Queens of All the Earth (8 page)

That evening, dinner took place in the common room, and both Somersets attended. However, Miranda insisted they cook their own food, and so Olivia waited at a table with Lenny and Marc, and while they ate, Miranda boiled a small portion of pasta for herself and Olivia. Marc was flicking through a magazine while Lenny half-heartedly scribbled on a small notebook during pauses in the conversation, or when others were too busy preparing food to talk. The Browns had gone out to eat with a Polish couple who had just arrived. Language was apparently no barrier given a shared love of gardening.

“They just invited themselves along,” Lenny opined. “It’s like they can’t leave people alone. Maybe they think they’ll convert them. They say grace, you know, before dinner.” Lenny paused before continuing. “At least, the dad does. I have no idea what goes on in that kid’s head.”

“Ana and Chas didn’t seem to mind,” Marc said with a smile. “It’s very brave for people to attempt communication with so few common words between them. Not many people are even brave enough to try to learn a second language.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And they say grace silently.”

“I used to speak a little Spanish, but I let most of it go. And Olivia and
I both took French for two years in middle school,” Miranda said, setting down two plates of tortellini and sitting beside her sister.

“You’ve been to France?” Marc asked.

“No.”

“Well, I don’t think the Browns are the bilingual type,” Lenny said with a sneer. “They think they’re quite the little heroes for stunts like the flower thing. It’s like, you know, they’re trying to prove they’re holier than thou.”

Olivia didn’t see how it was like that at all, but her throat tightened up when she thought about speaking up.

“It’s like the room thing!” Miranda said, jumping in. “Thinking they’re doing us this big favor, but really just being awkward and strange.”

Lenny snickered. Olivia went white. Her heart hammered harder, and she thought of the piece of paper she had found on the floor. She wondered if Miranda had seen it, and if Miranda had been the one to crumple and discard it.

“I saw Mr. Brown at the Cathedral of Barcelona today,” Olivia said quietly.

“You went all the way to the Cathedral? I thought we were going to go together, Olivia!”

“Only for a little. I—I didn’t see much.”

“Yeah, I bet Greg was trying to carve lyrics into one of the columns or some shit like that,” Lenny said. “I hate emo kids. Angst à la redneck. I bet he wore eyeliner in high school and can’t figure out how to tell his dad he’s coming out of the closet.” She stopped for a second to snicker. “I’d love to see that.”

“I saw him in a really flattering shade of green today,” Marc said. “It was the same color as leaves in the springtime.”

Olivia could only think of Greg on the roof, awash in sunlight.

“Do you know the line ‘my father moved through dooms of love’?”
Olivia asked suddenly.

“It’s an E. E. Cummings poem,” said Marc.

“Oh yeah, it just sounds like him, doesn’t it?” Lenny said. “E. E.’s the man. I really love him, especially that one in the Woody Allen movie—the one that makes the girl cry—”

“‘somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond,’” Marc said. “
Hannah and Her Sisters
.”

Lenny nodded and smiled tightly. It struck Olivia that Lenny wasn’t actually too happy that someone else enjoyed the same movies as her. It was as if she wanted to be the only one who liked that stuff.

“Okay. Thanks,” Olivia whispered in the silence.

“I think Mr. Brown was reading some Cummings here earlier,” Marc said. “I’m sure he’d lend it to you.”

“Seriously?” Lenny cried. “Really? I didn’t think they were into... reading. You know, the first night I was here, he told the whole room he never went to college. I figured, okay, whatever, he’s just a product of his time and place. But with the internet and new schools and stuff, there’s absolutely no excuse for him not to give Greg a shot at education, you know? I mean, who in this day and age doesn’t go to college? You’d think he’d just want to get out of wherever they live, right? But I asked him where he was going to college and he said he hadn’t applied anywhere, and he was just thinking of taking classes at the community college until he ‘figures it out.’ Like staying in whatever backwater they’re from is going to offer him any great insights. I bet his dad helps censor the local library,” she said. “Anyway, that was the first night, and after he told me that, he just wandered off like an idiot and didn’t say anything to me again.”

“Where’s his mom?” Olivia asked softly.

“I think she’s dead,” Marc said.

Olivia’s breath caught. Why did she suddenly feel guilty?

