A Chance for Idoya by Cole Parker J

Author:Cole, Parker J
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-12-29T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

Santiago’s breath caught in his throat.

Was Ana María a mind-reader? Clairvoyant, perhaps?

He sat by most of the late afternoon and evening, scanning the room that filled with laughter and light. The air was thick with the scents of the meal and underpinned by the subtle fragrance of the women’s perfumes.

He observed the men around him, each lost in their own world of love and admiration for the women beside them. During dinner, he had watched Juan gaze at Idoya with such adoration that it formed a lump in Santiago’s throat. He felt as if he had betrayed his son with these feelings.

At least Juan didn’t know. He could spare his son that knowledge.

The room had come alive when Jiaoxin danced, her movements a blend of grace and fluidity. Ambrose and Genevieve had lent an air of sophistication with their waltz. Yet, for Santiago, the evening would have remained incomplete without witnessing Idoya’s dance, but he hadn’t expected it would happen.

Until this very moment.

Mary Rose’s hair bounced as she asked, “What sort of dance can you do, Idoya?”

A blush colored Idoya’s cheeks. Santiago didn’t understand why. He had seen her dance before, and each time she managed to transform the movements of the dance to poetry.

“It’s flamenco,” Juan chimed in, his voice filled with pride. “A dance that originates from the gypsies of the distant past. It is danced best by my Idoya.”

“Oh Juan, I can’t,” Idoya protested, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

“You can, nuera,” Santiago found himself saying, surprised at his own boldness as the room turned to him. “You are a lovely dancer, and I for one wish to see you dance with Pilar’s fan.”

As he spoke, Santiago rose and walked over into the corner of the room. He retrieved an oblong wooden case from a shelf, the wood dark and polished, the surface etched with intricate designs. Going back over to the group, he set the case on the table next to Pilar’s fans and opened the case to reveal the instrument inside.

“Papá.” Juan came over to where he stood, his eyes fixed on the guitar with wonder. “I’ve not seen you play this in nearly seven years.”

The guitar was decorated with rosettes, and the sycamore wood highly polished. It was a beautiful instrument that had been passed down from Pilar’s father to himself.

“I used to play for my wife,” Santiago said, and his hands caressed it lovingly. “Flamenco is a dance that embodies the fire in one’s soul. It is joy, sorrow, loss, and love. With every step, with every clap, with every turn, it is beauty.”

A smile lifted his mouth. “When I was fifteen years old, I met Pilar at a village dance. The first time I saw her, she was dancing.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “She was beautiful as she danced. Her dress was pure white, which wasn’t normal. Most dresses are bright reds, or yellows, something like that. Pilar’s white dress flowed around her like feathers of a swan I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.

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