20 years ago today – Day 40

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Friday, April 12 – a disturbing sight, a drunken night

The travel agent explains in his pleasant English that it’s almost impossible to get in on a package deal in the last two weeks before it departs. Tickets must be returned to the airlines and hotel space freed up so losses aren’t incurred, he continues. He seems worried that he has upset me, as I keep looking anxiously at the door. I am trying to keep an eye on my bike, which I have left unlocked. I thought would be safe leaning against the window, but some woman has already knocked it over once.

Actually I am feeling relieved that the trip to Mallorca is falling through. It is way too expensive for our budget, a fact Mike will no doubt agree with. I am glad I checked it out though, to put a final nail in the coffin. Riding in town is not as pleasant as I had hoped though. The traffic is congested, the drivers pushy, the streets ill-planned. Even riding on an unloaded bike feels weird.

Coming back, at the end of the mall where it joins the square where our pension is on, a spot I pass frequently, I see a young black cat is distress. Even from a distance as I approached, its behaviour isn’t normal. It cries out from a sitting position, looking around without focus. It’s fur is matted with something and I as draw nearer I see that its head is asymmetrical, probably crushed by a car, even though the nearby cars are practically at a standstill in a queue to buy gas. The cat twitches and spasms as it tries unsuccessfully to move from its sitting position.

I stare at it with a sense of helplessness. There is nothing I can do to comfort it or put it out of its misery. Everyone else hurries by, ignoring it after a quick glance, except for a group of pubescent girls who point and giggle nervously as they watch it suffer. I am sickened by their cruelty, and wonder for an instant if had bashed its head in. Probably not. The cat tries to turn away from them, staggering sideways in the process. This brings more laughter from the girls and I feel like hitting them. It tries to move towards me and I pull back, sensing its fate will be my own one day. I turn away from it and push my bike into the pension. I feel almost physically sick and I don’t even have the words in Spanish to ask the hotel staff to do something about it.

Its pleading cries haunts me the rest of the day and I am overwhelmed with shame and sadness. I have been that cat in my earlier life, crying out in desperation uselessly, until I learned that there wasn’t anyone there who wanted to listen. I have learned to keep quiet so not to upset people, not to drive them away.

I sleep until Mike arrives back from Tangiers at 10:30 pm. I try to hush him, to sneak him into our room so we can save 400 pts on the single occupancy rate, but the manager is sharp and at the railing of the third landing calling down to us.

We go out for a late night bite to eat. He hasn’t much to say about Morocco, other than “It was OK I guess”. He seems happy enough to see me, and nods with understanding when I explain how that flight to Mallorca isn’t going to work out. I figure there’s no point to tell him about the cat. He is up for going out so I take him to Charles’ Hole-In-The Wall.

There are three others in the pub chatting with Charles in Spanish. We buy our drinks and settle in nearby. The others engage Mike in Spanish and introduce themselves as Robert, Alfred and Carlos. They switch to English because of me. I chat Charles up again and apologize for going home with Chris on Wednesday night, admitting it was a mistake. I present him with a Canada pin which I had packed in my bags to give as a gift. He offers to give me his leftover prescription for strep throat again.

Chris comes in just at closing time, as if to test me. I make no effort to talk with him at first, which seemed to reassure Charles. He refuses to serve Chris because the bar was closing. That seems to worry Chris, who looks desperate for a drink. He’s high on something anyway, judging by how his eyes dart all over the place and he has difficulty focusing his mind. He leaves after pausing to say hello to me.

Charles leads the five of us back to his place but the other four wait downstairs as he takes me up to show me his flat and give me the prescription. He gets sidetracked showing me his renovations and soon Robert is pounding on the door downstairs. Carlos, the one who spoke the least English, leaves for his home but Robert and Alfred want to take Mike and I to a local disco. Charles is not interested in joining us so we bid him good night and goodbye, as we plan to leave town tomorrow.

It is uncharacteristic of Mike and I to stay up late but it is rare that we have an opportunity to party with other gay men. It isn’t much of a party though. They take us to a boring straight discothèque and we buy another round of beers. Robert clearly has the hots for me and is boldly and drunkenly demonstrative about it, hugging and kissing me whenever he can. No one else in the room seems to mind. I am non-committal and do my best to stay out of it. I hate coming between a man and his fantasies.

Albert is cuter to me but he keeps going on about how he likes various hard drugs, which leaves Mike and I little to say to him. He doesn’t believe that either Mike or I are gay at first. I am tempted to agree with him in Mike’s case, even though I know his boyfriend.

When we left Albert went home. Roberts lives in La Linea. We walk with him to where he has parked his scooter. He makes plans to ride ahead and meet us on the far side of the border. I am certain he will ask me to go home with him and I am not sure how to respond as his sense of judgment is seriously impaired. He passes us as we walk towards Customs, weaving recklessly across the airport strip. Customs officers stop him and question him seriously, their arms folded tightly over their chests Mussolini-style. We wait for Robert for a few minutes on the Spanish side, until it is clear that he won’t be crossing the border tonight. I chuckle to myself over this turn of events, as he had been quite obnoxious most of the evening.

It is 4am when we get to bed.