Everyone else at the table indulged the simultaneous urge to stuff
their faces. But before Lenny could interpret this as encouragement to continue, Marc swallowed hard and leaned toward Miranda.

“So, what are your plans for tomorrow?” he asked a little too brightly.

“We could do Gaudí tomorrow,” Miranda said.

“Okay,” said Olivia, ready to agree with anything that would set her feet moving, as if that could stop her mind from spinning.

“A full day would give you more time to stay and look at the things you like,” Marc said.

“I guess you could always add a few more sights to fill it out, unless you really want to use up a whole day on it,” Lenny said with a sigh.

Olivia suddenly looked up to Marc and said, “Come with us.”

“Well, I was only going to wander tomorrow anyway, so I guess I can wander with you, if you’ll take me,” he said, with some hesitation.

“I guess I can come along too,” Lenny said without invitation.

Before Lenny could propose leading the group, Miranda spoke of the works she wanted to see—the Casa Milá, the Sagrada Familia, and the Casa Batlló. “That should be enough for a whole day,” she said.

“Or more,” Marc said. He beamed charmingly at Miranda. “You’d better gather your strength.”

That evening, Olivia raided the stock of guidebooks she shared with Miranda to read up on Antoni Gaudí. She wanted to be an expert by tomorrow. She wanted to do tomorrow so much better than she had done today.

Lenny sought the companionship of a few Scottish football fans—two or three, if she was lucky—who were probably the coolest tourists around, way more laid-back than the English, and definitely with sexier accents.

Marc took a stroll down La Rambla for some fresh(er) air and returned to write in his journal.

Miranda, with her usual efficiency, managed to wear herself out between washing up and corresponding with friends at home, but waited
to go to bed until ten o’clock. Following her own jet-lag rule, she sat stubbornly upright in a computer chair in front of her e-mail, nodding off every five minutes.

Olivia read, lying on her bed, until Miranda came in to sleep and turned out the light. Olivia lay awake until all was silent. Worn out on Gaudí before she had even seen his buildings in real life, she slipped into the common room to lose herself in
A Wrinkle in Time
.

But the room wasn’t deserted yet. When she rounded the corner, she saw Hugo and Sophie close together on one of the couches. Hugo slouched back, and Sophie leaned into him, one hand lazily weaving through his hair, the other settled in the crook of his elbow, her thumb stroking his arm. Hugo held her loosely around her waist, with a lazy grin subtly different from the one he showed all the guests.

Sophie saw her staring and Olivia’s heart caught in her throat, but before she could retreat, Sophie rose stiffly, and Hugo alone remained slouched on the couch, relaxed and unembarrassed. When Sophie moved for the door, Hugo stirred fluidly from the couch and followed her. While they said goodbye in the dim foyer, Olivia climbed into the deep chair in the back corner to pretend as visibly as possible that she was invisible.

After Sophie left (a few words, a brief silence, the click of the latch), Hugo returned to Olivia, his old smirk still hanging off the corners of his lips.

“Need anything?” he asked good-naturedly.

“No, I’m fine, thanks, I just came to read my book.” Olivia’s explanation tumbled over itself. When Hugo remained in place, she added, “I’m sorry I interrupted you.”

“It’s okay. She’s not upset. Just shy.” He smiled. For the first time, Olivia saw Sophie as Mr. Brown must have seen her right away—as Hugo knew her to be all along. And now the flowers made perfect sense.

“I hope you have a nice night,” Olivia said.

Hugo nodded, then disappeared into the other end of the entrance hall, where Olivia could only assume he lived, though it would be just as natural to assume the kitchen was his home, and the corner of the couch he had just occupied his bed—or that he never slept at all, but continually haunted the places where someone needed a friend. Except Olivia knew that wasn’t true. There was more to his existence than hostel guests. Olivia winced, inside and out—not at accidentally walking in on Hugo’s date, but at her own surprise that he would have one.

Olivia slid her book between her hands. She liked the feel of its matte cover, ridged where the writing was. Flipping the book’s pages, she inhaled the old smell of dusty paper and dusty bookshelves. Sometimes, at home, she would sit for hours without reading at all, just touching her book and dreaming about what was inside it.

