Porto Sketches, xii (last impression).

yes, the perfect situation to be in when no one answers the door. phoneless and broke. back in the plaza at tasos' friend's bar somebody had their nokia charger with them and when i finally got the greek on the line around 4:30 he was just getting to the beach. i could take the many metro/bus trip to meet him there or sit tight till...<< later, malaka. >> i had no urge to search out nor be at a beach so i hung up and sat on the bar terrace to think.

the friend at the bar put 5 coins on the table and said i could pay him back later. then he gave me a beer and sat down to eat his lunch before starting the evening shift. soon after, luis, the soft spoken film fan, walked up and joined us. we sat together in the shade from the afternoon sun and talked about film + life + ideas + people, long after the barman had set himself to work. it was getting toward six then. paula from the saturday boat ride was still fresh and fragrant in my mind and i needed to give it another shot. << go man. go find love. ill be here. good luck. >>

but luck wouldn't oblige that day as paula's colleagues at the dock reluctantly redirected me to the main office, where her other colleagues flatly refused to let me talk to her.

<< can i help you? >>

<< no, but thanks. im just here to talk to her. >>

(and as if the dock people had called ahead of me, they knew!) << yes, but this is an office of tourisma, and she is working. so she cannot talk to you. >>

<< ok. when does the office of tourisma close? >>

<< 7 >>.

i sat in the square outside the office for 30 minutes after 7 waiting for somebody. really just her, but after 20 minutes anybody would have at least been a sign of life and correction in the universe. i watched fat men looking to be from the near east laden with cheap jewelry, bags, scarves, hats and flags bothering tourists sitting at their tables. i found it all stinking and unfair. i turned back and left it behind.

sun was setting when i reached the praca poveiros but luis was still there drinking so i joined.

<< so you didn't find love, then? >>

<< caged like a wolf, brother. there're always people trying to get in the way. >>

<< that's life my friend. people don't want to see people happier than themselves. what about a beer, then? >>

we sat for a little while before a lovely girl with long dark hair and deep dark eyes came up from behind smiling and embraced luis before taking a seat. it was elena, one of the two greek girls who id mistaken for shouting when she was merely conversing. fresh beers decorated the table. and more would come - the other grecian and her drink too. conversation went on with the ease of breathing - about all things we knew and shared or didnt know and wondered about. the rhythm of language and why english sounds so sterile to latin (and greek) ears. days and nights and people and drink. and food. we got hungry and luis took us, with the owner of our little terrace, to a nearby restaurant to eat local staples of bland soup, salads, fish and chicken. wine. cheap good dinner from two lovely old proprietors.

then back at the terrace and here words fail to rebuild the scene. the bright yellow lamplight was dampened by the canvas parasol but it bounced off the aluminum table tops and lit our blissful faces. voices filled the plaza corner now but we heard none but our own. beers came and cooled the smoke of spliffs. and we talked. we talked and talked and it became wild and soulful and heartfelt. much of it was duet – luis and elena, myself and maria. earlier in the day id not been able to quit the image of the boat girl. the beauty of her eyes, her face. the skin of her naked shoulder so soft my eyes felt its smoothness. but this girl was different. also beautiful - so beautiful with black hair, pale skin, and big, pale blue eyes. but where paula of the boat was beautiful to look at, maria of the terrace was beautiful to be with. to see. to talk to, and to be looked at by! the way her eyes regarded you as she told you your purpose among the people of this world (i invent not, o reader), your entire body slackened with the power. her voice was musical. so much so in fact that i had her tell me a fairy tale in the middle of this plaza just so i could listen to her tell it. at one point i tried to get up to prepare for my predawn flight, but the looks i got from all... i said once in a lifetime you find yourself sat with such company. said fuck sleep, ordered a coffee, and stayed all night. i would give much to recall all that was said but not only can i not, but also in the end it just would not do – it was the night in its entirety that took my soul like beatrice took dante. and though she asked me if i was single, she was not and worse still she was leaving porto for athens, where her boy was waiting for her. i learned what it was like to really hold eyes.

so i left finally for the airport, heart bursting and broken at once. none of us were able to say very much. we hugged. luis refused to exchange emails because he said thats what people do when they know they wont meet again but would like to act like they will. we would for real. i held the women, turned and left smiling so much it hurt and looking past every horizon. i saw tasos long enough to get my things from his flat and tell him he was always welcome wherever i was living. then i was in a cab and porto was behind me.

in the end all ive got are images and memories and these letters. but i know that i lived that night like some never have or will. every day of that trip was a life and a life magnificent at that, but that end, that night of spirit-orgy on the terrace in the plaza of the poor in the port city of the world, it's like a layer added to my heart. in those days i lived, that was my porto. my city in my world. i doubt there will come another like it.