer concerned about who is going to be staying in his house.
We exchange numbers and when he leaves, I ask Arianne if she wants to buy her plane tickets now. She says we will have to use my phone. I say that's fine, as long as she doesn't use my credit card. Not even a smile.
She explains what she wants: Spain to the Maldives, stopping in Abu Dhabi for four days. Only wants to fly in one direction, no flight longer than six hours. No layovers.
Takes me four hours to figure it out. The fastest I can get rid of her is two days from now. An eternity when your host is armed with a butterknife.
I ask again if maybe she wants to show me around. She declines, muttering a word in a language I don't recognize under her breath.
Along a path I sense someone ahead of me in the bushes. It's Mateo. I say Hi and he walks along beside me so I stop. He needs to talk to me. He points back at the house, saying, "She... what is the word..." He points his finger at his head and swirls it through the air, the universal symbol for scrambled brains.
"Paranoid," I say, and Mateo stabs the air between us.
"That's the word! Paranoid!"
"Yes," I say.
"You'll take care of my house?"
"I'll certainly try," I say.
He nods, offers his hand. We shake and go our separate ways.
Of course, I walk.
Love the colors of the buildings here.
Toronto would have a collective aneurysm if someone painted a building that color.