Her eyes wandered the room and alighted on the window. Its view was identical to the view from the dorm room on their first night in Barcelona, only twenty-four hours ago, and Olivia observed that, in the moonlight, the garden seemed deeper, while the laundry hanging from rails had disappeared and lights behind curtains shivered and blinked.

On the windowsill, Mr. Brown’s book of selected Cummings poems was perched under his folded glasses. With the same thrill she felt opening drawers in her grandparents’ house, Olivia picked the book up.

It was an old hardback in faded cloth. It smelled like a library and the typeset was wide and round. Olivia felt the roughness of the pages’ edges—cut but not trimmed and smoothed to a uniform width. Cradling it between the moonlight and the red glow of a reading lamp, she looked for and read “my father moved through dooms of love.”

The lines were short, but she struggled, picking at each word to find its meaning. Together, they must have been used as a code for other words that formed a logical and complete thought. It was senseless, though. The meaning was coded more thoroughly than she could decipher.

Halfway through, her concentration was interrupted by the appearance of Marc in plaid pajamas.

“Hoo! Hoo!” he hooted, like an owl, pouring himself a glass of water from a bottle in the fridge. He shuffled over to Olivia and peered down at her.

“Feeling all right?” he asked.

“Yeah, just couldn’t sleep,” she said, tilting her head up.

“Exciting day tomorrow,” he said. “Don’t wear yourself out now.”

“I’ll go to bed soon,” she said.

Marc tipped the book in her hands up slightly.

“Cummings? Mr. Brown’s?” he asked. Olivia nodded. “I heard him and Greg come in with Ana and Chas tonight,” Marc said.

“Oh?” said Olivia, suppressing a yawn, though her heart beat faster.

“They were talking about going to Girona tomorrow. They’re leaving very early in the morning, or at least Mr. Brown and Ana and Chas are. I was afraid I’d wake them getting up like this, but it’s like a greenhouse in there—the room is nearly full, you know.”

“Greg’s not going?” The words tumbled out of Olivia before she could stop them.

“I’m not sure. He made noises about lingering behind. Knowing him, he’ll just slouch off somewhere on his own.” Marc lifted an eyebrow but didn’t press Olivia on her question. She had the sense she was being cheerfully tolerated, like a little kid who doesn’t make much sense but still sounds cute.

Olivia, biting her lip, searched for something else to say.

“It’s cool out here,” she said.

“Yes, but not really as nice as being in bed,” Marc said, laughing. “Goodnight, and I hope you sleep well.”

Olivia wished him the same. By now it was clear that Miranda couldn’t stand Greg and his father, and that she and Olivia had formed their own
little clique with Lenny and Marc. Olivia was used to following her sister, but often suspected that every group but hers was more playful, relaxed, and free.

Though she had never met them, Olivia assumed Ana and Chas from Poland were the paradigm of pleasantness and adventurousness and joyfulness, because Mr. Brown had chosen to go with them to Girona for the day instead of waiting to hear of Olivia’s plans. She was surprised by the tiny flicker of jealousy she felt.

The feeling quieted when she looked down and found Cummings open on her lap. She began to read, this time less meticulously, just for the sake of moving her eyes over a text, like stroking the soft blanket she’d had as a child. She let the words flow, and while they now made as little sense to her as before, somehow she felt them more as they dropped into her mind like pellets of rain. Since the afternoon, Sophie’s lilies had been moved to the back of the room near the window, away from the places where the guests bustled most. They smelled like green and white.

Olivia rode the word current like the bus through the mountains, strange and new and sleep-drugged. Without quite understanding what the poet had said, she found herself suspended in the resonance of sad remembrance. She felt neither hopeless nor unhappy. The poem’s last line struck like a bell, and it rang in varying tones.

love is the whole and more than all

It was written again in a strong hand at the bottom of the page.

love is the whole and more than all

She closed her eyes and she read it again, written on the inside of herself.

love is the whole and more than all

In her dreams, it was followed by Sophie’s hand in Hugo’s hair; by Marc in plaid pajamas, writing in a small black book; by Miranda the rainy day she left for college; by their mother, entering the library, glancing back, leather bag on her shoulder, her graying flyaway hair a penumbra around the crescent of her cheek.